#apparently all of these have angst in some degree

[tim-shii]

hi! just found your acc and i just want to say i absolutely adore your work first off. you bring my wife (aventurine) to life beautifully.

saw the as a boyfriend and oh my GOD the part about him getting anxious over reader speaking with ratio? so good. i need jealous pouty aventurine. and honestly might be a bit ooc for ratio but i think he’d encourage it just to get under aventurine’s skin tbh.

up to you though, i’d love for you to write a lil drabble or something of the sorts expanding on this, whatever you have the imagination to write.

that’s all~!

a/n: tysm ?! ure so kind im glad very happy !! that u adore my work 🫶 we have to make sure wife is loved always 🫡 here's jealous aven from this ; @svnarin proofreader !! (she told me to put it here)

cw: bf!aventurine, slight angst

“such lavish proposal. are you certain i am the person who should be hearing that?”

“absolutely. you’re the perfect person i should be consulting about it.”

aventurine is not a jealous person. he’s confident in himself, you had praised him several times of how much of an amazing person he is. jealousy means there’s a lack of trust between the two of you and aventurine doesn’t like that idea at all. he thinks that trust is a significant factor when it comes to relationships. he doesn’t keep secrets and even if he does, he’ll eventually open up to you after some time.

aventurine is a quartz-based gem stone. a stone that brings good fortune and helps you create your own luck. it’s also green. the same green in the monster’s eyes that’s currently chomping down on aventurine. he can’t help it! can he really blame himself when uneasiness swirls in his stomach after seeing you with dr. ratio?

out of everyone he gets jealous of, it just had to be him. veritas ratio. his good friend, veritas. the most logical man aventurine has ever known.

while aventurine is confident in himself, no doubt there’s a part of him that feels inferior to the doctor. the man has radiant violet hair that compliments the tone and structure of his face. he also has a slightly muscular build compared to aventurine’s more slender one. there’s a lot to compare and aventurine isn’t sure if he can even list it all out.

his brows furrowed, eyes dulling as his thoughts consumed him at once. what proposal? what’s that about? and perfect person? he doesn’t understand. are you leaving him? can he really not make you stay? was it something he did? something he said? but he can’t ask you those. because what if instead of an answer, he’ll be greeted with a farewell—

a flick on his forehead snapped him out of the daze. aventurine blinks back, now finding you in front of him.

“i was right. he was sulking.” he hears veritas quip.

“not sulking. more of, in a daze.” your fingers thread through his soft locks, aventurine hums at the affection, absentmindedly leaning his cheek on your palm.

“you give him too much credit. he’s probably wallowing in the sorrows of his mind for no apparent reason.” ratio snickers ever so quietly.

“or he could just be tired and sleep deprived.”

“or he’s jealous. he glares at me any longer, my skin will start withering and rotting.” for a doctor who has more than eight doctoral degrees, he can be quite the drama queen.

“goodbye, doctor. thank you for your opinion, i shall greatly treasure your wise words.” veritas only shook his head before slipping out the door. once he’s left, all your attention shifts to your boyfriend.

aventurine lets you sit atop his lap, gloved hands instantly finding home on your hips. for a moment, you both stare at each other in complete silence.

“spit it out. what’s wrong?” you spoke first.

aventurine sighs. “i didn’t like seeing you with him.” for all his life, lying came easy. with his good looks and charming personality, making people believe whatever he says is child’s play. but aventurine can never lie to you. he doesn’t have the heart to face you once you’ve realized he’s fooled with your thoughts.

you raised a brow in amusement. “so you were jealous?”

“no. i don’t get jealous.” he grumbles. “i just,” aventurine gazes at you with a fond look, an expression so serene and completely enamored. “i’m better looking than him, right?”

blood rushed to his cheeks when he felt your lips on his. his hold moved from your hips to your neck to deepen the kiss, left thumb caressing over your pulse. he chases your lips like an intoxicated man once you pulled away. only to be stopped by you leaning your forehead on his.

“the best looking man in my life and in the whole universe. my most beloved, too.”

“you flatter me.” he grins stupidly before pulling you in for another kiss.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

#tim writes. #💌 #honkai star rail aventurine #aventurine headcanons #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine fluff #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr imagines #star rail

[randomshyperson]

Shameless - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The book club forces Wanda to go to a bookstore in downtown Westview, where she meets you. Or the one where Wanda tries a new hobby and finds a reason to end her marriage.

Warnings: (+16), some dirty implications but nothing explicit, mentions of make-out, no cheating (but intent), strangers to lovers, milf-horny wanda, compulsory heterosexuality and mentions of homophobia, an attempt at the 80s scene, some angst but a happy ending. | Words: 7.525k

A/N-> I don’t know where this came from.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The book club had been Agatha's idea.

A harmless little pastime is how she would describe it during the weekly community meeting. Some short and simple speech about how modern housewives needed distractions while their husbands were at work and the kids were at school, anything that would please the ears of the preacher and the town council enough for the men to ignore the remnants of card games or bottles of alcohol that appeared whenever Agatha organized any “ladies' meetings” - as she liked to describe it.

Wanda and almost all the other women were happy to participate - and that is, almost all of them since Dorothy had not joined anything Agatha was involved in for two years now, ever since the blonde refused to visit the nightclub that was inaugurated downtown, commenting that it was not a suitable place for family ladies, and in Wanda's opinion, missing out on one of the most fun evenings she had ever had.

This time, Agatha's new invention was weekly meetings of a book club, which for the older woman, was the perfect excuse to get away from her husband Ralph and his strong odor of cheap beer and their grumpy son who apparently didn't know how to take glasses to the sink. Two hours a week to stay off chores and focus on her friends, and as a bonus, to read and discuss the literature she would have had access to if higher education was something women were encouraged to earn.

Wanda was one of the few in the quiet Westview who had a degree - It had been a shared dream of her and her mother Natalya, who wished to see both her children off to college and it was a fortunate thing that it happened before her sad passing. The most unfair thing about that was that despite her mother's wishes for Wanda’s independence, once Natalya was gone, all that Erik did was encourage her to leave college and look for a husband, the last of which Wanda eventually gave in to in her senior year. Jarvis Vision Stark was a couple of years older than her and was completing his degree in Engineering, and to almost everyone in her class, that had to be true love. He was a good-looking young man, with a good family and education, and he seemed so in love with her. With that in mind, Wanda tried to love Vision with the same intensity that he said he did, but with the passing of the years, and the arrival of the children, the fantasy dissolved into a boring routine and conformism.

Despite those issues, her twins, Billy and Tommy, were her most precious treasure. And they were also the only thing keeping her marriage on track, Wanda dared to think.

Getting a divorce, in the traditional Christian-Jewish community of Westview, would be a scandal under any circumstances. Sometimes, when she ventured to imagine being someone with this kind of courage, Wanda could only imagine the look of disappointment on her father's face when he heard the news, and the thought was soon shoved away like dirty clothes in the washing machine.

At least Wanda had Agatha. Her long-time, trusting friend, with whom she could share torments like this, and complain about slack-jawed, obstinate husbands.

And there was also now the book club.

Westview only had one library close to home, and well, Agatha had been clear in her instructions. No cheap or religious literature, she warned with a cigarette between her lips, gesturing with one hand when one of the girls asked about what the first meeting would be like. 

"Bring something interesting." Agatha suddenly gave a little smile, the same kind when she managed to bring a bottle of liquor hidden away for the Saturday church service. "Scandalous, if you dare."

They all sighed in surprise, complicit for the whole thing. Some began to whisper among themselves, but Wanda knew what she would have to do. There was nothing of the sort in Westview, so she would have to leave the residential neighborhood.

She woke up on Tuesday, dropped the kids off at school, and made breakfast. for Vision, who didn't even bother to say thank you, not happy to hear that Wanda was going out, but courteous enough to offer her a ride, which she declined almost immediately. She had the distinct impression that it was a way of being monitored, and she couldn't bear to deal with it when she was already so nervous. 

Taking the bus downtown, she went straight to the new commercial village of Westview. She caught a glimpse of some neighbors, who worked in the local shops but didn't say hello to any of them.

She walked until she found a bookstore, a small, old building with carts full of books at the door and advertisements that, although scattered and colorful, were easy to understand. It was a very cozy place, which made Wanda smile for a quick fantasy about having tried to work with books after her graduation if she hadn't been pregnant at the time.

A bell rang when she entered, but no one greeted her for the first few minutes she was inside. It gave her just enough time to go to one of the nearest bookshelves and run her fingers through the rows of books, a smile playing on her lips.

"Didn't you hear the door, Pchelka (little bee)?" A voice caught her attention, and Wanda turned, trying to see between the shelves. At a glance, short, red hair attracted her eye, and she blinked to find the face of a very pretty woman offering her a gentle smile. "One minute, sweetheart. We'll be right with you."

Wanda opened her mouth to say she wasn't in a hurry, sympathetic to the number of books the redhead was carrying, but in the next second, the woman disappeared between the columns and she didn’t have a chance to say anything at all. 

The bookstore remained empty and silent for another half minute, but once Wanda made mention of turning her attention back to the books behind her, a ladder opened from the ceiling, and out of it jumped a figure in an apron, and out of instinct, Wanda hopped away. 

"So sorry for the scare, Miss." You apologized with a soft chuckle at the scene, closing the attic in a single motion and running your hands through your hair and shoulders in an effort to blow off some of the dust. "We are reviewing the inventory. How can I be of assistance?"

Her breath caught in her throat at the image of your gentle and playful smile. She felt so foolish.  In all her 32 years, when was the last time she had been tongue-tied, if ever? 

You raised one of your eyebrows, and repeated the question, bringing a new color to her cheeks. Wanda broke into a clumsy giggle at the same second.

"Sorry, you caught me by surprise." She managed to cover it up, adjusting a lock of her hair and then moving her hands to smooth her clothes, suddenly unsure what to do with herself. "I’m…looking for a book."

You cracked another smile, finding the scene quite amusing. This older, breathtaking woman, all shy and adorable around you. "Well, we have lots of those." You teased, and Wanda felt her stomach do a complete turn at the sound of your raspy giggle. Maybe she was getting sick. Yeah, that would explain her body’s out-of-control reactions.   "What are you looking for, or perhaps a name...?"

"Wanda." She interrupts, and you frown in confusion. Taking a deep breath, she holds out her hand. "I am Wanda Maximoff."

Despite the strangeness of the moment and the fact that she didn't understand that you wanted the name of the book and not hers, you smiled warmly and repeated the gesture. Wanda has never hated work gloves as she does now, a curiosity burning to know what your skin would feel like on hers, the thought bringing such a strong color to her ears that she needs to look away immediately, barely catching the name that you mention next.

She clears her throat, and adds: "I'm actually joining a book club and the only guidance we had was to bring something interesting." And she risks looking you in the eye to add. "Scandalous."

You find it funny, even adorable if you could put it that way. Maybe it's because of the color of her face when she says it. Or maybe it's because these college students - Wanda judges you to be one for your apparent age - are more modern than she would have been and don't bother with this sort of subject.

"Hm, I think I can help with that." You retort with a thoughtful expression, beckoning for Wanda to follow you deeper into the store and she does so only after taking a deep breath.

The columns of poetry make her bite her lip in curiosity, some of the names Wanda recognizes from her own years as a student, but it is only when you are in the last aisle with the little gold plaque labeled "Sapphic Literature" that Wanda thinks she has stopped breathing.

You do everything very calmly. Climbing up one of the stairs, and taking some time to read the titles, you take a small book from one of the higher shelves and walk back to Wanda, whose face is almost Natasha's hair color now.

With a smile, you hold out the book, but don't let go, holding the item as she does. 

"There's nothing more scandalous than this for a small town like Westview." You say. "But if it's too much, Miss Maximoff, I can always suggest something different. You know, like stuff about the first war or Russian philosophy..."

"N-no, this is fine." She interrupts you, grabbing the book strongly and pulling it close to her chest. You don't know if she's trying to hide it or keep it from fleeing, but it makes you chuckle. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem." You reply, studying that face for a moment. Wanda swallows dry but holds your gaze. You clear your throat as soon as you realize you're staring. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She almost sighs, her knees going weak at just the line her thoughts take. Shaking her head, she offers you a small smile. "No, that will be all." She says and practically runs off to the edge of the store, back to the cashier.

The redheaded woman is taking care of the payment now, and Wanda doesn't notice the look you exchange with her because she's too busy sensing your presence coming behind her.

"Excuse me, Miss Maximoff, let me wrap this up for you." Your whisper near her ear makes her shudder from head to toe, and it is fortunate that you grab the book from her as Wanda is sure she would have dropped it on the floor.

You walking away is the only reason Wanda's legs stop shaking.

"Good choice, ma'am." Commented the attendant as soon as you put the book on the counter to be scanned. Wanda noticed the small badge spelled out in silver letters "Natasha" stuck to her apron. "We are also fond of sapphic literature around here." She added with a complicit smile.  Wanda didn't understand why it seemed like a code for something, she was too distracted by the movements of your hands storing the book in a pretty bag. She remembers forcing a smile, paying with trembling fingers and practically running out of the bookstore, feeling your gaze burning into her back.

The bell made another noise on the way out, and with the bookstore empty, Natasha's laughter filled the air.

"How do you always find our people?" Questioned the other impressed, but you laughed short, shrugging.

"I won't deny that I have this ability, but in this case, how can you say? You saw her for like, three seconds."

Natasha shook her head, checking the cashier. "Oh, please, she was eye-fucking you this whole three seconds.” Declared the redhead, ignoring your protest at her choice of words. "Besides, it's kind of obvious by her not freaking out over sapphic poetry, isn't it?"

You sigh, somewhat disbelieving. "I don't know, people are more friendly nowadays." You try, but Natasha gestures away as if she doesn't agree.

"Your problem is that you're too naive, Parker." Retorted the redhead with an amused expression. "Women like me, experienced not old, are not so friendly. We come from different times, different generations. You couldn't go around reading gay literature anywhere, hardly found any to be fair. If she wasn't like us, she would have caused a scene at the mere suggestion."

"Alright, Romanoff, I believe you." You grumbled begrudgingly while grabbing one of the last boxes to be checked off the desk. "But that doesn't mean she was interested in me." You stated, but Nat snorted incredulously.

"I bet you five bucks she'll be back next week!" Retorted the redhead, but you only chuckled, letting her increase the bet as the distance grew.

-&-

A tense silence grew with every second in the crowded room. 

Wanda sat there, almost not breathing until she finally realized what she had just done. Read. The room began to spin next. She gripped the pages hard enough to wreck the book in her lap, but just as panic was about to overwhelm her, someone sighed loudly.

"Well, that was definitely scandalous." It was Monica, and the good humor of the comment made the room explode into little giggles.

The girls began commenting among themselves excitedly in the same second, some still somewhat hesitant and embarrassed, but definitely thrilled about the whole thing. Wanda felt a gentle hand on the back of her back, through the exposed part of the plastic chair.

"Just breathe, Wanda, everything's fine." It was Agatha, who was still sitting next to her. Who didn't hate her for reading a passage from Emily Dickinson in the middle of the book club, who was still her best friend. Wanda only managed to mumble a weak, whiny yes, and Agatha looked at her with concern before announcing to the entire room that they would take a break before the next reading. Wanda doesn't remember getting up, but she didn't breathe normally again until on the outside balcony of the Harkness Residence. "Here, honey."

The glass of water helped, and Wanda had just returned it to Agatha when the window door opened again. It was Monica, with an almost proud smile, who spoke only after sliding the glass door closed again.

"I have to say, Wanda, you have guts." Her friend joked, and Wanda grimaced.

"What...?"

"I didn't know there were more of us in Westview, Aggie. You could have told me." Monica complained to the older woman, giving Agatha's arm a gentle pat. But the woman just smiled awkwardly, looking at Wanda as if she were seeing her for the first time.

"She never mentioned it, I'm afraid." Agatha commented, and Wanda felt like she might throw up at any moment. "Hey, breathe honey. It's okay, all right? You're safe with us."

But Wanda put a hand over her chest, feeling it tighten. "My god, what I just did... They will tell my husband... my father will hear about it-"

"Hey, Wanda, here. Focus on me, darling, breathe." Agatha grabbed her hands, trying to help her control the panic and tears that began to roll down her face. "Honey, it was just a poem. Nothing is going to happen, okay, you just brought what I asked for, and none of them minded. Nothing has changed, now breathe. You're safe, Wanda."

“Of course, I would ruin the book club.” was the first thought she had hours later when she woke up before the time to pick the boys up from soccer. She didn't have to do it though - Agatha left a little note saying that she had taken care of everything and wished her rest. 

Monica drove her home so that Agatha could close the meeting without raising any more suspicions about Maximoff's state, who had had a panic attack because of a poem read aloud. If the other neighbors knew, it would create chatter, and Wanda simply couldn't handle that.

Monica left her safe and sound in her house, wrapped in blankets, and didn't mind staying until Wanda cried herself to sleep. And Wanda woke up alone, feeling worse than before as if a very embarrassing secret had been revealed to the world and was mocking her outside the bedroom walls.

But her children were back in no time, and as they rushed to the shower, she went to thank a very concerned Agatha Harkness.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?" Asked her friend gently holding her arm. Wanda didn't meet her eyes, nodding.

"Thank you for dropping the boys off." Murmured her quietly, swallowing before adding. "And for earlier. I didn't mean to bring any trouble."

Agatha gripped her with more determination. "Listen here, Wanda, it was no trouble at all, okay?" Assured the woman, who although in a serious tone, still had very gentle eyes. "You are my best friend, Wanda Maximoff. Nothing will ever change the care and love I feel for you. When you're ready to talk about today, about this part of you, I'll be here. And Monica too. You are not alone, honey. You never have been." There was a different complicity in the last sentence, but Wanda only sighed in relief, nodding and finally relaxing when Agatha hugged her.

She thanked her again between silent tears and Agatha only left when she was sure Wanda believed her words.

-&-

It took Wanda three weeks to return to the store. Not that you were counting, or thinking every day about the middle-aged woman who had a gay panic attack with your poor attempt at service. Not that Natasha didn't shut up about it.

And as luck would have it, you were alone in the store because your boss, who you also called a friend, was out picking up some orders and her sister at the University of New York, and well, it had been a slow day until the doorbell rang in the early afternoon and it was Wanda.

"You again." That was the first you managed to say, almost sighing and hating how affected it sounded. Luckily, Wanda seemed equally happy and relieved to see you again.

"Hello." She greeted, repeating last week's gesture of adjusting a lock of her hair. She looked different from before, more elegant, with a dark jeans jacket expensive enough to have come out of a magazine, and a dress underneath that made you swallow dry. 

You had no idea how long she spent in front of the mirror trying to choose the right outfit with two neighbors weighing her choices.

Trying to play it cool and sound as casual as possible, you add:  "Wanda Maximoff from the book club, right? Did they like the poems?"

She hesitated in a nervous smile, looking around as if to check if there were no other customers and satisfied with the distant presence of a boy in the Vinyl's Discs area and a lady further down the hall, as she practically whispered, "You were right. It was scandalous enough for Westview." She teased, managing to get a short laugh out of you that made her stomach do flips and her cheeks turn a rosy hue. It was decided, she wanted to hear the sound again and would do anything to be the one to make you laugh.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." You retort with a little smile. "I hope you enjoyed the book too, though." Your addiction makes Wanda's heart skip a beat. So you cared if she was the person who enjoyed the reading, it wasn't all about a professional suggestion on how to make an impact on the book club as she presumed. Well, Agatha was right. 

Risking, probably everything, Wanda commented: "Oh, I definitely loved the reading. I had a good time imagining the scenarios she described." Despite the confidence in saying it, she was blushing, and the way she spoke as if a secret between the two of you and with your knowledge of how erotic Emily Dickinson's stories were, was the reason you knock over half the stack of books you were trying to organize onto the floor.

The noise attracted the attention of the other customers, but you forced a smile and gestured that everything was fine before you ducked down, quickly beginning to pick everything up while Wanda looked at you with a certain amusement, as if she had just confirmed a theory.

"Sorry. You caught me off guard." You mutter in embarrassment, and Wanda chuckles, ducking down as well. She helps you with the last of the fallen books, and in the gesture of returning them, your hands rub together and the whole world stops for a second.  Just long enough for you to look at her, and then to step away at once, clearing your throat. Wanda does the same, and before you have a chance to say anything, the record customer interrupts you.

It has to be the most annoying sale you've ever made. He stalls you for long minutes, and all you can do is watch out of the corner of your eye as Wanda slips further into the back of the bookstore, and you lose sight of her. To make matters worse, when the man finally leaves, familiar vehicle parks in the back of the store, and less than five minutes later, two figures with heavy boxes appear.

Yelena has gotten a haircut, and you have a moment of shock to deal with that. The next, she is making a terrible impression on the other customer in the store, the cookbook lady, who immediately grimaces as soon as your friend practically jumps on you. Whether it's the display of affection or Yelena's tattoos and rebellious posture, the woman leaves the store muttering lowly. 

You pay no attention to this, grinning as you match Yelena's hug before she lets go of you.

"сука, next time you lock up the semester, at least stop at the dorm to smoke with us!" Complained your friend as she leaned on the counter where she had left her magazine supply box. Natasha dropped hers with a tired grunt, and once the books were secured, she gave a warning slap on the feet that Yelena threatened to put on a shelf. 

"There won't be a next time." Natasha answers for you. "She's giving up for good."

Yelena lets out an exclamation, but you grimace. "That hasn't been decided, Romanoff." You defend yourself. "I just needed more time. I think I'll just switch vocations. Again."

Natasha giggled, but Yelena patted you on the shoulder. "Hey, don't look so down. I also think about quitting Fashion every week, and every week I remind myself that no one is as talented as Yelena Belova and the world must not be deprived of my masterpieces." The comment makes you and Natasha laugh and roll your eyes. 

The redhead pushes her sister by the shoulders away from the counter. "You said you came here to work, not get in Parker's way. Find something to do-"

"Oh, sure, I'll get us some coffee." Yelena interrupts, letting go of her sister's hands. She points a finger at you. "Cappucino or-"

"Sorry." Wanda's interruption makes the three of you look at her at once. She is intimidated, but only for a split second. Forcing a smile, she raises the book she holds at face height. "I was hoping to take this one."

You take an awkward step forward, and it is enough for Yelena to acquire an expression as if she just has won the lottery. Busy taking care of Wanda's purchase, you don't even notice the sisters' exchange of glances.

As you wrap up the book, you try to disguise the trembling in your hands. 

"I couldn't really thank you for the recommendation." Wanda speaks suddenly. You smile awkwardly, holding out the bag with the book on the counter.

"It was no trouble at all, Wanda." But she extends her hand over yours, and your heart stops.

"I really appreciated it, sweetheart." That's what Wanda says, stroking your skin with her thumb. "We have meetings every week, and maybe, you could join us in the next…"

You opened your mouth like a fish, babbling like a fool and completely in shock at the invitation of the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life. “I-I…”

"Would love to, of course." Yelena elbowed you so hard that you pulled your hand away from Wanda’s to massage the spot. She offered her worst-intention smile to Wanda, the kind she only used at college parties when she wanted guys who would never have a chance with her to buy her drinks. "She's a first-rate nerd, she'll love it, ma'am. I’m Yelena, by the way. My sister, Natasha, is the owner here. And since we’re talking about hanging out, did you know that we do friends' reunions around here? You're more than welcome to join us."

Wanda adjusts awkwardly, a little surprised. "Oh, what kind of reunion?"

Yelena sighs thoughtfully, shrugging. "Well, I don't want to call it a college party, because even though we're all college students, it's not done on NYU grounds and is reserved for fewer people and the drinking is much better..."

Chuckling short, and adjusting the bag on her wrist, Wanda denies it with her head. "It's a kind invitation, but I think I'm too old for such things."

"What nonsense!" Yelena retorts gesturing indignantly. “ "With all due respect, such a beautiful woman will completely enhance the party. And well, my sister always attends with her friends, and you must be the same age..." You bite the inside of your cheek hard, you love your friend but she is charming and beautiful and is clearly flirting with Wanda to annoy you. Wanda blushes, and Yelena knows she's won this one. Emerald eyes search yours, and you find that the one who might have won is actually you.

"Will you be there?" She asks, and having trouble hiding a smile, you nod. With a sigh, Wanda looks at the expectant blonde beside you. "I think I could show up for a little bit-"

"That's fantastic!" Yelena gets excited, not even waiting for Wanda to confirm before she ducks down on the counter and finds one of the invitations to these parties that Natasha hides near the cashier. 

You barely had a chance to say goodbye to Wanda, with Yelena and her party directions, but at least you had confirmation that the woman would be there for the last weekend of the month, the typical date when those meetings were organized. And the realization had you sliding to the floor behind the counter with one hand on your chest.

"My god I think I'm having an anxiety attack-"

"No, that's a gay outburst triggered by a hot milf." Yelena cut in with a roll of her eyes, crossing her arms as she approached you again. "You gonna have to put it together, 'cause we need to pick out what you're going to wear next week, on your hot date with her.”

You're as red as a tomato. "It's not a date! It's a book club!"

Natasha - who hadn't said anything about the interaction until now - burst out laughing, and teased "Hm, that's what young people are calling it these days."

"You two are terrible." You complained embarrassed, shaking your head in disbelief at the giggling sisters. "We don't even know if she's interested."

Natasha chuckled. "Of course she is. Sapphic poetry the first week, and now she comes back just to stroke your hand. Yes, Parker, everyone saw that. If that's not interest, I don't know what else to call it."

Sighing in defeat at the sisters' complicit gaze, you stood up again. "Let me get back to work." You grumbled, but still, Yelena followed you with thousands of ideas about what you could wear.

-&-

Book club sessions allow you to get to know Wanda better. And inevitably fall in love with her as you never had with anyone else, at least not at that intensity.

Unfortunately, a meeting full of middle-aged women with a certain willingness to gossip about any subject, especially the unusual friendship of the young college student from downtown with one of the most respectable ladies in the neighborhood put practically a watch on your back. All your moments with Wanda, stolen touches and long glances between snacks and reading verses for the next few weeks came burdened with the worry, especially for her, that the rest of the world could see all too well what was going on between you two. 

And there was also the great frustration that in fact, nothing was actually happening. Aside from the undeniable attraction and warm affection you developed for each other, you were just book club buddies. You couldn't even call Wanda a friend, in fact, you wouldn't want to. All you knew about her family was Agatha or Monica telling you, the other was limited to any other subject but this one. 

Pretending not to know or just accepting that Wanda had a life beyond the safety of your afternoons together hurt all the same.

Your only hope of progress for what was happening came at the end of the month, with the arrival of the reunion date between your friends. It was the most intimate event Wanda could attend and you had a feeling there would be no going back for whatever might happen that night.

The Thunderbolts was what the group of friends you and Yelena were part of called themselves since the beginning of college. And unlike Peter and Kate, or even the freshmen, America and Kamala, who were all set on what profession they would follow after graduation, you had already dropped three courses in total. Starting out in medical school as your parents would have liked, switching to applied biology with Peter until you tried computer science with America, you finally dropped out to work with books with Natasha. It was the closest thing to happiness, even if it meant lousy pay. 

But ignoring this, what was certain about you and the Thunderbolts was that you guys knew how to throw a decent party. 

The loud music didn't escape much from the top floor of the store because two years ago Natasha had gotten glassware with sound isolation for the rehearsals of the Red Skulls - her ex-girlfriend Carol Danvers' rock band - that kept neighbors from calling the police.

The drinking was taken care of by Natasha's friends, and well, it was always good stuff. There was also plenty of food and lots of weed, grown naturally in T'Challa's private greenhouses.

It was a college party, there was no denying it, but still, you went up to the roof, waiting for a woman twice your age who had a wedding ring mark on her finger.

Wanda almost didn't show up, and when she did, she was accompanied by a very beautiful woman. 

Natasha also had a thing for older women and was half drunk, a dangerous combination. Since Wanda was your flirt, the Romanoff wasted no time in approaching the other one, who introduced herself as Agatha Harkness and was more than happy to accompany the redhead on her tour of the studio apartment that made up the second and third floors of the bookstore.

You were trying to remain calm and mannerly around Wanda, but it was almost impossible not to become a mess when she was absurdly gorgeous in her half-open social shirt, smelling fucking good from yards away. 

As the night wore on and you both struggled to stay included in conversations with other people you knew - from Steve and his military school stories to Kate and her hilarious jokes - you began to wonder whether you were getting drunk on beer or on Wanda's perfume in your senses.

Fleeing back to the roof in the hopes of getting some air, you were about to consider leaving the party when Wanda found you again.

"I lost you for a second down there." She commented as she approached, hugging her body to the cold night around you. Your natural instinct would be to take off your jacket, but it suddenly seemed too intimate.

"Now you've found me." You returned with a small smile, glancing at her when she got close enough, only to find that she was already looking at you.

Swallowing dryly, you grew shy about her intense gaze and shifted to the hands she was smoothing on the ledge beside you. Wanda just stood there, close enough to touch until she leaned in a little to whisper.

"Did I do something to upset you? You're hiding from me."

Closing your eyes for a moment, you sighed before risking a look at her. "Agatha told me about your marriage." You state sincerely, and Wanda swallows dryly. "I'm not stupid, and I'm no good with games either. There's a husband, so I just won’t get involved. I'll only get hurt-"

"I'm very attracted to you." Wanda cut in, also decreasing the distance between your faces. Your heart simply stops and your breath catches. If she kissed you now, you'd probably say thank you. With a sigh, Wanda brings a hand to the collar of your shirt, pushing you away gently as a warning to herself. "She didn't lie. Agatha. I have a family, children, and a husband."

It was like a bucket of cold water on your head. But Wanda didn't let you move, keeping her grip on your shirt, and this was probably the only thing holding your tears too.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met." She continues to confess as affected as you are, her green eyes desperate and hopeful. "I haven't felt this way in such a long time..."

But you choked, pulling away. "I don't want to be some game, Wanda. Some secret. And I hate to share-"

"Oh, darling we're so alike." She interrupted a short, possessive chuckle, grabbing your wrist and putting your arm around her before you could move further. The attraction was almost liquid over your limbs, pulling you towards her and you gasped, pressing your face into her collarbone before you lost control for good and take her for yourself in this roof, damn the consequences. "I thought your friend Yelena was more. My skin itched at the thought of her touching you, I almost came back here and burned the entire bookstore." She confessed in your ear as she slipped her arm around your shoulders to hug you. The intense embrace increased your heart rate, and it didn't help that Wanda was playing with the lobe of your ear between her teeth.

"Stop saying things like that or I just might..."

"What? Tell me what you’ll do with me." Wanda challenges equally affected and you lose it, digging your teeth into her collarbone and sucking hard. She whimpers, knees buckling as her hips thrust up towards yours, but all you do is force her back against the edge, your firm hands on her waist keeping her from gridding herself on you as she wants to.

"I could fuck you right here, Wanda. Send you home smelling of dirty sex." You assure her darkly, your hands playing dangerously on the limits of her blouse. All Wanda does is groan rusky in your ear, wishing you would do as you say. “I bet you’ve waiting for me to.”

The smug phrase almost takes her sanity completely: Wanda grunts needily, trying to grab your wrist and force your hand between her legs, but you pull away hard, leaving her a slack mess trying to balance on wobbly legs with the help of the wall.

"I won’t be your mistress, Wanda Maximoff." You warn hoarsely, yet determined. You adjust your messy hair. "Sorry, but this little game of ours ends tonight."

Wanda hesitates, biting her lip. You hold up your hands, to point at the ring finger, reminding her of her condition and in a way, mocking her as well. Wanda hates the way she feels herself throb between her legs because of your smirk. 

She thinks she would have gone after you if Agatha hadn't appeared on the roof, reminding her with a certain irony that it was time for “respectable ladies” to go home.

In the car, her friend noticed her quiet, sulky posture.

"Did that girl say anything to spoil your evening, dear?" Harkness asked in a mixture of curiosity and concern, and all Wanda could do was let out a wry laugh, one hand adjusting her hair.

"No, Aggie." Wanda retorted sincerely. "I'm more sure than before about what I told you last week."

Agatha hummed in understanding, remaining silent for a long moment of thought. As she passed a sign toward the residential neighborhood of Westview, she spoke:

"I know a lawyer. Miss Walters. Divorce specialist." She began, ignoring the tense posture the other had acquired. “Former family friend, who always said that if I called, she would give me a special discount. Ralph owns the house, so splitting from him would have meant goodbye to Westview, and well, he never bothered me enough to lose you."

Wanda's eyes widen as she understands what her friend is saying, and she stares at her with tears in her eyes. But Agatha smiles through the mirror reflection, shrugging.

"Nicholas may be a difficult boy, but he also deserved to have a mother around." She continues. "And we have fun, you and me and the girls, don't we darling?"

Wanda agrees tearfully, nodding. Agatha chuckles, making the last turn and the landscape becomes several little houses alike.

"Just make a decision while you have time, dear." She continues a bit more hurriedly, stealing glances at the houses that still have lights on. "That beautiful woman today, Natasha, reminded me of a youth I sacrificed. I am old, Wanda. Affairs are fun, but I no longer have time to start a life with someone I really care about. You do, and you don't even have to. You have a chance to be with someone you really feel passionate about, if only for a week."

Agatha parked the car, and the porch light came on. Vision was waiting for her at the door, a half-stern expression due to the exit he didn't agree with - An unusual pastime for a family lady, they had discussed before she left.

With a sigh, she said goodbye to Agatha and got out of the car. Jennifer Walters' phone card was in her pants pocket.

It could take four to five weeks of staring at the bookstore doorbell to finally see the face you wanted to see enter that bookstore. You would be surprised enough that Wanda looked even more beautiful since the last time you saw her, and that this almost made you lose your balance on the ladder you had climbed to organize books on the top shelf.

