#or asking what a minor is doing in the teacher's lounge every time he's trying to reheat his coffee

[morganbritton132]

…… this is Eddie rn……..

Eddie is a menace to society in general, but also specifically to his PR team. Once he knows that he can stir up a lot of drama by being vague about Steve’s job, he’s going to do it.

Of course, he is.

He once took a call mid-live interview because Steve was calling him like, “Oh, my husband is calling. He must be at recess. Hold on.”

He then proceeded to say on a hot mic, “What’s up, big boy?”

Eddie once said on a live-streamed game of D&D that Steve couldn’t join them because he was “doing homework.” Steve was working on a lesson plan in the literal same room as him.

Eddie was a featured guest at a convention and Steve was supposed to go with him but woke up that morning feeling off so he decided to stay behind at the hotel. Eddie obviously wasn’t going to tell people Steve’s private information so he said instead that Steve couldn’t come because, “He’s got a bad case of summer school.”

Without fail, someone inevitably takes the statement in the stupidest possible direction and Eddie gets a strongly-worded email from his PR Manager telling him to knock it off but also to clean up his mess. So, Eddie gets to shove a camera in Steve’s face to prove that while his husband is aging gracefully and beautifully, he is definitely not eighteen.

“Right, baby?” Eddie asks.

Steve pushes the camera out of his face so he can go back to cooking, “Right.”

“That was a pretty good explanation, right?” Eddie continues. Steve hums back in response so he asks, “What grade am I, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve, who is tired of his work friends making fun of him over this, doesn’t even look up from his cutting board to tell Eddie, “You’re a grade-A dick.”

[dawn-moths]

"40 — Love"

Nanami Kento x Female Reader

word count: 3,700+

(After watching Nanami and Gojo’s tennis matches for so long, you decide you want to try your hand at the game. Luckily, you just so happen to have access to the perfect teacher.)

disclaimer/content warning: nothing explicit but still some suggestive content, minors please dni! set in my i’ll be your angel au (sugar daddy nanami), use of the word “daddy”, reader is called “angel, baby, sweetheart, princess”, size difference, jealous gojo satoru. 

*ao3 mirror*

♡♡♡

The early summer’s evening sun beat down against the tennis court, the first gentle shades of what would eventually morph into a blazing sunset blanketing over you from where you lounged beneath the partial shade of an umbrella, the diamonds studding your ears and wrapped around your wrist winking in the soft amber light. Every movement you made caught Nanami’s eye, little glittering flashes of the newest jewels he’d gifted you distracting him like a magpie eagerly searching for a fresh sparkling trinket.

But he kept forcing himself to avert his gaze, umber eyes hidden beneath the lenses of his sunglasses as he trained his stare on his opponent. Gojo Satoru, on the other hand, was somewhat reveling in Nanami’s distraction. Perhaps now he might actually stand a chance at scoring a point against the blonde.

Satoru figured it would be hard for him to take his own eyes off of you, if you’d been visible from his side of the court. But, as was Nanami’s preference, Gojo’s back was facing you, though that still didn’t do much to stop him from trying to show off. If anything, it only encouraged him. Just a single glimpse of you in your sporty little baby blue skirt and crop top, the clothing hugging your sunkissed curves so deliciously it nearly had Satoru salivating despite the dryness his mouth had earned from all the recent exertion, it was enough to inspire him to give it his all on the court today, that was for certain.

Not that he ever took it easy when competing against Nanami, whether you were present or not.

And while Gojo excelled at plenty of other skills, Nanami Kento was a force to be reckoned with when there was a racket in his hands.

As Nanami sent the ball zooming past Satoru once again, earning himself another point (they weren’t keeping score, Nanami had said, just practicing, letting off some steam at the end of a long and busy day, but you’d secretly been keeping track the entire time, and so far, your Daddy was undeniably undefeated) you let out a cheer.

Nanami flicked his gaze over to you and gave a confident smirk and a thumbs up. No wonder he always won. He had the best good luck charm any man could ask for. And if Gojo thought blue was his color, today, it seemed, the shade belonged to Nanami through and through. He swept his gaze along your form, tracing from the big velvet scrunchie secured around your high ponytail all the way down to your pristine white sneakers.

He knew your favorite thing about joining your Daddy on his athletic activities was, of course, the cute outfits you got to model for him. And his favorite part, other than getting the chance to admire his favorite little cheerleader in between matches, was the fact that he’d get to take each and every article of clothing off of you later that night.

In the past, you’d participated alongside Nanami in some of his favorite physical hobbies— like golf or swimming or, like today, tennis— trying so hard to keep up with his speed and his strength and his skill. And weren’t you just so precious, thinking you could even come close to matching him? Because you couldn’t compete with him even if you wanted to. No one— not even Satoru— was a match for Nanami’s powerful tennis stroke.

You’d spent several afternoons as of late serving as a spectator, watching them play while you sat under your private little veil of shade and sipped pink lemonade, idly attempting to read through a book. But the thing about Nanami and Satoru’s tennis matches was, once the grunting and the sweat and the competition really began, you couldn’t focus on anything else. Couldn’t take your eyes off them, cold drink and paperback fiction all but forgotten as you sat up in your lounge chair, practically on the edge of your seat, leaning in as you peered over the delicate frames of your heart shaped sunglasses to watch them racing across the green top.

“Nice one!” Gojo called across to his casual-partner-turned-brutal-opponent as Nanami sent the ball back over the net in a clean, controlled arc. “But don’t forget this is—” His sentence was cut off with a growl as he hit the ball back with enough force to emit an audible crack echoing across the gardens. “A competition!”

Nanami leapt to hit the ball back in time, your breath catching when you feared he might actually miss. But at the last second, almost too fast for your eyes to keep track of, his racket sent it rushing back towards the man opposite him. Gojo dove for the ball but missed it by just a hair, the little blur of lime green slamming into the chain link fence with a shuddering rattle.

“Don’t get cocky now, Satoru!” Nanami teased, finally able to take a moment to catch his breath as Gojo went to retrieve the ball, raking a hand through tousled, sweat-streaked blonde strands. His lips cracked into an arrogant smirk, clearly not intent on taking his own advice. “Besides,” he added, lowering his voice a bit as he cast a glance your way. “You really think I’ll lose while she’s watching?”

Gojo peered over his shoulder, snowy locks damp and sticking to his temples and the back of his neck, a water bottle gripped in one hand while he used his other to fan his body with his black t-shirt. He couldn’t help but grin then too. Maybe if he had a good luck charm as perfect and pretty as you, he might actually manage to beat Nanami just once.

“Y’know, we might need to make a new rule,” Gojo suggested as he turned back to face Nanami, taking a few quick gulps of the flavored electrolytes. When he was done, he let out a satisfied sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, lazily gesturing his tennis racket towards Nanami, he continued, “I could consider you bringing along your little cheerleader as cheating. Let’s see how you’d do without her around, shall we?”

Nanami’s gaze darkened at the prospect of the challenge, but ultimately his smile held steady. “How could I?” he replied, gently jovial. His full attention was on you now, and you resisted the urge to get up and saunter over to him upon his beckoning stare. “Besides, I promised I’d give her a lesson or two after we were done.”

“That mean we’re calling this match?” asked Satoru with a slightly defeated scoff.

Nanami could tell how eager you were to come over, so as he said, “Yeah. Better luck next time, I guess,” he gave you a beckoning wave.

You sprung up from your seat, trotting over across the court with a beaming smile, wearing a brightness to rival the season’s sunny weather. “Is your game over, Daddy?” you asked with that adorable sweetness lacing your tone, all watermelon-sugar and honey drizzled peaches.

What Gojo wouldn’t give to have a girl like you to call his own.

The moment you were within reach, Nanami was pulling you protectively against his side, one of his strong arms cradling your shoulders as you nuzzled further into his loving touch. “I’d say it is, princess,” he cooed, melting in your presence like a popsicle left out in the sun. Then he cast a somewhat taunting glance over at Satoru and added, “I mean, unless Gojo is intent on losing again today?”

Gojo flashed a mean, sharp smile, all pearly white teeth and malice, and then coughed out a huff of a chuckle, something cold and vengeful shining in those elysian blues. “Mark my words, Kento,” he taunted, “one of these days, I’m gonna annihilate you, and when I do…” His gaze then shifted to you, scanning up and down your form, trying hard not to let it stick on the soft flesh of your exposed thighs, the dip of your waist and the little sliver of your tummy that showed in the space between your skirt’s waistband and the hem of your top, the curve of your breasts and the bit of cleavage that peeked out from the V-neck. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, pink and wanting, right before he concluded with, “Good luck charm or not, she won’t be able to save you.”

You felt a little tense then, the energy suddenly seeming to shift as Gojo wore an expression that you swore was hungry. And, god, how tempted he was to make a bet with Nanami, wager a night with you— hell, even just ten minutes— as the prize for one of their weekly matches. And Nanami, being confident in his own ability, relying a little too heavily on his unbroken winning streak, might just be in a playful or arrogant enough mood to entertain Gojo’s little whims.

“Sure,” he’d reply, sarcastic and cocky. “If you can beat me, I’ll even let you have her in my bed.”

And that…

That would be just enough of a stake to seal the deal. To cause Gojo Satoru to become even more relentless than he normally was on the court against his oldest friend.

That would be the time Gojo finally won.

And he’d relish in making Nanami eat his overconfident words just before he’d drown in the pleasure of finally being able to have a taste of you— the one thing in the world he couldn’t buy for himself no matter how many figures his bank account secured.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you for the rematch next week,” Gojo shrugged, his predatory gaze morphing back into something light and unbothered, a look belonging to the Gojo you were more used to. After gathering his things, he gave you a playful little wave goodbye and said, “Don’t go easy on him now!” Nanami offered to walk Satoru out, but Gojo waved him off, saying, “I know my way out. Now teach her well so someday I can drag Megumi or Yuji or Nobara along and we can play doubles.” With a cheeky wink and a self-assured stride, Gojo Satoru was gone, disappearing beyond the manicured lawns and hedges and heading back to where his black Rolls Royce Phantom awaited him in the long, curving driveway.