This time Wanda would ask for a book in the law section, just for the entertainment of studying your reaction when, after demanding that you wait for her to find what she was looking for, she would press a book on divorce against your chest. Wanda would have just over five seconds for you to understand what she was getting at, before she was pressed into the shelf and grabbed by the thighs to be lifted into the air, your mouth glued to hers and her legs locked around you.

The messiest, hottest make-out session she never had as a teenager, but it would make her feel like one again. Hands determined and curious as your tongue ripped out sounds inappropriate for a bookstore, until the bell rang again, and you had to part in gasping breaths.

Wanda would grab your shirt collar before you could go to meet the customer in the lobby to ask you out on a date. On the first date, you could talk about her children, about how the joint custody was going to work out, and how much time you would have to get to know each other. On the second you could go out to eat, and on the third Wanda would feel your fingers on the back seat of the car on the drive home.

Wanda imagined all this on the way, twisting the lawyer's paper between her fingers. 

"Welcome home, Wanda." Vision greeted her, giving her room to enter. Wanda forces a smile, as she removes her hand from her pocket to pass her arm around her spouse for what would probably be the last hug she would give him as his wife. “Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

-&-

It's your night shift.

Natasha has a habit of closing early on weekdays, with the exception of Fridays where she allows reading shifts for all the sleepless geeks, as she calls all the late readers who come to the bookstore after six in the evening.

The day has been quiet so far, and well, you've been too depressed for the past weeks since you decided to move on and get over Wanda Maximoff.

So of course when the bell rings and you lift your eyes from a superhero comic, it's her at the door.

A weary sigh escapes you at the almost apologetic expression of the woman fidgeting with her scarf, and without giving her some other reaction, you lower your eyes again.

"Good evening, Y/N." She greets politely, her voice hoarse.

Turning the page, as if actually reading the words crammed in front of you, you retort, " We're closing soon, so make it quick."

A smile plays on her lips at your response. "Well, I guess that'll be up to you." She retorts, and you frown in confusion, looking up only to watch Wanda turn the sign from open to closed, and lock the door.

You feel your face warm from the lust glint her eyes acquire, but you manage to raise an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you came all this way to murder me."

She chuckles playfully, approaching at a slow pace while her hands work to remove her coat and leave it on top of one of the endless stacks of books in the reception area. "Is the place empty?"

You bite your lip as she puts on a show to remove her gloves, almost losing the train of thought. "Not really." You mumble, catching the other woman's brief disappointment and hesitation. Closing the comics in your lap to store them under the counter, you clear your throat. "There's an employee area behind this door." You let her know in a husky tone, and Wanda glances behind your shoulder for a moment before stepping around the counter. 

You hold your breath at having her so close now, but she doesn't break the short distance between your faces, leaning in to touch the doorknob. You take a deep breath, and her free hand seeks yours in your lap.

She entwines your fingers together and it takes you a full moment to notice the ring missing in hers. Wanda smiles when she realizes you understand.

"I signed the papers this morning." She whispers it as a secret between you, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb and enjoying the way your skin feels warm. "I was going to write, to let you know, but I decided I wanted you to have me entirely."

You swallow dry, shuddering at the confession. "Oh, that's... nice to know." It's all you manage for the moment, surprised you can still hear her speak when your heart is so loud in your own ear drums. Wanda bites back a mischievous smile and opens the door.

"Come, you can show me how much you appreciate my fairness."

You feel your face burn and grunt in embarrassment. "You're so full of yourself." You mumble, not resisting the tug she gives to get you inside. 

Barely inside when the door closes behind you, your back hits the wood and desperate hands tug your uniform jacket open. Wanda's gasping breaths mingle with yours as she kisses you roughly. 

Her hands work at your belt, but you slow the frantic pace to something so intense and intimate that Wanda melts against you, a moment later green eyes staring up at you tearfully.

"I didn't lie." You begin to explain hoarsely. "There are three customers in the café. They'll notice if we... There's no rush, Wanda." You smile at her tenderly, your hands on her cheeks. "Have dinner with me tonight. You can walk me home."

Her eyes sparkle with happiness, and Wanda nods in agreement, kissing you as a promise. One she will never be ashamed to fulfill, doesn't matter if not even the law allows it.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff oneshots #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader

[sometimesanalice]

Bad Idea

Summary: After being deployed, all Bradley wanted was to have a fun night out with his friends and let loose. That is until he sees the woman who broke up with him, who he still isn’t over.  At his bar. With another man. And then he is in the mood to make some bad decisions. 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader

Warnings: mutual pining, a little angst, smuttt. Minors DNI

Length: 6.3K

After being deployed for three months, Bradley had been looking forward to getting off that carrier and having a night out with his friends. Having a couple more beers than he should, kicking Hangman’s ass at pool, maybe flirting one of the many tag chasers that frequented the Hard Deck.

He wants to let loose a bit. Just for a while. 

The team is scattered around the bar. Some are hovering around the pool table, a few others hogging the dart board. He’s seated at one of the stools around the pool table, half listening to Fanboy recount some of his amusing antics during basic flight training in between lining up his shots, when he feels Phoenix nudge his arm to get his attention.

“Oh shit, is that…” she starts and trails off. 

He turns around in his seat expecting to find some friend from a former squadron or someone they went to TOPGUN with, and instead he sees you. 

The woman that he has spent the last three months trying to get over.

And you’re here in front of him looking entirely too comfortable with another man.

“Is that Zach Collins she’s with?” Phoenix asked pointedly, being decidedly unsubtle as she studies you and your date. 

“Sure looks like it,” he grunts. He lets his eyes linger on you, absorbing the shape of your curves. 

You are just as pretty as ever. The summer had been good to you, all your sun kissed skin was on display in the strappy open back top you were wearing. 

There’s a cluster of freckles on your right shoulder blade, he can’t see them from here, but he remembers their exact placement all the same. 

He feels the low pull in his stomach, not surprised in the least that you still have this effect on him. He wants to trace those straps with his fingers, wants to see if your skin is just as smooth as knew it to be.

You should be here with him.

Collins was fine. 

Bradley had worked with the engineer a few times in the past, and there wasn’t anything wrong with the guy. Except for that one time he asked one of the new female engineers to make the coffee for the team’s weekly debrief, which he was quickly put in his place for.

He was just boring as fuck. 

And apparently somehow lucky enough to have caught your eye.

“Damn, I really liked her,” Phoenix lamented, watching as your date handed you a drink, “What the hell did you do to send her into Collins arms?” 

“Thanks for the support, Nat,” he grumbles, down the rest of his beer in one go. Squeezing the empty glass a little too hard when he sees Collins checking out your ass as you leaned forward to chat with Penny above the noise of the bar. 

“But seriously, Rooster, she was so into you,” she continued as she turned back towards him, looking at him scrutinizingly, “There was no way that she would have been the one to end it with you, so what were you thinking letting her go?”

“Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t just bet on that.” He was regretting downing his beer, he’d need another one if Nat is going to give him the third degree.

“Hold up, she dumped you?” she asks perplexed, her eyebrows pulling together.

“Yup.” The word was flat and hollow even in his own ears.

He’d spent most of his free time during that deployment working off his feelings in the weight room. 

Instead of counting his sets, he was thinking about you and racking his brain trying to figure out what went wrong. Going over the night you broke up with him over and over again. Pushing himself until his arms shook and his legs couldn’t support the added weights. Combing through everything he could think of, only to come up with nothing. 

You hadn’t been dating that long, but you had made him happier than he had felt in a long time. And he thought he had made you happy too.  

He had been so into you.

And now you’re here at the bar he used to bring you to and standing close to Zach fucking Collins instead of being tucked under his arm.

Smiling at Zach fucking Collins instead of grinning at him.

Politely chuckling with Zach fucking Collins instead of unabashedly laughing with him. 

Bradley hated the feeling settling in his stomach as he watched you give Zach fucking Collins your full attention. He can still remember how good it felt to have it directed at him. How warm it made his chest when you turned the full force of your smile on him.

You must feel the intensity of his stare or of his wishful thinking because you turn to scan the bar, and he swears he stops breathing for a second when your eyes snag on his. The smile freezing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

If it wasn’t completely obvious before this, it’s even more clear to him that he is absolutely nowhere near being over you. And with you looking at him now, he doesn’t want to be. 

He can’t quite read the look that’s in your eyes, but it makes his gut twist with longing.

And then Zach fucking Collins is putting his hand on your bare shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. 

All Bradley knows in that moment is that he needs to talk to you right fucking now. That he wants you back.

“I need another beer,” he announces, tapping his knuckles on the table. 

“That seems like a bad idea considering who is currently occupying the bar. How about I go get the next round?” Nat suggested, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Funny you’d say that, since that’s exactly what I was thinking too.”

He had an idea coming together, he couldn’t claim it was a good one, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Rooster.”

“Phoenix,” he retorted, “Remember when I covered for you when you were hooking up with that civvy in the barracks? I’m calling in the favor, Nat.”

“Why do I feel like this has the potential to be a bad idea?” she muttered, shaking her head as she slid out of her chair.

As he watches Natasha weave her way through the crowd, he realizes there are a variety of ways this could backfire. But he pushes all those thoughts out of his head when he sees her striking up a conversation with the engineer, providing the distraction he needs to talk with you alone.

He saunters up to the bar, admiring your profile as he gets closer. Raising a hand to flag Penny down as he settles down next to you.

“It’s good to see you, Rooster. It’s been awhile. Another one for you?” Penny asks, and he feels you stiffen next to him. 

“Thanks, Penny. It’s nice to be home. And I’ll take a pint of the Pale Ale too, please.”

Bradley watches as Penny briefly glances at you. He gives her a small nod in confirmation as she grabs the glasses to pour the beers. 

She slides them over giving him an entirely too knowing look before turning to help another patron. 

“How have you been?” he asks as he passes you the beer, noting that your perfume hasn’t changed since he’s been gone.

“I’ve been fine, Rooster,” you say mildly. 

“You look good,” he murmurs softly. 

He’s not surprised when you that, instead choosing to make small talk since your date was conveniently occupied, “So…How long were you away?”

“Three months,” he says leaning a hip against the bar to face you.

He sees as you put it together, that he’s been gone almost as long as you’ve been broken up.

“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe. But you didn’t need to do that,” you say gesturing to the drink.

The one you are nursing is still over half full, but it feels right that he should be the one buying your drinks. 

“What’s one beer between…” he pauses for a moment, letting his gaze playfully rake over you before settling on, “Friends.”

Your eyebrow ticks up pointedly, “My ex probably shouldn’t be buying me a drink when I’m on a date with someone else.”

We don’t have to be.

“Tell me, what’s Collins bringing to the table?” he asks jerking his chin towards the dull engineer. 

He tried to swallow down the flicker of irritation that sparked when he said the other man’s name, but the frustration wells up in his chest.

“Don’t,” you say sharply, your pretty eyes flashing, “You don’t get to act jealous, Rooster. You are the one who wanted to break up with me.”

“What are you talking about?” he presses, feeling his brows knitting together, “You’re the one who broke up with me.” 

“Stop. I may have beat you to it, but I heard you talking to Jake,” your voice had gone tight, and you wouldn’t look at him, “You told him how you wanted to end it, but weren’t sure how to do it. So I did it for you.” 

This conversation was not going the way he hoped it would, and now he was more confused than ever.

“Wait, what?” he asks settling a hand on your waist to turn you towards him. He genuinely had no clue where you’d gotten that from, “I didn’t want to break up.”

“Seriously, Rooster?” Your eyes shoot back to him and he can see your temper flaring there.

Shaking your head at him in frustration, you grab his hand and pull him away from the bar to a quiet corner of the bar. 

He’d be more smug about how you’ve ditched your date for him, if his mind wasn’t all over the place trying to figure out what the hell you were talking about.

“I came out on the patio that night to see if you and Jake wanted another round, and I heard you. ‘I don’t know how to tell her, and we’ve only been together three months. It’s just too much.’ Does that sound familiar?” you questioned, raising your chin at him in a challenge.

Of course, he remembers that night. 

As if he hadn’t played it over and over.  He remembered how withdrawn you had been when he had come back inside with Jake. You ended things with him less than thirty minutes later.

And now he knows why. 

It hadn’t been him. It was a misunderstanding. A conversation taken out of context. The pressure in his chest that had been building up eases.

He can’t erase the last three months, but he can fix this. He needs to fix this.

You look so hurt, and all he wants to do is pull you to his chest. 

“I didn’t want to wait around for you to break my heart, so I made it easy for you and ended it myself instead,” your voice thick.

He is waiting for you to realize that your hand is still in his.

“I wasn’t going to end it,” he promised as he steps closer to you, squeezing your hand, “That night on the patio? I told Jake about my orders, I wanted to ask him how he had navigated the long distance with his girlfriend. I didn’t know how to tell you I was going to be shipped out last minute and gone for basically as long as we had been together.” 

“The deployment you just came back from,” you whisper, as realization dawned on your face.

He nods and searches your eyes, willing you to be back on the same page as him. He hasn’t stopped wanting you, not once since you broke things off with him. 

There is a hopefulness in your eyes for the first time since he approached you at the bar, and he’s encouraged.

And then he sees your face fall.

“I… I should get back to my date,” you mumbled, dropping his hand and looking away from him.

“I wasn’t going to end it,” he repeats firmly, ducking his head trying meet your avoidant gaze.

He needs you to hear him. 

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done,” you tell him quietly as you walk back to Collins where he was still wrapped up in whatever small talk Nat had been forcing on him.

“The hell it is,” he says to himself, resolve firm in his chest. 

You tried to keep up with Zach as he chattered away, you really did. But try as you might you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the propulsion system his team was developing. 

You hadn’t been back to the Hard Deck since you ended things with Bradley.

When Zach had suggested bringing you here, you balked a bit at the thought of running into any of the people you had met and befriended through Bradley. 

At the idea of being known as just his ex. 

At the possibility of seeing him again.

It had been three months, you should be over him. Hearing his name shouldn’t still make your heart stutter in your chest. Seeing him in that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt shouldn’t make you long to take it off of him.

He looked so good tonight. 

You didn’t know how it was possible, but he looks even more broad now than he did before.

Bradley Bradshaw’s baseline is handsome, but tonight it’s been a test to keep yourself from admiring the way the cuff on his shirt hugs his biceps. How the ridges of his abs stand in relief against his undershirt. Did his jeans always grip to his thighs like that?

And god, you feel terrible about thinking about him like that when you’re literally on a date with another man. But not guilty enough to stop yourself from checking him out every chance you got.

And there was no avoiding him, Bradley was everywhere. A constant reminder of just how royally you fucked everything up. 

He was already at the bar when you were planning on getting about her round. 

Hovering near the jukebox when you were about to go feed it some quarters to put a stop to the painful and unending Jason Aldean retrospective. 

Needless to say, your glass remained empty, but thankfully someone changed the music and one of your favorite bands was playing over the speakers. 

It is impossible not to feel his presence, his energy. You swear there are times you feel his heated gaze on you, the sensation of it sending pulses of electricity down your spine. 

He wasn’t going to dump you.

Bradley seemed too good to be true, so when you overheard that conversation you’d let your mind spiral instead of just talking to him. Because what else could he have been talking about other than figuring out how to end things with you?

A deployment apparently. 

He had called and texted afterwards, and you deleted every single attempt without looking. Why didn’t you just talk to him?

And you couldn’t see a way to get back to how things were with him, now that he’d seen you self-destruct in spectacular fashion. 

Why would he want to be with you after you dumped him so casually, like it didn’t mean anything. Like he didn’t mean anything to you. 

God, you were such an idiot. 

Zach had been gone for a few minutes. He went to get another drink for himself, and had apparently forgotten about it since he was engaged in deep conversation with someone you recognized as a member of his team from the introductions earlier in the evening.

You’re startled by a warm hand skimming your shoulder. Surprised when Bradley pulls out the chair next to you, his knee nudging yours as he settles into it like he belongs there. 

“How long have you been seeing him?” he asks, leaning in to your space.

“It’s our third date.”

You weren’t sure what he was playing at, but if this was going to be one of the last times you saw him, you were going to let yourself have this. Even if it was a terrible idea.

“How’d you meet?”

“As one does in the twenty-first century, on an app,” you retort, tapping a couple fingers on your phone that is resting on the table.

Truth be told, you had only installed it after a drunken Girls Night a couple weeks ago. Zach was the first person you’ve been out with since Bradley. And you were quickly learning that he had set the bar high.

“Our story is better,” he rasps, there was an unwavering intensity in way he was looking at you. 

“Well, not everyone gets a meet cute, Rooster,” you sigh resigned. 

“We did.”

You can smell faintest hint of bourbon and bitters on his breath. He told you once it’s usually his liquor of choice when he is in the mood to make some bad decisions. And you briefly wonder whether or not that’s the reason why he is drinking it tonight.

“Yes, we did,” you admit softly.

Bradley Bradshaw had literally knocked you off your feet before he figuratively swept you off of them. 

He had been absolutely mortified when he had accidentally collided with you during a game of dog fight football when you had been walking along the beach after brunch with your friends. He had all but carried you up to the Hard Deck to help clean you up and to make sure you were ok.

Concern turned into flirting, “you’re too pretty for a concussion” he’d told you. While the line was cheesy, the snug denim shorts he was wearing were decidedly not. And then flirting turned into an invitation to meet up later that day where he could properly apologize in the form of a great night out and drinks on him. 

And a couple weeks later you were spending most nights in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets and sandalwood scent. 

You feel instantly warm remembering just how good it felt to have Bradley’s strong body pressed against yours.

“Has he made you come?” 

“Jesus, Bradley!” You shoot straight up in your seat, looking around wide-eyed trying to make sure no one overheard that particular comment. Shocked by his words and the way he seemed to know where your mind had wandered. 

“Do you remember our second date?” he questioned, his voice dropping lower. He’s even closer now.

Of course, you remembered. 

There was no way you could ever forget the way he had worked you with his fingers in his Bronco parked at a scenic viewpoint along the coast. How it felt to writhe on his lap with your dress rucked up your thighs as he rasped dirty praise in your ear. 

You had never moved that quickly with anyone. Had ever felt that much chemistry with anyone. Had never wanted anyone as much as you had wanted him. Had never come as quick with anyone else.

You felt hot all over. With confusion. With longing. 

“Bradley,” you warned, it sounded weak in your own ears.

“I wasn’t going to end it,” he steadfastly tells you again for the third time this evening.

“I heard you the first time,” you snap.

You are entirely too aware of how you fucked everything up. It’s been the only thing on your mind all night since he told you.

“You sure about that?” The irritation in his voice, matching the heat in his eyes, “Then what are you still doing with him?” 

It wasn’t fair for him to toy with you like this. He said it was a beer between friends. He hasn’t said anything that makes you think he would give you a second chance. That door was closed, but it didn’t hurt any less. Not when you were still so into him.

“He’s… nice,” you mutter unconvincingly, fiddling with your coaster.

“Nice?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Bradley. Nice.” You can hear how defensive you sound, but somewhere in the back of your mind realize that you’re having a better time arguing with Bradley than you’ve had all night with Zach.

“Baby, Collins is as bland as that gluten free bread you keep trying to trick yourself into liking.”

You can’t control the laugh that escapes you in that moment. 

Surprised that he remembers that about you, almost as if he knew about the sad sandwich you had lamented over during your lunch break earlier in the day. When you promised yourself that you’d stop buying that terribly unsatisfying gluten free bread.

The heated pressure that has been building between the two of you breaks. His eyes soften and the tension leaves his face as the corner of his mouth twitches up in a half smile.

“I missed that sound,” he murmurs, as he traces a thumb along the delicate skin of your wrist. “I thought about it a lot on that carrier. Thought about how much I missed you. Your laugh. Your smile. The sounds you made in my bed.”

Your breath catches in your throat. And for the first time that night you think there might be a chance.

You don’t know, but you’re desperate to find out. Your heart is pounding, as you open your mouth to ask the question-

“Hey, Bradshaw,” Zach interrupts, returning back to the table with a fresh drink in his hand, “I heard you just got back.”

You jerk back, surprised by just how close you and Bradley had gravitated towards each other during the conversation. How had you not noticed that your faces had been scarcely a few inches away from each other?

Bradley’s unwavering gaze is still on you. You can feel him willing you to ask the question that had been on the tip of your tongue, but you barely knew where you stood with him. 

Could barely think around him when he looked at you like that.

“Do you guys know each other?” he asks curiously, glancing between the two of you as Bradley ignores him in favor of staring at you.

“Uhm, yeah. You could say that,” you hedge uncomfortably, trying not to fidget in your seat.

“Biblically,” you hear him huff under his breath, for your ears only.

“Well, the dart board is finally open. How about we play couple rounds?” Zach suggests, settling his hand on your shoulder.  

You can tell by the way Bradley is flexing his jaw that he wants to say more. And you’re dying to throw yourself at him, to ask him if he would ever want to open that door again. 

But you had read him so wrong the first time, you didn’t trust yourself not to get it wrong again.

So you slide off the stool instead, “I’ll see you around, Rooster.”

Phoenix told him he was watching you with a stalker-like intensity, Bradley argued he was just being observant. 

“And don’t even think about sending me back in to try and distract Collins again. Frankly, I think you owe me a favor now. That guy is painfully boring,” she’d complained.

If you didn’t want him, he hoped you could figure out a way to be friends. Even if you did have history. 

And friends tell each other the truth, like when they’re dating the human equivalent of a rice cake. Or that they should forget about the rice cake completely and come back to him instead.

He noticed when your beer was getting low, and just so casually stationed himself near the bar for another chance to talk to you. But when you didn’t move for a refill, he had to resort to more drastic measures.

It had hurt him to pay for and queue up that terrible country music, but he figured it would be worth it if he could catch you by the jukebox, knowing that you hated this music just as much as he did.

But you when didn’t get up to change it as he expected you to, he’d put on one of your favorite artists instead and made his way back to his friends. Trying to figure out how else he could get you alone to talk. 

Usually he didn’t mind an audience, but tonight he didn’t want anyone else getting in between the two of you.

He thought he would finally have his moment to make you see reason and choose him when Collins had gotten waylaid at the bar, probably talking about math equations or whatever the fuck engineers talked about. 

But that conversation had only left him half hard and entirely desperate for you. And he didn’t feel any closer to getting you back than he had at the beginning of the night.

Having been banished by Jake for being “pathetically sulky”, he was sitting at the bar by himself staring into his untouched Old Fashioned. Which worked just fine for him, he wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone other than you.

Bradley wasn’t ready to be done. 

He could see it in your eyes that you weren’t ready to be done either, but he couldn’t figure out why you were holding back. He thought he had been clear that he still wanted you. 

Now that you knew it had all be a misunderstanding, he’d respect your decision if you didn’t want to be with him. But he needed to hear you say it. To tell him to his face.

You couldn’t actually think that Collins was a good match for you. You deserved so much better than that guy. 

And he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you turning down the hallway towards the bathrooms, and he struck with another bad idea. Probably the worst one of the night. 

Shooting up from his seat, he catches up with you in a few long strides. And then recklessly, he is grabbing you by the wrist as he pulls you with him into the Hard Deck’s storage room.

You whirl on him instantly, “Oh my god, Bradley! What the hell?”

He knows he had been toeing the line all night, but now he’s made you angry. 

And it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. The blaze in your eyes, the way your chest is rapidly rising up and down. Even in this dingy, dimly lit room you’re still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Sorry, sorry,” he tries to soothe, putting both his hands up. “But you and I both know we weren’t finished talking before Collins-”

“Enough, Bradley. You weren’t going to end it. I get it, I messed up!” you cut him off, putting a hand to your chest, “You’re already so hard to move on from, but I don’t think I can handle anymore of you dangling what could have been in my face. It’s not fair that you won’t let me try, if you don’t want me that way anymore.”

You turn to leave and his heart squeezes in his chest. This can’t be it. He doesn’t want this to be the end.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he desperately reaches out, pulling you against his chest. You tense as he wraps his arms around the front of you, “What gave you that idea? Talk to me. Please.”

It feels right to have you in his arms again. To hold you. And you fit just as perfectly against him as he remembered.

“I feel like you’re giving me mixed signals. You called us friends at the bar, but then you tell me all the ways you thought about me while you were deployed,” you admit quietly, “I don’t know what to think. And I already ruined a good thing, I don’t want to be wrong again.”

He would prove just how serious he was about you in whatever way you wanted. In words. In actions. Or if you wanted him to fuck some sense into you, he’d happily oblige.

Nothing mattered more to him than figuring this out with you. He wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers a second time. 

“Let me be as clear as possible, I don’t want you to move on from me. Because I still want you,” he murmurs, letting his lips skim up your neck to the shell of your ear, “I never stopped wanting you. So if you want me, baby, you’ve got me.”

“As easy as that?” you ask cautiously, almost disbelievingly.

“As easy as that,” he promises.

“Of course I want you, Bradley,” you breathe, as you settle your hand over his where they are wrapped around you, melting into him, “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, not when I still like you so much.”

“Then I’m yours,” he grins, as he nudges your temple with his nose.

He likes the way your name feels in his mouth, as he kisses your neck and whispers your name against the skin there.

“Bradley,” you whisper. 

“Does it feel like I want to be just friends with you?” he asks, pressing himself more firmly against curve of your ass.

“No,” you moan, as you lean your head back against his shoulder, where it belongs.

“You’ve got me,” he murmurs, as he presses line of kisses along shoulder, “Now show me how you want me, baby.”

Taking his left hand, you guide it up to rest against your chest. He can feel how rapidly your heart is beating under his palm, he thinks his is going just as fast. And with the other, you smooth it down the front of your body until its resting low on your stomach.

You squeeze his hands briefly, letting go of them for long enough for you to unbutton to your jeans, before encouraging his right hand to go lower.

Bradley lets his fingers lightly trail over the top of your panties. He groans, recognizing them by feel alone, “Are these the little blue ones I got you?”

“They’re my favorites.” You tell him as you arch into him, trying to get his fingers to go lower still.

“I’m the only one who gets to see these on you,” he growls as he pulls out his hand to yank down your zipper.

“Yes, only you,” you keen, “There hasn’t been anyone else since you. Only wanted you.”

He feels frenzied now as he shoves your tight jeans down to you knees.

He wants you needy and writhing for him. He wants to feel you wet for him. He wants you to come chanting his name. He imagined taking you so many ways when he was on that carrier, he almost can’t believe he gets to have you this way again.

“You’ve got me.”

It’s a promise. It’s a vow.

He thrusts his denim clad knee between your thighs to hold you open as he slides his fingers back into the pretty light blue panties he bought for you.

You cry out when his fingers connect with your clit. He works you there with deliberately slow circles, satisfied by how wet you already are for him.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he says, resting his forehead against your temple. 

“Me too. Missed you so much,” you murmur as you stroke his forearm, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bradley.”

He shushes you dropping a kiss to the crown of your head, threading the fingers of his free hand between yours, “It’s all good, baby. We’re good.”

It’s not long before you’re trying to grind against his hand, eager for more than what he is giving you. He wants to draw this out, wants to tease you a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please, what?” he lightly prompts. 

“Bradley, it’s been so long,” your breath hitches when he switches up his movements of his fingers, “Please.”

“I know, baby. I promise I’ll get you there. But you’ve got to wait a little longer,” he croons in your ear, adding a bit more pressure, “Not going to let you come on my fingers when you’re still on a date with another man.”

You whine as he rubs his mustache along your neck, he feels the shiver that courses through your body. Smiling to himself that he is the one who is making you feel good, not anyone else. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says as he tightens the circles he is rubbing on your clit, “You’re going to tell Collins it isn’t going to work out. Then, we are going straight to the Bronco and you can ride my fingers like you did on our second date. And after you come, I’m going to take you home and show you just how much I’ve missed you.” 

The sweet kisses his is placing on your cheek are in stark contrast to his filthy promises. 

“I already did.”

“Say that again,” he demands, slowing down the movement of his fingers. 

“I already ended it,” you repeat with a whine, as your hips roll against him desperate for the release he is withholding from you.  “Told him I wasn’t over my ex. I just want you, Bradley.” 

The zipper of his jeans is almost painful with how hard he is, but he is too absorbed in the feel of you to bother unzipping himself for a little temporary relief. He’d willingly suffer as long as he got to hear your sweet whimpers and sighs at his hands.

He was yours.

“Did you delete that stupid app?” He didn’t consider himself a possessive man, but you made him greedy for more.

“Been a little busy,” you quip breathlessly, as you reach around to palm him through his jeans.

“I want to watch you delete it as you fuck yourself on my cock,” he grunts into your ear.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Bradley.” Your hand flies up to the back of his neck, nails biting into the skin there.

You are even wetter now beneath his fingers. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He wanted to hear it.

“I’m yours,” you pant into his neck, licking a stripe up the tendon there, “I’m yours. Now make me come and take me home.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he promises with a grin as he redoubles his efforts against your clit. 

There’s no teasing in the way he precisely works you. 

He remembers the way you like to be touched. He knows how you’ll sigh when he rubs you up and down. How you whimper when he alternates the circular caresses against your hypersensitive skin. The way you clench when he glides rough figure-eights over your clit.

“I’m so close.” You’re trembling in his arms now.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, switching his attentions to the diagonal strokes that always gets you there quickly.

“Just you,” you plead into the crook of his neck, “Just you.” 

You take the hand that’s been guiding the motions of your hips against his fingers, and settle it over your breast. Whining as he thumbs at your hardened nipple.

“You’ve got me, I’m yours,” he rasps softly.

And then you’re shuddering in his arms you fly apart for him. Body shaking with the aftershocks he pulls from you as he softly teases you with one gentle fingertip, as he coos sweet praise against the shell of your ear.

Bradley removes his hand from your now thoroughly ruined panties, and you spin around to wrap your arms around his neck. He tightens his hold on you as you come down, letting one hand make soothing circles on your lower back.

After you’ve caught your breath, you pull him down for a kiss. Your tongue languidly sliding against his. He’s missed having your lips on his.

“Can’t believe I got you off on my fingers before I got my mouth back on you,” he mutters against your mouth.

“I liked it,” you smile.

“Good,” he says as he helps you to pull your pants up, “Because we’ve still got a date with the Bronco and my bed tonight.”

You kiss his cheek as he redoes the top button for you.

“How do I look?” you ask as you try to fix your hair and straighten out your top.

You look like you’ve been fucked.

The smirk on his face must give away his thoughts, because you’re lightly hitting him on the chest with a shy smile before turning towards the door.

“Wait a second,” he pauses you with a hand to your wrist, “Your bow.”

You glance over your shoulder at him curiously.

The flimsy strings of your backless top hand managed to come undone. He skims a finger down the exposed skin, like he had been dying to all night, before retying it for you.

“There. You’re perfect,” he says ducking down to kiss your shoulder before opening the door for you.

He was hoping that the coast would be clear for when the made their escape, and instead he sees Nat leaning against the wall at the end of the hall looking entirely too smug for her own good.

“You owe me a favor,” she says pointing at him, before turning that finger on you, “And you, owe me brunch. Preferably with bottomless mimosas. Because I just saved both your asses from getting caught by Penny. And now I owe Jake a favor. So, you owe me big time.” She gives you both a knowing look before walking away.

You bury your face in his chest laughing.

“I’ll make us some reservations for next week,” you call out to her retreating figure, and Nat throws a thumbs up into the air not breaking her stride. And then you’re looking up at him, “Come on, let’s go. Don’t want to be late for our reservations in the Bronco.”

He grins down at you feeling lighter than he has in months as he leads you out of the bar tucked away under his arm.

Just where he wants you to be. 

Just where you’re supposed to be.

We’re saying “Yes to the Ex!”

Thanks for reading! 

You can check my other stories here!

Tag List:

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[shibaraki]

FILL MY LITTLE WORLD (RIGHT UP) ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: you are employed by aizawa shouta to nanny for his vulnerable adoptive daughter eri while he’s at work. as time passes you find yourself equally smitten with them both, longing for a more permanent place in their family.

tags: AFAB reader, no quirk au, single dad aizawa (+ adopted daughter eri, + prev. foster son hitoshi), professional nanny reader, falling in love, fluff and angst, slice of life, child ptsd + past child abuse (eri), aged-up characters, best friends touya + rumi, brief talk of a parent with addiction (hitoshi), domesticity, handling of child trauma, finding your place in a family, eventual smut, vaginal oral sex (reader receiving), a lot of kissing, no power dynamic 

wc: 20k+ (oops) 

The address the agency had given you is still open and blinking in your Maps app, a congratulatory finish-line flash to indicate the end of your journey. Given the lack of response after five minutes of firm knocking, you’d have half a mind to consider that perhaps, this was the wrong house. 

“Maybe I should call…” you mutter under your breath, fiddling with the touch screen and huffing as you rebalance the slipping rucksack back onto your shoulder. Despite all your years of professional nannying, the first face to face meeting always left you slightly anxious. You’d been granted access to your new employers profile after your initial verbal interview — Japanese male in his thirties, over six foot tall and employed as a criminology professor at an esteemed university, unmarried with a single adopted daughter — but all the contact you’d had with Aizawa had been either mediated by the agency or over the phone. No photographs. The only thing you truly knew about the man thus far was the low baritone of his voice.

Not forgetting the air-tight requirements that came with caring for his daughter. You had been chosen specifically for your experiences with vulnerable children, and apparently for the fact that you held some modicum of self defence skills. A protective parent, then. While the gritty details had not yet been shared with you, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. Eri, a young girl of only six years, would be in need of more than just someone to keep her occupied; you would have to be a genuine care giver, someone she could really trust. Another adult in her life that signified safety. 

The title of a ‘Nanny’ was typically looked down upon. Armed with a bachelor's degree and qualifications in child development, professionals still viewed you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter. But you loved your job, and not just because you were good at it. You liked the kids. Their odd sense of humour and their thought processes, their imaginations and the lens through which they viewed life. You enjoyed expanding their worlds, and the simple yet joyful way that they would expand your own. 