“Can’t you let him win just once, Daddy?” you asked, some sympathy for Satoru’s defeat bleeding into your whine. “I’ll still think you’re the best at tennis even if he occasionally beats you…”

Nanami hummed out a note of amusement, beginning to guide you off to the side of the court where the extra rackets and tennis balls were kept. “And if I let him win, do you really think he’d be satisfied, sweetheart?” he asked you, pure adoration peppered with condescension lilting in his low, soothing voice. “Do you really think he’d accept a victory that he didn’t earn?”

No, you thought to yourself, Satoru would never claim a victory that he hadn’t earned fair and square. Because as carefree and frivolous as the man could be, he was equally cruel and competitive. He was good enough to outmatch anyone in almost anything, tennis included, just so long as that person wasn’t Nanami Kento. And though the two men were more evenly matched in their golf and swimming skills, it was, of course, the one game that Gojo had yet to best Nanami in that he was so hung up on.

“I guess you’re right,” you agreed with a shrug. As Nanami reached over to hand you your tennis racket— the light pink one he’d had custom made for you the moment you’d shown interest in learning— you took on a slightly more nervous tone and asked, words trembling a little towards the end, “But you’ll go easy on me, right?”

There was no way you’d survive a single one of Nanami’s vicious serves unless he dialed it way back. And he knew this just as well as you did. Not to mention he’d sort of been hoping you’d take interest in one of his hobbies eventually. That way, it would give him the perfect opportunity to spend more time with you, to leave work a little early or reschedule a boring meeting because it was almost time for his precious baby’s tennis lesson, and he just couldn’t be late. It also would be the perfect opportunity to put his hands all over you as he showed you the correct way to hold a racket or take a swing, his palms planted firmly on your hips as he helped correct your form, distracting you in the process of course, though once your lesson was over and he’d praised you for a job well done, the two of you fully intended on revisiting those more intimate parts of the lesson later in the bedroom.

“Of course, angel,” Nanami chuckled, grabbing up two extra water bottles from the mini fridge. “Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine. Besides, don’t I always take good care of my favorite girl?”

Especially because he wouldn’t want you to get frustrated and decide to quit. Oh no, he couldn’t have that. And while Gojo’s comment about playing doubles was probably a pipe dream, Nanami couldn’t help but fantasize about spending cool summer evenings out on the private home court with you once you’d gotten the hang of things, just gently hitting the ball back and forth with the sound of your bright laughter echoing over the net every time you successfully returned the ball to him.

But first thing was first. He had to teach you how to serve. So with your back against his chest and his hands taking purchase over where you held the racket, gently correcting your grip position at the start, Nanami led you through the basics of the swing.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you, allowing you to try a few times on your own. He grinned, impressed. “See, you’re a natural.”

You let out a proud giggle, wondering if maybe you’d end up having a knack for this after all, unlike golf, which was very technical, and swimming, which was very exhausting. Though, you’d always been one to get a little ahead of yourself. Because the ball hadn’t even been introduced into the equation yet.

In other words, the real test had yet to begin.

With Nanami now standing at the other end of the court, one of the fuzzy green tennis balls clutched in your manicured hand, you weren’t feeling quite as confident. You’d liked it better when he was guiding you, felt more capable with his expertise close and at the ready. Now, you feared you’d just forgotten nearly everything he’d taught you, your mind racing with questions of how to hold the racket properly and where to aim and, well, honestly you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to hit the ball successfully after tossing it up into the air.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby!” Nanami called over to you, and it was then that you steeled your resolve and reminded yourself that you could do this. You wanted to make your Daddy proud, wanted to hear him praise you when you did it right. You wanted to prove what a good student you could be for your teacher.

“Ok!” you called back, preparing to toss the ball up into the air. You didn’t throw it too high, though imagined how fun it would be to one day toss it as far above your head as you could, watching it plummet back down towards you with the confidence that you’d still be able to hit it across the net.

And even though your aim was a little off-center, you were still able to swing hard enough to send the ball over to Nanami, who lightly tapped it back to you, letting it bounce on the green once before you lunged forward to hit it back. You felt the ball make contact with your racket, and next thing you knew it was soaring over the net once more.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, your look of concentration splitting into an astonished grin. “I did it! I actually did it!”

Nanami returned the ball to you in the same gentle fashion, urging you to continue with the streak you two had going now. “See!” he said. “I knew you could!

But it then seemed your newfound confidence got the better of you because, though you leapt for the ball with everything you had, that time it was just too far out of your range. It passed you on the court and rolled until it hit the chain link fence.

“Ah, man!” you said, jogging to go after it, though you sounded more amused than disappointed.

“That’s alright!” Nanami called, casually walking closer towards the net so he wouldn’t have to shout as loud. “Just bring it here and we’ll try again.”

You grabbed the ball and tossed it towards him, Nanami reaching out to catch it in one of his sure, strong hands. “Do you want to try serving again?” he asked. “Or do you want me to serve?”

You took a moment to think about it, then smiled and replied, “I want you to serve now.”

Nanami returned a soft grin. “Alright, princess,” he said, both of you beginning to make your way back to your preferred places on your respective sides of the court.

“Don’t forget to go easy!” you called over, a playful giggle trailing off the end of your reminder.

“I dunno…” Nanami teased, a hint of mischief present in his voice. “I think you might be ready for a little more of a challenge.”

But, in the end, he was still nice about it. The serve came towards you in a controlled, soft arc, though when you returned it that time it was with a little more fervor, the power behind your stroke increasing just enough to wake Nanami up from his gentle daydreams, the lull provided by the balmy, early summer evening breaking upon the next cool breeze that wafted through the gardens.

The two of you practiced hitting the ball back and forth for another hour or so until you grew tired, your perfect white sneakers beginning to scuff and drag a little across the court, your swing becoming a little sloppier as fatigue caused your concentration to slip. But you didn’t want to call it a day until you’d managed to make Nanami miss the ball just once.

Similar to Gojo, it seemed you had some unrealistic fantasies of your own.

So, after asking you a few times if you wanted to be done for the day and you saying one more round despite how exhausted you clearly were, Nanami drew this conclusion and decided that, if he was going to let anyone beat him, it was going to be you.

“Why don’t you serve this time?” he suggested, sending the ball back your way. You let it roll off to the side a bit before going to retrieve it, and then, hoping he maybe wouldn’t catch onto your plan until it was too late, you tossed the ball up into the air, careful and soft like you’d been doing thus far but, that time, when you swung, you hit it as hard as your arms could muster, letting out your first real tennis grunt from the unexpected exertion.

And while the strength behind the swing was still nothing in comparison to either Nanami or Gojo’s, it still caught Nanami by surprise, caused him to hesitate just a split second too long. He went to lunge after the ball, originally intending to miss it on purpose, but when he found himself instinctually trying to hit it back only to miss it by accident…

Gojo would never believe it.

He looked behind him as it bounced out of bounds and rolled to meet the fence, and though technically the victory wouldn’t have counted in a real match, he certainly wasn’t going to tell you that. Not with the way you were jumping with joy on the other side of the net, squealing and giggling as you came running his way as if you’d just summoned magic for the first time.

“Did you see that?!” you asked, nearly crashing into his arms as you met him on his side of the court, your pretty pink tennis racket forgotten on the side you’d scored your first point against him from, the sorbet glow of the setting sun staining everything in sight with rich golds and brilliant tangerine oranges. “I can’t believe I actually did that! Did you see? Did you see?!”

Nanami dropped his racket and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for a hug and sweeping you off your feet a bit as he spun around with you in his arms. “I saw it, baby,” he assured you, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You were great.”

And when you looked up at him, arms still secured around his waist, wearing that look that was just dripping with pure love and devotion, eyes practically sparkling with it, Nanami had half a mind to lower you both to the court and celebrate your first successful tennis lesson a little early.

“I couldn’t have done it without such an amazing teacher,” you told him, nuzzling your cheek against his chest, both of you warm and dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. “But I had a lot of fun! Can we practice again tomorrow?”

Nanami let out a chuckle, the richness of it rumbling through his chest, velvety and sonorous. He swept you up in his arms, intending to carry you all the way back to the house, all the way up to the master bedroom. He said, “Of course, sweetheart. But first, a victory dinner is in order, don’t you think?”

You hummed out a pleasant note, that beaming smile of yours not faltering, though now something a little more devious snaked its way into your narrowing gaze. “Can the victory dinner involve going out for ice cream after?” you asked.

Nanami let out a sigh, though couldn’t wipe the grin off his face even as he shook his head a little and reluctantly replied, “Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it.”

But after that, once your sweet tooth had been satisfied and the exhaustion from the day crept back in to claim you, Nanami would be sure to collect his own prize. And once he was done with you tonight, well…

You might want to take a break from practicing tomorrow after all.

♡♡♡

(Hiiii everyone and thank you so much for reading! Honestly I’ve been thinking about my sd!Nanami from this au for so long now I just had to write a lil something for him and this is just what came to mind! I also can’t wait for summer, so I’m spending most days just dreaming about that lol. Anyway, I hope you’re all doing wonderful and remembering to take care of yourselves! See you next time, byyyyye~!)

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

Friendship Prompt: You're sad and the guys are there for you

Warnings: none. gender neutral reader. guys are 17-20. some self-loathing and insecurity

You have had enough. How dare your boss/teacher bite your head off over one minor mistake? All you did was hand in an assignment/proposal with a minor spelling mistake, and boom! You're now the worst person to have ever existed.

The entire ordeal really set something off inside of you. You felt angry, you felt hurt, but you actually felt bad about yourself the most. You felt like you just couldn't do anything right anymore. Every little thing you did and suddenly it was like you murdered a bunch of puppies.

This hadn't been the first time this week you got your head chewed off. Your friend got mad at you for asking if you could borrow a top after you spilled something on yours. Suddenly you were needy and took advantage of people. Then you kept messing up while doing (favorite hobby) and now your boss/teacher yelled at you. Everything has just boiled over.

You just wanted to be alone and not see anyone. Normally you'd go to the lair to hang out with the guys but today you just wanted to be by yourself. You were scared that you were going to make one of the guys mad or do something that would cause a disturbance on accident. It was best in your opinion to just go home.

You unlocked your apartment door and walked in. The TV was playing and there was talking from the kitchen. You slowly closed the door and took off your shoes, setting your bag down. You walked in and saw the Knicks were playing on the TV. Mikey was sitting on the ground in front. Donnie was standing at your island with a bag of cheese puffs in his hand, making comments about the latest play. Raph was on the recliner, an orange crush in his hand and what appeared to be a bowl of popcorn on his knee. Leo was quietly sitting at the island, munching on some doritos.

The sight wasn't unusual, in fact it was quite the opposite. The guys often came over for the Knicks game because, well they never gave a reason, but they were often in your space watching the game. They'd bring over a ton of snacks cause they have big apetites and just pig out and yell at the TV. You found it homey.

They also wondered to your apartment sometimes after patrol on the weekends and you'd find them the next morning. You'd make them breakfast and help them clean up. They'd spend the entire day with you, lounging and watching movies.

"Hey Y/N." Donnie greeted you, wiping his mouth on a napkin then walking over to you, leaning down and kissing the crown of your head. "Game just started."

"Yay Y/N's here!" Mikey cheered, jumping up and coming over to you, hugging you. "I haven't seen you in so long, babe!"

You let out a breathy chuckle, patting his shell. "You saw me yesterday."

"That was soooooo long ago." He whined, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"Yeah yeah, back up." Raph grumbled, pushing Mikey away from you before planting a kiss on your other cheek. "How ya doin?"

"I'm okay." You replied, a small smile coming on to your face from all the affection. "Long day, I'd rather just not talk about it."

Raph patted your head before heading back to his spot on the recliner. Mikey kissed your cheek one more time before going back over to his spot.

"Here! Allow me to make you an ice cream sundae that's scientifically proven to boost morale." Donnie offered, opening your freezer.

You appreciated that about Donnie. He didn't pry but he would try in small ways to cheer you up. He always used the "scientifically proven" excuse whenever he suggested anything/offered to do something to make you feel better. You knew, he knew, that it wasn't scientifically proven, but it was a cute way of saying "let me cheer you up."

You didn't protest, instead you pulled out the chair next to Leo and sat down. You noticed he had made tea, you could smell the jasmine coming from his empty cup that sat next to him.

Leo wiped his mouth with a napkin before leaning over and planting a kiss to your forehead. "That bad, huh?"

Donnie reached over and handed you a big bowl of ice cream with sprinkles, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and gunmy bears on top.

"Bonn Appétite!" Donnie cheered, patting your head and returning back to his bag of cheese puffs.

"Thanks." You told him, taking the bowl and looking at Leo. "I just feel like I keep doing everything wrong like all the time."

"Says who?"

"Everyone."

You took a bite of ice cream and sighed. You couldn't help but to feel this way. Everytime you felt like things were going right and falling in to place, it just all falls apart. You were at the point in your life where you wanted to just enjoy where you were. You wanted to not have to second guess yourself or walk on egg shells. You were tired.

The energy in the room had shifted and the air became dense. You could feel the weight of your bad week just coming down on your shoulders. You felt worse than you did on the way home.

"Why are ya crying?" Raph's voice rang through the living room.

You reached your hand up and felt your face. You were crying and didn't even notice it.

"I-I am?" You asked, hurriedly wiping your face with your free hand, feeling your cheeks wet. "I'm sorry."

"Awww c'mere my little angel puff." Mikey cooed, coming to your side and setting your ice cream on the island before hugging you.

Mikey's hugs were either wild and tight, or warm and comfy. This was one of those warm and comfy hugs were you feel nothing but love and security. You felt shielded, protected, safe. He just knew when the right hug was needed, it was his sixth sense.

"It's..It's just been a hard week." You whispered, sniffling lightly, nuzzling into Mikey's plastron.

"Aw Y/N, we all have hard weeks. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay." Donnie said from behind the island.

"C'mon kid, no need ta cry. In fact, I'll tell ya what." Raph said, you could hear him get up. "Tell me who it is and they won't eva do it again."

"You can't beat up my boss/teacher, Raph." You mumbled, pulling away from Mikey. You felt Mikey still rubbing your back. You wiped your eyes.

"Why? They a girl?"

"Raph." Leo snapped, hitting his brother in the shoulder.

"Hey," Raph put his hands up, "I wouldn't hit'er, I'd just make'er cry a little."

Raph was ever the protector. Fiercly loyal and always ready to have your back. You recalled one time where an ex-friend had called you and was giving you a hard time. Raph over heard and practically ripped the phone from you and gave them an ass chewing. You never did hear from them again.

"You wanna talk about it?" Leo asked, his blue eyes filled with concern. You shook your head. "We're all ears when you're ready." He gently patted your shoulder.

Leo didn't pry and he didn't push. Instead he offered small gestures of comfort. Not a man of many words but his eyes held his vulnerable emotions. He was precise and intentional with his actions. You appreciated how soft and kind he could be and how he knew when it was appropriate.

Mikey lifted you up and grabbed your ice cream bowl, handing it to you. "I say cuddles from Michaelangelo is the perfect medicine."

"Leave some Y/N for the rest of us." Donnie complained, a mouth full of cheese puffs.

"Now we ain't ever gonna get'em back." Raph grumbled, his lips turning in to a small pout.

"It was my turn." Leo mumbled, you could hear the pout in his voice.

You chuckled as Mikey carried you to the middle couch and sat with you in his lap. His arms were securely around your waist and his chin was on your shoulder.

Maybe this is exactly what you needed, not to be alone.

"You're so cuddly, Y/N." He whispered, a smile on his face.

Suddenly you didn't feel bad anymore.

[mikalara-dracula]

💋 PDA with Shu

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor or aren't comfortable with slight NSFW.

Shu doesn’t really care much about PDA or who even sees it.

Whether it be public or private, he doesn’t care--it’s more of the fact that he just gets lazy about doing it in general--it really depends on his mood.

If he is in the mood tho, things are a lot more lively than usual.

And since he’s lazy a lot of the time and doesn’t initiate much PDA because of that, it always comes as a surprise when he does, leading you to be caught off guard and he lives for that factor.

In general, he gives you lots of smirks, even if he’s laying down with his eyes closed and you’re somewhat near him.

Honestly, every time you see one on his face, you know he's got something lewd on his mind or you're doing something that's turning him on even if you're not physically doing anything intimate with him.

When it’s just you two tho, be prepared for more scandalous surprises--he seriously likes to keep you on the edge.

If you’re busy doing something, he’ll pretend that he’s asleep, but really, he’s just watching the way you move or the way your gaze gets focused when doing an activity.

But he’d of course turn or instantly close his eyes if you looked in his direction, your mind being totally oblivious to the fact of him observing.

If, by any chance tho, you bend down to get something, this is a serious turn-on for him, his mind racing at the idea. And if he gets a slight view of your panties or ass, it’s a plus.

If you’re sitting down on the couch and he’s laying down he likes to use your thighs as a pillow so he can rest his head. He also likes it when you run your fingers through his hair, it always makes him fall asleep peacefully.

But he’s gonna be the biggest ass about it, accusing you of being a perv and that you can’t keep your hands off him when it’s the other way around.

When laying down with him, he likes to pull you into him, but things change depending on if you’re facing him or not.

If you’re facing him, he’ll act pretty domestic and express small acts of affection like giving you forehead kisses for no reason or before going to sleep. He also likes to rest his hand on the dip of your waistline.

If you’re not facing him tho, he likes to take things up a notch, especially if he’s in a certain mood.

He likes to place his hand on your hip or place a leg over yours so you can’t leave.

He also likes to just lay his hand on the side of your ass because he apparently finds it natural to do so. And if he really wants to invoke a reaction from you, he’ll even go as far as to clutch your ass.

He’s not opposed to have you lay down on top of him and rest your head in his neck, but just know this won’t stop him from resting on your ass or giving it a smack if he feels like it.

You sometimes let him lay on top of you, and you honestly become his body pillow in this scenario. He really likes the idea of you beneath him, and likes it when this happens to he can trap you and prevent you from leaving since he thinks your body feels comfortable to lay against.

In public--if you actually managed to drag him somewhere xDD--when you’re walking with him, he likes to pull at your clothes just to get you to look at him, but he’d be quick to let go and make it look like he didn’t do it.

He’d then deny it when you’d ask him, saying you’re just hallucinating when you know you’re not.

If you’re wearing jeans that really highlight your hip area, he’s definitely not going to let you live it down, and when you’re not expecting it, he’ll give your ass a small smack and doesn’t care who’s watching.

I've said this in another post regarding Shu, but he likes biting or making out with you in the stairwells at school.

Yes, he actually finds the energy to do this xDD.

He really likes the idea that it’s secluded but that you also could get caught by a teacher or school staff member.

At school, he encourages you to skip class to hang out with him. You of course say no, but he manages to get you to do so in various ways--by either tricking you that class is cancelled or that he makes you forget about the time and by the time you realize that you’re late, there’s only a few minutes left of class.

He also tries to make you go to different parts of the school where students aren’t allowed.

This is mostly because he wants to be alone with you and doesn’t want some annoying teacher or students to get on his nerves when he’s with you.

Plus, he lives for the risk of getting caught, remember? xDD.

“But Shu, if we get caught it-,”

“Who cares.” He’d say, still continuing to lead you, his hand intertwined with yours.

If their school in DL has a terrace area, Shu’s definitely going to spend a lot of time there if he doesn’t want to lounge about in the halls and have some annoying teacher or staff member get on his case about going to class.

And since he likes to have private moments with you, he’ll use this as another place to share an intimate moment with him or just talk about whatever.

He likes to sit on the ledge lazily and have you stand in between his legs, his arms pulling you into him as he’d share a slow and passionate makeout session with you.

But of course, when the bell would ring, he’d groan and slightly growl under his breath since it was interrupting the moment, your lips pulling away from his.

“Oh, the next bell.”

“Who cares.” He’d say, pulling you back in for a forceful kiss, being annoyed that school was getting in the way.

You’d pull away, attempting to break free of his grasp. “Shu, I gotta go otherwise I’m gonna be-,”

He wouldn’t listen, his arms not willing to let you go, quickly pulling you in for another kiss, causing you to melt into it. He took note of your reaction, soon pulling away.

“Is that so? Your body says otherwise.” He’d smirk.

“I’m serious.” You’d laugh, playing slapping his arm. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

He’d sigh, knowing he’d be pretty bored for the next hour or so, but you’d be quick to place a small kiss on his cheek, reassuring, “I promise.”

You’d quickly grab your things and head off to class. It was faint, but a small smile spread across his face as you left, his undead heart content.

As we know, Shu doesn't really attend class, so you have to drag him there. You of course try to encourage him, but he always says it's a drag, but sometimes he'll make the exception of going if you really want him to.