More than that, the kids liked you. They appreciated your honesty, how you would treat them with respect and truly make the effort to listen to their thoughts. Given that your services were hired, the adults around them were often too caught up in their careers and personal affairs to indulge in anything more than provision of the basics. It wasn’t something you could judge them for —  the new parents you have worked with in the past were genuinely wonderful and most, if not all, carried a large amount of guilt for having to leave their children at home. 

You only hoped that you could help this family, too. 

Tongue pressed into cheek, the pad of your thumb hovers over the contact name. Aizawa Shouta. Just as you're about to hit call, you are startled backwards by a series of weighted clicks. Counting, it sounds like there are two locks alongside the turning of a key, and soon you are meeting the gaze of a slightly dishevelled man. 

He appears out of sorts, as if he’d only just woken up. You think, absentmindedly, that he is handsome. Broad and built beneath his loose black shirt, square framed glasses low on the bridge of his nose and overnight stubble shadowing his jaw. He pushes the hair loosely curtaining his face back and tucks it behind both ears, sleeves rolled haphazardly to his elbows. The good looks are almost enough to distract you from the neon pink sweatpants. 

“Ah… hi,” you smile sheepishly, straightening your back and withholding a wince as your bag almost slides from your shoulder a second time. “You’re Aizawa Shouta, I presume? We spoke over the phone”. 

The man grunts an affirmative, scratching idly at his cheek. He inhales deeply, sharp eyes almost too quick to catch as they appraise you in the doorway. “Yeah. You’re from UAtots?” 

You nod, “I am”. 

He mirrors the action, though the movement of his head is heavier, swaying him forward. Part of you is concerned he’s falling asleep on his feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” stepping back into the threshold, he beckons you into the house, “we were taking an afternoon catnap”. 

You step inside, a zip of apprehension along your spine at the proximity. He’s warm at your back where he waits to lock the door behind you. “Catnap?” you smile, sliding off your shoes and lining them up neatly by the others. You step aside so he can bypass you into the hallway, inhaling to steady your nerves and catching the smell of his cologne. 

“Eri likes to sync weekend meal times alongside the cats so she can nap with them afterwards, since eating makes her tired,” he explains, walking you further into the house, his voice entirely monotonous as if the answer should have been clear to you. “I’m sure if this goes smoothly you’ll be subject to plenty of them yourself”.  

Well, you’re not sure you could object being paid to nap. 

You’re shown to the living area, finding it littered with evidence of a young child. Toys, colouring pencils, storybooks. Chaotic, but it is organised chaos. Splayed out in the centre of the main room is a double futon, covered with wrinkled mismatched blankets that have been thrown aside. You take note of the shelves and bridge-like structures built into the walls, some leading to little alcoves or cushioned platforms. One looks to be occupied by a mass of black fur. 

Right, cats. Aizawa hums contemplatively. “She must’ve run off to her room after I left to answer the door. Not a fan of strangers”. 

“Can’t say I am either,” you reply empathetically, chewing the skin of your inner lip at his lack of response. He guides you towards the kitchen; somewhat narrow in comparison to the other rooms, but still bright where the sun bleeds in from the large patio doors. The cabinets are a deep green, almost black in colour, and there are potted plants dotted along the windowsill. One particular pot has a small sign pierced into the damp soil that reads property of eri. 

In your distraction, Aizawa has returned to your side with a full binder of paperwork. He sets it on the counter and pulls back the cover, revealing a numbered contents page. “I don’t expect you’ll read this now, but it’s a detailed folder of Eri’s circumstances and conditions,” he continues on the end of a shallow sigh, “I’ve also written up a list of instructions for a number of issues that might arise in my absence, along with emergency phone numbers — both my personal and my office, as well as some others in case you can’t reach me”. 

The folder was fine. Appreciated, actually. You had endured far more peculiar parents than him, and his anxious preparation warmed you. Nerves were always to be expected, and not just from the children. 

“I’ll make sure I familiarise myself before my next visit. Thank you, Aizawa-san,” you say, awkwardly gripping the strap of your bag. Drawn to the movement, his eyes squint somewhat at the things you were still carrying. 

“Drop the honorifics, I hear that enough at work. And you’re welcome to leave your bag somewhere. Take a seat and I’ll bring out something to drink”. 

Sitting on the far left of the couch, your rucksack tucked beneath the side table to avoid any accidents, you spend the brief wait absorbing the smaller details of the room. A fair few of your wealthier clients were largely minimalist, their homes brimming with things that sticky fingers should not touch. This house, while big for a two person family, is lived in. You think there might be nothing better than a well loved space. 

When he hands you the hot mug of herbal tea, your fingers slip through the ringed handle with care. Even the kitchenware is well loved, a pattern of multicoloured paw prints surely but steadily scrubbed away from the ceramic with each use. “Thanks,” you murmur, ducking to blow against the rising steam. 

The cushions dip as he sits adjacent to you, appropriately distanced. “Eri will be out once she’s ready,” he tells you after a drawn out sip of his drink. You can’t help but wonder how it didn’t scald his mouth. “I thought I could tell you a bit more in the meantime”.

You nod eagerly and take a sip of your own. It burns, and your tongue numbs. 

“I’ve legally been Eri’s father for around a year and a half now, and she’s not a difficult kid by any means. Though she is quiet and struggles with anxiety she’s still kind, still curious,” his voice drops into something gentle, staring at the rumpled blankets and warming at the sight. “She’s always thinking of others first. She loves to read fantasy books about heroes and villains. Her imagination is vast, and because she can’t write well yet she has taken to acting out stories”.

“Very rarely does she fuss, and she loves to help with chores and cooking, which I can’t complain about, but,” Aizawa continues to speak and you drink while you listen, the tea cooled and more tolerant as you swallow, “…it doesn’t sit right knowing they’re done in an effort to placate me”.

To placate, to appease. To keep the peace, and keep their caregiver happy. After all, a happy caregiver is one that doesn’t raise their voice, or their hand. “It’s entirely normal for you to think that,” you offer comfort in the brief silence, “you aren’t the first parent who has felt that way”. 

He finally turns his head to meet your gaze, and you find yourself remaining firm under his scrutiny. Then, imperceptibly, his eyes soften. “I just want her to feel safe. To act her age and enjoy her childhood,” then you hear a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, “I might actually shed a tear the day she finally throws a tantrum”. 

You laugh with him, close mouthed and short. An amused hum to cover the twist in your chest. Working with vulnerable children never got any easier to stomach. Some would respond to neglect by loudly seeking your attention, creating mess and yelling until their stomachs hurt. Others, like Eri, would shape themselves into timid dolls that never spoke out of turn, because attention often meant harm. 

With lips parted to speak, you’re stopped short by an inconspicuous creak from the hallway. Observing from behind the door frame, only partially visible from where you’re sitting, is a little girl with silver hair. Your eyes meet, and she flinches back into hiding. 

“One sec…” Aizawa mutters offhandedly as he gets to his feet, first leaning down to set his cup on the floor. Footfalls loud enough to be heard, the slight clearing of his throat to announce his approach, he slips into the hallway. 

Like him, you place your drink down and listen. Minutes pass, and while you aren’t privy to the conversation you do hear a pair of muffled voices. Aizawa’s tone is soothing, and he waits patiently for his daughter's timid responses. Eventually, he reappears with her shielded behind his thigh, and weaving between her feet is another cat; chunky, flat faced and grey. Unperturbed by the uncomfortable atmosphere, it slinks into the room to sniff the abandoned mugs and ignores your presence. 

Wordlessly asking permission to greet her, Aizawa encourages you forward with the tilt of his head. Luckily, you had a fool proof introduction when it came to children, one that covered all the bases. Eri’s grip on her fathers pink sweatpants visibly tightens as you close the distance, but she doesn’t run. 

Lowering yourself to her height, you begin with a smile and your name, then you give her your birthday. What follows is your favourite animal, then your favourite colour, one thing you like and one thing you don’t. 

It’s easy, simple, and likens you to them in a way they can understand. To a young kid, that’s all the important stuff. 

Knowing more about you seems to set her at ease somewhat, and she steps out from behind her father after an encouraging look from him. In an abrupt motion she considers holding out her hand, but then chooses to clutch the hem of her knitted sweater. 

“My name is Er— Aizawa Eri. My birthday is the twenty-first of December…” she glances towards Aizawa once again for his approval, only continuing with his assurance. “I like cats and the colour green. I think apples are the best fruit and… I don’t like mean people”. 

You nod, humming in agreement to assuage her anxiety. “Mean people can be pretty scary. And I like cats, too,” — the grey-coated feline by the futon chooses that moment to yowl, pawing at Aizawa’s half empty mug — “I haven’t been able to properly meet yours yet. I’d love it if you could introduce us”. 

Give her a chance to control the narrative, and in doing so allow her to tell you about something she feels confident about. It’s an infinitesimal thing, but all things are so much bigger when you’re young. 

She straightens her back, shoulders no longer hunched forward to make herself appear small. Unobtrusive. No — there is now a dim glimmer of pride in her eyes as she shuffles forward, leading you back over near the sofa and pointing ahead at the noise-maker. 

“That’s Bastard. He’s old and kinda grumpy but that’s just ‘cause he’s scared,” Eri looks almost as if she is pleading with you, concerned you might misunderstand her beloved pet’s behaviour. “Some people hurt him before, so… so he’s just trying to protect himself. If you’re slow and let him sniff you I think it’ll be okay”. 

Some people hurt him, huh. Your thoughts subdue your initial amusement, though you try not to let it show in your expression. Heeding Eri’s guidance, you crouch at her side and allow her to extend your arm towards Bastard with her chubby fingers clasped around your wrist. He glares suspiciously between the two of you, but eventually his tail lifts into a clear signal of hello as he leans forward to huff at your fingertips. 

He turns his nose up at you in what you read as disgust and stalks off to the other end of the room, but according to Eri’s bouncing feet it was a success. “He didn’t bite you or anything,” she pats your shoulder in a reassuring manner and Aizawa snorts as he collapses into the sofa cushions. 

You’re pointed in the direction of the other cat — the black mass that has been curled into a ball atop one of the shelved platforms since you arrived. “Her name is Sourpuss. She likes to sleep a lot and we cuddle sometimes,” she explains seriously, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Following a pause she adds, “don’t worry. She won’t bite you either”. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” you reply, a pleasant kindling in your chest at her efforts, “I look forward to getting to know you all better”. 

“Bastard and Sourpuss aren’t related but they are brother and sister. Just like me and ‘Toshi, right?” Eri glances over to her father to wordlessly seek his reassurance, cheeks dipped in pink. For a moment, the exhaustion in Aizawa’s body seems to bleed away, and he smiles affectionately. 

“Exactly right, Eri,” he murmurs. 

You straighten your knees at the sound of Bastard’s mewling, rewarded quickly with Eri’s devoted attention. Returning to your place on the couch, you lean towards him and subtly ask about the aforementioned ‘Toshi’. 

“He was already my foster son when I first took in Eri as a foster. I cared for him on and off from age fifteen to eighteen”. Recognising your poorly veiled curiosity, he adds, “Hitoshi used to watch her for me but he recently started university. Her psychologist suggested someone more permanent and better equipped for her care”. 

You nod amicably, turning to watch Eri as she offers her own small hand to the older cat. Bastard leans forward with nostrils flared, turning his head into her palm, and she beams. A stark contrast to how the feline felt about you. With the hope that you aren’t overstepping you ask, “You didn’t adopt him too?” 

“Fostering isn’t just a doorway to adoption,” he replies. In your periphery you see the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he observes his daughter. “More than anything, I think it’s about keeping families together. Hitoshi was old enough to decide for himself, and I still view him as a son regardless of the legalities”. 

Somehow, the answer leaves you feeling scolded. “Right, of course,” you bow your head slightly in apology and his lips thin into a subtle smirk. Smothering the spark of irritation, at both his amusement and your own attraction, you push the conversation forward. “Then, uh. Will I be meeting him too, eventually?” 

“I’d assume so. If he does visit I’ll make sure you know in advance”. 

For the remainder of your afternoon visit, you observe their family dynamic with a keen eye. Eri’s shell does not fracture much, but you don’t take personal offence to it. She’s polite and friendly, often giving the answers she thinks you want to hear. You eventually join her amongst the blankets, recalling how she found confidence in helping around the house. 

“Shall we put these away together?” you suggest. The little girl smiles and spring comes again. Under the moving sunspots cast through the living room window, the two of you get to work folding up the cotton linens. Eri is so preoccupied that for the first time that day, she doesn’t realise when her father leaves the room to wash up the mugs. 

You understood Aizawa’s initial worry with Eri’s need to prove her worth around the house; but you also think, perhaps, she is just grateful and happy to help him. 

When you leave, they both walk you to the front door. Your first goodbye to her is a perfect rendition of your first hello — little hand fisted into neon pink, shielded by the man she trusts the most. “Will you come back?” she asks quietly. 

“If your dad is happy for me to,” — excitement pushes Eri onto the tip of her toes, her head barely reaching Aizawa’s hip — “when I do, we should read some stories together”. 

Later that night, after a long hot shower to swiftly rid you of the tension in your spine, you settle into a heap of cotton and pillows with Eri’s binder. The cover is hard, like cardboard, and coloured blue. It’s heavy in your lap, and you find that daunting. Not because you don’t think you can handle it, but because you already want to do right by them both. 

After the contents page comes the emergency contacts. You recognise Hitoshi’s name, and beside each other person is their immediate relation to Aizawa and Eri. Her school office. His best friends. Aunts. Uncles. Coworkers. A part of you unravels with the knowledge that the two have such a support system in place. 

Then comes the lists. Food Eri does not like — she enjoys sweet things but tart is much too sour for her palate — and the medication she can not take. There are steps to follow if ever she gets sick, instructions on where to find the first aid kit and her favourite hot water bottle. More important than anything else, there is a page dedicated to summarising her triggers and subsequently how to handle them. No sudden touch, noise cancelling headphones always on her person, explain what you’re doing and why as you do it. 

It’s incredibly comprehensive. The latter part of the binder is made up of her initial caseworkers notes, or observations from her psychologist that are important to her care. You learn that Eri might sometimes dissociate, is prone to freezing up when frightened and struggles with communicating her emotions. There are scars littering her body that need to be tended to once a day with steroid cream, but Aizawa notes that he will do that himself. She has little appetite and no tolerance for the dark, spending a lot of her earlier days in her father's care completely withdrawn and selectively mute. 

Given her history you can’t blame him for covering all his bases; part of you wonders if he had put all this together in order to test you, to see whether the responsibility would scare you off. He would be mistaken, if that were the case. After all, you’d promised to befriend Bastard by the years’ end. 

The next time you see Aizawa Shouta, he is in fitted suit pants and a dress shirt. It is sharp and tailored, accentuating the broad strokes of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. As he bends an arm to fiddle with the cuff, the material strains around his bicep. He looks handsome, and decidedly uncomfortable.

“Good morning,” he mutters, turning away from you expectantly. You amble after him once the door is shut, walking into the kitchen. Throat bared and leaning against the counter, he quickly downs the remnants of his coffee with an dissatisfied sigh. 

“Bad nights sleep?”

A brow lifts as he glances up at you. You try not to focus on the absentminded swipe of his thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Always,” he replies. “You want some?” 

Your mouth thins as you try not to smirk. “No, that’s okay. Thank you though,” you follow the movement of his hands as he leaves the mug in the sink, then extends his arms to expose his wrists and roll the cuffs mid forearm. Despite arriving at the time he’d given you, he appeared to be in a rush. You make a note to come earlier tomorrow, if only to make things a little smoother. 

Eri’s footfalls are light, barely audible as she totters into the kitchen — you try not to think about the implications — and she stops short when she sees you. “Good morning Eri,” you greet warmly. 

“Good morning,” she mumbles. 

“You look very cute,” dressed in burgundy dungarees over a white long sleeved shirt, cuffed at the ankle to reveal frilly cream coloured socks, her hair has been tied haphazardly into two long pigtails. “I like your Sailor Pluto clips!” 

“Thank you…” she pokes at the clips on her crown self consciously, timidly pleased at your recognition of them.

Aizawa circles around you both as he heads back into the hallway, “Sailor Pluto? I thought she was called Sailor Moon”.

Eri follows at his heels. “No dad, Sailor Moon has yellow hair,” she corrects him kindly, waiting by the coat rack as he bends to slip into his dress shoes. “But it’s okay, I get them mixed up sometimes too”. 

Her attitude is a testament to his parenting. In the short time you’ve spent with them he has only ever spoken to Eri respectfully, in a manner that grants her agency.  He clearly allows her to make decisions herself and experience the consequences of them, bad or good. 

Before he has the chance to reach for his bag, Eri releases an abrupt sound of protest and grabs it herself. Both of her hands fit around the long handle with room to spare, and it drags by her feet as she gives it to him. 

“I appreciate that sweetheart,” he replies, taking one of the jackets from the hooks and linking it through the crook of his arm. “Which one did I like best again?”

“Sailor Saturn!” 

Dark hair curtaining his sober expression, he nods sagely and repeats, “Sailor Saturn”. 

They are so caught up that, for a few minutes, you are nothing but a fly on the wall. It’s endearing, the interactions sitting warm like honey-lemon tea in your chest. At the sound of your laugh, Aizawa’s eyes snap over to your silhouette in the kitchen doorway. Eri glances between the two of you, and appears to hamfist the precious little courage she has to ask you, “Who—  who’s your favourite?” 

“I really loved Luna the cat,” you say. Her mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’ before it spreads into a small smile. You get the inkling there was no wrong answer; you feel accomplished anyway. 

“Right,” Aizawa cradles his hand against her head to garner her attention. She peers up at him, eyes wide. “Her teacher is aware you’re going to be picking her up but you’ll need to give her the code just to be safe,” he says, settling the strap of the satchel across his chest. “It’s ‘candy apples’”. 

“Got it”. 

Gentle, he pinches her cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “Be good, alright?” Eri hums, giving her enthusiastic agreement, “have a fun day at school. And make sure you hold hands when you cross the roads”. 

“You too dad,” her demeanour is slightly more unnerved at his imminent departure, fingers tightly curling and unfurling against her palms. “Be good at work”. 

He laughs — low and undeniably fond, almost like a purr in his chest — and then he leaves. 

Eri is cautious in his absence, but she still answers when you speak and smiles when you look at her. You can see what Aizawa meant by her placating nature — she’s scared to upset you, because she doesn’t yet know your boundaries. There was not enough time to have that discussion before school, but you endeavoured to do it some point later. 

Her bag is garish, block colours of red blue and yellow. Different from her Sailor Moon accessories, the bento and backpack are distinctly Hero themed. Hanging from the zip is a cat keychain that looks suspiciously like Bastard, and it bounces as she moves. 

The walk isn’t too far. The early air is still tepid and the morning traffic has mostly dispersed. You see other parents with their children, laughing and scolding and sprinting ahead. Eri remains at your side, hand in hand, and quietly tells you about a dream she had the night before. 

Confoundedly, “Dad told me he doesn’t have dreams”. 

“Maybe he does dream, but he forgets them as soon as he wakes up,” you reply. Her nose wrinkles slightly in a way that suggests she is thinking quite hard, and eventually she nods. 

A staff member waiting by the gate recognises Eri and bids you both good morning, motioning for her to join her classmates. “I’ll see you after school, alright?” you say. The hand clutching at your fingers squeezes twice before letting go. 

You linger for a few seconds longer, only to observe as Eri runs up to one boy in particular. His cap is red, too big for him and adorns two horns at the front. When she dips her head forward, you know it’s to show off her hair clips. 

With five hours to spare, you decide to utilise the time by clearing up the house. There’s not much mess but it’s better than nothing, and if you spent most of it nosing around the spots you’ve yet to see, that’s no one’s business but your own — aside from Bastard and Sourpuss, who still deign to return your affections and settle for stalking you at a distance.  

Mounted bridges and tastefully placed hiding spots can be found in most of the rooms; Aizawa’s respect for individual space clearly extended to his pets as well. There are fragments of them everywhere, in tchotchkes and photographs and framed stick figure pictures. You catch glimpses of the other people in their lives, of Eri much younger than she is now, of a too-big violet haired boy curled up in one of the cat beds. 

In each new room, you make sure to tidy up somewhat. Aizawa seemed the type to be particular about what fell under the definition of mess and what did not, and in that vein you stay away from reorganising anything that looks important, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up any stray socks. 

One place you do not enter is Aizawa’s bedroom. Eri’s, however, has been left wide open. 

The first thing you see is the feelings chart taped to the door, a small magnet with her likeness has been stuck in the ‘nervous’ box. Inside is surprisingly neat for a child her age. Cohesive. There are hues of yellow and grey along the walls, a white canopy hung over a brass ring in the corner of the room to curtain a pile of pillows. Her bookshelf is full, the pages are worn, and her plush toys have been organised in a line from big to small on her mattress. 

There is a faux vine of leaves threaded through the bed frame, dotted with small LED lights. She must like plants, you think, recalling the greenery in the kitchen. You’d have to look it up, or ask her father. 

Aizawa hadn’t requested you do any specific chores, but you don’t do well with idle hands. So you throw the collected laundry in the washer, clean and dry the plates and cutlery from breakfast, and refill the coffee machine with the beans kept in the cupboard. It’s the good stuff, expensive. You almost regret not accepting his offer that morning, but the dregs left in his mug smelt far too bitter. 

At the start, as you’re acclimating to the chosen family, you are always left slightly aimless. Floundering. Especially with parents that have never hired a nanny before; they seldom understand how much the role entails, and struggle with letting go of certain responsibilities. 

Thus, with precious little left to do, you end up leaving early to pick up Eri later that afternoon and taking the long route. You press the divots of the house key into your palm as you walk, metal cool in the late spring sun. With time to observe, you admit that Aizawa’s neighbourhood is undeniably beautiful. Passing a large nearby park, eyeing the climbing frames and slides and triple seated swings, you wonder if Eri would like to go there with you on occasion. There’s even a quaint, sectioned off area of land privated for communal gardening. 

Maybe, on your scheduled weekends, you could take her to other places too. The aquarium, the movies or the science museum. You’d have to ask Aizawa’s permission. 

Waiting behind the gate is another member of staff, different from the woman stationed there this morning but she greets you amiably all the same. Other parents are flocking into the grounds, some grouping together for small talk while others — such as yourself — lingered off to the side and waited alone. 

When the children begin rushing through the school doors, it is organised by class number. Eventually you spot the little boy with the horned cap rushing towards his own guardian, but no Eri with him. Instead she is led out hand in hand with whom you presume is her teacher. You smile as she points in your direction and waves, jostling the cat charm on her bag strap. 

The woman greets you first, a slight accent to her words that you can’t place. German, maybe. “Hi! I’m Eri’s teacher, Amano-san. You must be the new nanny I’ve heard all about”. 

“That would be me,” you lower your head into a subtle bow, offering your name in a much more formal introduction than the one Eri had received. “I’ll be picking Eri up regularly from now on. It’s good to meet you”. 

“And you,” Amano grins, the movement pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. At a second glance, you notice a thin silver chain attached to the frames and looping around her neck. Coupled with a green pantsuit and the specks of paint along the lapels, you suspect Eri’s teacher may be the more eccentric type. Easy-going and comforting. 

“I hope you don’t mind but I have to ask for Aizawa-san's passcode,” Amano motions flippantly with her free hand as she speaks, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “it’s just school policy, ya see. Can’t let the baby go without it — only for the first few pickups while the staff get to know you”. 

“That’s perfectly fine. He informed me you might ask,” Eri’s head pivots back and forth between you both with bright, inquisitive eyes. Giving her what you hope to be a secretive look, pointer finger pressed to your lips and voice hushed, you add, “the code is ‘candy apples’”.

Rewarded with a minute grin, Eri toddles over to your side as soon as Amano lets go of her and bids you both goodbye. Reflexively, you reach to fix her pigtails where they’ve come loose but think better of it — she does not react well to sudden touch. “Oh,” you pause to count the remaining clips in her hair. “One of your Pluto’s is gone”. 

“I gave one to Kota… he’s my friend”. 

Kota. You silently mouth the name, and resolve to remember it. “Is he the boy with the cool hat?” 

Eri hums a quiet affirmative, peering up at you and shyly extending her hand. You take it, giving a gentle squeeze. “That was very nice of you to do,” you tell her. 

“Dad said love grows by sharing,” she replies. You notice that when she speaks about her father, her voice is a little louder. Proud, even. “That’s why he always lets me have his last pur— Purin cup”. 

You try to picture Aizawa eating something as sweet as crème caramel and bite back a smile. He seems more the coffee jelly type. “Your dad is right. I bet Kota felt very special to have Sailor Pluto”. 

You return home the morning route, in consideration of Eri’s short legs and growing exhaustion. Bastard and Sourpuss are theatrically pleased by her arrival, yowling in glee as if she’d been gone for months. They must recognise that you brought her back, and you try not to preen when the older cat begrudgingly rubs his gums against your ankle. 

“Okay, Eri. What first? Homework or food?” 

She wrings her hands together, pressing palms flat to her stomach. Face pinched, she looks like she wants to ask something of you. “Eri?” 

“Can I…” her courage diminishes and she glares at the floor, scuffing socked feet against carpet. Lowering your body to her level, knee clicking as you crouch, you wait patiently with a small smile. You can see her internal battle with your own eyes, squeezing her own shut and taking a deep breath. 

The drawn out exhale follows, and the tension bleeds from her muscles. Still unable to meet your gaze, she asks, “Can I show you my room first?” 

You don’t tell her you have already seen it. Children deserve to be treated with respect, but some truths were worth keeping. Guided to the grey-yellow painted space, Eri is in her element. Homework and hunger can wait a few more minutes — strengthening her comfortability with you was much more important. 

Once she starts she can’t seem to stop. Eri shows you all her magpie clutches of treasures and brings them to your lap, a back and forth skitter across the room. The knit blanket from when she was an infant, a pretty rock she found with her dad, a friendship bracelet from someone called Izu. Her love has no limit; you’re holding old shells and framed pictures and memory-imbued trinkets. Each one receives equal praise, indulgent sounds of awe that warm her cheeks. 

‘Love grows by sharing’ is what she’d said. Steadying the heap gathered in your arms, you think you feel your heart swell three sizes. 

By afternoon's end, Eri is fed and sitting contentedly in the middle of the living room. Aizawa had texted that he would be home soon, so you were simply enjoying the peace until then. Having tucked one of the couch cushions under her knees to alleviate the discomfort, all her focus is on the worksheets splayed out along the floor. Fractions. You grimace, watching Bastard bat at her pencil as it moves with her wrist. 

Click, click. Eri is at her feet in less than a second. The sound of a key entering a lock and turning, the door jarred open as Aizawa shoulders into the house with arms full of assignments. He doesn’t startle as his daughter knocks into him, but he does scowl at the realisation that he can’t hug her. You hover cautiously in the hallway, “Ah— do you need some help with those?” 

He looks up, the frown smoothing into something a little more vulnerable. Exhausted, but in a different way than he was this morning. You feel a misplaced sense of guilt for not having a cup of coffee ready for him. 

“No, I can manage,” he replies, kicking off his shoes and lining them up half heartedly with his foot as he readjusts his grip. “I’ll be fine once I can sit down”. 

He sets the papers on the far end of the couch and upon reaching the opposite, Aizawa falls back heavily into the cushions with a relieved groan that strums at your centre. You smother the feeling. Eri trails after him with her features pensive, carefully gauging his mood before doing anything further. The moment he limblessly opens his arms to her, she is clambering up beside him and pressing to his side. 

Intuitively, you hold your breath. You take the opportunity to really appreciate how gentle Aizawa is with his daughter. Cradling the top of her head in a show of affection, his eyes slide from Eri to where you stand in the doorway. You’re left sheepish under the expectant lift of his brow, all too aware of how awkward you’re being. “How was it today? Anything happen that I should know about?” 

“Everything went well. We held hands to and from school, didn’t we?” Eri nods, and the large hand in her hair further disturbs her pigtails, though she doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ve eaten our dinner and finished her fractions worksheet for tomorrow. She’s been nothing short of a dream”. 

“A dream, hm?” he nudges Eri gently to encourage her to smile, and she does. “Always is”. 

“I met…” your attention is quickly drawn to the tail curling around your leg. Sourpuss barely spares you a glance when she butts your calf, as if to pass it off as a simple accident. You don’t bend at the knee to pet her, because you know she’ll scatter and leave you pitifully rejected. “I met Amano-san,” you continue, “I introduced myself since I’ll be seeing more of her. She’s very… friendly”. 

Aizawa’s mouth lifts in subtle amusement, “She’s boisterous but a good teacher. Eri loves her,” he pats his thigh as Sourpuss approaches, ready as she leaps onto his lap. He’s content, relaxed with his head tipped slightly in a way that accentuates his jaw, the shadow of stubble fading down the length of his neck. You quickly drag your thoughts back into the present before they can drift into inappropriate territory, steeling yourself under his gaze in the hopes he hadn’t noticed. 

“You have your hands full and you’ve had a long day, so I’m happy to see myself out if that’s everything,” you say. 

Eri’s eyes widen, her bottom lip slightly jutted. You aren’t sure whether she is wordlessly beseeching you to stay, or displeased at the thought of not walking you to the door — either way, you allow yourself some pride for having won some good favour with her so soon. 

Aizawa must notice, because his hand slides from her crown to soothe along her back. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, “they’ll be back again in the morning, bug”. 

He’s pensive as he appraises you, perhaps looking for what it was in you that his daughter had latched onto. Whatever he does or does not find, he begins to move. Sourpuss chirps a sharp noise of complaint, jostled from her place in his lap and leaping back onto the floor. “C’mon,” he says, getting to his feet and rubbing the nape of his neck as he clicks it to the left. Then, stubbornly, “I’ll walk you out”. 

The next month and a half with them passes between blinks. You come to learn that even if every day is the same, there are a million ways to do it. And the place you carve into their lives is comfortable. Comforting. 

Your attraction to Aizawa only festers. It seems that at some point, you had won favour with him, too. He begins leaving you offerings of food without explanation, and in turn you have a pot of coffee ready for when he gets home. He isn’t much of a cook and usually sticks to snacks, but occasionally you’ll find leftovers with your name written on a postit note.

Love grows by sharing.

Against better judgement you start finding excuses to arrive early and stay later, and sometimes your conversations linger like his gaze, until the only word left to describe the way he looks at you is ‘fond’. 

Venting to your friends does nothing helpful, since they only encourage you to poke further at the relationship just to see where it’d go. Likened to a yellowing bruise on your arm, you knew exactly what would happen if you were to poke it — it would hurt. 

Worse is, your feelings are not just an unfortunate result of being attracted to Aizawa. You adore Eri, and she likes you too; watches you with wide ruby eyes, collecting your speech patterns and body language like the tchotchkes kept on her shelves. With every reluctant shedding of her shell, a quiet but creative and joyous little girl is slowly unveiled to the world, and you know you want to be there to watch her grow beyond what your contract states. 

At best, you are teetering on the edge of being very unprofessional. At worst, part of you is already one foot in the door and willing to step forward. 

Today you were at the park. The grass is damp, sparse dots of moisture littering the pavements. You peer up mid-step and a drop of rain hits your nose, squinting against the light that bursts through the canopy. There’s petrichor in the air, fresh and crisp. Eri stands at your side at the crotch of the maple tree, watching quietly as the sun shower passes. 

“Pretty…” she whispers, stepping towards the edge of shelter with her arm outstretched, fingers splayed like branches to catch the rain. She does this, but not before first seeking your approval, as she did with most things. The evolving comfort she felt with you didn’t negate any of the survival instincts she’d learnt in her earlier developmental years. 

It hurt to know she didn’t get to have that — the new realisation that she was an individual person, with power of her own that she could wield. You were only glad that Aizawa always gave her a chance to make her own choices. She felt far safer accepting such freedom from him, because Eri knows that he trusts her. He trusts that she will eventually get it right, even if it isn’t immediate. 

His unconditional patience when it came to making mistakes, and learning from them, paid off. You’ve no doubt that it came into practice with his own university students, too. 

“Everything will be too wet to play on now,” your eyes scan the playground, finding the tarmac dark and saturated with water. The sun shifts and bounces sharply off the curve of the slide. You hadn’t been there for more than half an hour, so it was a little disappointing. “What shall we do instead?” 

She rocks on the balls of her feet while she thinks, the end of her sleeve growing damp with every scoop of the oncoming shower. Peeking beneath them are the protective wrappings she keeps around her arms to cover the scars you’ve yet to see. 

Her wet hand curls to form a fist, and she steps back into the shelter of the maple tree. You bend forward and beckon towards you, using the hem of your hoodie to gently dry her off. Minutes pass, and you can tell her lack of a definitive answer is making her nervous. “It’s alright if you’re not sure,” you tell her, quick to assuage whatever thoughts she may be having. 

“Well, I picked the park so— so maybe you can pick next?” she hesitantly suggests. 

“That’s very considerate!” Eri outwardly preens, tucking her chin to her sternum as she smiles. “I think… I’m craving sweet things today. How about we go home and see if we can bake something?” 

It’s as if the rain takes pause and the skies open just for the two of you. There is no puddle left untouched on your walk home, Eri pulling you ahead by the hand, uncharacteristically hasty. Every time you find something new for her to enjoy you feel like you’ve swallowed a drop of sun. Aizawa’s expression in the face of her smile and freshly baked goods make it all the more worth it. 

Leading up the street towards the house, you squint at the sight of a person. Sitting on the doorstep under the overhang is a violet haired man. Young, still a little youthful in the cheeks. Nineteen or twenty, if you had to guess. 

“‘Toshi!”

Eri’s voice draws his attention from the phone in his lap, and when he looks up you’re met by a weathered grin adorned with two vertical rings hugging the left of his bottom lip. 

The spider bites aren’t his only piercings; there are other jewellery cuffed along the shell of his ear, an industrial bar cutting across the cartilage of the other, and glinting in the light are two small spikes through his right eyebrow. Dappled shadows dance across his face, an oversized navy sweater hangs comfortably on his frame and pools around the waist of his tattered jeans. 

You aren’t alarmed when he sweeps Eri into a hug, pleased by her melodic laughter. This was her brother, Hitoshi, presumably, the purple boy you’d seen in some of the framed pictures around the house.  

“You must be—”

His voice overlaps your own simultaneously, “You must be the nanny”.

Prickly. He stands then, keeping Eri cradled in his arms, her own looped tight around his neck as her feet kick happily either side of his hips. No, you think. Protective. And taller than you realised. 

“That’s me,” you reply stiffly. You had no idea he would be visiting today — Aizawa hadn’t mentioned anything about it, so you can only assume he isn’t aware. 

Turning to smoosh her cheek against his own and glancing between you both, Eri is emboldened by the stilted atmosphere. She makes a point to introduce you to Hitoshi, reciting your favourite colour and animal word for word. Like flame to wax, her efforts soften the blank exterior and his expression wanes into affection. 

This time, when he looks at you it is measured. He appraises you much like Aizawa had on your first day. A positive reference from Eri is invaluable, clearly. “I’m Eri’s big brother, Shinsou Hitoshi,” he concedes, the thud of his boots heavy as he steps forward. Readjusting Eri to his hip, he extends a hand and motions to shake your own. 

Years of professional experience has your grip firm out of sheer habit, while his remains slightly loose, the cool metal of his ring pressed to your palm. “It’s good to meet you. Aizawa mentioned that I might, eventually,” you reply. 

Hitoshi hums, though not absentmindedly. “Same. I’ve heard a lot about you”. 

“Mostly good I hope?” you busy yourself with finding the house keys, hoping to get Eri inside to warm up sooner rather than later. “Let’s get you both comfy, then we can get started”.

“Started?”

Stepping into homes’ embrace is a relief, the chill dissipating from your cheeks. “We’re gonna bake!” Eri chimes her excitement from behind you as you toe your shoes to the side, turning to beckon them both inside. Hitoshi quickly closes the door behind him before the cats can slip past, and places his sister back on the floor with a small noise of curiosity. 

“Bake what?” he asks, grunting in exertion as he crouches and begins untying the laces to his boots, wiggling his fingers at Bastard as he bats at the string. Eri mirrors him to fiddle with her buckles, slipping both shoes off and lining them up neatly by yours before looking to you for an answer. 

“I was thinking we could make cookies…Ah!” you bring your palms together in a succinct clap, “maybe we could do melonpan?” 

A subtle tug to the end of your hoodie. “What's melonpan?”

“They’re sweet, melon shaped buns covered in cookie dough,” you explain warmly, slow in stroking a hand over the crown of her head. She doesn’t flinch, almost feline in how she turns into the touch. 

“I’m down for some melonpan,” Hitoshi slides back naturally into the conversation, Bastard held out by the armpits as his long torso hangs limbless. You try not to laugh at the displeasure on his face. “Maybe change into something comfortable and dry first though, bug”. 

Prompted, Eri scurries up the stairs on both hands and feet. “And make sure to wash your hands,” you raise your voice after her. That just leaves you and Hitoshi. 

He glances at you expectantly, inclining his head towards the kitchen as if to say, aren’t you going in?

“Guess we should get the cookie dough done first,” you suggest, taking the lead. 

In Eri’s absence, side by side at the counter, you both fall into a surprisingly comfortable contentment. Quiet murmurings of small talk; while you work on the cake mix he beats the egg until it whites, whisks sugar into the butter until it dissolves. Hitoshi is stiff at first, short in his responses, but he isn’t rude. He’s just cautious, prying gently into your answers but never giving substance to his own. Even in early adulthood, there was an instinct inside him that called to mask the vulnerability within. To feign confidence and guide conversations in a way that conceals him. 

He flowers a little when the topic steers to Aizawa. 

“Did the old man tell you much about me?”

Old man. A decade and then some isn’t far off for him, but you supposed in a barely-twenty year old’s mind it would be. “Just that he fostered you through your late teens. I didn’t pry,” you reply. “I’ve heard more from Eri, really. She looks up to you”. 

He exhales deeply, and you don’t press him to continue before he’s ready. “My mum struggled with addiction…” Hitoshi stares dolefully at the dough cupped between his palms, briefly flickering to the open doorway to check Eri was not within hearing distance. 

“I was so pissed when social services first took me,” deft fingers begin to move as his voice returns, kneading the ball aimlessly in bread flour to smooth out his spike of anxiety. “I loved her a lot, still do. She never hurt me and I thought we were fine, y’know? I didn’t understand it back then. But it got to a point that she couldn’t take care of me”. 

He avoids your gaze, feigning indifference, and it makes you wonder how others have reacted to his story. You swallow against the dry discomfort in your throat, rolling the inner flesh of your lip between teeth. There’s nothing to say other than, “I’m sorry. That must’ve been incredibly difficult for you both”. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. You watch a thought cross his mind, the corner of his mouth curving into a half smile. “I was such a dick when I got here because I thought I’d never get to see her again. But dad sat me down and told me he isn’t here to be my new parent, that his job is to keep me safe while my mum gets better”. 

You recall Aizawa’s words — fostering is moreso about keeping families together — and smile back. “Funny that be ended up bein’ like a parent to you anyway, huh?” 

An amused thrum, the dough in his grasp eventually moulded into what resembled a cylinder. “Yeah. He’s not so bad,” he breathes. 

Eri joins in a fluffy sweater and leggings, socks pulled up all the way to her calves, fingers still wet and smelling of almond scented soap. Her eyes sweep across the room, alight with curiosity. “You’re just in time,” you tell her, discreetly putting the topic of Hitoshi’s mother to rest. “Grab the step from the corner so you can help rub the bread flour into the cookie dough”. 

When she ambles over, gait stilted by the weight of her stool, Eri slots it between you and Hitoshi. Arms held out in front, you help to roll up her sleeves to avoid mess despite the protective compression underneath. 

“Ready?”

“Ready!” 

Chubby fingers take two pinches of bread flour, sprinkling over the cookie dough and patting carefully into shape. You let her take her time with it, endeared by how determined she looks carrying out a simple task. 

Hitoshi supervises her while you begin the first fermentation of the bread dough. It’s lucky, and amusing, that Aizawa has such a random array of ingredients in his cupboards; you didn’t presume him the type to buy things just in case, yet the instant yeast has you sending silent thoughts of gratitude to him through sheer will. 

With the cookie dough now wrapped and put in the fridge, Eri insists on helping you knead the bread dough. “We have to throw it a few times first,” you tell them. 

Hitoshi smirks, “May I have the honour?” 

The pale consistency is sticky and unpleasant as you pass it to him, some caught like glue between your fingers. At the sight of her brother's grimace, Eri pokes at the dough and makes a sound of awe. “It’s so gooey?” she mumbles. 

“That’s why he’s gotta throw it. It’ll be nice and smooth,” you curl protectively around Eri as you explain, remembering her dislike for loud noises. “You might want to cover your ears, sweetheart. There’ll be a big thud when he does it”. 

Hitoshi spreads far too much flour across the counter. Pressing the heels of her hands either side of her head, Eri steps back into your chest at the first impact and gapes as the white powder billows into the air, smattering the length of his forearms. He leans his body weight into the dough as he stretches it, glancing at her for permission and only throwing it again after she nods. 

Gradually, Eri lowers her hands back down as she acclimates, and the next time she touches the dough it is firmer. “You did it, ‘Toshi!” 

“Ye—!” his nose wrinkles and he suddenly dips into the crook of his arm, turning away from the counter as he sneezes. “Shi— Shoot. Bless me”. 

“Bless you,” you laugh at him, trying and failing to wipe away the powder clinging to your own clothes. Somehow the white smudges worsen with the effort, and the flour has even ended up dusting the ends of Eri’s hair. “Next we gotta roll it up. Think you can help, Eri?”

By the time the dough is round enough to satisfy the siblings, the mess has worsened. You nestle it into a clear bowl and cover it with plastic wrap to let it sit — or as Eri had described, you tuck it into a ‘warm bed’.

With time left to spare as it ferments, Hitoshi departs to the bathroom to quickly clean himself up. In your distraction, the sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps does not register. It isn’t until you hear the fond invocation of your names from the doorway that you look up. 

Covered in flour from your hands to your elbows, with the certainty that it is also dusted across your cheeks, you look up to see Aizawa watching you both wearing a small smile. 

“Hi,” you offer lamely. He snorts. 

“What’re you making?” 

A fool of myself, you think. 

Eri’s eyes sweep over the mess anxiously. There is no indication that he’s angry, but her words still falter. She inhales deeply to steady her breathing just as you taught her, counting to four and releasing. Meeting her fathers stare, she strongly replies, “we’re baking melonpan to share!” 

“Is that right?” his eyes squint into a smile and he steps into the threshold, tugging the hairband on his wrist off with his teeth and collecting his hair into a bun. “Got anything I can help out with?” 

“We just—”

“Yo,” Hitoshi interrupts as he slinks back into the room with an easy wave. 

Aizawa’s brow pinches into a frown. “What’re you doing in my house?” he says. You can tell he doesn’t mean it, and judging by the grin pulling at Hitoshi’s mouth, he can tell too. 

“Just wanted to surprise you and Eri,” in closing the distance, Aizawa reaches over to Hitoshi and wraps an arm around him, giving a solid pat to the back of his shoulder. You watch as he squeezes, and they briefly turn into one another’s familiarity before letting go. 

Feeling your stare, Aizawa looks at you. To the people that do not know him, his expression might be unreadable, but you understand the fulfilment there. He appears settled, like having you all there in his kitchen has thawed him. “I hope he hasn’t given you any trouble?” 

“No more than you,” you cajole, dutifully ignoring the smirk plain on Hitoshi’s face. “They’ve both been very helpful”. 

Pleased by your praise, Eri beams as she climbs down from the step stool. “We’re waiting for the bread dough to fer…fer…?”

“Ferment,” you whisper. 

“Ferment!” she nods resolutely, stumbling over to her father to greet him. Before you can warn them, Eri has wrapped herself around his leg and pressed into the side of his hip, black dress pants now embellished with loose flour. 

He cradles her head as he always does, his hand large around her silver crown. She peers up at him with unfettered joy, in their own private, unspoken exchange. You’re struck by the thought that it isn’t only Eri who thrives under his care. Aizawa, too, even as he tires, becomes that much brighter with her. 

The house begins to breathe. It is more alive now than you’ve ever experienced it. From the upper floor is Sourpuss’s distinct yowl as Aizawa heads up the stairs to change, Eri on his coattails telling him about the earlier sun shower. 

Hitoshi is moving around the kitchen alongside you, cleaning up the aftermath of his ephemeral flour-storm and avoiding Bastard’s abrupt burst of energy from the shadows as he darts through the remnants; fading white and sugar plum sized paw prints left in his wake. 

You laugh when Hitoshi chases him, hissing disjointed curses as he tries to wipe away the prints with the sole of his socks. 

When the dough is suitably risen, Aizawa sidles up beside you, shoulder to shoulder. You don’t lean into him, but you don’t move away. Each of you takes a cut, shaping it into the intended melonpan. The spheres wear their cookie sheet coats, dipped in sugar and engraved overtop with clumsy diamond patterns. 

Eri lines them up on the baking tray and you put them into the oven. Calls for her to relax go unheard as she waits with her nose pressed to the glass pane until the buns are finally golden, face heated by the orange glow. 

You sit with the three of them in the middle of the living room, cushions pulled from their spots and rearranged in a tight circle, and something eases into place — a quiet sense of belonging that you’ve never experienced in all your years as a nanny. The melonpan is warm and sweet in your mouth, so soft it almost dissolves on your tongue. “S’good, right?” you hum happily at the taste, finding Eri nodding alongside you with pink cheeks filled and a bright sugar coated smile. 

“It really is,” Hitoshi affirms, almost an air of disbelief as he leans back onto his left hand, savouring his own melonpan with the other. You notice his eyes lazily following the movement in your periphery; Aizawa reaches across your front to brush the grains of sugar from his daughter's chin, his own pastry devoured. 

The man ate unnaturally quietly, and quickly. Maybe he really did have a secret sweet tooth.

In retracting his arm, he glances to you. Thoughtlessly, Shouta wipes the crumbs from the swell of your own cheek. You feel sinnew turn to sand, sifting through his gentle hands. In that split, narrowed second, the rest of the room fell away. You’re returned to your body by the sound of Hitoshi’s pointed cough, and the touch disappears. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, furtive in his avoidance of your stare, “force of habit”. 

The smile you wear is brittle over the cacophonous rush of blood in your ears. Poor of an excuse as it was, you still wonder whether it had any truth to it — ruminating over how he really saw you. 

Soon enough it’s difficult to ignore just how long you’ve overstayed your welcome; atleast, in a professional sense. All five of the Aizawa’s, legal, honorary and feline, walk you to the door to bid you goodbye. 

“Be good, alright?” Shouta calls after you, leaning against the doorframe long after the children have returned to their cushions. His monotony makes it all the more endearing. 

The real paradigm shift comes with a flinch. Aizawa lets you into the house silently wearing a desperate look. He glances to the top of the stairs, but when you follow his line of sight there is no one there. “She froze up,” he murmurs, regret bleeding into his voice as it rasps. “I lifted my hand to pat her head and she froze, like she thought I’d hit her. She’s been avoiding me all morning”. 

You frown, worrying your lip between your teeth. “Is there anything that might’ve triggered her?”

His shoulders deflate, mouth set in a grimace, and you realise then just how crestfallen he is. “Not that I'm aware of. She was fine before bed and didn’t have any nightmares to my knowledge,” — as he bends to pick up his own satchel, Eri’s helpful absence is particularly stark — “if anything goes south let me know. I’ll come straight home if you need me to. We were going to see her psychiatrist soon for a review so I’ll try to have it brought forward”. 

“Alright. I promise I’ll take care of her,” you reply, watching with brows pinched as he turns to the front door. You don’t like the slouch to his back — different to the typical exhaustion. This is defeat. Grief, in some ways. While you cannot hear his thoughts, you know intuitively that he is blaming himself. 

He stops as you grab his wrist, door partially open. Pray tell, what is the right thing to say? 

“Things like this aren’t linear,” your grip tightens, squeezing around his pulse. There’s soft hair under the pads of your fingers, the skin there rough from decades of use. “I’m willing to bet this minor setback isn’t your fault. Bad days happen”. 

“I know,” he rasps, still refusing to look at you. 

“I know that you know, probably better than most,” you smile where he can’t see it. “I just wanted to remind you”. 

You experience a palpable sense of accomplishment when his arm turns, inner wrist twisting and sliding forth until your palms kiss. Aizawa holds your hand and peers at you through the curtain of his hair. As clouds part and the sun pierces through the threshold it refracts in his eyes. In a fleeting trick of the light, you think they look red. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Away at work, the house is too quiet. Eri isn’t a rambunctious girl by any means, but her presence can always be heard. Can always be felt. No pitter patter of socked feet, no muffled laughter, no hushed conversations between girl and cat. 

A part of you whispers how similar it is to being in your own home. But acknowledging that loneliness is another bruise you don’t fancy poking. 

You find Eri curled up in her bed. She has pressed herself to the wall and brought both knees to her chest. The small bundle quakes, cheeks wet with tears that have begun to saturate the pillowcase. Eri keeps her cries unsettlingly quiet, in a way you’ve only ever seen in children afflicted with soul-deep wounds. 

“Eri?” you call out to her with gentle cadence. She is, visibly and emotionally, an animal cornered. You move in closer, keeping to the edge of the room, focused on the worrisome flush to her skin and her laboured breaths. It worsens as you close the distance, a frantic gleam in her eyes. 

“It’s just me, Eri. You’re safe here,” pausing a foot away from the edge of her bed, you gingerly lower yourself to sit on her bedroom floor. “I think you’re having a panic attack, bug. So we’re gonna try to slow your breathing. Can you do that for me?” 

Her mouth quivers, pursed right as she hiccups. Another quick blink, another round of tears. You try not to collapse with relief when she nods, “You’re already doing so well. I know it’s scary right now but you’ll get through this”. 

Despite the frenetic ache in your chest and the instincts in your body urging that you reach for her, you remain as you are. This is ultimately why you were chosen. Years of schooling and experience puppets your body, autopilot taking lead. 

“First we’re going to breathe in through our noses for three seconds, nice and deep so your chest opens up. I’ll do it too,” — motioning inwards with your hands, you inhale until your ribs expand and lift a finger for each second that passes — “brilliant, sweetheart. Now hold that breath in for two more seconds. Ready? One… two…”

The minutes progress excruciatingly slowly. You continue to instruct her, keeping your voice soothing and calm with each cycle of breathing. Gradually, the tension bleeds from Eri’s body and she’s cognisant enough to say your name. 

It follows an aborted reach for you, halted midway and dropping onto the bed, small hand hamfisting the bedsheets. “Is it okay for me to touch you?” you quietly ask. 

With her permission, keeping your movements telegraphed, you shuffle toward the mattress on your knees and wrap your arms around her like one might cradle a baby. 

Pulling her closer to your chest, you realise something is off. There’s heat soaking through her clothes, and in stroking a hand along her shoulders you notice they’re wet. “Eri…?” chin against sternum as you peer down, the back of your hand finds her forehead too hot. 

“Are you sick?”

The question makes her freeze, statuesque where she’s curled against your chest. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers. Unease settles in your gut. 

“I’m not angry, Eri. It isn’t your fault you’re sick, it happens to everyone,” you say, gently brushing the hair away from her face. “Is that why you were anxious today, you thought I would be upset?” 

“They… they get mad”.

“Who does, sweetheart?” 

“Grown ups,” she rasps, her voice thick and cloying in her throat. Steadily, the breast of your shirt becomes damp too. The hand threaded into her hair lowers to thumb away the fresh onslaught of tears. 

“Grown ups can be scary,” you affirm, beginning an instinctive back and forth sway as you hold her. “But not all of them. Your dad, Hitoshi and I won’t be angry if you’re sick because we want to take care of you”. 

Aizawa’s earlier expression flashes unbidden through your thoughts. What he had interpreted had been fear, but not for the reasons he initially thought. Eri was not scared of him — she just didn’t want him to know she was sick. No doubt, if he had caught wind of her fever he would have called off work completely. 

While she doesn’t speak about her past to you, it's clear the adults in Eri’s life before entering foster care had treated her needs as something burdensome. Your gaze drifts to the bandages on her forearms and realise they may have even harmed her for it. 

“I bet these feel all sticky and uncomfortable now, huh?” you’re cautious to trace the protective sleeves with the pad of your finger. As expected, they’re sweaty. 

She readjusts in your grip, a sheen of perspiration across pink skin. Panic at bay, now she is exhausted. “Sticky,” she weakly agrees. 

“Then how about I run you a bath?”

It’s this that leads to you finally seeing the extent of Eri’s scars. 

When you settle her into the tepid water, your eyes do not linger on mottled skin. Expression carefully schooled into something familiarly pleasant, you keep your thoughts in the present, away from the horrific what ifs and the whys. Unawares of your inner struggle, Eri raises her cupped hands steeped with bubbles and blows them across the bathroom with a tired smile. Having earned so much of her trust is not unlike Atlas, the heavens on your back. 

You find Eri enjoys routine even while sick, but she isn’t especially particular about it and for that you’re thankful, as she is forgiving of your initial clumsiness. She uses the lavender bubble bath because it soothes her, not the raspberry scented wash. Eri’s towels are softer and brighter than Aizawa’s, and the difference is important because they are hers. Socks are stifling, so you needn’t lay them out. The nightlight stays on when the curtains are closed, but you still need to leave a crack in the door for Sourpuss and Bastard, who’ve both dutifully stationed themselves outside her bedroom. 

You turn around and fuss with her bedsheets while she changes into something thin and light. The pyjama top is on backwards, and after retracting her arms into the shirt so you can swivel it around correctly, she clambers into the quilts. Dekiru: The Can Do Hero was her chosen story. Satisfaction thrums through your chest as her eyes start to grow heavy, a damp cloth wrung out and placed across her forehead. 

There’s a pull to your sternum as you leave her room, dipoles strengthening and compelling you to stay — to make sure she’s still alright. Bastard and Sourpuss watch you with bright eyes, pupils needle-thin. Something very human in you feels as if they’re saying thank you. 

More importantly, you need to text Aizawa. 

You : 11:16

Just thought to update you. I think Eri might have a virus, or a stomach bug. She’s okay and resting. 

Aizawa Shouta : 11:20

Do you need me to come home?

You : 11:21

We’re okay, but do whatever you think is best. Will let you know if anything worsens. 

When he eventually returns home it is with cold-bitten cheeks and tension in his brow. A long day looks good on him, you think, stray hair falling loose from his bun and the collar of his shirt crooked. “Any more problems?” he asks with veiled trepidation. 

“She’s alright for now,” you don’t bother hiding the wry smile that pulls at your mouth, “I heard all about the different voices you use when you read to her. Apparently I don’t hold a candle to you. Didn’t think you were the type”. 

He holds your gaze with intent, “I’m full of surprises”. 

You exhale a laugh, quiet and warm behind closed lips, “I’m starting to see that”.

“Only just?” his initial teasing slowly retracts, a gradual sink back into melancholy. “Is she really okay?” 

“Still slightly feverish, but her temperature is down from thirty eight to thirty seven…” your weight shifts between each foot as you internally debate how to inform him of the panic attack. Aizawa lends an ear while he removes his coat, and the soft hair on your arm lifts at the chill still clinging to his clothes. You imagine taking his hands into your own and coaxing the blood back to his fingers. 

“Speaking of temperature, let’s get you some coffee”. Already boiled and percolating on the counter, you’d made it in conjunction with his journey home as you always did. A little extra something you enjoyed doing for him. Aizawa would say that you do plenty in taking care of his family — but this was just for the two of you. 

A quiet moment together, kitchen dimly lit in the oncoming twilight. With this, you can warm him from the inside and out. With this, you can tell him without words, I was thinking of you. 

You stand opposite him, boxed into the narrow space. He appraises you from his place by the sink, leaning back casually against the counter. Heat settles in your belly before your first sip. Eyes never leaving yours over the rim of his mug, Aizawa drinks, and hums a low, pleased sound at the taste. 

The sting to your palms tethers you to the present. A light, somewhat floral aroma fills your senses as you inhale. You lift your own coffee to your mouth, blowing away the plumes of steam. It is rich on your tongue. 

Your gaze lingers where he licks his lower lip. “It’s a little different this time. Almost… spicy and sweet?” 

Smile hidden behind your mug, you say, “I tried steeping cardamom with the coffee grounds this time. Do you like it?”

“I do,” he murmurs. He takes another sip, wearing a subdued smile of his own. In the muted light, it accentuates the bags beneath his eyes. Even in his contentment, there’s a pensive air about him that lets you know his thoughts are elsewhere. 

With his daughter. 

“You should know that after you left this morning I found Eri having a panic attack”. 

“Shit,” he halts. Regrettably, the frown is back. “Did she hurt herself?”

“No! No,” you demurred, hastening to reassure him, “I knew what to do. She was scared at first, but I calmed her down”. 

The mouth you’re so enticed by is caught between teeth, his fingers tapping restlessly against the ceramic of his cup. Aizawa sighs, erring on a scoff as he places the half drunk coffee in the sink and scrubs a hand against the stubble on his jaw.

“Do you know what caused it?” he asks. Did I do something wrong? you hear. 

“It wasn’t until she let me touch her that I realised she had a fever. I thought she’d just exerted herself during the attack,” you mirror his actions, setting aside your mug carefully on the countertop. “She told me… before she came into your care, adults would be angry if she needed help or got sick”. 

His eyes are cast to the floor, in a haze almost. He nods but you aren’t sure that your words are registering. Resting against sternum, his hand clenched into a fist. 

“Eri wasn’t scared of you. She just didn’t want you to know about her fever because she feared it would disrupt your work,” and then gently, to truly make sure he understands, you repeat: “she isn’t scared of you, Shouta”. 

He breathes the reality in and slacks against the counter with an exhale, as if the tension had been the only thing holding his strings together. You’re drawn forward by the urge to comfort him, moving into his space with a hand laid overtop fist before you’re able to consider the professional consequences of crossing such boundaries. 

But he doesn’t bat you away or scold you. The warmth of your touch slowly softens his grip until you’re able to unfurl each finger without fanfare. There are faint crescent moons embedded into the heel of his palm. Without speaking, Shouta overturns his wrist and holds your hand again. 

“I thought about what you told me this morning. About none of this being linear,” he continues to speak somberly, his voice so tender you felt you could marinate in it. “Eri started out as a foster with me when she was four. It was awful at the start — constant appointments with doctors and the police and social services. I’ve temporarily fostered a few kids in my time but a case as severe as Eri's was a first”. 

This wasn’t a time to interrupt, just to listen. You can’t look away from him as he looks at you; looks at the space between your bodies where you currently intertwine, like he was memorising every dip and peak of your knuckles. 

“Adopting her scared the hell out of me. Even though she’d become my daughter in every way that counts, there were always times I worried I’d fuck it up. Still are,” he murmurs. You do not shy away when he peers up to keep your gaze. “But you reminded me that bad days are expected, not something always within my control, and not a reflection of my parenting”.

To anyone looking in from the outside, this would be an intimate moment. You and Shouta, curved toward one another like coupled swans. “Thank you,” he squeezes around your knuckles in successive beats as if to press the sentiment into your skin. “For taking care of both of us”. 

The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and you find yourself on the precipice of something more. 

The depths and the possibilities that lie within haunt you through to the weekend. You cannot forget the rough pad of his thumb stroking across your knuckles, the intermingling scent of flora and cologne, or how easily you could have dipped forward to kiss him. 

Eri remains sick for two days and Shouta promises you it’s fine that you stay home. You can appreciate that he wants to spend time with her, to assure her that he is a safe and constant presence in her life. Still, you miss them far more than you should. 

Your best friends don’t take well to moping. Touya and Rumi are not the type to mope — their stubborn, vindictive natures were a large part of why you loved them. You just much preferred it when those qualities were not inflicted upon you. 

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just drink at my apartment?” 

You are dragged to a little hole in the wall Touya had found during your university years. It’s slightly industrial, a wide open space with tall, steel beams spaced around the room. What differs is the warmth; lighting low, muted orange bulb fixtures in the centre of each table casting an intimate glow, accompanied by soft acoustic music overhead. 

A large drinks bar had been built into the centre, corners slightly rounded with stools around the outer — one of which you have taken for yourself. The three of you sit together on the curved edge so you can face one another, Rumi contented to be in the middle. Being here felt similar to huddling around a campfire, or candlelight. Alcohol insulating your bones and loosening your tongue, easy laughter shared with friends. 

You were brought here on a quest for distraction, and yet—

“I don’t think you understand how dire this is,” you bemoan, feeling yourself pout at Touya’s self indulgent eye roll. “He tells me to be good before he leaves now, too. Looks right at me and says ‘be good, both of you’”.

Your initial goal may have been overly optimistic. 

“Like a bit of praise, don’t ya?” Rumi laughs. 

Touya smirks, wiping away a stray bead of soju from his mouth as his eyes sweep across the bar. “Who doesn’t?”

“It isn’t funny,” limp wristed as you swirl the sweet tasting concoction in your glass, Rumi slips her arm along the back of your stool. “I want to kiss him. All the time!”

A hand rubs firm circles between your shoulder blades. At the very least, neither of them are irritated by the topic. Embarrassing to admit, Aizawa Shouta had featured prominently in your group chat over the past month. Most of their responses have been either good natured teasing or detailing complaints about their own love lives, for which you’d been thankful, because at the time you’d only needed a place to vent and an ear to listen. 

Now you weren’t so sure. Heartbeat in your mouth, his phantom touch around your fingers. You knew him sleep mussed and lazy, his low rumbling laugh, the way your name sounds when he smiles. Inch by inch the spool unravels, you take more than you need, left wanting still. 

You couldn’t pretend a line had not been crossed anymore, and you tell them as much. 

“So, we’re actually talking about this now?” Touya asks, waving his hand between the three of you. “I know we’ve been joking and shit, but if we’re getting serious I’ll need another round”. 

Though he acts nonchalant, you can tell Touya cares. Turned inward to face you and leant forward across the bar with his cheek against his palm, the scarred skin slightly glossy as it pulls taut. Where his words say very little, his body speaks for him. Rumi coos and throws her other arm around his shoulders when you reach across, and he reciprocates in taking your hand. 

“Dumbass,” he mutters. “We’re here for you. But I’m not joking about that drink”. You grin, tucking your head into the crook of Rumi’s neck, draped beneath white, to return the hug while she waves over the bartender. Another grapefruit soju, a kirin lager and a cocktail of the night. 

Words come easy when you’re loose-lipped. “I’m anxious that it’s obvious to him,” you say. “Fuck. I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable”. 

“Is this Aizawa guy really the type to tolerate anything that makes him uncomfortable?”

“I think so…”— he is, and he would, if it were for someone he cares about —“…But not without saying anything about it”. 

“There ya go then,” Rumi replies, exhaling happily at the end of a long sip from her pint glass. “And you’ve told us before that he’s always honest with you. What was it you said…?” 

Touya clears his throat and warps the pitch of his voice to mimic your own, “Why is emotional maturity and clear communication so hot?” 

“Fuck off,” you laugh, heat thrumming beneath your skin. You wished you had a stray straw wrapper to flick at him, jokingly adding, “it is hot. I love you, but not all of us get off on being ignored, y’know.” 

“Sue me,” he jests, narrowing his eyes into a drunken glare that at best, looks like a squint. “And I don’t get ignored. I do the ignoring”.

Noticing his empty bottle, Rumi slides him her glass sympathetically, “sure ya do”.

The bar is notably less empty than it had been an hour ago. Not full by any means, but the music has slowly been overwhelmed by the quiet lull of overlapping conversation. Tuning out the lovable bickering at your side, you take a moment to appraise the new crowd. 

Something sinks into the pit of your stomach and you baulk, caught on a familiar sight. 

Fuck, you think. How long has he been there?

There he sits, aglow with the sunset hue affixed to the centre of his table. Hair loose, ebony drapes over his shoulders. He’s in a pale turtleneck sweater, looking distinctly out of place. Beside him a lean man, bright in demeanour and loud across the room; a blond braid follows the line of his spine, tinted glasses resting on the end of his nose. 

A woman approaches the pair, beaming. Curved and soft, wearing a lilac, off the shoulder dress that hugs the line of her body comfortably. She sets a tray of drinks down beside their numerous empty glasses and presses herself between the two, unperturbed by the lack of space. 

A spark of recognition frissons through you. They must be the friends you often see framed around the house; Nemuri and Hizashi, if you remember correctly. 

Shouta’s clear exasperation as he moves to accommodate Nemuri makes you want to laugh. But still, there is a fondness there that rolls over him like mist. He sinks into the arm around his shoulder, surrendering himself to the affection. 

“Oi. What’re you staring at?” You blink, startled by the large hand suddenly waving in your face. 

“He’s here”.

“Your hot dadboss?” Touya mutters, doing a poor job of acting natural as he abruptly turns to scan the room, “where?” 

“Could you be any more fucking obvious?” Rumi cackles, bumping their shoulders and forcing his attention back to the table. “‘Sides, it’s clearly the trio on your two o’clock. Scruffy guy with long dark hair, eyebags that couldn’t legally board a plane — the works”. 

As Touya peers over his shoulder towards Shouta, you release a long, suffering groan, slumping forward with elbows propped on the bar surface to bury into your palms. You hoped a sinkhole would open up beneath you. From behind your hands you hear, “I find your taste in men questionable”.

“Like you have any room to talk,” you glare at him through the spaces in your fingers, “didn’t you fuck a guy that had a poster of your dad over his bed?”

Seated adjacent, Rumi chokes on her drink while you knock back your own. “A poster of your dad? Hasn't he been publicly disgraced in every print media possible?”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not be commenting at this time,” he sneers.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna tell your brothers—”

“—Like hell you are!”

Amidst your friends' loving exchange of insults, your phone buzzes. 

Aizawa Shouta : 21:34 

You handle your drink better than I thought. 

Sensing the playful tone, you pointedly take a sip of another. Glancing up from the screen you meet his eyes across the bar, a smirk hidden behind his scotch glass. Chewing the inside of your cheek to withhold a grin, you text him back. 

You : 21:34 

Look who’s talking. I spy four empty glasses on your side of the table. 

“Are you seriously messaging him right now?” Touya asks dryly, unperturbed by the middle finger you throw in response. Rumi laughs at his side, tucking her chin into the palm of her hand as your phone lights up again. 

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

You sure are paying a lot of attention to me. 

And then: 

Aizawa Shouta : 21:36

But you’re right. No doubt I’ll miss your coffee tomorrow morning. 

A shot glass is placed in front of you. Goaded into bringing it to your lips, you grimace at the burn in your throat. Coffee sounds like bliss. 

You : 21:37 

I’ll miss making it. Who is watching Eri? 

Aizawa Shouta : 21:37

Hitoshi. They’re having a movie marathon. 

You smile to yourself, imagining the apoplectic way in which Eri would likely detail her night to you in a few days. Feeling the weighted stare, you glance up and meet Aizawa’s eyes again, half squinted into a private smile of his own. He nods in acknowledgement and warmth settles in your chest. Rumi, inebriated and loose-lipped, leans into Touya incognisant of his scowl, “Jesus. I feel like I’ve stepped into a romcom”. 