Say you need a partner for a new project for a class you both have together, he'll come so you don't get paired up with someone random.

But on the way there, he's gonna tell you how much of drag all of this as you lead him by the hand to class.

He’ll sometimes go to class just to make you happy, but he honestly doesn’t focus or take notes on anything. He’s honestly more sleepy there than he is in general, his chin resting on his palm as he’d lazily eye his surroundings.

He only directs his attention to you and whispers perverted things into your ear while class is going on, which makes you super distracted and on the verge of getting caught, a blush rising on your cheeks only making him amused knowing he’s getting a reaction out of you.

Luckily you two sit near the very back benchtop lol.

While you’re busy listening to the teacher lecture, he likes to unexpectedly laying his hand on one of your thighs, instantly catching you off guard. He’d gently stroke it up and down in a soothing manner to the point that you’d just brush it off and continue listening to the lecture, but that was until he’d go as far as slipping his hand between your thighs, almost making you jump out of your seat.

And sometimes, the teacher calls him out for distracting you since they see that something is off, but they don’t suspect what he’s doing to you exactly.

“Mr. Sakamaki, stop distracting Y/N. Either behave or go to the principal’s office.”

He’d of course only sigh in return, obviously not caring, the teacher soon resuming their lecturing knowing he wasn’t going to change.

But if you're giving a presentation in class you share with him, you of course try your best to not make him find out, but he always ends up finding out.

And this is where he actually finds the will to go to class just so he can tease you while you're presenting--by inaudibly mouthing lewd words towards you in hopes that you'll blush or mess up.

He'll even stare at you up and down or at different areas of your body as you're presenting as another tactic to get you to mess up.

He's definitely going to tease you after class about your presentation--you're honestly never going to hear the end of it.

Also likes to tickle you when you least expect it--it sometimes leading to full-out tickle wars, mostly because he enjoys hearing your laugh.

[quirklessidiot]

title : cigarettes and parfaits [2] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, josei, mild angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) Notes: tbh idk how marriage works in japan, all i know is that once you have both your signatures in the marriage registration certificate with one witness then you guys r married skdjssks anyways onto the story- also might i add this is happy story?? i promise yall, all youll see is cute stuff in this story bcos fuck angst (ok maybe lil angst since you know plot development) but i stand by that nanami kento deserves that trip to malaysia under the sun with his lover! before i forget to add, the age dynamics is that y/n is around 25 and nanami is 38. no power play and all that, just two healthy consenting adults! sorry for the early delete had some minor corrections :( 

Izakaya-informal japanese bar

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*13 hours earlier; a night before at some random Izakaya in Tokyo*

You sat in front of your phone and three bottles of saki, despite your friends advising you countless of times to lay off drinking too much, all sense and warnings are thrown off the window tonight.

You’re clearly far from sobriety as you recall the video chat with your otosan not looking too good and bright, “Why don’t you move back home? It’s not like the teaching job at tokyo is all that great! You’re alone there and your obachan and I don���t like that a lot…” your father’s words haunt you again and again.

Just what was wrong with living alone? And excuse your otosan but you definitely had a very good job at Tokyo High (It was a prestigious academy that paid well, best job out there that you still didn’t know how you landed). You mumbled a few curses underneath your breath, Oh, how much you love that oaf of a father and worrywart of a grandmother but could they lay off the idea of settling down? You were a responsible and good child who never had stepped a toe out of line. Wasn’t that enough already? You immediately downed the drink and let the saki burn your throat down.

“Oh ho, slow down there.” You hear someone say, “You’re all alone and it seems like you have no one to help you back home.”

It seemed like the men on the opposite side of the bar had noticed you.

“I can take myself home, thank you very much.” You mumbled, loud enough for them to hear. Unlike older men who liked to prey on you for your innocent stature. The men who sat across you in the Izakaya didn’t really exude that sort of energy (what can you say, you had a knack of experiencing that, unfortunately).

“Are you sure? We can ask the owner to call a cab for you. She’s a woman and she’s a friend of ours.” the other one in robes pipes in, wait, was that a Buddhist monk?

“No, I’m good. It’s just…” You paused before letting out a long sigh, “A bad time so I need to stick around for a bit.”

The white-haired stranger tilts his head just a bit, “Seems like you and a friend of mine are both going through some rough patches.” he replied, pointing towards his blonde company who you didn’t notice until now.

You wordlessly shifted your gaze towards the office worker next to the Buddhist monk, you hadn’t noticed the blonde man until now. It seemed like he was going through a rough time too since the pair was loud and boisterous enough to conceal his silent presence.

You notice how out of place he looks with his crisp and clean suit, hard gaze, and silence. It made you wonder what sort of man hangs out with two contrasting personalities, “You’re wondering if he’s our friend or our boss, aren’t ya?” the white-haired man asks.

You immediately turn red in embarrassment, were you that easy to read? You try to stutter out an apology but the monk waves it off, “It’s alright, we get it all the time. Contrary to popular belief, Kento is two years younger than us and is our junior from high school.” He smiles.

“Ah,” you nodded mutely, “Sorry. It definitely wouldn’t make sense to see a boss and his subordinates at an Izakaya.”

“Oh, Kento-chan doesn’t usually go out drinking but he couldn’t resist. After all, he’s a father with two very emotional teenage boys.” The white-haired man teased in a sing-song voice. It seemed like the three were close, with the way they were carelessly lounging around the stoic and kind-of scary man.

“I’m starting to wonder if he gets that teasing attitude from you.” The blonde man, seemingly out of his trance, called out his friend. Contrasting to his aloof features, he didn’t mask the annoyance in his tone.

“Oh, uh, do you need help?” you quietly asked, tilting your head to the side in wonder. The blonde man’s head snapped to your direction and quirked a brow.

“And you are?” he seemed to be calculating and observing you from head to toe. It suddenly made you a bit self-conscious because this older gentleman had no business being this good looking and scary at the same time.

“Oh, I’m Y/N by the way. I’m actually a high school teacher.” You introduced yourself sheepishly, “I’m always surrounded by angsty teenagers.”

His gaze narrowed just a bit, it seemed like he’ll be giving you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was a bit desperate since he was getting advice from a drunk stranger in an Izakaya out of all places, “So what seems to be the problem, Ojisan?”

He’s still quite hesitant so it’s his white haired friend who speaks out for him, “You see, Kento-chan here just moved last week because of a promotion from Kyoto.” he grins, telling the story for his friend, “His kids aren’t very keen with the moving, well one of them is outright showing it and the other one is well keeping it in since he’s just the sweeter one.”

The white-haired stranger keeps babbling on about how his friend had regretted taking the work promotion because it feels like he shouldn’t have done that. You peerlessly observe the older man’s reaction while his friend talks about his problems to you. He remains stoic.

It didn’t look like it but it seemed like this man had such a soft spot for his kids.

How nice, his wife must be proud of him.

“... and before I forget to add, Kento-chan is very much single.”

You almost choke on your saliva, this friend of his sure knew how to run his mouth. It suddenly dawns upon you why this man had been very worried, he was a single parent who only wanted what was best for his boys but he didn’t even know how he should proceed now.

“Um, ojisan?” You quietly call out, “I think you’re doing great.”

Silence lingered in the air for a bit, you cringed at your rather awkward and forward approach, “Excuse me?” the older blonde man asked, clearly dismayed by your response.

“It’s just…” you ears turn red, not from the alcohol but from embarrassment, “You wouldn’t have moved in the first place if the pay wasn’t better than your old job, right? Plus you’re alone and raising two kids. It definitely isn’t easy to provide for everything alone but I can see that you did some careful reevaluation on the whole thing. Obviously you can’t avoid the fact that they feel bad but you can sit them down and talk to them about how the whole thing was beneficial not just for you but for them too.”

You spoke way too quickly that you wondered if the man could understand you.

The blonde man holds his breath for a moment, “I know…” he mumbles, “I just don’t really know how to talk to them.”

“Well, maybe you could take them out?” You advised, “Spend a whole day with them for a while and just move around with them. Help them get acquainted around their new school or something!”

You watch him silently look at his glass and think it over. Man, if this guy wasn’t older, your obaasan would outright agree and tell you to go out with him since she was never fond of how men weren’t as calm or laid back as he was.

“That sounds plausible. Thank you, Y/N-san.” his voice turned a bit softer and you feel your stomach turn just a little queasy by his tone. God, was the alcohol this bad?

“Well, would ya look at that.” the white-haired man grins, placing his drink up as if he was signaling everyone to cheers with him, “I told you drinking at an Izakaya would solve all your problems. For that, we should drink here again next week!”

The man glared at him yet again, “No. I should be heading home now. I can’t be anymore away from S-”

“Ah, ah. You promised that you’d stay until 2 am.” The white-haired man hushed, “Or I’ll be pestering you for a whole month.”

You could definitely tell that a vein popped on his forehead and his blood pressure was shooting up. Man, you were really starting to doubt that white-haired man was older than everyone in this room. He sure had the mental age of an elementary student.

“You also said I could leave after five drinks.”

“That’s only your second.”

“Satoru…” the Buddhist monk dangerously hovers over his white-haired friend. Wow, middle-age men sure were amusing, “You don’t even drink that well and he has to drive home…”

“Tit for tat, I’ll hire one of my personnel to drive you home after five drinks and I’ll leave you alone for a wee-”

“Please just leave me alone for my whole life.” the blonde man deadpanned.

Unlike you, he wasn't such a bad drinker. Four bottles for him and one more drink for you later, you're both kind of woozy and you had gotten on even friendlier terms with the three men who you now know as Geto-ojisan, Gojo-ojisan, and finally, Nanami-ojisan. Nanami was well into his late thirties while Geto and Gojo were in their forties.

If you were sober, you wouldn’t be making friends with older men. With stories of how easily young people are taken advantage of in the big city, you’d swerve away from them. Luckily, it seemed like they were a good trio and not once did they invite you to sit on their table so you had some good distance between you four and so far, they hadn’t tried anything funny or uncomfortable.

Geto is currently a lawyer, Gojo’s apparently some swanky businessman of god knows what        you heard jewelry or something      and Nanami was an accountant. A job that he described was ‘dead-end’ and ‘fucking boring’.

“...What happened to your wife, Nanami-ojisan?” you ask, the alcohol slowly shedding your shyness away.