You : 21:38

I can’t wait to hear all about it. 

It is expected that they stay with you after a night out. Your place is closer to the bar — a matter of routine and convenience.  Rumi, lightweight with alcohol and heavyweight with musculature, passes out unceremoniously on your couch before she’s halfway through her large glass of water. 

Touya had sobered up on the walk home. Mostly. Just a two man party, you retire to the bathroom together with intentions of skin care and gossip. He watches you in the reflection of the mirror, bent over the sink and applying the pale clay mask to his face with careless strokes. The colour is almost identical to the faded pink of his burn scars, tight and slightly raised over the swell of his cheek. “You’re not the first person who has wanted to fuck their boss and you won’t be the last,” he mutters. 

“Do you really have to put it like that?” you huff, leaning back against the toilet tank. The seat is closed and cold against the back of your thighs. You didn’t often have time for nights like this anymore, but made sure to pencil them in wherever possible for your own sanity — even if your best friend was the complete opposite of comforting. 

“You’re so delicate,” he rolls his eyes at you, pushing the cat-eared headband further onto his crown to keep his hair out of the clay. Mockingly, he adds, “My apologies. I meant ‘make sweet love to’”. 

Your wide smile cracks the clay dried to your skin as your leg extends to kick him behind the knee, laughing at the hissed string of expletives while he steadies himself. “Dick…” the amusement tapers, a memory of Eri flashing unbidden through your mind. 

“His daughter has had it really rough. She has scars all over her body,” you quietly tell him, fractures forming in the words as your emotions swell. Of all the people you know, you think he alone understands, “it isn’t fair”. 

Touya exhales, clicking the small container shut and loudly dropping the brush into the sink to rinse. Not unkindly, he says, “If I ever meet her we can bond over our shitty biodads. Make an exclusive club”.

You smile weakly at his comment, picking idly at the small wick of flesh embedded in the corner of your fingernail. “They’re both so important to me now, Touya. I don’t want my feelings to mess with this, or to hurt either of them”. 

“It’s not— look,” he huffs, turning to face you where he stands, slumping back onto the counter with a comically serious expression. “I’ll say this once. Your feelings aren’t a burden, and they’re fucking lucky to have you. If the-walking-dead doesn’t want you back it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world, but it does mean he’s an idiot”. 

You might laugh again if you didn’t recognise how sincere he was being. Touya struggled with reassuring others in need and was renowned for giving terrible advice, but he loved you enough to try anyway. Tiled flooring tepid against the soles of your feet, you cross the short distance to hug him, angled awkwardly to avoid getting pink clay on his shirt. 

“Thank you,” you murmur thickly. 

“Better appreciate it. Being nice isn’t my forte,” he knocks his chin against your crown, comforted in the narrow clutch of his arms. “Takes a lot outta me. Kinda feel like I need a cigarette now”. 

“You haven’t had one in a month. Don’t even think about it,” you flick the space between his brows, dodging his retaliation as he reaches to pinch your waist with a less than coordinated stumble. 

Out in the living room on the edge of your coffee table, your phone buzzes twice. 

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

If you’re free tomorrow, can you come over to talk?

Aizawa Shouta : 00:08

Just us two. 

Possibilities ran amok in your head. The anxiety thorning through your chest is reminiscent of the very first time you’d met him. Shouta was not a religious man but if there was anything that man insisted on, it was that Sunday’s are for rest. You knew he liked to lie in, a small weekly respite, and so you hesitated to knock. 

A door you had opened, locked, leaned against and lingered under, now seemed so foreboding. From here on out, you imagine there will be a before and an after. Had he heard you in the bar? Had one of his friends? Or, had you been too obvious, just like you feared? 

Touya and Rumi had practically ushered you out of the apartment that morning, promising to stay behind and wait for an update. Greasy food and camp horror movies were in the wings incase of a broken heart. 

With bated breath, you lift your arm. The momentum of your swing slows until your knuckles are soundlessly touching wood. You really, really didn’t want to knock. The idea of your feelings being spurned far outweighed the desire to see Shouta soaked in sleep and early afternoon sunlight again. 

Amidst your trepidation, the decision is made for you. You pull back at the familiar click of a key being turned, hand now clutched against your chest. The door is opened. 

Belatedly, you notice that his face is clean shaven; hair combed and half tucked behind his ear to display the smooth skin. Absent is the neon pink, today the sweatpants are dark and cuffed around his ankles. You hold his gaze, resolutely avoiding how his shirt hangs loose enough to expose his pale collarbones, and find that each of his socks is a different colour — one green, one yellow. 

“Will you be loitering out here all day?” he asks in lieu of a greeting. There’s an amused inflection to his tone that, at the very least, softens your embarrassment. 

“I didn’t plan on it,” you reply, stepping into the entryway to be embraced by the house’s warmth. Anticipation strums deft fingers through your centre of gravity. Shouta barely moves, a hair's breadth between your bodies as you slip by him, head turning to watch you pass. “Eri isn’t here?”

Bending to remove your shoes, you hear him say, “She’s staying with her aunt Nemuri tonight. Coffee’s brewed, so you can sit if you want. Get comfortable”.

“You made it?” playful in the way you glance toward him over your shoulder, slightly invigorated by how natural this all feels. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s about to fire you — quite the opposite. “I’m a little scared”. 

The first time you’d caved into drinking one of his morning coffees it'd had the taste and texture of tar. It had been nothing short of punishment. As if he was reliving the memory alongside you, Shouta huffs a short laugh. 

“I’ve improved. I won’t be shown up in my own home,” he dismisses you with a wave and heads into the kitchen, “now go and sit”. 

Bastard observes your entrance perched atop the back of the couch, expression etched into a permanent glare. A soft thud follows his leap down, slinking into your lap once seated and rolling his body weight into your stomach. You smile down at him, carding through his soft fur and feeling the vibration of his purr beneath your fingers.

Befriending this fickle little creature is a testament to how far you’ve come with their family. 

“Here,” you look up to see Shouta standing before you, a familiar mug decorated with multicoloured pawprints held out. You take it by the handle, wary of its heat. The other end of the couch dips as he settles beside you, notably close. 

“It smells a little like… cinnamon?”

He hums an affirmative, bringing the rim of his mug to his lips and taking a long sip, unconcerned by the temperature. “I added some to the pot this time. Not too bad”. 

The tawny surface ripples as you lightly blow across it before having a taste. It’s full on your tongue, but in a way that is creamy rather than viscid. You can feel his stare boring into the side of your face as you savour the subtle sweetness of the cinnamon. 

“Not too bad,” you echo with a wry smile, meeting his gaze. Shouta appears uncharacteristically… relieved by your answer. You’d never known him to actively try to impress you. His shoulders relax, rubbing his hand awkwardly along the line of his jaw. 

Without forethought, you blurt, “You’ve shaved”. 

His movement halts, and you regret having said anything. 

“I did,” he replies dryly. “...I was pestered by some very annoying people into putting some effort into my appearance before we had this conversation”

You stroke the pad of your thumb around your mug handle, made restless by the implication. Shouta was always effortlessly considerate of you, but his actions as of late are so obviously purposeful, and you didn’t know what to make of it. “I don’t think you needed to,” you tell him, your voice almost wistful in how sincere it sounds. “The scruffy look works for you. It’s handsome”. 

The contact breaks for a moment as he lifts his coffee in effort to disguise his snort. You watch his throat bob, swallowing deeply. Brow quirked, he asks, “You think I’m scruffy?”

“I think you’re handsome,” you correct, a giddy sensation bubbling in your chest as the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Stop fishing, you said I’m here to talk about something”. 

“You are,” he agrees, abating his mirth and returning to a more serious tone. You immediately miss the warmth. “I’m no good at this kind of thing. But I want to remind you that you can leave, if at any time I make you uncomfortable”. 

Bastard fidgets, but dull claws kneading through your clothes does nothing to alleviate your sudden anxiety. “Alright… What’s— what’s all this about?” 

You can see the breath he takes to steady himself, the internal monologue you aren’t privy to. There’s a discomfort that sinks into his expression, almost like a grimace. Like predetermined regret. Despite your earlier concerns, this was clearly about him and not about you. 

“I admired from the very beginning how brilliant you were with Eri. You weren’t the first nanny we’d been introduced to, but she never took well to any of the others,” as he begins, you tuck a hand beneath the feline in your lap, distractedly stroking his chin. “We both saw something comforting in you. It was unnerving how easily you fit into our lives”. 

Mirroring you, Shouta reaches his free hand across to scratch behind Bastard's ear. “Eri came to love you, and eventually I…” the bridge of his nose wrinkles, lips thinning as if he tasted something sour. You’re both hesitating, teetering over a cliff's edge, wary of the jump. Your pulse beats loud in your ears, and part of you worries you’ll mishear him all together. 

“Over time, I developed strong romantic feelings for you,” he says. In admitting it, the fight visibly bleeds from his body. He sounds apologetic, and it hurts. “I might have dealt with it myself had Hitoshi not told me I was being too obvious. If that’s the case, and I’ve crossed any boundaries with you I want to apolo—”

“Don’t apologise,” you hastily interrupt. “Sorry for cutting you off. I— I didn’t know, but, I like you too”. 

The grip on your mug is shatteringly tight. He stares at you unblinking, eyes widened in imperceptible surprise. “You do?”

“I thought I was embarrassingly obvious,” You laugh weakly, seconding him another glance. He’s still watching, a light shade of pink creeping up his neck. “I’ve been feeling so guilty. Not only about crossing professional lines, but because I don’t want any of this to hurt Eri”. 

“Then we’re on the same page,” he concedes. 

Your reciprocation sees a shift in atmosphere. As you both soak in the words, and all the consequences that may follow, his hand gradually slips beneath Bastard’s chin and brushes against your own. Fingers twitch, gluttonous, the moment held in suspension. 

And then they’re spreading, unfolding like a flower in bloom. Your palms align and stems intertwine. Shouta holds your hand like it’s something precious, filling the spaces between your fingers. Bastard remains incognisant of the world around him as he sleeps, resting his head heavily against your wrists.  

“Realistically,” you begin again, after a brief silence. “Where would you want this to go? Between us”. 

His grip tightens, and he runs his thumb along the points of your knuckles. “Well. I initiated this discussion knowing things likely would not be the same again after,” he murmurs gently. “Best case scenario, I hoped either we would come up with a schedule that kept more concrete boundaries in place so my feelings wouldn’t disrupt your relationship with Eri, or I’d get lucky and you’d want to build something more with me”. 

More. Maw. The aching hunger in your heart is suddenly startlingly prominent. The very thing you’d been wanting for, offered to you on a silver platter. Knowing he had always planned to keep you in Eri’s life strikes a chord, and you feel like you might cry. 

Squeezing his hand back, you blink away the sting in your sinuses. “This is… slightly overwhelming”.

He smiles heistantly. You never thought you’d see the day that Aizawa Shouta looked shy. “Do I need to get the feelings chart?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “I’m just happy. This is a big thing, and it’s about more than just us, but for now... I’m happy”. 

Then, with the lines in the sand patently smoothed over, you relinquish restraint and lean into his shoulder. He rests his cheek against your temple, and you shape around one another instinctively. “If I could be the one to pick, then I think I’d choose to build something more with you”.

“Yeah?” There’s a raspy baritone warming his voice that pulls at your centre. You want to curl up next to it like kindling. 

“Yeah”. 

“So,” he turns his head and his lips are softer than expected along your skin. “You wouldn’t mind if I took you on a date?” 

“I wouldn’t,” you breathe. He hums, a sincere happy little sound. 

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

The mug of coffee, still held in your right hand, is cold. Bastard remains heavy, spread across your lap like a blanket. You can feel Shouta’s apprehension, the uncertainty that comes with drawing new lines on a blank slate. Again, you repeat, “I wouldn’t”. 

He doesn’t fumble. Shouta rests his drink beside the couch, a fleeting loss of his warmth, and then he’s back to take your own. All without releasing your left hand. Bastard complains when your legs move, knees turning inwards to face him as Aizawa moves to cradle your face between palms, and the feline departs your lap, stray hairs dotting your clothes. 

A sense of weightlessness floods through you, fingers entangling into the fabric of his shirt to keep yourself tethered. He reveres you for a moment, eyes lingering on your expression as he brings your foreheads together. This close, you can see a faint scar curved along his cheek that you had never noticed before.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.

Heat pricks at your skin. You can feel his breath on your lips. “Hurry up,” you insist. 

The lilt of desperation in your tone inspires a lazy grin, “You could say please”. 

You had no problems parting with your dignity. “Please”.

And so, he kisses you. 

You’re certain you would be formless without Shouta’s hand smoothing along the column of your throat, untethered. The other moves to your hip. He grounds you, thumbs circling the soft skin of your waist, he pulls away for breath only to dip and capture your lips in another tender kiss. It’s slow, patient and lacking in direction. It’s without expectation and arousal. It is just that — loving. 

When your lips part, he murmurs your name softly into your mouth. His tongue is wet and languid, smooth as it maps out the grooves of your teeth, sliding warm against your own. Excitement frissons along the length of your spine, compelling you to press closer and sate your hunger. 

He tastes like cinnamon. 

The touches evolve into something more frantic. You end up curled into him as he sinks back against the couch, half pulling you onto his lap. Appreciative and firm, a hand squeezes the fat of your thigh where it is strewn over his knee. You swallow every sweet murmuring, every soft groan he gives you, and it falls like a small stone into the pit of your stomach. Barely filling.

You wanted more, and between gasping breaths, you knew he did too. 

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, the question rough in his throat.

The muscles in your legs clench at that, pressing tightly together. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it— you felt yourself throb at the thought, shrinking under the weight of his hunger — but you’d hardly come here expecting anything. Especially not this.

“I— I didn’t come prepared for that?” you answer honestly. His gaze grows heavy, brow curved in a silent bid for explanation. “I didn’t… shower for very long,” and you hadn’t worn particularly alluring underwear, either. 

He takes a measured breath and you shy into the couch cushions. “You think I care about that?” he says. Your eyes flicker then at the gentle stroke of his fingers along your jawline. He tilts your chin with the hand cradling your cheek, and forces you to look back at him. The pad of his thumb traces along your bottom lip, and he smiles when you reflexively kiss it. 

“We don’t have to, I know this might be too fast. We can stop right here, ” he murmurs, enunciating each word as if to stress his sincerity. “But know that I do want you, I want all of you. And I want you now, as you are”. 

You shift in place, reflexively seeking friction. Still, he waits. “Do you have condoms?” 

“I do,” his eyes are half lidded, and they gleam with mirth. “Two kids at home and twenty in my criminology programme. Not looking to have more anytime soon”. 

Maybe your transparency should be, at the very least, a little embarrassing. No doubt you’re wearing a lovesick expression. But you can’t find it in you to care. “Then okay,” you tell him. “Take me upstairs”. 

Excitement stirs in your gut during the walk up, feeling his presence at the small of your back. The door to his room has been left ajar, and when he overtakes you to enter first you’re struck by the realisation that this is the only room you’ve never been in. 

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. It’s a cool off white colour, save for an accent wall painted a dark emerald green — so dark, that without the sunlight you could mistake it for black, not unlike his kitchen. There are two alcoves fixed with shelves, lined with books and titles you haven’t heard of, and a small desk beside his chest of drawers covered in paperwork. 

The bedframe is high, but there is no headboard. Pillows upon pillows, blankets old and new. Sitting square in the middle of the mattress is Sourpuss, her paws tucked against her belly as she stares at the intrusion. 

You aren’t given much time to process. There are hands on your hips, teeth paving tender nips down the curve of your throat. “Still ok?” Shouta rasps, nosing the delicate skin beneath your ear. 

“Yeah,” and you’re sinking into his chest like warm water as he gently guides you into the room. Before reaching the bed, you turn in his arms to kiss him. Your fingers thread into his thick hair, light as you scratch against his scalp. 

Sourpuss complains when you’re lowered onto the bed, jumping to the floor as you scoot up towards the pillows. You offer her a half hearted apology, already distracted by the roll of Shouta’s hips. 

His cock is hard beneath his sweatpants, rocking deliciously against your clothed sex. Everything is hot. “Shouta—!” face turned into the sheets to muffle your whine, you note that they smell like him. 

“I know love,” he ruts forward again, expression pinched in pleasure. With your throat bared, he continues the path of open mouthed kisses to your collar, a hand rising to cup your chest. You arch into the touch as he squeezes. “Bet you could make me cum like this—”

“—But not before you do,” Another kiss to your lips, chaste in comparison. He pulls away to meet your gaze, seeking permission. “I want to taste you”. 

“Okay…” you tilt your chin, pecking the corner of his mouth, and you feel it curve up as your hands find purchase at the hem of his shirt. “Just take this off, first”. 

When he sits back on his knees, arms crossed to lift the fabric over his head, you are left adrift to enjoy the view. He is well built but appears to have lost definition over time, with his biceps and pecs still thick but his stomach soft. There’s sparse hair on his chest, thicker beneath his belly button. 

Indulging the urge to touch, he shudders as you trace your finger through it and tease his waistband. “Yours too,” he says, the instruction rough in his throat. 

His body moves with yours like the tide as you sit up to remove your shirt, already there to lick the valley between your breasts. You wrap your arms around his head, gathering the dark hair draped over you and brushing it away from his face to watch the way he reveries you. 

Your abdomen flinches under his soft kisses. Shouta travels the length of your torso as if he were savouring you. He’s pressing sweet nothings in your skin, inaudible mumblings that still leave you warm because they’re spoken so breathlessly. 

He hooks into your waistband and looks at you. Before he can ask, you slip your hands alongside his — “here, let me…” — and begin to push both your pants and your underwear over the curve of your ass. As the material peels away, you can feel it cling to your sex. Wet. 

“Fuck, look at you,” a hand gently parts your knees. He forges another line of light, barely there kisses along your inner thighs, and once he reaches the apex he inhales with a quiet groan that has your fingers tugging at his hair. He’s immovable as your embarrassment pushes him back barely an inch, satisfaction twitching at the edge of his mouth. Jaw slack, pupils dilated and almost gleaming in rebellion, he rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit. 

Your breathing stutters. It loosens your grip enough that he can tip his head forward to consume you completely, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure like it was his arousal own being satiated. Covetous, he signals contentment with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex. 

The beat of your heart ricochets through your centre; pulsing in your throat, your ears and your pussy. Shouta’s tongue slides over you, wet and soft. Where it seems like he’s indulging himself, you realise he’s still adapting each movement to the sounds you make. Wherever a moan falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace, reins himself in to watch the rise and fall of your breasts. 

The knot in your belly tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs clamped against his ears with hips bucking into his mouth. The mattress shakes, and when you notice it’s him rutting into the sheets, you moan helplessly louder. “Shouta, I’m—!” 

He groans, fingers sinking into the fat of your hips and pulling you impossibly close. Your heels dig into his back as his nose slides against your clit, and he tilts to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over the swell. 

“Just like that,” you gasp, grip searing at his scalp. Lewd, wet sounds reverberate around the room. “Fuck!” 

A momentary breath is caught in your throat. Your body bends, spine arched forward like a bow as you crest. All at once, the sharp twist in your belly lessens, diffuses, warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses. 

In returning to yourself, you realise he’s steadily carrying you through the motions; soft licks and forgiving kisses until sensitivity overwhelms you. He hums again, like a man that has just finished a meal. You relinquish your grip on his hair and begin massaging the roots in apology. 

“Hey,” you mumble, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you peer down at him between your legs. Resting against your thigh, face sodden and pink, he looks rather pleased with himself. 

He sighs, tongue lazily swiping along his lower lip. Half lidded, he meets your gaze. “Can I preface this by telling you it's been a while since I've had sex?” 

You laugh at the unexpected response. “What, why? Did you cum in your pants?” 

The question itself is a joke, but when he levels you with a carefully blank look, your mouth parts. “You did?”

“Possibly,” he grunts, tucking his chin to nose along your navel. 

Sensing his simmering embarrassment, you reach to encourage him back up the bed until you’re face to face. Unperturbed by what's left of your own arousal, you cradle his jaw and kiss him soundly. 

“That’s so—” again and again, punctuating each word, “—so fucking hot”. 

Shouta grins against your lips, slipping his arms around your waist and gathering you to his chest. Your palm rests over his heart, fingers idly twirling around the short hair there. “So were you,” he murmurs, pointedly shifting his hips. You can feel his sweatpants are slightly damp. “That was the problem”. 

“Sorry,” you offer playfully, enjoying the pleasant buzz prickling under your skin. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty of time, haven’t we?” 

It is then that your intimate afterglow is cut short, by the long suffering yowl of Sourpuss no less. Glaring sharply from her place by the desk, mortification rolls over you. 

“Please tell me she wasn’t watching us?” 

Shouta snorts, the sound dissolving into peals of quiet laughter as you smack his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he replies amusedly, loosening his grip and turning to the edge of the bed. “I was a little preoccupied”. 

He stands and ushers the feline towards the door, which he’d mistakenly left ajar. “I can’t believe this,” you bemoan, crossing your arms over your head to hide your face. 

There’s a dip on your side of the mattress, followed by the sound of something being placed on the bedside table. He sits beside you, leaning across to pry away your limbs. “Come here,” he croons, first bringing your inner wrist to his lips. “I’m sure she wasn’t”. 

His hair curtains the two of you as he presses your foreheads together. It brings you back into a world made up of just the two of you. “Let me kiss you,” and you do. You can appreciate the distraction. 

You part when something vibrates. In your peripheral vision, you notice a screen light up. He must’ve taken your phone out of your pants pocket. “You should check that, it buzzed earlier too. I’m gonna get out of these boxers”. 

“Okay,” you smile as he presses another kiss to your temple. You never would’ve guessed he’d be so affectionate. 

He busies himself changing while you look at your messages. It’s the group chat with Rumi and Touya. 

Sugar tits (Touya) : 13:03

Oi. Are you alive. 

Ru-ru (Rumi) : 13:12

Babe. Please reply to us before Touya sets ur mans house on fire lol 

You : 13:26

Sorry sorry!! I’m alive. My legs feel like jelly though (´ ꒳` )

Almost immediately, the device is furiously vibrating in your hands again. You rest it against your sternum and grin, choosing to bask in the feeling a little longer. 

When you are next tasked with caring for Eri, a few days have passed and the weather has turned. You pick her up from school on the tail end of an unexpected heatwave with the promise of a surprise when you get home. She holds three of your fingers in her hand, and a small handheld fan in the other. It’s Sailor Moon themed. 

After cleaning up that afternoon, Shouta sat with you and had a much longer discussion about what the next steps should be. He made it emphatically clear that he didn’t enjoy the thought of being in a relationship with someone he employed — admittedly, it didn’t sit right with you either. 

But the importance lies with Eri. For the both of you, she must always come first. Your sudden upheaval as her other caretaker would likely cause a lot of hurt and confusion. So Shouta asked that you patiently wait for your first date until after he has talked to his daughter. 

You watch her with a smile as she warmly greets Sourpuss at the foot of the stairs — whom you still cannot make eye contact with — and skips into the living room. In your mind, you count backwards from three until you hear the expected gasp. 

She must’ve found the fort. 

Less of a fort, more of a… linen cave. It’s an old king-sized bed sheet you’d found in the closet, held in place by a book at each corner, and gaping open with the assistance of a fan at the entrance. 

“Can I…?”

“Yes, yes,” you beckon her to climb in, already relieved by the cool gust of air rotating into the sheet. “Go on in. It’s for you!” 

You’d tried to make it as comfortable as possible, filled with cushions and soft toys from her bed. At the very least it has a seal of approval from Bastard, who has curled up into himself atop one of the pillows, his long coat moving in the current. Eri crawls in on her hands and knees, settling beside him with a happy giggle. 

“You too!” She cheers. You clamber in, tucked between her and one of her favourite plushies. 

“Come on,” you say, grinning as you excitedly encourage her to join you, “watch this”. With curious eyes watching, you lean towards the spinning fan and speak into it. “Isn’t this cool?” your voice is given a jarring staccato effect as the sound waves bounce back. “I. Am. A. Robot”. 

You didn’t think your smile could get any bigger until she began to laugh delightedly. She slumps her weight against you, cheek to cheek and pressed close to your side as she rushes to try it herself. Silver hair billowing in the current, she declares with a distorted voice, “My. Name. Is. Eri!“

You hold her steady as she continues to giggle. The cool air is beginning to dry out your lips, and your eyes are growing sore with every blink, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I like this. I’m happy,” she says, the confession sincere even as it warps. 

“Good,” you murmur, stroking your hand over her crown. “When you’re happy, I’m happy”.

For reasons unknown to you, this gives Eri pause. Her lips pursed, expression adorably pinched in contemplation. Whatever it is, you let her think, and you wait. 

“Amano-sensei talked about families in class today,” she tells you, turning on her knees with hands folded formally in her lap. Despite her resolve, she is anxiously picking at her fingers. “Sensei told us that everyone's family looks different. Some... some people have one mama or one dad, or both. Or none. Or two dads or— even two mamas”.

A nod, “That’s right sweetheart”.

An irrational bout of nerves settle in your stomach as she gauges you. “Some kids' parents picked them, like my dad did… others have two but they aren’t married…”

“That is true,” you concede gently. “Not all families are related by blood. Like you and your dad, or you and Hitoshi. But you’re still family”. 

Eri hums, glancing down to her lap with cheeks puffed. You smile fondly when she exhales the air with an exaggerated noise. “Then!” she starts, shuffling closer on her knees, “if we’re family, but you and dad are not married… What should I call you?” 

For a startling moment, you’re sure your heart is in your throat. She continues, “Do I have two dads? Or two mamas? Or one dad and a…?” 

“Eri,” your words falter, reaching to still her restless hands. “You think we’re family?”

Her head tilts. “Aren’t we?” 

The breath is forced from your lungs. Even seated, you feel as if the floor has been stolen from beneath you. Willing away the prickling behind your eyes, you assuage her with a firm squeeze. 

“We are,” you warmly avow, “and you can call me whatever you’d like”. She beams, any and all uncertainty dwindling, in your mind and her own. 

Satisfied with the answer, she drops the topic. You think it must’ve been plaguing her the entire walk home, given how quiet she’d been. More than that, you wonder whether Shouta had laid kindling for those thoughts or if she’d come to that conclusion herself.

After an hour of reciting her favourite book into the rotating blades of the fan, complete only with your expert cartoonish voices, it is time for a cat nap. It isn’t hard to fall asleep when splayed across such comfortable bedding, accompanied by white noise and a cool breeze. But you wake not long after to an obtrusive ray of light piercing through the duvet fabric. The makeshift cave is now sun drenched and warm, and laid on the far edge is a new guest. 

Shouta is still in his work clothes, laid on his side with Eri turned towards him in her sleep, small hand fisted around his tie. His lips are parted, inhaling shallow breaths. He’s asleep, too, with an arm extended to rest his hand over your hip. 

You carefully thread into the spaces between his fingers and watch them both in quiet appreciation until your eyes, too, are heavy. Your chest has never been so full. And as consciousness slips, your heart tips over the cliff's edge and is pulled, inexorably, towards home. 

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: ok so listen; so Steve Harrington who didn't tell anyone he gets into a medical school (Indiana University School of medicine) but he travels to school during the week and Mike finds the graduation letter in Steve's apartment. He graduated as a premed student with a full scholarship to Harvard Medical school for the trauma surgeon program. The party realizes that their constant jokes making fun of Steve's intelligence caused him to not tell them about this. I want a mixture of angst with a full proper apology & a few years later him graduating from Harvard with the party cheering him.

MY LOOOOOOVE!!!! Nothing gets me going quite like a secret super smart Steve Harrington. Is it OOC? Maybe. But writing Steve as a fucking Harvard Med School graduate!!! A whole trauma surgeon!!!! YES!!!!! I obviously had to put some Steddie in there, mostly because Eddie deserves a happy ending, too and any chance I have to give him one, I will. - Mickala ❤️

---------------------------------------------

Steve was late. He’d been late a lot recently.

Mike started driving a few weeks ago, got his hands on Nancy’s car since she was busy traveling the world now, and he’d been quick to pick up the slack.

But he was growing impatient.

When they asked Steve why he was late, he shrugged it off, said he forgot. Everyone just went with it because obviously Steve’s kind of scatterbrained and a few fries short of a happy meal, especially after the head trauma.

But Mike was suspicious.

Steve let it go a little too easily.

And Eddie hadn’t stuck up for him like he usually did when they were teasing his intelligence.

Mike was letting himself into Steve’s apartment, using the key that he kept under the mat so the kids always had a place to go if they needed it.

He wasn’t home yet, but Mike had just been to Family Video and he wasn’t there either. Apparently, hadn’t been in at all today. Keith said something about ‘taking the day off for exams.’

Steve wasn’t in school though, so that meant he was lying and Mike wanted to know what he was lying about.

He looked at the counter, saw a large stack of mail, and decided that was probably a good place to start his search.

Most of it seemed like junk, a few bills, a letter from Robin, and an envelope that was torn open already from Indiana University.

If it was already open, it was fair game. That was his motto, at least.

He pulled out a thick stack of papers.

The seal in the corner of the first page said School of Medicine.

Was Steve sick? Had he started seeing the university doctors because of some weird problem with his head? Maybe that’s why he’d also been so forgetful lately.

Maybe they put him on a new medication trial or something and it was a side effect.

But he kept reading and felt his chest cave in.

Dear Mr. Steven J. Harrington,

It is a great honor to announce your successful completion of the pre-med degree program at Indiana University. Your incredible tenacity has proved that you’re prepared to work through any medical school program in the country.

Graduation is currently set for May 18, 1989. Please contact your advisor to reserve tickets by April 28, 1989.

Thank you for trusting Indiana University with your education. We look forward to seeing your accomplishments in the future!

“Holy shit.”

“Why are you reading my mail?”

Mike jumped at Steve’s voice. He’d been so busy reading the letter, he hadn’t heard the front door to the apartment open.

“You’re going to med school?”

“Hopefully, yeah.”

“What the fuck?”

Steve rolled his eyes and made his way to the fridge, grabbing a can of soda for himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like. You’re. You’re you. How are you going to med school?”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he leaned against the counter and sipped at his drink.

“I graduated from pre-med as valedictorian. I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“You? Valedictorian? You barely got through high school!”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I hated high school. I was going through a lot of shit. It wasn’t because I’m stupid.”

Mike’s mouth was gaping like a fish, confused at literally everything that was happening.

“But-“

“I also just got into Harvard on a full scholarship if we’re gonna put it all out there. I was gonna tell everyone this weekend at El’s birthday party but I’m sure you’re about to run to tell them all.”

Well, how could he not? Steve had been hiding going to college for years! He was about to move to Harvard!

“Wait! Is Eddie going with you?”

“Yeah. We found an apartment over a record store and the owner hired him to run the store while he transitions into retirement.”

Mike felt like he was in an alternate universe. There was no way Steve Harrington was going to be a doctor. There was no way Eddie and Steve were moving to Boston.

There was no way he was leaving all of them.

“But. But what about us?”

“You guys are all practically adults. You barely even hang out with me anymore unless it’s to get a ride or get snacks for Hellfire. You didn’t even notice I was driving to and from campus for years. I think I’ve given enough of myself to people who don’t seem to want it,” Steve shrugged, looking down at the floor.

Mike wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, but he also kind of just wanted to hug Steve and tell him that wasn’t true.

But it kind of was, wasn’t it?

They’d all taken advantage of Steve’s kindness for years. He’d been the best damn babysitter they could have, saved their lives multiple times, gave them money for the arcade and dates and pizza for pool parties when he lived in his old house.

They grew to just expect it.

He didn’t even know the last time he’d heard anyone say thank you. He certainly hadn’t said it in a long time.

“But, Dustin will be devastated.”

“He’ll be okay. He’s gonna go to MIT when he graduates and he’ll be right around the corner or something. I dunno. He hasn’t even called me just to talk in months. I don’t think he’ll miss me that much.”

Which just. It wasn’t true. Mike knew for a fact that Dustin would be heartbroken about Steve leaving.

“I.”

“It’s fine. Eddie’s gonna be home soon so if you wanna wait for him that’s fine. I’m gonna go shower and get an early night. Been up since three this morning.”

“Did you really have exams?”

“What?”

“I checked to see if you worked today and Keith said you had exams,” Mike said shakily, feeling entirely off balance.

“Oh. I just had to do an entrance exam for Harvard. They let me take it on IU’s campus since I can’t move until two weeks before classes start.”

Mike nodded once.

This was really happening. Steve was leaving.

Steve was going to Harvard.

He was taking Eddie with him.

And not a single one of them had bothered to notice any of it happening.

————————

“I told you I don’t know! I’m giving you everything I have!” Mike yelled at Dustin, who was pacing and clearly trying not to cry.

“It just doesn’t make sense! He always acted like he didn’t understand half of what we were saying when we talked science stuff!” Dustin yelled as he walked back and forth across the floor, wearing a pattern into the carpet.

“Maybe it’s because we’ve always just assumed he’s dumb. I mean, none of us really treated him like he could keep up, so maybe he just. Didn’t,” Lucas shrugged.

“He could’ve told us!”

“Or maybe he didn’t want to since we all thought he’d be lying,” Max added from her chair in the corner.

“He could’ve proved it!”

“Maybe he didn’t want to have to,” Eddie said as he walked in the room.

Hellfire was at Dustin’s tonight, and Eddie had been late.

His sudden appearance made them all cower where they sat or stood.

“No Hellfire tonight. I was gonna call, but had to drive by here anyway. Steve’s having a bad night and I’m pretty certain it’s your fault, so I’m gonna go try to get him through it.”

It was a bit harsh, but not undeserved.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Eddie?” Dustin asked quietly.

“It wasn’t for me to tell. He was going to when he got accepted into IU, and then you guys spent most of that night telling him he wouldn’t understand what you were talking about with your group science project so he kept it to himself. Then he just decided it wouldn’t be worth trying to explain anything since you wouldn’t believe him anyway. He asked me not to say anything until he announced his graduation and Harvard this weekend, so I didn’t.”

“But we would have been proud of him! He could have shown us his acceptance letter or something.”

“That’s not how you made him feel,” Eddie shrugged before turning back towards the door. “We’ll see you at El’s party.”

When Eddie left, the room was silent.

Everyone was deep in thought, trying to unpack everything.

With Hellfire canceled, they didn’t have much of a reason to stick around, but none of them felt like being alone.

Not when they started to realize that Steve was kind of the glue that held them all together and without him, they may not ever be whole again.

—-----------------------

El’s party was simple, just the usual guests and some cake and balloons. She didn’t like a big thing, usually preferred to have a sleepover with Max and just do their nails and listen to music.

Joyce insisted on having a little get together though, said it would be nice to celebrate something since they hadn’t really since Will’s birthday.

Steve was there, holding Eddie’s hand in the corner, talking with Hopper while Eddie talked with Joyce.

Steve told them everything when they got there since the kids knew, and while he knew Joyce and Hopper were happy for him, for both of them, they could send their shock.

All of the kids had hesitantly hugged Steve when they got there, barely saying anything to him, unsure where they stood.

Steve felt like he was closing the book on his life in Hawkins, and he hated that it felt like no one would join him in the next one except for Eddie.

Throughout the day, the kids would find their way up to him to just be close, soak in Steve’s energy, try to appreciate him now because they clearly hadn’t been before.

He let them. He could have told them to go away, or tried to talk them into apologies, but it wouldn’t do any good right now, and he didn’t want to ruin El’s birthday party.

Eddie could tell he wasn’t himself, though. He saw the way Steve’s eyes dropped down to his lap every time one of the kids would walk away from his side, how his leg started bouncing when things were quiet for more than a few seconds.

“You wanna head out?”

“I-”

“Steve? Can we talk to you for a minute?” Lucas asked, the rest of the party behind him watching with wide eyes.

“Oh. Sure.”

Eddie patted his knee and stood up, but Lucas gestured for him to sit back down.

“You, too. We owe you both explanations and apologies.”

So, Eddie sat. He would support Steve through whatever this conversation entailed, and maybe get something else out of it too.

“We all want to take turns saying stuff, but I wanna start,” Lucas said, playing with his hands nervously.

Steve nodded, always more patient than the kids deserved.

“I always saw you as the jock, ya know? Like, I respected you because you were a great basketball player and you had a lot of friends. I just kind of thought that was who you were, even after high school. You always made time to help me over the summer, even when you’d just worked an opening shift or had to go in for a closing shift. I didn’t really consider you an adult, even though you were. You were just there. You protected me, all of us, from some of the scariest shit any of us will ever have to deal with without even taking a second to consider your own safety. You just did it. And I don’t really think any of us thanked you. None of us would be here without you.”

Lucas was biting his lip, trying not to cry as he wrapped up his speech, but didn’t get a chance to start before Will started talking.

“I haven’t spent as much time with you as the rest of these guys have. But I know that you’re always there. You give me a ride when my mom can’t and you always slip me an extra $1 or 2 when we go to the arcade because you know I don’t have much. You hung up my art on your apartment wall even though it sucks and isn’t your style because you wanted me to know that someone supports me. You’ve been one of the only constants in our crazy lives, and we haven’t done nearly enough to show that we appreciate you,” Will wiped his eyes quickly as he turned away to let someone else speak.

“Billy was an asshole to all of us, but especially to you. You could’ve walked away that night, left Lucas and me to defend ourselves or die trying, but you didn’t. You knew he was a racist piece of shit and you got another concussion just so he wouldn’t lay a hand on us. That was the first time I ever had someone stick up for me like that. And after everything with Vecna, you were the one who always checked in, made sure I had rides to appointments, had food I could easily make when my mom wasn’t around, brought me to the skate park as soon as I was cleared by my doctor. I’ve never had someone who cared so much like you do and I’m sorry I didn’t know how to show you that it meant so much to me,” Max said seriously.

Steve was sniffling, and Eddie knew if he tried to comfort him too much right now, it would just make it worse. He squeezed his hand and wiped the tear falling down his cheek as the kids continued.

“I hated you for the longest time. I thought it was your fault Nancy changed, and then I thought it was your fault when Nancy and Jonathan got together, and then I just hated everyone and everything for a while. But I think it was just easy to use you to blame everything on because you let me. You just let me treat you like shit. You let me complain about your driving while you drove me anywhere I wanted to go. You let me blame you for Nancy being upset about the break up when she was the one who hurt you most. You let me think you were stupid when you’re brilliant enough to go to Harvard on a full scholarship. You let all of us take advantage of you and I don’t know why, but I wish I could turn back time and not let you do that. You didn’t deserve to be used by any of us, but especially me,” Mike said surprisingly sincerely.

In fact, Eddie watched Mike take a few deep breaths like he was holding back a sob.

“I am sorry for how we all treated you, Steve. I did not know that we hurt you. Dad said sometimes the people who hurt the most are the people who accept hurt as the way they are supposed to be treated, but that is not true. You should be loved so much, like Eddie loves you, by everyone. We should have done better,” El said as she held Max’s hand.

Dustin had been incredibly quiet, hiding in the back, not even looking up from the ground. Eddie could tell he wanted to say something, but probably didn’t know how to start.

It was no secret that Dustin was Steve’s favorite kid. It was also no secret that Dustin loved Steve like a brother, maybe even more, and that if Steve was upset, Dustin would want to make it right.

“I never had someone to look up to until you came around,” Dustin started, still not looking up from the ground. “My mom always felt bad that she didn’t give me a good role model or a brother or sister to look up to. But when you started watching over me, she felt like it was better this way. ‘That Harrington boy is special.’ That’s what she says all the time. And I guess I got used to her saying it and just didn’t think anything of it anymore. Like, yeah, you’re great. You do all kinds of stuff for me and for all of us, but it just felt like you wanted to so what made it so special? When Mike told us everything, it hit me that even if you wanted to do all that stuff, you still deserved a thank you. You went out of your way to make us safe and happy, and our only way to repay you was to constantly put you down and bully you. We spent years calling you out for what an asshole you were in high school while we ended up being assholes to you. You’re my brother and I haven’t been good to you. I’m sorry.”

Eddie was watching as Steve finally let out a sob he’d been holding in for too long. He pulled him into his chest, watching as the kids all wiped tears of their own away.

He knew the kids were genuinely sorry, he could tell that when faced with the reality of the way they treated Steve for years now, they felt terrible. But he also knew that Steve let it go on too long without saying something, and that it would take a while for him to really figure out a good balance of being there for the kids he loved and setting boundaries he needed to set long ago.

“Can you give him a minute guys? I’m sure he wants to talk to you all, but I think he just needs to calm down.”

The kids all nodded and scurried away.

They weren’t kids anymore, was the thing. They would always be kids to Steve, though. That’s why this was hurting so much. They were his nuggets, and they’d been unintentionally hurting him for years.

Steve had been so excited to tell them about getting into a pre-med program at IU, and when he couldn’t tell them, he changed. He was withdrawn in ways Eddie had never seen or expected. He was focused on school, and their relationship, but nothing else. He would go through the motions of driving the kids where he could when he could, throwing the occasional pool party, keeping up appearances.

He’d been exhausted for two years now. Running on fumes for miles, no end in sight. Until he got his acceptance into Harvard.

Eddie had never seen him so happy or proud of himself.

But the happiness faded quickly when he realized what telling the kids would mean, what going to Harvard would mean.

It meant moving, it meant leaving the kids, it meant spending the next 6-8 years so focused on school and residency that he probably wouldn’t have time to visit much outside of major holidays. It meant hoping that Eddie would come with him, support him, and love him regardless of the limited time he had to spend outside of school.

But Eddie would be there for every moment. He’d worked so hard, and Eddie wanted to be there for him every step of the way.

The kids would understand. They were almost graduated at this point, probably heading off to college themselves, and had their own lives to start.

“I wish I’d just told them about IU.”

“I know, sweetheart. But we can’t change the past. You’ve got such an amazing future ahead of you. Everyone is gonna be so proud of Dr. Steve Harrington.”

Steve smiled at that as Eddie dried his tears away.

When he’d calmed down completely, he walked over to where the kids were sitting on the porch.

He stood in front of them with his hands on his hips, a small smile on his face.

“If I forgive you all, will you stop looking like I just stole your ice creams and kicked your puppies?”

Dustin was the first to jump up and run into Steve, sobbing when Steve’s arms wrapped around him.

“It’s alright, bud. I love you, even when you’re a shithead, okay?”

All of the kids piled into Steve’s arms and around his back, all of them crying as Steve started telling them all about his program.

“I’m going to be a trauma surgeon. I was always pretty good at patching everyone up after Upside Down shit, so I figured why not make it a career? And I placed so high on the entrance testing, they suggested I go for pre-med instead of the EMT program. One of my professors my first semester suggested being a surgeon, so that’s the track I took.”

The kids looked at him in awe, like they were seeing him in a new light.

Eddie thought maybe they were finally seeing the Steve he’d seen all along.

—---------------------------------

May 11, 1997

“Steven Joseph Harrington, MD, summa cum laude.”

The cheers from his group were so loud, but they all ignored the dirty looks from the surrounding family and friends.

Steve Harrington was a Harvard graduate, a graduate with the highest honors, a trauma surgeon who already accepted his first position in a nearby hospital.

Everyone was so proud of him.

Wayne and Eddie had arranged for everyone to either ride in a rental car with Wayne or fly in to surprise Steve for his graduation.

He could see Steve look up into the crowd when he heard the screams, could see the grin spreading across his face as he realized his whole family was here to support him, just as they had been for the last eight years.

Everything Steve wanted and worked for was coming together, and everyone who believed in him was here cheering him on.

He was the best damn babysitter those kids had, and now he’d be the best damn trauma surgeon Boston Children’s Hospital would ever have.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #ficlet #request #steve is actually incredibly smart and this is my ted talk #eddie is about to become a housewife who works 'for fun' #that boston surgeon money is about to make steve his sugar daddy

[lornaka]

Some TBB s3 trailer reactions/thoughts

If you follow me on twitter/IG you probably saw these already

First of all, FEBRUARY 21???? SO SOON. I'M NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE WHEN IT ENDS AAAA

Secondly, CROSSHAIR. They kept Crosshair's old armor, even as they had to lose and repurpose and probably sell parts of their own kits while surviving.. they kept his armor intact NOBODY TOUCH ME.

As I thought, it seems Hunter and co will reunite with Omega and Cross in the premiere. This isn't surprising bc I couldn't imagine Omega being in captivity for long, she is the central kid character and has to be in the thick of all their adventures.

Re: Tech. I know in my heart that Tech is alive but tbh I'm one of the few people who doesn't want the brainwashed Imperial Tech plotline bc it feels redundant at this point, we already had Echo and Cross as victim of experiments/brainwashing.

Mostly I'm just tired of seeing clone characters getting stripped of their agency to a ridiculous degree when it's not necessary for their character development at all, at some point it starts to feel like angst for angst's sake bad fanfiction style. I just want to see him being his capable self, not another victim in distress.. Combined with how a portion of this fandom has a tendency to infantilize him, I'm feeling some level of trepidation if Imp!Tech is indeed where this is going. But I ofc will take any scenario where he is alive > any scenario where he is dead. The family must be complete :< So while I have my reservations, I'm totally open to seeing whatever they have cooked up and reserve all judgement until I get to experience the story as it's told. I'm just cautious about this particular possibility bc I keep seeing fandom folk clamouring for it. As for THAT character cameo... God I so wish this means that godawful book was yeeted from the canon once and for all. This is a Dark Disciple hater household, sorry to those who liked it for whatever reason. I have nothing against Vos as his own character, but Ventress didn't deserve an ending THAT shitty so please keep her away from that bullshit.. please.. I'm so happy to see her again ;_; and I'm so happy that the big cameo wasn't Ahsoka lmao I would've thrown something. Anyway aGHHH I'm overflowing with emotion rn I love that show sm!! *cracks knuckles* opens up a folder of wips from almost a year ago titled "Crosshugs"

UPD. So apparently DD is still canon. So let me get this right.. TBB s3 is supposedly aligned with DD being kept canon.. but DD takes place before order 66?? Does it mean that Asajj faked her death to get the jedi to leave her alone lmao literally being "the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated". I get it girl I would've faked my death too to get out of a toxic relationship.

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #tbb season 3 #the bad batch s3 #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers

[crystalflie]

Two Cat People In The Same Room. (IV)

Part IV—> (Part llI here)

Chishiya Shuntaro x Reader x Banda Sunato

Description: Apparently raiding the department stores was everyone’s first instinct after the king of spades scare at Shibuya Cross. Now you’re stuck with only a cat hoodie over your inconvenient swimwear from the beach, and two unconventional cat lovers in a game of betrayal.

Word count: 1630

Tags: Gender-neutral reader, general audiences, canon divergence, fluff, canon typical character behavior and description of violence, Chishiya and Banda side-eyeing each other, can be platonic or romantic.

^A tiny bit of angst this chapter, with comfort.^

——————————————————————

You think that Matsushita is avoiding you.

After the little ‘incident’ with Banda and Chishiya, it was fair enough…but that doesn't mean you didn’t feel ashamed every time you were in the same proximity.

And it also didn’t help that Banda liked to subtly give you attention by getting close whenever he had the chance, or by asking to help you with your suit symbol when Chishiya was very obviously within range and listening.

It was all generally harmless and you didn’t mind it as much as you act like you do- until players suddenly began to die, even after the intimidating bully had passed. It shocked you to an unexpected degree, only because it was different when you knew that the people you were surrounded by, the people you were supposed to trust, were responsible for those that never got to leave their cell.

It was terrifying that ‘trust’ was so fragile, yet the most important component of the game. You’ve never been so relieved to have Chishiya and Ippei..though sometimes forbidden thoughts manage to cross your mind. Horrible, you knew, but more than once you found yourself to be hesitant, and accepted Banda’s offer to share symbols.

Not as if you’ll fully trust Banda either, but it doesn’t hurt to get some reassurance, right?

More or less, it was all done away from Chishiya’s knowledge, since he and Banda don’t exactly get along.

You strangely didn’t want Chishiya to be disappointed in you.

You really didn’t want him to know..how Banda and you would ‘accidentally’ bump into each other in the halls, where you’ll take off your hood and he’ll part the back of your hair, saying either spade, diamond, heart, or club.

Luckily, each time it matched what Chishiya and Ippei had told you. An unexpected weight had been lifted from your chest, and you were able to rest assured.

Though one thing didn’t change.

Banda never stopped approaching you, and even when you didn’t need to ‘help’ each other anymore, the little exchanges continued. You supposed that it would be unfair to stop now that your own doubts were gone, who knows how Banda feels about Matsushita?

“Diamond.”

Banda turned around, smiling, and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the help.”

He was always extra kind to you afterward, even sometimes bringing you snacks from the cafeteria. It seems to be the case this time too, because he pulled out a packet of cookies from his pants pocket.

“Thank yo-”

Then he pulled out another pack.

“Oh, more-”

And another.

And he continued taking out cookies pack after pack until your hands were full and he patted himself down to make sure he’s got every last one.

“Banda, how- why did you take so many?!”

Banda hummed, brushing off your question with a slight shrug.

“I want to make sure the kitty cat is eating well.”

If the definition of ‘eating well’ is consuming an unauthorized sum of cookies, then yes, you would be eating well before you died from a sugar overdose.

“Okay..thanks I guess, but I should get back now, don’t want my friends to be suspicious..”

You gave Banda a nod, walking past him down the hall. He didn’t object either, footsteps indicating the man was off to his own business.

The building was still a little unsettling despite you having gotten used to it, and it had way too many turns for your liking.

You also didn’t know what to do with all the cookies Banda had left you with, you certainly weren’t going to eat them all. At least there were different flavors, but still, they were all the same brand.

Did Banda like these?

As you walked, you tried to stuff the packages into your hoodie pockets, but it still looked unnatural, like you were secretly hoarding something.

Maybe if you can get back to your cell, then you can throw them in the sink. Better than getting questions.

Your walk sped up, eager to quickly arrive at your destination, but as you rounded a dark corner, something- or someone was in your way.

“Boo.”

“AHHHH!”

Unable to stop, your only option was to fall backward, landing right on your butt. As you did, all the cookies came slipping out of your hoodie, scattering around the floors.

Your eyes darted up to see Chishiya’s amused face, who was a little surprised at how extreme your reaction was.

“Wh-What were you doing there?!”

He takes a few steps closer, staring you down with no intention of lending a hand.

You instinctively scurried further away, still sitting on the cold floors.

“What was I doing there?”

Chishiya wore a neutral expression, the edge to his voice making you nervous.

You slowly nod, unsure where he was going with this.

“I think the real question is, what were you doing?”

At some point, your back hits the wall, and Chishiya’s form cornered you.

“I was just going to find you..”

Your voice came out less confident than you'd like, but all that was on your mind was whether or not Chishiya had seen you speaking with Banda.

Judging by his words, he totally has.

You don’t realize how you tried to curl into yourself more until Chishiya let out a small scoff, kneeling down to meet your eyes.

“You don’t trust me.”

He stated it like it was a fact, and you felt the need to refute the accusation. You didn’t want to lose Chishiya and Ippei’s trust, because you did trust them, and if they didn’t trust you, then…

“I-I do!”

Chishiya tilted his head as if he were confused, not saying anything.

“I’m sorry..”

His intense stare was making you nervous, and you did the only thing you knew how—apologize. Maybe if you gave in now, you’ll be able to salvage the situation, and Chishiya wouldn’t be too upset.

“I really do trust you and Ippei..with Banda, I was just..”

The white-haired man sighed, chuckling as he shook his head and stood up again.

“No, you were smart for that, don’t worry, I won’t tell Ippei.”

You felt yourself trembling at what he said, suddenly overwhelmed with a new sense of fear. It was almost like you betrayed Chishiya, and for some reason, you really, really didn’t like the feeling of losing him. He was honestly a nice companion to have, in a weird comforting sense having known of him before this stupid game.

A few seconds passed and you couldn’t feel Chishiya’s presence over you anymore, he was walking away.

You didn’t give him the chance to go far before you managed to desperately cling onto one of his legs in a bear hug, not letting go.

“No! Don’t go!”

Frozen, he looks down to see you holding on for dear life.

“I wasn’t lying..I do trust you..I’m sorry for doubting you before..”

You squeezed his leg tighter when he didn’t respond, muttering another apology before letting go and attempting to stand up on your own. Your legs were shaky, and for an unknown reason your head was warm, clouded with aching when you realized you were being ignored.

At least you thought you were, you didn’t hear anything other than your labored breathing, perhaps even sobs you tried to hold back in front of Chishiya.

You didn’t even know why you were so worked up, just the pure atmosphere of this place was weighing down on you, and the thought of losing the trust of a friend when you needed it the most..was too much.

You stumbled a bit trying to quietly leave, but felt something stabilizing both of your arms. Blinking through your tears, you could see Chishiya’s mouth moving, saying something you couldn’t make out.

As you didn’t know what he was saying, you remained still and allowed him to set you on the ground, leaning your back against the wall.

You just let it happen, sniffling, feeling too defeated to care whether or not he’ll leave anymore.

The man ended up crouching next to you, using one of his sleeves to wipe away the wetness on your face.

He was gently shushing you, trying to get you to stop crying.

“Take a deep breath, okay?”

You bite your lower lip, trying to listen to his instructions, when Chishiya moves his hand to the side of your ear, stroking through your hair.

He does this until your breathing stabilizes, and you were disappointed to find his warmth slipping away.

“Look..I’m sorry for scaring you, okay? I’m not angry, I believe you.”

Chishiya knew he wasn’t exactly the best at expressing his emotions, but he wasn’t expecting you to be that affected by his rather apathetic nature.

He tried his best to be comforting, but one look at your reddened eyes and anyone could tell you’ve been crying. He didn’t mean to purposely upset you or push you this far, and now, it was up to him to raise your spirits again.

“Okay..that's good..”

You awkwardly moved your arms, debating whether or not it was alright to hug him. You decided you were too relieved to care, and hugged him anyway.

Equally awkward, Chishiya slowly patted your back.

“Do you want to go to the cafeteria? You’ll be less lightheaded if you have something.”

“Maybe if you carry me there..” You quietly joke, hoping to lift the mood.

“Okay.”

“Huh? Wai-”

You feel one of Chishiya’s arms slipping under your knees, and his other arm hoisting up your lower waist. In one swoop, he lifted you into a princess carry and began walking towards the direction of probably, the cafeteria.

“CHISHIYA!”

Chishiya sighs again,

“I’m starting to notice you like to scream my name a lot.”

——————————————————————

~AN: I just want to say if I spelled something wrong or if the wording is bad pls let me know because its like 5 am and my brain is muddled. Thank you for reading!!~

Tags: @laivi @kokxm1 @huachengsbestie01 @bxcndd @fiqire @micheshiree @puddleswimmingnerd-blog @bowscale @kuzuryussuit @rebeccawinters @sweet-citrus-candy @cham0mil-and-h0n3y @cdwmtjb8 @yanfei-kisser @reinixis @recromage @cosmicwintr @mynameisbaby9 @like0 @parkthatmay @kreishin @cloudylaze @aceredhairliberal

#banda sunato #banda x reader #chishiya #chishiya shuntarou #chishiya x reader #banda sunato x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya shuntaro #aib s2 #aib season 2

[jacevelaryonswife]

What a wicked thing to do (to make me dream of you) | Part I

Aemond Targaryen was a shitty snob and you were determined never to see him again, however, he didn't seem to share the same feeling.

∴pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x nanny!reader

∴warnings: elitism and slight angst.

part II

Aemond Targaryen was a man of sophisticated and understated tastes, an assiduous collector of books and historical objects, a connoisseur of aged wines and gothic aesthetics. He was quiet, observant, polite, intelligent, handsome, well dressed and very intimidating. Because of these — and other — characteristics of your boss's brother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, your relationship with him was almost nonexistent. Not that the others were too close to you, but there was an intrinsic fear that snaked through your body when he was in the same room as Aemond.

The Targaryen mansion had a modern architecture with mostly surrealist paintings, although works of other artistic currents could be observed along the corridors and rooms. It was not your first choice of work, but the decision to look for a job during the graduation vacation was totally based on the high cost of living in another country. It all started with an exchange scholarship that turned into an irresistible proposal for a master's degree, which made you look for some options to stay comfortable and safe. Your first job was at a lovely flower shop that sold flowers in temperate climates, a dream come true, but when the offer to work as a nanny for two children in a mansion a few days a week with an alarmingly high salary, besides, your friend, who was friends with Rhaenyra's eldest son made strong recommendations of you (even though you don't have that much experience with children), fuck you agreed without a second thought.

Your employers were kind, though neutral, and when the family was together in full some unusual situations happened. However, along with your vacations came those of Aemond, and gods, it was almost suffocating to be in the same place as him, because although his qualities were attractive, the Targaryen knew how to be pretentious, arrogant, acidic, hot — tempered and indifferent — the last of the defects was almost always directed at you, while the others were restricted to his older brother Aegon and his uncle Daemon.

Otherwise, while you struggled to remain invisible, hanging out with the incredibly wealthy and dysfunctional Targaryens, Hightowers, and Velaryons was smooth and functional. Until one day everything changed. It was not uncommon for you to observe the paintings arranged impeccably on the gray wall, however, a well-known work caught your attention: Saint-Georges majeur au crépuscule, by Claude Monet. It was always a painting that captured your attention for a long time, apparently, the orange tone involved you more than enough to make you not notice it’s arrival, not that it was very easy to notice, since it was quite silent. But then, stopping in the middle of the hall, the owner with gray hair and violet eyes announced his presence with a simple question.

“Do you like it?"

Your indiscreet jump and hand directed to your chest didn't do much to hide your surprise (or fright), feeling too embarrassed to continue maintaining eye contact.

“Yes I like it.”

“Claude Monet, 1908, one of his best in my opinion,” he said.

“I know,” you replied faster than you intended, but with the tall man's curious look, you had to add, “I don't have artistic background or understanding, but I'm quite fond of impressionism.”

You clasped your hands together as you stared at the picture ahead, feeling like you might succumb right there. You didn't want to feel like a fool, so you silently listened to the guttural “hmm” he let out in response.

The lack of dialogue along with your flaring nerves made you say goodbye to him with a brief and hurried “Excuse me.”

Your memory does not include when you felt that way with someone, although it was a recurring feeling since you started working in an environment far beyond (financially speaking) your reality. You hated running away like a scared mouse, however, the feeling wasn't mutual to Aemond, who was almost delighted with your reaction.

That was the first time he noticed you, even if it was an unusual situation. He almost felt guilty about the way you ran, but who was he kidding? He liked your bewildered eyes and frightened expression, too nervous to face him or converse the way she had with Aegon, Jacaerys, and Helaena. A pretty girl, he thought, with fast-fashion clothes and unfinished nails, yet pretty, and a bit of an art knowledge. It was no exaggeration to say that from that day on, the second son of Viserys Targaryen took more notice of your presence.

You weren't the only helper in the house, but your job was restricted to stay with the kids, which made Aemond's peeks easier, as there were specific days and places where your silhouette would be restricted. He didn't know why of such sudden interest, you were just a maid. Yes, you attended the same college as him and had some publications in scientific journals, but still, what was it magnetic or different that attracted you?

Worse still, was he so indiscreet that Aegon caught wind of it and confronted him about it? Seven hells.

“So, did you miss something in the nanny's ass, bro?”

“That question could be asked of you,” he replied.

“But it is being done to you.” When the lack of response hit him, Aegon insisted, “What happened to the exemplary son and mama's boy? What will mom think when she hears you were about to eyeball our good maid?”

“Fuck off, Aegon,” he complained irritably, embarrassed actually. But he was Aemond Targaryen, losing a point to his older brother was not an option. “You should learn a thing or two from her since even the motherfucking babysitter can have some cultural understanding and you don't…”

“Wow, and they say I'm the idiot,” Aegon replied.

“You know what I meant.”

“Exactly, and that's why I meant what I said. So is it unusual for a nanny to be cultured? Please, that's why you don't have any friends.”

“And that's why I'm academically successful and I don't have to deal with you."

“Being a fucking snob? For sure."

“I wasn't being- you know what, take what you want, just get the fuck out of my face,” Aemond snapped.

“As you wish."

Although you both thought you were alone, by an unpleasant choice of fate you ended up listening to the entire conversation and imagine your surprise? It was something you hoped would happen eventually, but how small is it for someone to define a person by their profession or social class? You shouldn't be saddened that apparently your job as a nanny makes you culturally inferior in the eyes of Aemond Targaryen, but a few humiliated and embarrassed tears fell from your eyes before you silently withdrew.

That day your service was finished faster than usual, leaving the mansion discreetly and hastily. Other stray tears negatively graced your face along the way home and during your rest period. Thoughts about quitting your job were running through your head.

Bullshit, you needed the damn money.

But what is the cost?

Among other questions, the only thing you knew was the distance you would keep from Aemond Targaryen from then on, not even a stolen look, fear or secret admiration, all you felt for him was disgust. You hated snobs, and apparently he was one.

For the next few days you did your best not to meet him, or give him a look, though from what he had said about his condition earlier it was unlikely the Targaryen would mind his presence to notice any difference. Otherwise, you had no problems doing your chores and dealing with some other family members.

However, much to his mistake, Aemond continued to watch you as you played with little Aegon and Viserys throughout the manor. Again, he didn't know the source of the interest, but that afternoon (two weeks after it happened) when you spent too much time in the library with the little ones, he decided to act.

This time you noticed someone enter silently, making your heart sink. Somehow your subconscious suggested that the presence corresponded to the one you tried so hard to avoid, yet that didn't stop you from continuing to read a children's primer from the fancy wooden shelf without letting on your knowledge that you weren't alone.

He didn't know if you were oblivious to his presence or if you ignored him on purpose, so he decided to make himself seen.

“The section you're clearing contains the history of Old Valyria, from rise to fall," he began unrequitedly. “Have you read any of them?”

“The fall of Old Valyria.”

“The Untold Version?”

“More Believable Theories.”

“Hm.” In no time you turned to face him, generating a certain discontent in the platinum. Your answers were quick and dry, without trepidation or fear, intriguing him. “There are a few books by Septon Barth that I recommend reading, most notably Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History.”

“Thank you,” was all you said.”

He really didn't like that. Were you purposefully ignoring him?

“I can borrow mine if you like, it's in better condition than the one in the library," he suggested.

“I appreciate your kindness, but you don't have to."

“No problem."

“I don't intend to read,” you said, “I have no such fascination with dragons. Besides, maybe a nanny like me doesn't understand Septon Barth's far-fetched text.”

Oh fuck.

The silence that followed didn't stop you from continuing your service, while Aemond didn't take long to associate what you were referring to.

“Aegon told you?”

“No, I was close at the time.”

“…didn’t mean to put you down.”

“Really? It seemed that my condition as an employee did not allow me to have a cultural background, as you say. Not that I'm the most cultured person in the world, but yes, I understood perfectly what you meant.”

He sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you-"

‘I’m working, sir, if you have nothing else to say I would like to continue my work."

The shortness of breath that hit your body in the first conversation you had with him was replicated in the Targaryen upon hearing his response, almost paralyzed in place.

“I really didn't mean to offend you. I just understand that not everyone has access to the education and culture that money can offer.”

“Indeed, money restricts most of the population from having a quality education, but it does not mean that only the rich represent the apex of knowledge and holders of all culture, I can cite some examples from my life that contradict this.”

Aemond Targaryen was a shitty snob and you were determined never to see him again, however, he didn't seem to share the same feeling. Nobody ever spoke to him like that, not even his ex Alys. He was studying History at Citadel University, top student in his class, yet how could he be so blind and elitist?

“But that doesn't matter, as next week we won't continue to live together."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. The vacation had come to an end. No, he couldn't let you go like that, he didn't want to keep such a negative image about himself.

“I-I… fuck I'm not… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was stupid, I shouldn't have said that—I shouldn't have thought like that. Your thinking is correct.”

“Good for you.”

He knew better that keeping trying wouldn't get him anywhere, so he decided to lower his head and silently withdraw from his presence. You didn't mention anything to Rhaenyra when you said goodbye to her, as all in all, one negative moment couldn't define all the positive experience you had. In the end, even studying at the same institution as Aemond, its departments and buildings were different and far from each other, besides that you very much doubted to attend the same social cycle as him.

Although that fact was reassuring, that week the slender platinum figure did not leave your mind, always churning your stomach in disappointment and anger during the flashes of your last conversation. You agreed that only time would make you forget that inconvenience, but what you didn't know was that for Aemond such a mistake was unforgivable, and worse, you, the simple nanny, couldn't get out of his head.

— ewan taglist: @schniiipsel @aemonds-fire

#aemond x you #Aemond Targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #modern aemond #modern #modern aemond targaryen

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Other theories I have about the conclusion to the Meursault arc, in no particular order and in varying degrees of conviction and likelihood:

Dazai believes he is not going to make it out of the prison and in fact thinks he is going to die. He says that he will make sure Sigma gets out but doesn't mention himself. Says his goal isn't to escape but to kill Dostoevsky. He's also being weirdly open about his emotions. Mind you, I think it would be odd if he were to actually die in this arc given that it doesn't make a lot of sense to me character-wise but. Idk.

Dostoevsky is not going to die this arc. Look, we still know nothing about him! I feel he's a much bigger threat than Fukuchi and that we're just barely scratching the surface with him. We know nothing about his ability, nothing about the V connection, nothing about what he's been setting up for apparently longer than most of the younger cast have been active. It can't end like this for him. In fact, he's the only one I'm adamant won't be killed in this arc.

Gogol is the true wildcard and may end up as a spanner in the works - he says he wants Dostoevsky dead but when Dazai or Chuuya or both gain the upper hand, he sways events to give Fyodor an advantage while brushing it off with "it's more interesting and entertaining like this". The real reason is that he doesn't actually want him dead at all. At the same time, I wonder if he might find Sigma and try to work with him to get the info he wanted. I seem to recall he wanted information on what Fyodor's ability was. Gogol is on no one's side. Let him be chaotic.

Sigma will manage to extract the information from Fyodor - as he cannot kill ability users with his own ability. Based on that one theory that Crime and Punishment only works on non-ability users, hence why Fyodor tricked Ace into killing himself and shot Catgirl with a gun. I wonder if Sigma, spurred on by a new burst of confidence, will take some initiative, figure it out (he's quite intelligent, actually, so I wouldn't put it past him), and get the information he needs.

Chuuya deflected the bullet shot at Catgirl so that it drew blood but did not kill her. Or Catgirl froze time long enough to make a plan with Chuuya. (*sob* i just don't want her to be dead)

They are able to use the info Sigma got to send it back to the Agency, thus wrapping up the DoA arc. However, Dostoevsky has gotten away, which means the four of them - Dazai, Sigma, Chuuya and Catgirl - need to go on a chaotic manhunt/road trip to find him. Chuuya is driving. He is livid at Dazai and is giving him the silent treatment while turning on the radio in the car with music he knows will annoy him. Dazai is shoved in the backseat between Sigma and Catgirl, pouting. Catgirl is revealed to be a kleptomaniac who keeps stealing stuff from them and all the places they stop at. She's not even supposed to be there she just enjoys the drama and the vibes. And poor Sigma does not want this at all but he has some moments where he and Chuuya get to talk and that's somewhat civil. Maybe they end up recruiting Adam for assistance. This makes no sense. :)

Gogol saves Dostoevsky because he doesn't really want him dead. This sends him into a crisis where he becomes more and more volatile and unpredictable. Terrible road-trip #2 electric boogaloo. Gogol keeps trying to kill him and becomes erratic, poisoning his drink, brandishing a knife, holding him at gunpoint. He tries to strangle him but cannot follow through. Fyodor does not care because for as long as Gogol's attachment exists, Fyodor is in control. Gogol knows that for as long as his attachment exists, he can never be free. I am aware this sounds like a screwed up fanfic premise. I want angst. :)

Dostoevsky put something in place for Chuuya on the off-chance that he managed to escape the brainwashing. There's no real evidence for this other than I think it makes some sense that Fyodor would have an emergency measure in place. Perhaps access to misleading information that might make him question things? Idk. Fyodor plays the long game. I want some real effects on the cast.