“I told ya, Y/N-chan. He never was married. The way he got the kids was just complicated!” Gojo Satoru frowns, splaying his long limbs in the air, for a man so enthusiastic with drinking, he sure got drunk pretty quickly.

“Really? Didn’t you have a hard time? Wow…” you whistled, “I have such high…” you raised your hand as high as you could, “...respects for like, single parents!”

“See? See? But he can’t get a partner because of that Y/N-chan.” Gojo pouts, “...We’ve been setting him up on dates and such but he keeps bailing on them!”

“I have kids.” Nanami deadpans, narrowing his eyes.

“What my friends are trying to say, Kento has a number of opportunities to bring a partner into his life but he likes to use the boys and his work as an excuse.” Geto surmised, it seemed like the lawyer was also starting to feel the effects of the alcohol since he had become more talkative.

“He’s good-looking, right Y/N-chan? If he probably didn’t act like some fossil from the Triassic period, he wouldn’t have a problem sometimes about the boys having a mother figure!” Gojo rants, making Nanami flick his forehead.

“Idiot, must you tell this stranger all my problems?” Nanami harshly interjected.

“Well, you do know that to actually get a partner, you must get out there, right ojisan?” you try to calm him down, you didn’t want a bar fight to erupt.

“I know.” he rolls his eyes, “But the kids-”

“I know.” You try to smile, “You aren’t very interested in bringing just anyone in your life, right? The boys need a permanent figure and you think dating around is going to help.”

“Holy shit, Y/N-chan.” Gojo exclaims, “I thought you were a teacher? How come you know all this shit?”

“It’s basic, Gojo-san.” you smile, ready to take another swig of your saki, “You should take into consideration that Nanami-san isn’t just anyone who’d settle for less. He needs stability since he’s technically a parent.”

“That makes you a perfect pair, don’t you think?” Geto nonchalantly replies, “I mean, you need a stable man in your life who has all of it figured out and wouldn’t hold you back at all while Kento here needs a person who could not only be a good parent but also be as understanding.”

“That’s…” you chuckle, he technically was right, “That’s definitely odd how all our problems will be solved if we both just went out together.”

“... looks young enough to be my child.” Nanami rejoined, “why would Y/N-san like-”

“I mean, you’re good looking.” you shrug, rather shamelessly, “I wouldn’t mind going out with you. Heck, I wouldn’t mind if I married you.”

Gojo spits out the saki he was drinking all over the table and that makes you cringe in disgust, “As long as he doesn’t get invited to the wedding. I’d marry you. If you’d like we could even get married right here, right now.” you proudly proclaim.

The blonde man is thrown off by your statement yet he’s too drunk to even sip in the seriousness of your words, “Well as much as I agree on not inviting Gojo to my wedding, I don’t know-” he tries to explain.

“You know what, isn’t Geto-san a lawyer? He could have it notarized and all that right now then we could get married. I’ll be a great mom and help you out then you could help me get my family off my back. You scratch my back, I scratch yours!”

Geto is definitely in shock, how odd was it that he even had a marriage registration certificate in his briefcase back in the car too?

You both could just sign it and Satoru could sign it as your witness and he could have it officially notarized since he had his seal back there too.

Solved.

“So, Nanami-san, what do you say? Wanna marry me?”

Oh god, were you shameless.

Who in the right mind would marry a stranger, one who was thirteen years older and a father?

One thing was for sure, your friends were right. You definitely needed to stay away from alcohol.

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[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.9)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7][CH.8] previous chapters

[CH.10] next chapter (unavailable on tumblr but avaliable on wattpad!)

You wait outside the nurse's office beside Jay in complete silence. You were both waiting for someone to burst out the door in front of you to rest assure Jungwon's condition.

"You can go to class, I'll stay and wait for Jungwon." Jay broke the noiseless lounge as his eyes laid flat on the grim grey floor. You were willing to stick around but realized  it would be better if you were to just leave. Jungwon probably wouldn't want to see you after the minor argument. You simply nodded your head and left without another word.

When you had arrived in your astronomy class you carefully explained yourself, explaining Jay would be gone for most of the afternoon. Your teacher listened intently and understood every word well. Sitting in your usual spot, a wave of frustration washes over you once you remember Sunghoon had stolen your book for the class. You could only hope the new interesting concept of the class would jog your mind off of things to which it did. However, as the class came to a close you couldn't help birdwatch Jay's desk. Jay's absence for the entire class continued to make you worry about Jungwon and his condition.

Sending yourself out of the class in a daze, you began to join the trail of the halls. You met Nana and Dahee walking out of their class at the same time to your surprise, "Oh! Y/N!" With an abrupt slide to slow down you let the two girls catch up to you, "Sorry we couldn't eat lunch with you and Hyesun, we went to track tryouts." Nana gleefully explained.

"It's fine, I had detention for half of lunch and then got caught up in something..." Your head going straight back to Jungwon, "We should all be apologizing to Hyesun right now..." Immediately you got reminded about what Hyesun had mentioned to you earlier, "Hey, Dahee... I actually really need to speak to you about something in private." You asked shamelessly.

Nana looked at you both suspiciously but ultimately respected the privacy you desired, "I'll get going to my last class then, girls." She tapped both of your shoulders before joining the flowing current of the hallway.

You went with Dahee to a more private space, under one of the stairwells of the school. "Dahee, Hyesun told me about you and Sunghoon..." You trailed off, hoping you didn't have to say much more as to what you were about to say.

"So you do like him?" Dahee gasped happily to your surprise, "Don't worry I'm not that into him yet... But you should've told us a long time ago!" She nudged you gently in the elbow.

"Yeah! Sorry about that..." You lied with deep despise. You now had to act like you liked Sunghoon and that was the worst feeling ever, "I'll tell you about it later then, you should get going!" You cut the conversation very short so Dahee could both get to her class in time.

"I will! See you!" She waved in a much brighter mood now that you told her you supposedly liked someone for the first time forever.

"Dear Lord, what am I getting myself into?" You muttered furiously. Were you really going the extra mile to protect your friends over some gut feelings? You were literally praying to God that you would receive some sort of reserved spot in heaven for the shadow work you were doing. That is until you were interrupted by a somberly slow clap and a couple of shoes that clacked against the stairs above you.

"Wasn't expecting such a plot twist..." Sunoo came into clear view after reaching the final step at the bottom of the staircase. This was now the second time you were caught being heard by people separate from your plan. "So you didn't like Jungwon, but Sunghoon?!" He giggled in interest and cheap pity. He seemed rather thrilled to overhear your bullshit.

"I..." You could not come up with a reply in fear of both outcomes. By telling the truth or carrying out the lie to people, you were putting yourself in a very sticky situation.

"Dahee and Sunghoon were hitting it off so well the other day, it's a shame you're in the way..." Sunoo made an overly exaggerated glum face to piss you off, "You don't actually like him now, do you?" Sunoo caught on to your intentions, circling around you, "You're just doing it to save her, yes?"

You remained silent, causing Sunoo to stop right behind you where you felt the heat of his body getting closer.

"You're a lot smarter than some girls... It's enticing really... Perhaps that's why the boys are so fond of you?" Sunoo snaked around his arm to have the dull edge of his nail touch the flesh of between your jaw and neck. Slowly he etched a line down until it was right against your throbbing pulse.

You pulled away in shock as to how scandalous the act was, "I need to go... I'm supposed to check on Jungwon." You stepped away to face Sunoo in an abrupt manner.

"I heard about Jungwon's situation from Jay," He held the sharpest part of his chin between his index and middle finger, "Jungwon will just continue to get sick. He's so malnourished."

"Malnourished?" You echoed Sunoo.

"He chose to end up like that." Sunoo walked toward you again but this time passing you, with his shoulder slightly bumping yours, "Don't pity him, darling."

You shuddered. Sunoo was the most mysterious with his hints. He was the hardest to read between the lines with. For some reason, only he out of the boys influenced your thinking pattern.

...

After school and a mediocre meal at dinner, you regretted not at least peeping your head by the nurse's office just once that afternoon. Jungwon had probably been released from health watch but you thought you could've come to terms with him that evening. It was unsatisfying as you didn't feel any closure between the war of words you had with him. What wasn't helping was the stress you also had from Sunghoon.

The daylight vanished rather quick in the colder season of the year and dusk approached rather faster than a candle blowout. Since Sunghoon didn't set a specific time, you just headed out with not a glance at the clock. Your guess was to sneak out as soon as the sun came falling down. Due to the hallway monitors of your school during the late evening, it suddenly became an obstacle you had not planned for. You were confused yourself as to how Sunghoon could sneak out at this time of day, surely sneaking out super late at night was possible but not in the evening. Eventually, you took a trip out of a window on the bottom floor of the dormitory to bypass one of the school monitors.

You were well aware of how idiotic you looked running down the concrete steps and toward the very back of your school where the shadows of the forest shined brightly. You didn't see Sunghoon at all insight which was making your heart thump in fear and anger. There was no way this guy was going to set you up like this? You bit around random parts on the inside parts of your mouth as the sky grew darker every few seconds. With no one around and nothing around to do as you waited for Sunghoon, you approached the line between the woods and open grass field. You began to get deja vu of Jungwon which made you nervous as you felt the same wispy grass tickle at your calves.

"You actually came?" Sunghoon's voice rang in the open air from behind you,  scaring the literal hell out of you.

"Y-yes I did." You sighed as to how close you were to exploring that forest, "Let's just get to the point." You turned your head back just for him to be in your personal space, you almost lost your balance trying to add some room.  

"Walk with me." He ignored your jump into things while crossing the boundary between the skylight of dusk and the darkness of the woods.  With hesitation and no clue as to what was about to go down, you followed him. "What did you want to hear from me again?" He asked carelessly with hands in his pockets as he guided you over a pile of soil and dead leaves.

"Kyungeun." You answered bluntly. "Why is she tied down to you?"

"That son of a bitch. She told you, huh?" He rolled his eyes in dear annoyance, "I guess you could say I have some information about her that would totally diminish her image." He kicked and crunched around a couple of leaves as he dragged his feet. You remembered Jaeyun had told you Kyungeun had secrets, perhaps that was it? Were you allowed to ask him about it?

Making a mental note to ask Kyungeun about it later you brisked forward to the next question, "Okay? But you said she'd be of no use to you when you get your hands on Dahee... What exactly did you mean?" Your heart thumped in loud eagerness as you move behind Sunghoon.

"She doesn't taste as good." Sunghoon paused to have you hear him clearly, "Her blood."

Your face heated up, a vibrant blush sparkling your face before the sickening realization hit you, "D-don't tell me..." The horror spreading like wildfire in your body from your head downwards. You were frozen to the very core as all the puzzle pieces came together. All the times including the gash on Kyungeun's neck, the warnings Sunoo gave, and Heeseung licking your hand... It wasn't just Sunghoon who was a vampire, it was all of the boys...

What Sunghoon faced you with a gentle eyes he withdrew the small book from inside his blazer, making your ankles shake. "I suppose you'll know why I took this now." He shook the book before throwing it in front of you with pity. You simply watched the book plop on the bed of dead leaves before your shoes in no ability to process or produce words. You didn't even feel like picking up the book as you were afraid of reading it's horrific contents.

"W-well you won't be getting your hands on Dahee any time soon." You tremble with a paralyzing fear as you tried to speak. You were regretting the bold comment, for fuck sakes the boy standing before you could kill you right then and there.

He stepped closer and closer to which you stepped further and further. "Well, then I guess I'll keep Kyungeun under my power until the day she dies." His scornful laugh made you shudder painfully. In full defeat, you were sincerely helpless. You felt you couldn't run nor report the boys, who would ever believe you? You began questioning how you even got in this position.

"Wh-why does it have to be them? Can't you just live without blood?!" You cried pathetically as you backed into a hard tree.

"And end up like Jungwon?" Delight crept onto Sunghoon's white face as yours grew in confusion, "He hasn't drunk blood in months, he's so weak to the point where he can't even stand sometimes..." Sunghoon went on to speak his mind, "Heeseung and I were convinced he was messing around you for your blood."

Your eyes shot wide open in disbelief, "Well he's clearly not like you if he's abstaining from blood."

"It's true... Something changed in him recently after he started talking to you. Perhaps he has fallen for a mortal?"

"Go to fucking hell." You muttered at a volume that wasn't loud enough for Sunghoon to hear.

"As soon as I sensed your presence that day in the library, I knew you would fall down this rabbit hole." He hummed while bending to have your eyes both at the same level. "Curiosity killed the cat."

You held your tongue with no desire to respond to Sunghoon as the closeness was now more than dangerous. But your muted self only gave Sunghoon the opportunity to proceeded to taunt you. He began caging you against the tree, causing you to press up against the rough wood where you couple feel every detail of the bark on your back.

"I remember Heeseung telling Jaeyun and I about just how good the blood from finger tasted... How about a deal?" He caught your attention as you met eyes with him. A full set of upper teeth being exposed between his rosy lips. If there was one thing you had been taught by the caregivers of your school, it was to never make deals with the devil. You knew exactly what kind of bargin Sunghoon had in store for you "I'll leave your friends in peace if you promise me this," He said with a small lean forward so that his chin rested on your collarbone earning a gasp from you,

"You'll give me your blood in exchange for theirs."

[centroverted]

WIP Tag Game

Thank you @killerandhealerqueen for the tag! I'm trying to decide which one of these I should finish, so hopefully this helps me figure it out

I had made a post previously about Wip's I was working on, so let me give a brief and probably terrible summary of those

A Little Switcheroo - An AU of Guardian where Ye Zun is not the big baddie and instead got a chance to grow up alongside Shen Wei, who is still a teacher at Dragon City University.

It All Started In A Hospital Parking Lot - buddie - basically what would have happened if Eddie didn't leave the bar and actually stayed, having arrived at just the perfect timing.

Lifelines - another Guardian one - Two universe's collide, and in each, the Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei of opposite universes had been unable to save the other. So what happens when the Yunlan and Shen Wei of opposing universes find their way back to eachother?

KimChay 1: Chay is hours late to his planned meeting with Kim, and Kim is sick with worry when he finally gets a call from the younger asking to be picked up from a bar. Why is Chay at a bar? And why is Chay seated in the vip lounge next to Kinn and surrounded by his brothers bodyguards? Aka Chay finds out.

KimChay 2: Takes place after episode 13/maybe episode 14. I dont have the details worked out, but basically this one is angst personified, so have fun with that.

VegasPete 1: POV on episode 12 plus more.

VegasPete 2: Vegas and Pete have reached a weird sort of truce after their encounter in the alleyway of the bar. They both need space to work out their thoughts and emotions. Pete has gone back to the Major Family, and is once more Kinn's head bodyguard (alongside Porsche, that is). So what happens when both the heirs to the minor and major family are in a meeting turned shoot-out? Who does Pete save, and what happens after?

VegasPete 3: Vegas and Pete are now officially together, and Pete is now the head of the Minor Family in every sense but the official way. The guards listen to him, the two heirs count on his every word. Everything is good. Or it should be, except some nights memories flash like lightning behind closed eyelids, and nightmares induce terror upon awakening. Or Vegas and Pete work through their trauma together.

I don't know who among my mutuals write, so if you see this and you do then I officially tag you! And also @internetintroverts @apatheticanvas67482

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 12/16 (all chapters)

Stain’s capture radically changed the atmosphere in the school, for students and adults alike. Luckily, your suspicions about the case proved correct and no one was expelled, though that wasn’t to say Midoriya, Todoroki and Iida got away scot free.

Iida was, for obvious reasons, the most apologetic of the three. He bowed his head so many times and so passionately that you worried he would give himself a concussion. He apologised for being untruthful and pushing away the help offered to him, seeming to expect disappointment and anger from you or Shouta. If anything, the lack of it hit him harder.

Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki weren’t the only ones affected by the incident. Students you had never seen before dropped into your office, some terrified by the footage they had seen and others conflicted.

A particular video began to circulate the web after the incident, one that detailed Stain’s background and ideology. It didn’t seem to matter how many times it was taken down or blocked, for within minutes it would appear elsewhere. It went without saying that almost every student in UA saw it eventually, as well as the vast majority of the faculty staff.

Everyone had an opinion and something to say, yourself included. You chatted about it at the izakaya as well as the staff lounge and then again during the recording of Support Mic.

Even after public interest died down, when Stain’s name no longer appeared on the news and fewer people came to your office to talk through their anxieties, the atmosphere at UA remained tense. Summer vacation loomed over the horizon and with it the end of term examinations.

As was the case with most people, you were especially curious of 1-A. They had experienced so much in such a short period of time that it was difficult not to be even slightly protective of them. With Nezu’s approval, you attended their physical exams, watching wide eyed at each match.

Your intrigue didn’t only stretch to the students. This was your first chance to truly see your colleagues at work and you could barely hide your excitement, chewing at your thumbnail and twirling the pen in your hand, wincing whenever anyone hit concrete or landed on their face. Recovery Girl seemed to find your fascination amusing, though wasn't annoyed, instead chuckling under her breath whenever you gasped or jumped in your seat.

You watched in awe as Shouta jumped from rooftop to rooftop as easily as he climbed stairs; as Ectoplasm duplicated himself over and over; as Cementoss completely transformed the area around him. You felt incredibly small, the reality of having pro heroes for coworkers never quite so clear as then.

That wasn’t the only realisation you had.

You watched as Shouta moved, remembering how it had felt when he fucked you against a bathroom sink. When Hizashi stepped out to activate his quirk, you couldn’t tear your eyes from his throat, remembering how he had moaned into your mouth when he came. Even now, you could still feel Shouta’s hands against your hips; the vibrations of Hizashi’s mouth against yours.

You were ruined now in terms of standards. You’d slept with heroes and nothing else would satisfy you.

Hizashi had stayed true to his word, saying nothing of what had happened between you the night of the Hosu incident. He flirted as he always did, though it never went any further from there. In many respects, you were grateful for it. Not only would it be far, far more suspicious to other people if he suddenly stopped joking around about how cute you were, but the impact of the reset would almost certainly hit harder. On a surface level nothing had changed between you at all.

You winced when he finally activated his quirk and bellowed across the forest. You didn't have any sound, but could see the trees buckling and shedding their leaves from the impact.

You watched as Jirou and Kouda sheltered in the trees, Jirou’s ears bleeding and Kouda trembling in fear, feeling incredibly conflicted. You wanted them to do their best and show how resourceful they could be, but you didn’t want Hizashi to go too hard on them either.

Several students had gathered in Recovery Girl’s makeshift office and watched each new development with just as much interest as you. Each had opinions on potential strategies, though Kouda’s eventual plan of action took everyone by surprise.

He placed his hands flat on the ground and began to speak, which you initially believed to be him panicking as before. However, moments later, the ground at Hizashi’s feet grew deformed and cracked, a seemingly endless number of bugs flooding out from between the gaps.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, skin prickling at the idea alone. Recovery Girl had little sympathy, tutting and shaking her head as if he had tripped over his own feet.