Got anything to add? :D

#these are terrible but whatever #who cares i have no brain brain is empty #going to spiral into no-good headspace again tonight i can feel it #i hate that i can feel it coming but can't stop it #sorry tmi #anyways. #bsd #this is not a meta lol this is wish fulfillment #bsd spoilers #bsd dazai #bsd fyodor #bsd chuuya #bsd sigma #bsd catgirl #fyolai #i guess #storyrambles

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: Desolate Days

Heiress of Gotham

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: It’s time. The funeral has finally come around. While the expected have shown up, will the unexpected lead to loose threads in your life? It'll certainly raise questions, that's for sure.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Funeral, Depression, Threats, Crying, Angst,

Mentions of: Death, Bodies, Trauma,

A/N: While this chapter is angsty, and the next one contains some twists and turns, I promise it'll actually start to become more fun around chapter six once the reader gets settled into her new life!

It wasn't easy, not by any means; a week full of setting up a funeral, at fifteen, for your mother... the only real family you've ever had. Sure, there were close family friends in your life, but they weren't a constant presence, not like her. All that flew out the window when you'd been orphaned, and now, who knows what will become of those relationships. You figure, only time will tell.

As for the actual events, tonight is the viewing, followed by a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant you guys used to love, and tomorrow morning is the burial. While there'd been lots of talk about who would come and what it would mean to them, and you, the conversation never fully came to any certain conclusion.

You don't know and aren't close with your new siblings, and while from a publicity standpoint it makes sense they should come and show their support, your Father is really the only person who knew your Mother. Even then, how well did he truly know her? The question stands. With all this in mind, you know that Bruce is accompanying you tomorrow, and by extension, Alfred too. That much you're clear on.

Money is a tough subject. Isn't it for everyone? While you weren't rich growing up in Bludhaven, you also weren't in the degree of poverty that some are, either. Nevertheless, funerals you quickly learned, cost a lot of money. You'd think it'd be one thing to bury someone in your backyard (if you had one, that is), or even toss them in the dumpster (not that you'd do that), or even set them afloat on the river and nearest ocean (that either), yet, the government wants their money. That's always what it boils down too, doesn't it? Regardless, Bruce had been suspicious when you brought up paying for the funeral. He offered, and while you'd argued for a good half hour, you'd finally compromised with him.

He wants to pay for the funeral, and you can keep the money you--somehow--have for college. Apparently, he expects you to do that now, as well. Not that college was outside of the question before, but... you still have three years to think about it, don't you? All in all, he let you pick out what you thought your mother would like, which, ultimately sort of became what you'd like... right? Besides the preferences in her will, there was still the matter of some sort of plaque or headstone, obsidian or silver... the works. Trying to keep money in mind, you didn't go crazy, but you did let him deal with it while still trying to give her at least something fairly nice.

It all happened so fast, really. Picking out everything, setting things up, and sending out a message so your family friends would know when and where to show up to pay their respects if they wished to do so. Not many people knew about your recent transfer of guardianship, or rather, to who. And while there had apparently been somewhat of a civil kerfuffle with your mother's best friend in an attempt to waive Bruce of his fatherly duties, Bruce apparently decided to claim custody of you. That's what social services naturally thought was the best fit for you.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want," Dick speaks up from behind you.

Standing outside the doors to the funeral home, you know that all too soon the doors will open up for her viewing and you won't be able to escape. Regardless of how many people show up, you'll be met with stories, jokes, emotions, conversation, and things you're just not ready to handle. Staring at the doors, Damian walks past you, soon followed by Tim as they make their way to the door.

"Sure she does. Maybe not now, but sooner or later you have to," Tim offers you with a sympathetic smile, "otherwise you'll never forgive yourself."

"That's just his regret talking," Jason accuses as he straightens the lapels of his black vest and follows the younger boys. "You do what you want, kid." A pat on the back, he too heads inside, leaving you there, Dick still lingering over your shoulder.

"It's your decision," the Detective reminds you with a sympathetic and encouraging smile before pushing open the doors to the funeral parlor.

Standing there in your short black t-shirt dress, the hem whips in the wind as a storm brews in the distance by the Fawcett-Bludhaven border, eventually destined to head your way, closer to the ocean, no doubt. Though you're adorned by a simple black headband, the accessory doesn't keep your hair from hanging around the frame of your face, eyes glued to the fancy sheen of your church shoes: a pair of black mary-janes. 

"Are you second-guessing?" The gruff voice of your Father emanates from your side and you raise your eyes to meet his face. There's a forlorn and distant look in his eyes as he stares ahead at the double doors leading toward the place you know the two of you will be met with a familiar face.

With a subtle nod, he mirrors your action, a clearing of his throat as he straightens his tie. "I can't say I blame you. Though, I can make you an offer," he proposes. As he turns his head, you're met with knowing blue eyes, a hint of what you swear is mischievousness behind them. "If you ever need to bail, why don't we have some sort of code? A code word, what about that?" He expands, the furrowed brows on your face cluing him onto your thoughtful mentality.

"I have to think about it," you respond quietly, eyes roaming the property. While Bristol is an eclectic part of Gotham for sure, this part of town feels somewhat desolate. The nearest and nicest open-plot cemetery to Bludhaven, it was a compromise on everyone's behalf. Not far enough from Bludhaven to feel unlike home and lack a means of public transportation for those in need, and not one of the buildings in the city that are more mausoleum-like, an option you hadn't wanted to consider. She deserved something better. A rumbling of thunder echoes throughout the landscape, the sky growing dark in the distance; eyes brought to the weather, your mind churns. "What about... 'Blizzard'?" It wasn't totally innocuous, yet it wasn't entirely improbable either.

"It'll definitely be interesting to see how we manage to work that into conversation naturally," Bruce jokes, to which you offer him a quiet chuckle, the inkling of a smile working its way onto the corners of your lips.

"Is that okay?" You ask, unsure if he approves.

"Blizzard it is," the Billionaire agrees, stretching out a hand in a semblance of kinship. With a moment of consideration, it doesn't take long for your hand to meet his in conciliation. With a firm shake, you both turn to enter the parlor side by side.

--------

Hand clutching the prized middle-school graduation gift you'd received from your Mother, a golden chain necklace with a teardrop image of La Virgen on it, you subtly run it back and forth along the chain where it rests on your sternum between your collarbones. Despite uncomfortable conversation and questions, you hadn't needed the code word. The attempt to try and visit your Mother before the service was unfruitful, people having shown up earlier than expected, others wanting to set up and you consequently helping like the obedient little girl you often were. Nevertheless, even now with only family members remaining, you still stand at a distance where only her hands propped up on her waist are visible.

Bruce had gotten by through making conversation, trying to get to know you and your acquaintances through their association and knowledge, though their questions often turned on him. Upon the revelation that you're not only now, but always have been a Wayne dawned on them. The natural questions would tend to follow. 'How well did you know her? Were you close to her?' As much as the Playboy would love to admit he didn't know your Mother on the level it would seem most people assumed, he also knew that sort of answer might tarnish any image of your Mother that these people already had in mind. Hence, he tended to use his usual tactics of evasion in a similar manner to any gala he'd attend.

The boys ended up doing recon in some sense, all in their own versions. Damian had intended to simply find a nice corner to sit in and text Jon about the plans for their next hangout and fill him in on the dreadful activities he's been put up to on the behest of his new 'sister'. If he could even call you that. Tim hadn't been filled in on the situation concerning your little expedition with Jason and what the elder had found during that time, so when Dick naturally seemed curious and a little too snoopy for his taste in concern of the event, it was only upon questioning his brother that he found out about the circumstances.

Dick went into this with the hopes of finding out information on your family, on what you all knew, the type of people you were, and what they knew specifically about you and your Mom. That much cash laying around even with the excuse of not trusting banks, in Bludhaven of all places, was ridiculous. Especially for the job he dug around and found out your Mother had. Therefore, he took to subtly interrogating people under the guise of attempting to get to know his new little sister better. 

Jason had intended to go only on the purpose of supporting you, and watching his family in suspect, considering they've all seemed dubious of your Mother and your family's involvement in some sort of criminal activity. While he'd been curious, watching you, talking to you, he's found that there's probably not much further whatever 'secret' your family is hiding goes. Sometimes people do things they need to do to survive, and if he's heard any stories about your Mother this evening, he'd suspect that's it.

Damian eventually caught wind of Grayson's not-so-subtle tactics of questioning people, and decided his evening would be much more fruitful doing exactly what his brother was doing, only in a more professional manner. After all, once he'd rounded the parlor he'd seen his Father doing the same thing in his own fashion, therefore, he can't be mad at them for doing the same when he's the one who's supposed to be setting the example, right?

Oblivious to your new family's motives, you try and work up the courage to say goodbye to her... to her face. Evading the happy images that filter through wild transitions on television's slideshow to the right, you run a thumb over the memorium card you'd taken. Even if they were for everyone else, you still wanted one. Room practically empty, you finally take the leap and close the space between you and the open casket.

Immediately you have to avert your eyes. It's... too painful. Yet, another curious part of you tempts you to take another look. Upon second glance it simply appears as if she's sleeping. Peacefully. There's no lacerations or marks, no sign of any sort of ill-wrought event, and yet, you know the wiser. "I hate this," you whisper through your teeth, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. "It's not fair. I don't know why... why it had to be you." With a sniffle and a heavy sigh that bobs your shoulders, you reach out and place a small hand on her larger, and eerily cold hand. "I wish I could ask you, that I could talk to you- that you could tell me why- why you never told me! I don't- I don't want to do this but I know I have to, and he's giving me... all you ever wanted for me. I-" Breath coming quicker, you have to force yourself to speak the next words, determined not to break down in front of everyone. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te extraño, y vas a recordar para siempre." With a gentle squeeze to her hand, you turn and head for the doors, eyes downcast as you avoid everyone.

--------

Somehow, the universe always reflected its events; while it’d been mostly thunder and heat lightning the night prior, this morning the dark clouds have been pouring rain. Alfred had gotten you up, though really you hadn’t slept much in anticipation of what today would hold. Having been dressed for some time now, all you’ve done is sit at the window seat and stare outside, watching the rain pelt the earth repeatedly, unyielding in its triumph. You can’t help but think it’s like life, forceful until the end, when it eventually wanes and succumbs to a stop. Maybe you’re overthinking, but with everything that’s been going on… you don’t think you can help it.

“Hey,” your Father’s voice calls from the door, a gentle knock on the wood follows as he continues to open it and step through the threshold. “Are you ready? Breakfast is waiting, and then Alfred’s gonna take us,” he informs, “the boys are going to join for breakfast, but then it’ll just be us, alright?” 

Before he can get too far into the room you rise from the window seat and tear your attention away from the gardens. With a nod, you meet him halfway and follow downstairs.

Breakfast is mostly silent, as you’re sure no one is quite certain what to say. If they could say anything, that is. Hell, even Damian doesn't have a snarky remark, and Dick doesn't try and make meaningless conversation. It all comes and goes far faster than you'd imagined, though the food was delicious. With your departure and solemn looks from your newfound siblings, Alfred pulls the Rolls Royce up to a gentle stop before the Manor's fancy double doors.

It was hard to believe she was in there. Yes, you'd picked out the coffin, yes you'd seen her at the viewing, and yet... this is your Mother. The woman who birthed you, who fed you, who took care of you year after year, and was there for you no matter what. And now... she's gone.

It doesn't feel real. The rain pattering against the umbrella Bruce holds up over you. All the people who sit and stand opposite of the priest as he goes about his rites. Of course there came time for the eulogy, and while there was the option of making one yourself, you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Like Tim had mentioned, this could be something you may regret later, but in this moment it feels like too much. There's a dull queasiness that never leaves your stomach as you stand, eyes cast downward as your hands lay clasped before you. Rain, muck, and mud cling to your black mary-jane shoes, the ground now beginning to flood as the soil's beared all it can soak up for the next coming weeks. 

People come and go, they give their well wishes and hopes for your sake, and yet you can't really put any of it to mind or manner as all you can focus on is the growing emptiness within you. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be burying your parent... not this soon. That's not how it works! 

It's the call of your name that stirs you from your thoughts. Eyes raising to the familiar face, you can't help but feel your eyes widen with the shock and astonishment that they had the audacity to visit... to stay. Yes, he wasn't a stranger; yet an acquaintance isn't necessarily a friend. The boy lifts his hands to cup one of yours between his. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened, Mi Amor, I'm always here for you, sabes," Saul says. Though there's a sympathetic look in his eyes, you don't trust him one bit. Not after he'd taken one opportunity after another and gotten trapped up with the man behind him: Antonio 'Angel' Marin. Sure, you'd dumped Saul before he'd become affiliated with the notorious Bludhaven mob boss, but it didn't do him any favors holding company like that. 

As Saul leaves you and heads toward the line of black cars along the cemetery road, you dread the man next in line. "It's an unfortunate thing, losing a mother," Angel speaks, "looks like luck had its way with you though, getting you out." From the outside it might seem inappropriate, or perhaps simply a mistaken and poorly judged comment, but you know better. Lips pursing, jaw tightening, you don't dare let your hands form into fists as you meet the man's eyes. 

His oily face and ratty mustache meet your gaze, and you suddenly feel anger beginning to simmer in your gut. Though you're not sure why. While there'd been a time you may have considered him a family friend, a protector, a genius, and a revolutionary... those times have gone. He hadn't done your family wrong, in fact, he'd done nothing but try to help you and your Mom out of poverty, and yet... there were always strings attached. Neither of you had seen them at first and once you'd wanted out, you'd luckily gotten out without too much of a fight. Thankfully, unlike some of the stories you've heard, and yet, somewhere within you the anger persists. Maybe it's the smug look on his face, his taunting words perhaps, but whatever it is, he irks you.

"Don't go gettin' into any more trouble, ya hear?" His thin voice lets out a wry chuckle and he lays a pat on your shoulder before you can dodge it. Watching him leave with his trail of two or three choice goons behind him, you can't help but feel like he'd only come here for one thing, and one thing only... to taunt you. Was it a warning? A sign? A way of telling you that without his protection you were doomed? Leading a life toward failure? Only to end up like your Mother? No... no, that can't be it. There has to be something else, that can't be it. 

"Do you know him?" Bruce asks, finally speaking up for the first time since the service ended. He'd seen the whole interaction, he knows who that man was... but he doesn't know if you do. Not truly, anyway. Even if the grimace and shiver that'd run up your spine was visible from the way you attempted to evade the evil man's touch. Eyes peering down at you, he's disturbed by the lack of eye contact you make. Maybe he shouldn't be... you haven't been talking or interacting as much as you had been in the days leading up to this, something that's normal, he can only imagine.

"Once," you respond faintly. Eyes coming back to the rolling hills of the cemetery you watch the rain continue to pour. Life doesn't seem to stir here, no sight of sneaky intruders like squirrels, doves, or robins, no other patrons coming to visit their loved ones on a day like this. Thunder cracks overhead, and the diminishing sound of tires on gravel signals the Angel's departure. With a thick swallow, your hands finally ball up into fists. A single tear finally breaches the confines of your eyelid and slips down your cheek. With a heavy sigh you turn, meeting Alfred who stands a few feet behind the both of you. Stomping over to him, you grab the bouquet of flowers you'd all picked up on the way. "If you want to say anything... here," you announce over the sounds of the thunderstorm. Undoing the plastic and rubber bands from the store-bought bouquet, you hand both the men a single flower. Determined that the rest should belong to you, you head over to the grave, uncaring if you get wet any longer as you're no longer under their umbrellas.

Though your teeth hurt from the way your jaw is clenched, you can't help it as the tears start to flow more freely. With everyone gone, you don't mind being here alone. Placing the flowers atop your Mother's casket, your hand lingers on the polished wood while your free hand hangs onto the necklace your Mother had given you. "I can't do this without you," the words come in a whisper, your head almost meeting the wood before you think better of it. You don't want to appear a broken-down mess in front of the men watching. "I don't know what t-to do."

Raindrops soak your hair, coat your dress and shoes, your socks have splashes of water and freshly cut grass, not to mention that your face is covered in a mixture of raindrops and tears. A few moments of silence is all you need before you finally gather the courage to say one last goodbye and turn away, heading down the hill back toward the car before the storm gets worse.

------

"Dick... there's something you should know," Bruce mentions quietly. It's obvious from his behavior that he's upset, that this won't be a long conversation. "Antonio Marin was at her funeral. He came up to her and spoke something cryptic. I asked her about it and she said that she knew him once. I know I asked you all not to dig around, but, this is in your territory and I thought you should know." Evading his son's eye contact, he straightens his tie and sniffs, still clad in his tuxedo from the funeral. "I'll see if I can get any more information out of her, but... I don't want her caught up in this... I don't-" he sighs, finally turning to meet his son's gaze again with a look he's only seen once before, "-I don't want her getting hurt."