“Honestly,” she said as her desk phone began to ring. “A teacher of this school…”

“I’ll go and check in on him,” you said, getting to your feet and dusting nonexistent crumbs from your lap.

~~~~

Much like the students, the teachers had a makeshift waiting room outside of the examination areas. You jumped back the moment you opened the door, a sea of beetles, centipedes and spiders scurrying through the gap and towards freedom.

It took you all of two seconds to find Hizashi. All you had to do was follow the layers of discarded clothing. You picked up his jacket and gloves from the middle of the room and his shirt and boots from a little further in, wincing at the layers of bugs still contained within. You tipped his boots upside down at the outside door, giving them a few forceful taps that released several beetles. You gave his jacket and gloves a good shake, turning both inside out to double check for any intruders.

Then, and only then, did you return to the waiting room, draping his jacket and gloves across one of the chairs and setting his boots underneath.

The adjacent room was an infirmary of sorts, with several beds and a privacy curtain and you squirmed as even more bugs scuttled through the open door.

Hizashi had dumped the rest of his clothes in the middle of the room and disappeared behind the curtain, running a tap and whimpering every few seconds.

“H-Hizashi?”

He switched off the water at the sound of your voice and mumbled something you couldn’t quite understand.

“Are you okay?”

You stepped closer to the shield, dodging a line of ants.

“My b-”

“Hizashi?”

He poked his head through the shield, white as a sheet and hair soaking wet, though still sticking up in places.

“Boxers,” he said, so quietly that you could barely hear him. ”They’re in my boxers...”

“O-oh,” you said, blushing with both second hand embarrassment and discomfort. You squeezed your thighs together before you could stop. “I’ll try and find you some clothes, just wait a moment…”

You glanced around the room, leaning over to rummage through every cupboard and set of drawers. In the end, all you could find that was likely to fit him was a set of sweatpants and swimming trunks, as well as an oversized UA branded hoodie.

“Here you go,” you said, slipping them over the top of the screen. “Try these on.”

You were leaning over to salvage the remainder of Mic’s clothes when Shouta walked through the door, immediately rolling his eyes when he realised what you were up to. You glanced up at him, t-shirt in hand, scanning his body without meaning to. Now that you’d seen him swinging from rooftops, goggles only emphasising the sharpness of his jawline, it was difficult to think of anything else.

You didn’t notice that he stared back, taking in the way you had tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ear; the way your blouse loosened around your neck as you bent over and teased a glimpse of your collarbones.

“I…” You said, realising you were staring at him. “I…”

“You came to observe us, then?”

“Yes,” you said, grabbing Hizashi’s shirt and folding it over your arm. “I uh… you were great. Oh! The students too! You were all great!”

You told yourself Shouta had encouraged you to pursue Hizashi. He had taken a step back and you should respect it.

Even so, you still couldn’t stop feeling flustered when you saw him, thinking of the kisses you had almost shared.

In retrospect, you wished you had gone after him while emotions still ran high. You wished you had asked him why he was pushing you away. What was it that had changed between you? Had you been misinterpreting his feelings all of this time?

No.

You remembered how sad he had looked. You definitely weren’t imagining that.

An awkward silence had broken out between you and you searched your brain for something -anything- to say. Shouta seemed to have had the same idea, for he reached out to you. You wondered if he was going to pull you into an embrace, but instead he scooped up a spider from the shirt you were holding, allowing it to crawl across his palm.

“Sho,” Hizashi called, “are you there?”

Shouta sighed at that and stepped towards the shield.

“Who else would be here sounding just like me?”

“So mean!”

“Anyway,” said Shouta, shooting you a knowing look, “I’ve got a present for you.”

“A present? For me! Really?”

Hizashi sounded genuinely excited, which only made your moment of realisation even worse.

Surely he wouldn’t?

Surely not.

Shouta pulled the curtain back, though, and activated his quirk. You didn’t see what happened next, but Hizashi’s screams were enough for you to make an educated guess.

“What are you doing?! Get that thing away from me!”

“It’s irrational for you to be scared. Look, it’s far more afraid of you.”

Even without the use of his quirk, Hizashi’s screams were loud. You weren’t entirely sure what Shouta did next, only that a half naked Hizashi threw himself through the curtain to escape. He was in too much of a panic to pay attention to his surroundings and crashed into the first thing to block his path, which unfortunately happened to be you. The pair of you collapsed to the floor, you landing flat on your back against the tiles, Hizashi face first on top of you, one hand either side of your head.

“O-w,” you muttered, having hit your elbow and the back of your head on the way down.

Hizashi winced, looking down to see what it was that had tripped him and blushing a furious shade of scarlet when he saw it was you.

Naturally, that was the precise moment Nemuri walked inside, mopping her brow on her sleeve.

“Well, well,” she said, closing the door behind her. “And they call me the R-Rated Hero.”

Only then did you realise the suggestiveness of your position, both you and Hizashi frantically untangling yourselves and getting back up onto your feet.

“H-h-h-how was the exam?”

“Yeah,” said Shouta, stepping out from behind the curtain, spider still in his hand. “What happened with Mineta and Sero?”

“Oh that,” said Nemuri, grinning and folding her arms. “I lost.”

At that, the room fell silent, all of you trying and failing to digest her words. All of you had crossed paths with Sero and Mineta at one point or another and, while Sero was certainly a capable hero, it was common knowledge that Mineta had a weakness for women.

In the end, Hizashi was the one to break the silence.

“You’re shitting us, right?”

“No joke,” said Nemuri, looking incredibly happy about it. “I lost.”

“Give me a play by play,” said Shouta, setting the spider down on a nearby shelf. “I want to know what happened.”

“You could have just watched, you know,” said Nemuri, before smirking and glancing at you and Hizashi. “Unless you found something more interesting.”

Your stomach churned at the implication, even though you knew for a fact that it had all been completely innocent.

“It wasn’t like that,” said Shouta. “So are you going to tell me or do I have to go and watch the tapes?”

At that, Nemuri sighed and described the exam, how Sero had passed out only a matter of minutes in, leaving Mineta to fend for himself. You barely paid attention, mind wandering.

Nemuri didn’t know you’d slept with both Shouta and Hizashi. She’d been making a joke and nothing more. Even so, you couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like if those experiences overlapped: Hizashi burying himself inside of you while Shouta pushed a vibrator against your clit; Shouta fucking you under a blacklight while Hizashi stole the moans from your lips.

You didn’t realise how obscene your thoughts had gotten nor how much you had stopped paying attention until Nemuri clapped a hand to your forehead.

“You okay, (Name)? You’re really warm.”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked, knowing you probably didn’t sound at all convincing. “Actually...I was just thinking...once exams are over, I want to treat everyone to dinner!”

You had taken Akira’s ring to the jewellery store a couple of days earlier, eyes still popping from your head at the number of digits. You spent most of the night wondering what on earth you would do with it. Your bills were cheap, you had a good salary. You didn’t need that sort of money.

In the end, you split the money in half, keeping some for yourself and donating the rest to a number of charities. You had already arranged to go to a cocktail bar with your girlfriends, but wanted to treat your work friends too. They had, after all, come to your rescue in a number of ways.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Hizashi, “we can just go out to dinner anyway!”

“I know, I know...it’s just,” you shrugged, “I sold the engagement ring and well...it only seems fair.”

Shouta glanced from you to Nemuri to Hizashi, scratching the back of his neck. He clearly had questions, but didn’t ask any of them.

“What about sushi? A new place opened up on Pink Street and I’ve been wanting to try it,” you said.

“Oooh, I’ve heard so much about that restaurant,” said Nemuri. “Their rolls melt in your mouth...”

“I haven’t been for sushi in so long,” sighed Hizashi.

“I guess that settles it,” you said, turning to Shouta. “How about you?”

“I’ll pass,” he said, “places like that are too fancy for me.”

“Aw, c’mon Eraser,” said Hizashi. “It’s the end of term, enjoy yourself.”

“They have fancy tuna,” you said. “Even if you don’t stay, you can take some home for Sushi.”

He paused to consider it, glancing from Nemuri to Hizashi and finally you, colour rising in his cheeks at your hopeful smile.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not staying long.”

~~~~

That night, for the first time since his recovery, Shouta stayed home instead of patrolling the streets. He had downloaded copies of the matches onto his laptop and made himself comfy on the couch to watch them, making mental notes of every move and decision.

He wanted to go over the strengths and weaknesses of his students ahead of the upcoming training camp and autumn term, though his mind wandered. He kept coming back to the moment Hizashi had fallen through the curtain and landed on you.

He had had suspicions that something had happened between the pair of you ever since the night of the Hosu incident. You had both arrived at the same time, which didn’t make a lot of sense given where you lived. You would catch different trains and arrive at different stations. Perhaps the most incriminating detail of all was the scent that lingered about you both; the same tangerine and orange blossom scent that he remembered from Hizashi’s visits during his recovery. Shouta’s own simple bath products had offended him on a personal level and he brought several bottles from his own collection on subsequent nights.

Shouta remembered turning his nose up at the perfumey scent and layers of bubbles, neither of which belonged in his otherwise simple home. That said, when Hizashi left one of the bottles behind, he didn’t give it back, often reaching for it and inhaling the sweet scent. It was the scent he caught on Hizashi whenever he got close enough, and he didn’t know what to think when he smelled it on both of you.

It wasn’t completely out of the realms of possibility that it was a coincidence, that both of you happened to have used the same product on the same night and bumped into one another outside of the school, but he knew it was unlikely. The simplest explanation was usually the right one, even if he didn’t necessarily want to accept it.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He had told you to pursue Hizashi; he didn’t have the right to feel betrayed when you did. Even so, something had stirred within him when you and Hizashi arrived together, something he had managed to seal away until Hizashi fell through the curtain. He couldn’t stop thinking about it now; thinking about the pair of you in far less innocent circumstances.

His stomach churned whenever he thought about your naked bodies; about the pair of you sharing kisses and secrets. He hated it and he didn’t know why. Hizashi would be the perfect boyfriend and you the perfect wife. It made sense for the pair of you to get together. Hizashi was into marriage and holding hands in public; you had books on the meaning of flowers and pancake moulds shaped like bunnies. He didn’t belong in either scenario any more than he had belonged in the group hug you, Nemuri and Hizashi shared.

He groaned and scratched his hair, turning over onto his side and reloading the video he had been watching. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. It was giving him a headache.

He stared at the screen, watching as Kaminari and Mina sprinted through empty streets, Nezu not far behind. He made it only about five minutes before his eyelids began to droop. He was still getting used to the limits of his quirk and had a feeling he’d overused it in his match against Yaoyorozu and Todoroki.

Shouta stretched back, resting an arm on the arm of the couch and laying his head down on the crook of his elbow.

He’d rest his eyes for a moment and just listen.

He listened out for the racket of crumbling buildings, drifting to sleep before he could stop himself.

When he opened his eyes, he was in someone else’s bedroom, sunlight shining through the windows and bathing his skin in golden light. He was flat on his back and on top of the bedcovers, head resting on sweet smelling pillows.

He realised he was naked and that he wasn’t alone.

Giggles broke out from further down the bed and he looked down, peering through his spread legs and into two smiling faces. You and Hizashi were laid on your front and as naked as he was, laughing at the lurid blush that had broken out across his face.

“Go on...get on with it,” he said, eying his own hard cock.

You turned to Hizashi with a smile.

“Should we?”

“I don’t know,” said Hizashi, “he’s been such a grump lately.”

“All the more reason to cheer him up!”

“Oh, just as expected of you, (Name),” said Hizashi, kissing you on the lips, “so considerate!”

Shouta groaned, watching as he kissed you again with more than a hint of tongue. The wet sound your lips made whenever you broke contact was almost too much for him to bear. You stole glances at him as you ended the kiss, knowing the effect you were having on him.