"I... understand." With a nod and a sympathetic look upon his face, the younger man stretches out his hand to lay it on his Father's shoulder in a small form of comfort. He knows Bruce well enough to know that anything too grand would steer him away, and while the thought of another child getting hurt at his behest unburies all the trauma Dick knows Jason's death had brought him, Dick knows they can't change the past. "I- we won't let that happen. I promise you that, Dad."

~~~~~~~~

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[sourbinnie]

title -> how i hate those guys! genre -> angst + college au pair -> hyunjin x gn!reader warnings -> reader wears makeup + smoking + cursing + hyunjin being a hyunmean words -> 3705 lowercase intended a/n: this is longer than i usually write, anyways yunjin best friend ever, that's it.

this what makes us girls we all look for heaven and we put love first something that we'd die for, it's a curse don't cry about it, don't cry about it this is what makes us girls we don't stick together 'cause we put love first don't cry about him, don't cry about him it's all gonna happen

this is what makes us girls / lana del rey

"if he's here, i'll probably die." i said as i looked down. trying my best to fix my outfit and my hair as we walked down the street at night, not the best choice but none of us had a car and we were not taking public transport for a few blocks. 

"you know he is! stop being so nervous, it's gonna be fine." yunjin responded as she took my hand and i just sighed. we have been friends for over 2 years and yet i still felt like i was too little for her. she was just a dream, the it girl kinda type, she didn't have to make the effort to look pretty, she just was. while i was here with an outfit that her and chaewon picked, with makeup that they wanted me to wear and i tried my best to fit in this whole atmosphere. 

it was a house party, a big one. one of my classmates held it and i didn't even know he had this much money to be hosting something so grand, it definitely made me feel insecure that i was still living with my parents and struggling to keep a job and paying a private university which was prestigious but also had the reputation for everyone being a "show off". i never considered myself the fancy type either but i really wanted to get my degree and to make my parents proud and in the third year, here i was trying my best to survive. i met yunjin and chaewon when i first started, i hit it off with both of them because we were kinda lost in the whole college deal and being beginners felt weird. it took a group project and us sitting close to each other for us to actually start talking and become friends but it was worth it. 

some people say that college is nothing like high school which i agree. but then i look at the people, how they act and how they show off themselves. i can't help but get flashbacks to secondary school life. just now everyone's an adult and semi conscious of their actions. 

when we arrived, the music was gonna make me deaf. it was so loud and the place was packed, like it was a big house for sure but i did not understand how many people they invited. i was guessing it would be just the people that this guy knew but apparently i didn't know anything about parties. the word spread from mouth to mouth as more people found out about what was happening today. getting in was already a disaster with the heavy clouds of smoke that some guys were blowing in the front lawn. yunjin grabbed my hand and decided to get me in as chaewon went looking for sakura in the backyard. the neon lights were fluorescent as i took in the atmosphere that surrounded me and trying to see familiar faces so i felt less alone. i barely knew people here to be fair, the only one who stood out to me was san who i've done a couple of projects with and he was hanging out with wooyoung who i've seen around campus (he's loud, impossible not to notice him). he waved at me and i waved back slightly as i kept on walking with yunjin. i didn't know what she was looking for exactly, probably one of her million friends. it was like she knew the whole college, she definitely became the most popular out of our friend group and i might not be as popular but i did have a "reputation" because i was by her side.

"okay (y/n), there he is." yunjin said to me and i looked at her confused but then i saw who she was pointing at and immediately grabbed her arm for her to put it down. she just laughed at my actions and sighed, as i took in the scene again. hwang hyunjin was right there with his group of friends and he looked bored out of his mind. i never took in to be a party kinda guy but i knew that his friends changbin and jisung were a bit wild. he was probably the prettiest boy i've ever seen, most handsome one for sure. he just had a beauty that i could not describe with words and he was following the same career that i was, we were in almost every class together and saw each other almost every day but i'm pretty sure he had no idea i even existed. 

"what the hell am i supposed to do with that information? it's not like i can go and walk over to him yun!" i said and she just smiled, i knew she found it cute when i was nervous. i couldn't focus on anything but him and this happened quite a lot because i would just stare as mesmerized as i could get. and if he did know i existed, it's not like he would look my way. "can we go find chae and kura?" i said and she just looked at me with her big puppy eyes.

"come onnn, this is your chance to shine! we're not in college, you both have something in common and also he's all alone right now!" she said and she did have a point. but i could not even have a conversation with a stranger, let alone with my crush! what the hell was i gonna say?. "he's looking in our direction right now." she said and i panicked.

he was indeed looking and as yunjin pretended that she was looking somewhere else, i held eye contact with him and he actually fucking smiled. if i didn't pass out right then & there than i don't know how i was gonna survive this night. he signaled me to come over since his friends were somewhere else and i just mouthed "me?" which caused him to nod. it took a slight push from yunjin as she waved me goodbye for me to go where hyunjin was. shaky legs and everything i made through the crowd and to him. his jacket hanging on his shoulders, his necklace on his neck and his earrings were gonna make me lose it but i stayed calm and spoke up.

"hi, why did you want me to come over?" i said as best as i could 'cause the noise was still loud as hell and the people chatting just made it worse. drunkenness all around but i didn't drink so i could stay sober while talking to hyunjin, good move i know.

"it's rude to stare at me like that you know? i've seen you doing it during class too." he said laughing and i wanted to die right there, bury me i don't care. of course he was gonna notice that i do that like a psychopath. 

"i'm sorry, i don't know why i do that at all." i said and i did know but i was gonna keep it to myself because the worst thing i could say right now is that i had a crush on him for like a year already. "i will go now! have a nice night".

"stay please, it's not like we both have company right now and our friends well-" he said as he pointed out the window and i saw his friends jumping in the pool and mine hanging out with a bunch of girls that i didn't know at all. it was hard to feel included but i tried to see the good side and that was that they considered me a part of the group. "(y/l/n) (y/n) right?".

"yeah! we share... a lot of classes together." i said as he offered me his drink. "oh no thanks! i don't drink." he then nodded as he put it down and sat down on the floor since every seat was taken and again did the signal with his hand. i sat down next to him and even in the nighttime, with all the purple and red lights, i could not stop admiring him. i was still in a state of shock that he was even talking to me but i tried to let it go. 

"you love staring don't you?" he said and i just looked back down again as i blushed. i could feel the heat rush up to my cheeks and the air getting heavier from the amount of people that were in the house at that moment. "i don't mind though but let me stare at you too."

"okay?" i said and so we did. we stared at each other for quite a while as his eyes met my features like he was studying every single one of them. he smiled at me and i couldn't help but smile back as his hand met my crimson red cheek and slowly traced patterns with his fingers on it. he placed a kiss on my chin and i took it in like i was high. i didn't know how i would feel if i actually got a kiss from him but i would take in every moment that i could if i could only feel him.

he then leaned in closer to my ear and whispered.

"let's get out of here okay?" 

i just nodded and he grabbed my hand as he took me outside, everyone in the crowd moved like they were in his control. as soon as i felt the cold air breeze, his hands were on my waist and he kissed me. it was so deep and so majestic that i almost lost balance but he grabbed me. i followed his pattern as his lips and mine moved to a slow rhythm but it was perfect. i could not ask for a better first kiss with hyunjin.

"been wanting to do that for so long now." he said and i just smiled as i was completely enamored by him and his words.

"why didn't you?" i said and that's when he smiled. 

"just seeing you today gave me the last push i needed to do it."

✉ ✉ ✉

when i got back home, i immediately got a message from yunjin. i was so tired but all the excitement and the energy i was feeling in my chest was driving me on to answer it. i also got hyunjin's number which after what happened shouldn't be that surprising but it was. i still couldn't believe he noticed me and that he did all of that. he made ! a ! move ! on ! me ! and i gotta thank yunjin for that.

yunjinnie❤ OH GOD I SAW IT I WAS EXPECTING FOR A CONVERSATION NOT FOR YOU TO MAKE OUT WITH HIM AGAINST THE WALL WHAT THE HELL (Y/N) YOU BETTER THANK ME

i couldn't help but laugh at the eagerness and then feel completely embarrassed by my actions. of course everyone saw us and in the moment i didn't care. but then i saw the pics that chaewon kept sending me and yep, there we were. his hands around my waist, mine on his chest as he kissed me. he lead it on and on as i followed every move and i could still feel his lips when i touched mine. it was such a sweet feeling to be wanted by the one you wanted all along but it still felt unreal.

i answered every single message i was getting from my friends but then i saw him message me.

hyunjin ♡  can't wait to see you this week had so much fun tonight take care (y/n) and have a lovely night

i held back my teenage girl scream as i didn't wanna wake up my parents but oh god that make a thousand butterflies explode in my stomach. i couldn't even sleep, i was just thinking the night through back & forth. repeating the events like film scenes. but this was my reality and it was all changing so quickly.

✉ ✉ ✉

i felt the weekend end quickly and monday to start so abruptly. i walked to class with chaewon and i could feel the stares right on me, i didn't know how to act around it but i tried my best to ignore it and to keep going. as always chae would sit with sakura and i would sit with yunjin but today she called in sick. what i did not expect was for hyunjin to sit next to me and greet me with his signature smile. 

"hey, i hope you don't mind me taking this seat." he said and i shook my head as i saw him once again. his hair was combed back, shining platinum blonde as he left his bag on the floor and his eyes were on me again. again the analyzing kinda phase was never going to stop as we looked at each other and our hands met under the table. intertwining fingers as i bit my lip 'cause he still really made me nervous. "i hope your weekend was good and that you get used to this because like i said... i really wanted to do what i did that night."

the class started and i could not answer him. but from the stares he kept on giving me, i know he already knew my answer and how i was feeling more comfortable than ever with him. chae and kura kept on laughing behind me but i didn't care because i was again so enamored by the feeling that i was being given a chance to be with the one i wanted for so long.

my next class wasn't with hyunjin but that still didn't stop him from texting me all the way through. that also didn't stop the staring or the whispering that could be heard when they saw me. i heard the word "hyunjin's toy" and it made me shiver 'cause i didn't wanna doubt everything but it felt like things were going too well and in my favor to not be doubting that something bad could happen. 

✉ ✉ ✉

an entire month of me and hyunjin going back and forth. from kissing in the courtyard to painting together to listening to playlists we made for each other. it was safe to say that it wasn't a crush anymore, it was much more. i didn't want to let myself fall for a guy that didn't ask me on a date yet but from his actions it was safe to say he felt the same way right? 

yunjin said she felt like i was drifting away from them to spend time with hyunjin. i mean it could easily be true but this is what they wanted me to do all along wasn't it? to be finally with the guy i liked. they should be happy for me instead of holding me back like they were doing. i felt myself take a step back and look at my friendship and my "relationship" (if you could call it that). i didn't know what to pick or where to even start because i liked what i had with hyunjin but i felt like it wasn't enough and my friends seemed to be taking steps away from me too, it just didn't feel like i belonged anywhere.

i found myself on the phone with yunjin as we tried to settle down on what we wanted. i didn't want to cry but the tears were already threatening to spill out of my eyes. 

"look, i just want you to be careful because this is your first serious relationship (y/n) and you're spending a lot of time with him." she said and she had a point but i still felt like she wasn't happy for me and i couldn't put my finger around why she didn't feel the same way i did. 

"i just, i don't know! why are you saying this to me? i wanna be with him and have you as my friend!" i exclaimed, getting tired of the going round and round. "why aren't you happy for me jinnie?" i said with a broken voice and hoping for a clear answer.

"because there's just something weird going around him & you okay? i don't know what it is but i feel like you need to take a step back." she said and if i didn't think it was bullshit before, it was definitely now. she couldn't even say what was wrong, it was just a feeling that she had.

"is it? or are you just jealous that my relationship is working out?" i asked and i could feel her gasp and get up as she tried to process what i just said. it took me time to process why i went there but it felt like i had to.

"oh that's where you're gonna go? jealousy? of you and him? when he hasn't even asked you to be his significant other properly?" she backfired when it was a low blow but nothing hurt more than to fight with who i thought was my friend. "i don't know why you said but we can work it out okay? i just want you to be careful, that's all."

"and i just want you to stay out of my business! who do you think you are to have a say in who i'm da- seeing?" i had to cut myself off before i said dating because i wasn't.

"okay fine. i'll leave you the fuck alone, don't come crawling back when he fucking hurts you." she said and hanged up. that's it wasn't it? i just lost my best friend.

✉ ✉ ✉

hyunjin could tell something was wrong with me but i did not let it go through as the days passed and i still waited for yunjin to call me. to say it was just a prank, to remind me that we were friends till the end of time but nothing happened. instead i drowned my pain with making out with my "boyfriend" and hoping everything would heal as time went on (even though it wouldn't). i just wanted a world where i could have both my friends and the guy i liked, why was that so much to ask for?

"baby look at me." he said and i did, there was concern in his eyes. i've never seen that look on him before so i stopped and hoped he would explain what was happening with him. "i don't even know where to start." 

"what? did something happen?" i asked curiously but he just shook his head to then grab my hands and sigh. "just say it babe."

"i lied okay?"

i felt my heart stop right then and there. i didn't know exactly what he was talking about but it felt like the air suddenly got heavy like that night again yet it was only the two of us in his room. i had the worst feeling about this.

"when i told you to approach me at the party." he took a deep breath and exhaled as i tried my best to keep my composure and not lose it right then and there. "it was because... changbin made a bet where i had to make someone fall in love with me before the month is over and then ask them out and-".

"oh my god." i mumbled as i tried to process every word like it didn't sting in my heart. i felt everything get cloudy in a second as everything that i just lived for the past month was a fucking lie. a cruel one.

"listen i didn't think that i would fall and i knew you already liked me so-".

"so you went and fucking played with me? what is wrong with you?" i said as i got up and put on my shoes again. i couldn't believe my ears as he tried to explain that he fell for me, that he would call the bet off, that everything was gonna be okay and we could actually date like he wanted to. but i couldn't have any of that. i decided to follow him, to lose my friends and actually be with him, to just be a fucking bet? i felt so completely stupid and disgusted with his actions.

"listen (y/n). don't do this, we'll work it out and i'll call the fucking bet off but i cannot lose you." he said and begged for me to stay but i could not care less about his feelings right now as mine were being torn and shredded apart.

"i actually thought i had a chance with you. i gave it my all and didn't let myself be guided by what my friends said or what people were whispering in the hallways 24/7 and i get paid like this? a fucking bet?" i say with every tear falling out like a cascade. "on top of that you chose me because you knew you could make me easily fall and that's so fucked up hyunjin." 

he didn't have any more words than "sorry" to say so i decided to leave. he didn't even chase after me because there was no point in doing so, he just stood there like a statue watching me leave and i took the little pride i had left in me to walk away. 

✉ ✉ ✉

when i made to the familiar house, i couldn't even see it clearly through all my tears but i knew the way to her home by heart. i rang the bell and waited and when she opened the door and saw me in that state, she knew exactly what happened. my mascara was messed up, my hair was a mess and my clothes were lazily put on as i tried to escape from hyunjin as fast as possible to find my way here. 

"i'm so fucking sorry, i'll kill him." yunjin said as she hugged me and through the tears, i laughed but in the most broken way possible. 

"a bet." i could only say.

that's all i was at the end of the day.

#skz imagines #skz imagine #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids drabbles #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #skz fanfic #skz drabbles #sourbinnie #skz angst

[mac-and-thefox]

Some TBI Swiss angst cuz that's the flavor of tonight. Going through a flare up and mentally/physically crashed halfway through the afternoon lesson block so now the Multi Ghoul gets to suffer.

Reader discretion advised. It's a doozy. Sorry, my dears. Mostly hurt/some comfort.

TW: angst, TBI, loss of verbal ability, chronic pain, brain fog, panic attacks

The weather changed last night. The Ministry has been preparing for a massive storm that is rolling in. Mountain has been working like a ox all week weather-proofing everything to minimize damage.

The temperature has dropped at least 20 degrees from the day before. Everything is quiet in the abbey as the sky grows darker and more ominous with the arrival of nature's fury.

Swiss wakes with a groan and peeks his eyes open. His room is dark, it's cold. He forgot to close his window last night, and there's a frigid breeze blowing through the curtains. Swiss shuts his eyes tightly and burrows under the blankets. His mind feels like it's slogging through knee-deep molasses, delayed and sluggish. His head feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton balls, the droning buzz of bees echoing in his ears, even though the room is dead silent.

His face is on fire. The left side of his jaw is alive and angry, like someone is sliding white-hot needles under his skin, deep into the bone. The stinging ache radiates from his jaw up his face, behind his ear and his eye. He sits up slowly, attempting to massage the tissue, wincing at the inflammation his fingers encounter in his effort at soothing the hurt.

Suddenly, a zap from deep within the back of his brain sends lightning through his senses, whiting out his sight and short circuiting his entire psyche. He clutches his head with a groan as the whole world freezes for a few moments.

Didn't sit up slow enough apparently.

Swiss' hearing and sight slowly returns from the sensory white-out and his stomach drops, distress corrupting his normally velvet scent of dark chocolate and sandlewood.

It's been a year....a year since Swiss had suffered a flare this bad. He was so sure that things were finally nearing normal.

"Oh look...I'm back."

Panic rises up in Swiss' chest and throat as what's still awake and moving in his awareness picks up on that....thing. That place. The jagged hole in his mind that he had worked so hard with Rain and Omega to find and seal away. That Entity in his mind with the dangerous glowing eyes that told Swiss those horrible, awful things that had sent him to the bottomless pit devoid of hope of ever being normal again.

"See? I'm still here and you're still broken."

"You're not strong enough to beat me."

"Weak....you're WEAK."

"Just a useless. Multi. FREAK."

Swiss whines high in his throat and curls up in a ball, his tail winding so tightly around Rain's shark plushie that a seam pops, the sharp sound sending shattered glass through his auditory processing centers.

His breath catches in his throat and he chokes as an icy hand closes around his heart, crushing it tight with intent to maim, to destroy. He screws his eyes shut and whimpers as the facial pain lashes out again at the tension, cutting deep weeping lines in his soul; a brand on his heart that tells everyone he will always be defective, broken. His eyes fly back open, pupils blowing wide with distress and fear as he gasps for breath, trying to return to some sense of stasis.

Maybe if he just closes his eyes and gives in...maybe the Entity will get bored and move on...find different prey to torment and torture. Swiss curls tighter into a ball, covering his eyes, breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.

....

Cool hands on either side of his face pull him from the depths, bringing him to the surface gasping and scrambling as his eyes fly open and meet eyes of piercing blue. Swiss knows those eyes, his brain struggles to comprehend where he is, what he is seeing. Those eyes and those cool, healing hands have been his salvation everytime the Entity tries to take him away. Swiss grabs on to them like a lifeline.

"Breathe babe, I'm here. I've got you."

Rain runs his thumbs over Swiss' cheeks, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Swiss breathes out in relief as tears run down his cheeks, the coolness from Rain's touch fighting back the angry heat in his face, Rain's water elemental magic washing gently through his soul with just a whisper of quintessence; chasing the Entity away.

"It can't hurt you. I'm not going to let it, Dearheart."

Rain gathers Swiss up into his chest, rubbing circles with his fingertips into the base of Swiss' skull, laying soft kisses at the base of his horns.

"Rrrr--I--ahh"

Swiss whimpers at the realization that this flare is bad enough that it's taken his words. The connection between his brain and his mouth is muddled, unclear. Shame burns hot through his face to the tips of his ears as he buries it in Rain's neck, whining quietly as the tears make their return.

"Hey...words are hard right now? That's okay, Spark, you don't need to say anything."

"Mounty's gonna be here any second with the poultice for your face. You just stay right here with me, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Rain tightens his arms around his mate, twining their tails together as he slowly rocks them back and forth. He murmurs into Swiss' curls, whispering how much he loves his multi ghoul. How brave he is for fighting this fight again.

Mountain enters softly into the room and hands Rain the poultice of turmeric, ginger, and other anti-inflammatory herbs. He curls his giant frame around the water and multi ghoul and holds them tight, pumping out scents of lavender, eucalyptus, and sage. A protector ready to fight any Entity that may come with intent to harm.

Swiss nestles into the protective arms of his mates. Mountain's aromatherapy scents are slowly clearing away the fog in his brain, the poultice drawing away the angry heat pounding in his face. The deep rumbling purrs from the water and earth ghoul grounding and securing him.

Swiss tries to reach out through the bond once his mind is clear enough to do so. Physical words are still too hard.

"I...love you guys..."

"Oh dearheart, we love you so much."

Outside, the storm rails and rages, screaming its fury against the ancient stone walls.

But It's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay.

#mac writes #angst fic #TBI Swiss #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #hurt/comfort

[cuffmeinblack]

Alright I'm sick of the vagueposting because apparently some of you can't talk about how they really feel to people. You know, like adults.

First point. If you actually think I purposely plagiarised a fic idea, honestly just block me and fuck off so I never have to see you again. I've put far too much mental and emotional energy into this fandom to be disrespected like that, especially to then have my character attacked in such a ironically sly way on a public forum. Coming from people who have previously admonished others for vagueposting, that's pretty fucking hypocritical. I don't care enough to try to fix any sort of relationship I had with the person, since they made it pretty clear what they thought of me.

I'm a generally good person and I'm not going to let some random on the internet tell me otherwise.

In the interest of clearing up the plagiarism allegation whatever the fuck that's about, I'll say that I've never actually read the so-called plagiarised fic, and barely interacted with any public posts about it's conception. I actually do not want to, especially since I have many, many ideas and headcanons for Azkaban and HP/HL in general having been a Wizarding World fan for literally most of my life and that's what I'm interested in writing about. I don't tend to crowdsource my ideas and rarely post about what I'm writing about. As far as I can tell the only crossover is Azkaban and a degree of angst, and if that's actually it then you need to re-evaluate why the hell you're even in a fandom.

Amazingly since we're drawing on common source material there will no doubt be overlap. I'm also not going to wait months for the other fic to be finished because...why? It's not a fucking competition. If you must know, mine was loosely based on an idea I had for Garrinis which also involved Azkaban and a dark MC, which I had last Summer.

There's been so much drama in this fandom lately it's quite honestly ridiculous, and nobody seems to be able to talk to anyone else without public bashing. If you don't like what someone else is doing or saying, shutup and move on or talk to them. An incredible concept, I know. I had a disagreement a couple of weeks ago, I talked to the person, and we're totally fine and she's one of my favourite people in this fandom.

I'm aware this post might just crash and burn my reputation as much as the bullshit allegations but you know what I do not care anymore. Yes I'm aware that I'm not exactly helping with this post but my god I'm just angry and some things just need saying. I don't make a habit of doing stuff like this and am generally quite nonconfrontational.

Sometimes I do wonder why I'm still here and have concluded that it's probably a sunk cost fallacy, yet I'm here because I'm stubborn and despite all this shit I still love the characters enough to want to tell stories about them. Writing brings (brought) me a lot of joy, and I've finally decided to try doing it 'properly' but my god this toxicity needs to stop because this is exactly what stifles creativity, drives people away and kills fandoms.

#ok bye

[queenimmadolla]

Ill be there for you

Anyone x reader

I’d go the Steve Harrington x Reader route, heavy on the angst. Ships passing in the night kind of deal. Angst with a contemplative ending (could be seen as both no happy ending and happy ending, just for reader).

You’re in limmerance with Steve, maybe even love, but it happens after he and Nancy break up. Sneaks up on you. Then you have to watch him fall for Robin, pursue a bunch of girls and always vent about how no one loves him, how badly he wants to be in love again, and what was wrong/right about the latest girl in his rotation. You would confess your feelings, Steve would gently shut you down because he doesn’t see you like that. While sad, you would move on with you life.

And now that you’ve put the possibility in Steve’s head, put yourself and your interest in him out there, Steve starts to see you. Steve starts to really see you like that. Similar to how it was with you, it sneaks up on him slowly. He’s yearning a lot for you, brown eyes on you the moment you’re around, and staring in the direction you left, long after your exit. Thinks about you all the time, what you’re doing, where you are, what you’re thinking, who you’re with—and how it could be him. But you’ve distanced yourself—still friends but not nearly as close as you used to be and it’s fair that you’d want some distance but Steve doesn’t want that, not anymore. He doesn’t want you to get over your feelings for him, not when he’s finally realizing the heavy ones he feels for you. It’s the L-word. Four letters. Intense emotion. Steve Harrington is in love with you.

He was wrong, he was so fucking wrong and he just never entertained the idea that you’d be The One before, but you are. The realization has been weighing down on his heart, makes the yearning even more intense, and nearly kills him when you start dating some other guy. The fucking former high school quarterback, and now apparently a college graduate with a degree and masters in business that he’s putting to good use on wall street—and Steve hates how he’s a good fucking person, does right by people, was nice to everyone in school, comes from old money (of course the fucker was already rich before he got more rich, now Steve is just riches to rags compared to him) and he’s attractive. Even Robin thought he was objectively handsome, and that offended him because Robin had never told Steve he was objectively cute! So, he decides it’s high time he tell you how he feels, he has to—you were brave enough to make a play for two of you when he was too stupid to realize you’d been right there the whole time, now it was his turn to be brave, maybe there was still a chance the two of you can run off into the sunset, delirious on your love for each other.

There isn’t.

When he confesses, you’re dead set in your reasoning that he’s only doing it because you’re not chasing him anymore. You don’t think he’s doing it to be intentionally mean, but you don’t want to be his second, third, fourth, fifth whatever choice just because there’s a possibility you might no longer be an option for him. The two of you had your chance, and now it’s gone. Steve knows he has no one to blame but himself and while his heart is breaking, he asks if the two of you can go back to being close friends again. He’s missed you, and even if he can’t be in your life the way he wants to, he reassures you that he’ll be there for you. Always.

Even if it kills him inside.

#$ replies #one title one summary #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington angst

[atlabeth]

fight or flight - rafe cameron

summary: you come back to the outer banks with an engagement ring and a wedding date, and rafe cameron crumbles.

a/n: so i said i was going to write something fluffy to get out of the writing rut and instead i wrote this. so

wc: 2.3k

warning(s): angst, unrequited love, no happy ending. i wrote unrequited love on reader’s side so it’s only fair that rafe goes through it too

based off the song by conan gray because apparently he's my main inspo for toxic rafe

Rafe Cameron didn’t exactly know what he was doing here. 

It was the night of your wedding party, or a welcome back party, or some other fucking name for the party. Whatever it was, it was to commemorate you getting married to a guy that most certainly was not him. Clearly, seeing as you were doing your rounds with your soon-to-be-husband and he was downing his fifth glass of champagne. It wasn't doing anything, but he didn't really care.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Hell, this wasn’t how his week was supposed to go.

Rumors had started floating through kook circles that you were coming back to the Outer Banks for the spring, and the second the grapevine reached him, he knew he had to talk to you. 

Rafe never really got to say everything he wanted to say to you before you left for college in Seattle, putting a mere 2,813 miles between the two of you. University of Washington got you and Rafe lost you, all while he stayed put in North Carolina, pushing his way through Chapel Hill with his father in his ear and a business degree Rafe didn’t even think he wanted.  

So when he heard that you were going to be back in his neck of the woods for a week, he started thinking of all the things he had to say to you, things that he’d been too much of a coward to say when he still had you. 

He couldn’t tell you how he felt about you—that was coming on too strong. Especially when he considered the fact that he’d had a thing for you since freshman year, ever since you were paired up together as lab partners in Mrs. Hawthorne’s biology class. Rafe credited that year as the first time he got A’s on every project while not remembering a single thing that was said. You had that sort of effect on him. 

But he had to at least say something—how much he’d missed you, how he wished he didn’t leave things the way he did, how he’d thought about you basically every single day since you’d packed yourself into a car with your family for a cross-country trip you wouldn’t be coming back from. 

Maybe. Maybe not. 

He didn’t know. Rafe had never known when it came to you. 

But then Sarah came inside a day later, carrying a load of mail. And within it, a Save the Date addressed to the Cameron family. 

A Save the Date for your wedding. 

It wasn’t much of a surprise to his sisters when he stormed out right after reading it and spent the rest of the day off the radar—there was a reason Sarah tried to keep it away from him. 

The whole situation was almost laughable, how Rafe went from thinking about ways he could bridge the gap from the past few years to drinking away a sorrow he should have been able to leave in high school. 

So Rafe was still in love with you, and you were getting married to some Seattle guy he’d never even met, and he was at your wedding party but he wasn’t part of your wedding party, and he was about two more drinks away from a full on breakdown. 

Yeah. He was doing pretty great. 

“Rafe!”

…Great.

He steeled himself as he turned around, and the vice relieved the slightest bit of pressure on his heart to see you by yourself. Rafe didn’t really think he could handle talking to your fiancé.

“Hey,” he said, a smile born solely of kook instincts forming. 

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” you laughed. You brushed a strand of hair out of your face, the engagement ring glaring at him even from afar. “Thank you so much for coming!”

“Sure,” Rafe said. “You invited the whole family. Would’ve been rude not to.”

Your smile wavered but remained strong, the only sign of uncertainty the slightest crease between your eyebrows. Turns out kook DNA stayed just as strong thousands of miles away. “I guess, but I didn’t want it to be an obligation. I thought you would be just as happy to see me.”

“I am,” Rafe lied, and his throat bobbed. “It’s just… been a long night.” 

“Oh,” you said, and you nodded, “I get that.” 

Uncomfortable silence permeated the air between you before you, ever the diplomat, smiled even brighter and broke it. “So what have you been up to lately? Changing the world and all that?” 

“Something like that,” Rafe said. His gaze moved behind you, and he saw your fiance talking with some parents a couple tables down. That potential conversation wasn’t something he could even think about handling. 

You opened your mouth to say something, Rafe interrupted before you could. “Uh, Sarah’s calling me from over there. I gotta go.”

He didn’t look back as he walked off, and he was glad he did. Seeing the hurt on your face that he caused would have broken him.

-

Tonight had been… a lot. 

It was one thing coming back to the Outer Banks after being on the West Coast for so long, back to the norms you’d steadily been growing away from. Seeing your friends was great, but you really didn’t miss the constant comments from their parents. You wouldn’t have even invited them if you had the choice, but your mom was planning a majority of your wedding, and her guest list was “nonnegotiable”. 

So while you had the best time talking to friends you hadn’t seen in months and introducing them to your fiance during your rounds, you could have done without all the bubble wrap. 

You loved the Banks, but Seattle had spoiled you with how… normal it was. There was a reason you were only getting married here, and there was reason you kept basically all of your romantic life a secret since you went to college—after all this, it was right back to the road. 

With your cheeks aching from smiling so much and your social battery steadily running out, you entrusted your fiancé with pleasantries for a bit so you could get some fresh air. 

If there was one thing you were thankful for with your hometown, it was the nostalgia. You’d run around and fished at this pier so many times when you were younger it only seemed right to hold your “welcome home, you’re about to get married” party in the same place. 

As you stepped outside, you noticed someone else seeking the solace of silence. You would’ve given it to them, but then you recognized the suit and the hair and the way he leaned hunched over against the railing, and you couldn’t just leave it alone. 

“Y’know, that’s not good for your posture,” you said, walking up to him with a slight smile. 

Rafe turned his head, and when you registered in his mind, he sighed. “As you’ve told me for years.” 

“And yet you never listen to me.” You leaned against the railing so you were facing him, and Rafe didn’t move. “What brings you out here?” 

“Could ask you the same thing,” he said, still not looking at you.

You shrugged. “Just needed some space from it all.” 

“Why?” Rafe finally looked at you, his expression almost vacant. “Having doubts?” 

You frowned. “Of course not. It’s just overwhelming being back. Everyone has something to say about every part of this, and I don’t really care about anyone’s opinion but Jake’s.” 

Rafe huffed a laugh, looking away again. “Jake. Of course that’s his name.” 

Your brow furrowed deeper and you stood up. “Okay, what the hell is up with you tonight, Rafe?” 

“Nothing,” he said, still staring off into the water. 

“That’s bullshit,” you bit out. “You’ve been weird all night, and it's like you're trying to avoid me. Do you have a problem with me now or something?” 

He finally pushed himself up and looked at you, all messed up hair and unbuttoned jacket and glimmering eyes, and you had to force yourself not to look away. “The opposite, actually. But I do have a problem with you inviting me to this whole thing and acting like it’s normal.” 

“The opposite?” You stared at him in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? We’ve been friends forever, why wouldn’t I invite you?” 

“Because I am in love with you!” Rafe exclaimed, and your eyes widened as he laughed. “God, I don’t know how you never realized—I’ve been practically tripping over you since freshman year, and then you go and do this shit!" 

“You—” you laughed too, if only out of pure shock, shaking your head as you took a step back, “—you what?”

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated blatantly. The words didn't bring him relief—how could they, when they couldn’t do anything for him? “Surprise, I guess.” 

“You can’t fucking do this to me,” you said shakily. “Not today. Not— not now. Tell me you’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Rafe ran his hand through his hair with a cold laugh, turning away from you. “I don’t even know why I came tonight. Guess I just had to see for myself if it was true.”

“Of course it’s true!” you exclaimed. “Why would you come to this if you just— if you just wanted to try and ruin this for me?”

“You think I want to ruin this for you?” Rafe shook his head and huffed another laugh. “You think I want this? To have been in love with the one person I’ve never been able to have?”

“Why didn’t you tell me in high school?” you demanded. Your voice wavered from anger over anything, a fire beginning to burn in your chest. “Why didn’t you tell me during any of the summers I was back? Why— God, Rafe, why now?”

“You think we ever would’ve worked out then?” he asked with another mirthless laugh. “I— I was a complete wreck in basically every way, and you were the most perfect person I’d ever met. It was a miracle we ever became friends, and even more of one that you stuck with me. I thought I would get over it, because I knew nothing could ever happen, but every year I just fell harder. For me, it's you. It has always been you, even with everyone else.” 

“No.” You shook your head, the blaze growing inside of you. “No, no— it has not been me!”

Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You don’t get to tell me this!” you seethed, and you moved towards him. “You don’t get to try and uproot my life just to make yourself feel better, you asshole!”

“I never had the chance to tell you!” Rafe defended, and he counted off his fingers as he listed names. “Freshman year it was Tatum, and then it was Mason, then Jade, then fucking Kelce—” he threw up his hands. “Everytime you were single, you were very clearly not interested, clearly, if you were dating one of my best friends. And then it was senior year, and you told us all you were going to Seattle. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“You should have told me how you felt before all of this!” The wind had begun to pick up now, the night chill biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. “Because you know what, Rafe? I liked you too!”

That stopped him in his tracks. “What?”

“Yeah,” you said, and you managed a shaky laugh. “Junior year, I liked you for a while. Kelce said a lot of good things about you when we were together, and it actually started to change how I saw you. Less of an asshole, more of an actual human. Just someone who was working through stuff in the worst way. Why do you think Kelce and I spent so much time together after we broke up?”

Rafe laughed, but it could barely be considered one, wholly without heart. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head. “I thought it could have been something. But before I could say anything, you got with Tessa and I figured it wasn’t worth a shot.”

Rafe went silent as he turned away again, but you could see the clench of his jaw even from your position.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, “okay? I don’t care how you feel about me, because I don’t feel anything for you. I am getting married next month, and that’s that.” 

“I know.” He turned around, his signet ring glinting in the pier’s lamplights. “It’s not like I expected to change anything. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t think I could have physically kept it in any longer.”

“You should have,” you murmured. A spring night shouldn’t have been this cold, but you wrapped your arms around yourself as the chill bit at you. Maybe it wasn’t all external. 

“Congratulations on your wedding,” Rafe said. “I’m happy for you. Really. I just can’t be part of it.”

“Really?” You huffed a mirthless laugh, looking him right in the eye. “This is it? After all the years we’ve been friends, you’re not even going to come to my wedding?”

“I can’t.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he turned away, shaking his head before meeting your eyes once more. “I should go. Have a good night. I—“ his throat bobbed, “—I’m sorry.”

Your sundress blew in the breeze, your cardigan doing nothing to help with the chill creeping through you. This wasn’t the way any of this was supposed to go, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

You pushed back the tears threatening to fall and let out a shaky breath, moving back towards the doors. 

You looked over your shoulder and watched Rafe Cameron walk out of your life for the last time, and then you went back inside. 

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback 

obx tags: @milkiane @lilgoddesshines @sexytholland

rafe tags: @lurkymurker 

#im actually rlly nervous about posting this because i havent posted anything on here in so long so please dont hate it #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #obx x reader #obx #obx fic #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks fic #rafe cameron obx #obx rafe cameron #outer banks rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #sadie writes

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Hard to Forget - Willard Hewitt x Reader

A/N: I wanted to branch out the list of characters I'd write for and since Willard is a fave of mine (I have a soft spot for dumb pretty country boys oops), I figured I'd roll with it.

Inspired by I Bet You Think About Me and Betty by Taylor Swift;

“But now that we're done and it's over, I bet you couldn't believe when you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave”

“But if I just showed up at your party, - Would you tell me to go fuck myself, - I’m only 17, I don’t know anything.” “Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?”

pairing: Willard Hewitt (Footloose 2011) x f!reader

content/warnings: swearing, angst, Willard being a dummy, some pining, fluffy ending.

word count: 3k

“Willard, you can’t just go around kissin’ other girls and then telling me you love me, that’s not how this works!” 

“Well, maybe I dunno how any of this works, did’ya ever think that? Jeez, you’re puttin’ more rules on me than coach does for a football game, babe. Maybe I don’t wanna be in a relationship like this? I’m young, you know, I’m 19, I wanna be free and have fun while I still can. I’m gonna graduate soon and I wanna enjoy life before I get stuck workin’ a 9 to 5 somewhere. I know I’m not playin’ football when I get out, but I’m not plannin’ to be like everyone else back home and have a wife and kids and a dog before I turn 30.”

“Well then, maybe we should break up, Willard. Apparently according to you we were never anything to begin with, so it shouldn’t be too hard to call this off.” 

“Yeah, maybe we should.”

Willard’s words were like venom, stinging you as you walked away, hot tears threatening to overflow your eyes and stream down your face. You headed off to your dorm, trying your damnest to not let Willard’s indifference towards you get under your skin. You were determined to not let some country boy from a small town in Georgia break your heart, you were better than that. Before you left, you spun around on your heel and looked at him.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Willard?” 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

Five years later, and you had long moved on from the cute Southern country boy who’d tried to break your heart. You’d completed your university degree in Education, worked your ass off, determined to be happy with or without your ex boyfriend. You and Willard never crossed paths again at university, and you were sure you’d never see him again. That was, until you had to return home for the weekend. Your younger sister had just turned 16, and your presence was requested, causing you to make the four and a half hour one way trip down to Athens to be there for her party. You’d moved to South Carolina after graduation, landing a job with a school district in Charleston where you were hired on as a first grade teacher. Once you arrived back home in Athens, the memories of Willard and your years at university all came flooding back. Complicating these, was when your tire blew on your car. You had to have it towed to the nearest mechanic.

When you hopped out of the tow truck, you lifted your sunglasses up from your eyes, resting them atop your head, squinting as you walked into the garage. A tall man with dark hair and a deep Southern accent with his back turned to you as he wiped his hands off called out to you. There was a sense of familiarity as he spoke, an uncomfortable feeling brewed in you as he turned around. You saw his face, and nothing about him had changed - the same hazel eyes, dark brown curls, the faint scars on his cheek and his chin now almost unnoticeable. His breath audibly hitched as he saw you. 

“Well...hi,” Willard chuckled awkwardly as he saw you, taking a moment to register everything that had changed since you’d left him.

“Hi,” You responded coldly, your arms folded across your chest as you looked at him, “My tire blew, I just need one replaced. No I didn’t have a spare, just charge it to my credit card when you’re done, ok?” 

“Well now, is that anyway to talk to your ex boyfriend?” Willard smirked playfully, that same godforsaken twinkle in his hazel eyes that always won you over before still clearly present.

“Ex for a reason, Willard.”

“Not a good one,” He admitted as he nodded his head slowly, “I-uh-I’ve been thinking.”

“After 5 years? Seems a little late.”

“Listen, darlin’, I was a stupid kid,” he began, nodding slowly, “I never wanted to hurt ya.”

“Well, you just did a damn good job of that without even trying, didn’t you?” You rebuffed his attempt to discuss further and handed him your credit card so he could put the tire repair on file with your card. 

“I’m sorry, ok?” He said softly, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke. 

“I’m not.”

“I probably deserve that, I’ll admit,” Willard sighs and shakes his head, “Let me make it up to ya, ok? Maybe I could take you for dinner some time? How long are ya here for? I can’t cook for shit still, but I remember you always loved going out to that place near the campus, I could take you there if ya’d like?”

“Thanks, but I have plans.”

“I haven’t even told you when it is yet.”

“Well I’m only home for a weekend. It’s my sister’s sweet 16.”

Willard’s face fell as he nodded slowly. He sighed softly and handed you your card back, furrowing his brow as he spoke.

“S’pose I can’t convince you then, can I?” 

“What could you possibly say to fix it after five years, Willard?

He frowned again before gazing up at the clock on the wall. He nodded slowly and turned his attention back to you before speaking again.

“I’m off in 10 minutes, if you wait for me, I’ll explain everything. If you say my explanation and apology aren’t good enough, I’ll back off and you can pretend you never even met me. I’ll even fix that tire for free first before you go back home.”

You weighed your options as Willard looked at you hopefully, almost as if he was pleading you to agree. You sighed and shook your head before pointing a finger at him.

“Don’t disappoint me, ok?

“I’ll do my damnest not to, darlin’”

After 10 short minutes, you observed as Willard punched out his time card and trodded off to the change room to discard of his dirty, grease laden clothes. He smiled as he walked out to you, wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, his beat up old baseball cap from when you’d first met him now adorning his head. He laughed softly before turning to you once again and grinning.

“I’m impressed you waited for me,” Willard explained. 

As the two of you headed outside, you spotted his infamous beat up old pickup truck, looking as rough as ever parked outside. Willard grinned at you and laughed, “You used to love this truck, you know.”

“Yeah, when I was 19, I also loved country boys in cowboy hats who wiillingly broke my heart by kissing other girls while I thought we were dating exclusively,” You hissed at him.

If there was one thing you knew about Willard, it was that he didn’t give a single fuck if anyone didn’t like his truck. That truck was the only thing he loved more than his own mama, and Willard would spend every last dime he had to fix that awful thing just so he could continue cherishing it. He’d always been very set in his ways about everything. It was the reason why you’d split in the first place. He was so determined to “live freely” and “live his life” that he gave up anything he figured might have stopped him, including you.

“Listen, I’m sorry for what I did, yeah?” 

“So you’ve said.” 

“Just hear me out, ok? I was a stupid kid. I was 19, I didn’t know shit. I still don’t know shit at 24, but you know what I do know?” 

“How to count past 10 without taking your shoes off?” You retorted dryly.

“Hey now, I’m trying to be serious!” Willard laughed softly, “I know now that you never would have stopped me from doing whatever I had my heart set on. You would have encouraged me to just be happy. I appreciate that. I was just too stupid to pick up on that. I’m sorry I broke your heart. I also learned that you were so much harder to forget than you were to leave. Watching you walk away and hearing you tell me to go fuck myself gave me quite the ego check. And, I really did think you were the sweetest lil’ Georgia peach I’d ever met.”

You rolled your eyes as you tried to maintain your icy exterior towards him. On the inside though, you could feel your heart melt ever so slightly as he called you a Georgia peach - that had always been his saying when he thought you did something cute. He’d pat your cheek with his big hand, calloused from a combination of playing football and his studying to be a mechanical engineer, and grin at you as his thick as molasses Southern accent gushed at you. “Well ain’t you just as sweet as a Georgia Peach?” he’d always say. Half the time you figured he said it purely to make you blush. 

Willard took a step closer to you, his hazel eyes meeting with yours the way they had when you two had dated all those years ago. He sighed softly, almost happily as he saw you weren’t rejecting him this time around. His hand reached for yours slowly, his touch gentle and delicate, as if he was trying purposefully not to scare you away. He smiled softly as you allowed him to hold your hand, your lack of resistance giving him a glimmer of hope that you might have somehow found a way to forgive him. You would feel yourself wearing down against him, your cold, frozen exterior towards him melting away as he gently held your hand.

“Willard,” you frowned slightly as you looked down at his hand holding yours, trying to ignore the fact that your hand fit perfectly in his.

“Darlin’ I’m willing to do anything to prove to you that I’m not going to break your heart again if you give me the chance. I’ve spent the last five years realizing that those big dreams and aspirations I had in college weren’t going to come true without you. I never did make it out of college football, I never ended up travelling or leaving Georgia like I said I would, but, I mean, I do decently well for myself. When you left I realized you were what made me happy though - not travelling or football, or workin’ on cars. You. And when I didn’t have you to do all these things I’d dreamed of with, well, none of them seemed worth doin’ anymore.”

 You sighed softly as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You looked up at him, meeting those gorgeous hazel eyes you’d always loved, tears welling up in your own as you gave an understanding nod of your head. 

“Now, there’s my sweet lil’ Georgia peach,” he smirked as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. 

A rush of memories and a sense of familiarity came rushing over you as he spoke, calling you by the pet name that always made you weak in the knees years ago. You shook your head quickly as you tried to shake the feeling of nostalgia that was overtaking you.

“I should get going.” Your voice was soft-spoken, partially feeling guilty as you spoke.

Willard swallowed hard and nodded his head, trying to not sound defeated. He gestured his hand outward, pointing towards the street, forcing a hearty laugh and a big smile as he spoke.

“Yeah, might not wanna be late, your mama’d be so mad. Bet your sister wouldn’t be none too pleased either tho, would she?”

“No, I don’t suppose they would be. My sister’s party is supposed to start in,” You frowned as you looked at your watch and shook your head, “!5 minutes. Christ, I better start walking.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll just drive you over. Sure your mama doesn’t want you wanderin’ your way around town to get home.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly closed it again. You knew he had a fair point, and you’d never make it there in 15 minutes by walking. Smiling, Willard opened the door of his truck for you, gesturing to the front seat for you to hop inside. You jumped up into the seat and nodded slowly as Willard took your bag out of your temporarily non-functioning car for you, placing it in the back. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key over, the engine making its unique sputtering sound as it roared to life, the old engine sounding like it was clinging to life by a thread. 

“You know, I could fix ‘er, but I just…I dunno, the sound is sort of nostalgic for me, ya know? It’s comforting,” He chuckled.

You rolled your eyes and laughed as he drove towards your parents house. You directed him along the way, but once he found himself in the familiar neighbourhoods he used to drive through to pick you up all those years ago, he didn’t need your navigation skills anymore. He smirked as he pulled up out front of your parents’ home, watching as you hopped out of the truck. He raised an eyebrow as the crowd of your family members that was congregating outside of your garage. Willard waved politely to them, recognizing a few of their faces from family functions he’d accompanied you to years ago. He parked his truck and hopped out, smiling as he looked over to you.

“I take it you never did tell your mama the truth about why we broke up, did ya?” He whispered to you as your mom waved to him from the garage.

“No, I didn’t want to her to go sharpen her pitchfork to come after you with,” You smirked at him and shrugged your shoulders, “You’re welcome.”

As you came up closer to your family, you felt Willard put his hand gently on your back. Turning to you, he smiled softly and whispered in your ear gently.

“Sorry, just trying to make it seem like we didn’t quite break up as badly as we did,” he nodded as he let out a soft chuckle.

You nodded slowly in agreement and smiled at your family members as Willard joined you. He laughed as your dad wrapped an arm Willard’s shoulders, pulling him in to talk for a moment, as he would have with an old friend. Willard gave you an apologetic smile as he shrugged, not realizing that your family would have missed his presence so much. 

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A few hours later, Willard was still hanging out at the party, unable to make a quick getaway as your family members wanted to hear about all the things he’d done over the last five years. In a way, you were glad they were so welcoming towards him once again, happy to see that he was still considered family by your loved ones. You couldn’t help but notice the butterflies you got every time you saw him smile or laugh while he spoke, like he was genuinely enjoying himself, it showed to you that what he had said earlier about missing you had been completely heartfelt. 

As everyone started to head out, you met Willard on your parents front porch, smiling softly as he held your hand again under the warm glow of the porchlight beside the door. You could feel the gaze of your family members peering through the curtains at you, all secretly and silently hoping that one of you would give a sign that you were rekindling what you’d once had together. 

“Thanks for letting me stick around, I missed seeing everyone, I missed how nice your folks are,” Willard nodded, smiling brightly at you, his cheeks turning pink as he spoke.

“I don’t think they would have given me the option to send you home without staying, to be fair.”

There was an awkward silence in the air between you two as Willard’s eyes met yours. He bit his lip softly and laughed, shaking his head, his dark brown curls becoming perfectly tossed, his discarded baseball cap shoved into his back pocket from when he sat down for dinner earlier. 

“You know, I really wanna kiss you right ‘bout now.”

“Strangely enough, you’re kinda making me wanna kiss you right ‘bout now too,” you teased.

With that, Willard put his hands on your waist, pulling you in close for a kiss. His lips were soft, with a sense of hunger and passion added to the chemistry between you. You could tell just by how his lips met with yours that he’d been craving this for the last five years. That he’d wanted nothing more than to hold you close and kiss you under the porchlight like had so many times before. And if you were being honest, you’d craved it too all these years, as much as you hated to admit it.

“So, where does this leave us then?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “‘Suppose I can’t hate you anymore if I’m letting you kiss me like that, now can I?”

“Don’t suppose you can, sweetheart. Looks like you may have to agree to datin’ me again?”

“Is that so?”

“Now come on, my lil’ Georgia peach, don’t make me get on my knees and beg you to take me back in front of your folks. You know I will.”

You laughed softly and pressed your lips to his again, murmuring into the kiss as your lips touched. 

“Come ‘ere, country boy,  you’re mine now.”

#footloose fic #willard hewitt x reader #willard hewitt #2011 footloose #miles teller fic