He gasped as the pair of you ran your tongues over his cock, taking turns at the tip. It was overwhelming and he bucked his hips into your touches, not sure which detail to focus on first. Should he listen to the popping sounds whenever one of you sucked his tip? Should he sigh in pleasure at the gentle way the pair of you ran your hands over the inside of his thighs? Should he choke in desperation at the feel of your combined saliva dribbling down his cock?

This was too much.

Hizashi took hold of his dick and pumped it so quickly that he could do nothing else but grip the bedsheets and shake, watching as the pair of you kissed again. You leaned over to spit on the tip of his cock and Hizashi jerked him faster, the wet sound shaking him to his core.

“I think he’s close,” you said, watching as Shouta arched his back, gripping the bed with both hands. “Should we let him?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hizashi in a tone of mock severity. “I don’t think he’s ready yet.”

You both looked at him, taking in his half sitting position and rasping breaths.

“Fffuck,” he hissed, holding himself taught, “both of you.”

You both laughed at that and Hizashi let go of his dick, making way for you to take it into your mouth, bobbing your head as you took more and more of it in. Hizashi stroked his fingers through your hair and cooed at how cute you were, Shouta squeezing his eyes shut and gasping for air. He was close to the point of no return and the vibrations against his dick as you moaned didn’t help.

He couldn’t breathe; his breaths were short and sharp, his heart raced and his dick almost unbearably tight. You pulled away just in time for him to whine and flop back against the bed, cumming all over his--

He woke up, bleary eyed and sweaty, taking in the dark room and abandoned laptop, the hard couch under him.

“Shit,” he said, reaching for the waistband of his boxers and grimacing at the knowledge that he hadn’t dreamt the part where he came everywhere.

He got to his feet and waddled to the bathroom, cursing both at the mess and twitching of his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a wet dream. Had it been high school? Whatever the case, he felt dirty.

He kicked off his boxers and climbed into the bathtub, trying and failing to distract himself from the waves of pleasure still rushing through his body.

He turned on the cold tap, both to bring himself back to earth and wash away the evidence. He rarely remembered his dreams, but this one wouldn’t leave him.

“Shit,” he said, rubbing his temples and willing away the mental image of you and Hizashi trailing your tongues over his dick. “Shiiiiiit.”

He sank down into the bath and sucked in a deep breath as the cold water touched his skin. He closed his eyes, orgasm fading and lucidity setting in. For the first time in weeks, he felt clear headed.

He scowled, no longer focusing on Hizashi falling on top of you, but the part that came soon after and bothered him just as much.

Engagement ring?

~~~~

“I don’t believe you.”

Nemuri sat back to sip her beer, looking across the crowded restaurant.

“I’m telling you,” said Hizashi, “she’s the one!”

With the end of term came the promised sushi dinner; you, Nemuri, Hizashi and a reluctant Shouta all at one table.

Only after you and Shouta got up for another round of drinks did Hizashi drop the bombshell he had been sitting on for weeks: that you were the woman from Ego . To say Nemuri was skeptical was an understatement.

“(Name)? That (Name)?”

She pointed across the room and towards the bar, where you and Shouta were ordering drinks.

“She had the dress , Nemuri!”

Nemuri held her beer to her chest, watching as you ordered your drink and bowed several times to the bartender.

“Let’s assume I believe you,” she said, tilting the bottle towards him. “What were you doing in her bedroom in the first place?”

Hizashi hadn’t mentioned the fact that you’d slept together and he broke out in goosebumps at getting even remotely close to caught.

“I-I walked her home and my hair tie broke. Nothing happened!”

It wasn’t a lie. That really was why he’d been in your room. Nemuri had known him for long enough, though, to pick up when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?”

“I,” Hizashi realised he’d raised his voice and leaned across the table to speak in hushed tones. “No, why would you think that?”

“You’re a terrible liar. Besides, she told me you did.”

“She what ?”

Hizashi clapped both hands over his mouth, not meaning to shriek as loud as he did. Nemuri flinched at the sudden loud noise, rubbing a finger over her ear.

“She...she really told you?”

He remembered his own words that night, his promise not to say anything unless you did. He hadn’t expected you to say anything, much less so quickly, and for a second he wondered if he had you all wrong, only to notice Nemuri’s shit eating grin.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” she said, taking a satisfied sip of beer. “You just now, though? You told me everything .”

“Nemuri, promise me you won’t say anything about this! I didn’t mean to, I just...it just happened.”

“What, did you trip and land dick first?”

“No!” Hizashi buried his face in his hands. “No, it wasn’t like that. I only meant to cheer her up a little, but there she was...all beautiful and sad and sweet and lonely...like a love song.”

Nemuri didn’t say a word and he lifted his head, watching the way she stroked her finger through the condensation on her beer bottle.

“Hizashi,” she said, “I don’t know how we got here, but somehow you’re the Shinohara.”

Hizashi buried his face in his hands again, remembering Shinohara’s lurid blushes and trembling hands.

“I don’t want to be the Shinohara,” he wailed into his hands. “I don’t want any of this!”

Nemuri reached out to pat his head, beer forgotten and all of the mirth gone from her face. She remembered a different time and a different trio: a different story of unrequited love.

She wondered what Shirakumo would have said about all of this.

Knowing him, he’d find a way to fall in love with you as well.

“Listen,” she said, patting his head, “let’s assume (Name) really is the girl from Ego .”

“But she-”

“Let’s assume she is.”

“But she is the-eeek!”

Nemuri had picked up her beer and rested it on his head, sending a surge of cold through his scalp.

“Listen to me,” she said. “You don’t have to feel guilty about pursuing either of them.”

Hizashi didn’t miss her wording. They could be his. He didn’t need to feel guilty about pursuing either of them. He had never mentioned having any kind of feelings for Shouta to her. He’d never mentioned them to anyone.

“How long have you known?”

Had he really been that obvious?

“I asked you a while ago if you remembered Shinohara,” said Nemuri.

“You did...and I do!”

“No,” she sighed. “No, you don’t.”

She lifted the bottle from his head to take a sip, remembering the way she, Hizashi and Shirakumo had crouched against the wall in the neighbouring classroom to eavesdrop; the way Shirakumo had reached into her lap without looking to help himself to the chips she’d brought. She remembered the tension in everyone’s bodies as Aizawa began to speak.

Neither Hizashi nor Shirakumo had ever looked so relieved as the moment he turned her down.

“Hizashi,” she said. “Do you want to date one of them, or do you want them to date each other? Which one is it?”

He stayed silent, knowing that the true answer was neither of those things. He wanted both of them in every way it was possible to want anyone. He wanted to be greedy, wanted to be selfish, wanted to forget how it felt to be lonely.

“I want to do the right thing.”

Nemuri sighed and scratched her chin.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It...I…” Hizashi rested his head on the table. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I just want them to be happy.”

“In that case, I know what we have to do next,” she said. “1-A are going to summer camp next week and I was supposed to be chaperoning the girls. I could...hypothetically...be unable to go.”

Hizashi looked up at her and nodded, as visibly sad as a wilting sunflower.

“I guess that’s the plan, then,” she said. “Now don’t forget to smile!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask why, for you and Shouta returned with drinks at that very moment and the transformation was instantaneous.

“Heyyyy, what took you guys so long,” he cried out, practically bouncing back up with an enormous grin plastered across his face, “we thought you got lost!”

“Not quite,” you said, with a giggle. “I couldn’t decide what drink to get.”

“Ahhh, indecision,” said Nemuri, with a knowing smile. “Sounds familiar.”

You sat back down at the table, Shouta not far behind.

“So,” you said, “what were you guys talking about?”

~~~~~

FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

From the moment you stepped inside of the sushi bar, Shouta had made it quite clear he didn’t intend to stay. Even so, you had been there for well over an hour and, while he had poked and prodded at his food and stayed quiet, he hadn’t made any attempt to leave. He had even offered to help you carry the next round of drinks and you were finding it difficult to hide your joy.

He didn’t say much even then, but you didn’t mind it, losing yourself in the numerous options on the cocktail menu.

When he did speak, it took you by surprise.

“Back then. What did you mean?”

You recalled the last conversation you had had at the table, about what you planned to get up to now that your schedule was all but clear. You had mentioned going to Yamanashi to pick peaches and wondered what part of that might have confused him.

“The...the fruit farm?”

“No,” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you like peaches?”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” you said, wondering what it was he meant to ask you, not noticing the way his eyeline skirted across your bare ring finger.

The pair of you fell into silence again, watching as the bartender put together your drinks.

“I do,” said Shouta at last.

“Hmm?”

“Peaches. I like them.”

“Oh! In that case I’ll bring back a souvenir!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to!”

Shouta sighed and rubbed his temples and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing.

You wondered what it was he had meant to ask you and clasped your hands together.

“Shouta.”

“Yes?”

You took a deep breath, the question dying on your lips.

“What about cherries?”

~~~~~

A/N: RIP EVERYONE READING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME. THE NEXT CHAPTER IS A DOOZY

[djarinvibe]

Shooting Stars (Din Djarin x F!Reader) Pt. 1

A/N: Okay it’s finally here! I’m so excited for this fic, I’m also excited for y’all to read this fic.

Warnings: MODERN!AU, none

Words: 2.2K

Summary: A new professor has been hired at your work seemingly out of the blue.

Master List

September

Dust-filled rays of golden hues shone brightly throughout the large teachers lounge as you sat there, sipping your morning coffee. The room was empty, save for your sitting figure. You typically got to work early, liking the quietness of the space before the other professors and staff would arrive. It gave you time to wake up, as well as prep for the upcoming day. You would do it in your classroom, however, you shared it with the night school teacher and she doesn't leave until it’s time for your first class of the day.

The school you teach at is a community college, but only a two year institution. It’s quite small, one of the smallest in the state, due to how lowly populated the surrounding cities are. You enjoy it, it gives you a chance to form personal relationships easier. Plus the simpleness of a small town has always intrigued you. 

You moved to the low-populated city shortly after graduating and getting your bachelors degree just seven years ago. You got your job as the Film and Literature professor for both grades shortly after and wouldn’t change it for the world, having taught here for six years now. You love your students, and the curriculum, and you’ve also made friends with the other long-time staff. 

The school year just started, actually. You're only two weeks into the semester. The beginning of the year always had a bit of magic to it. Students actually want to be here and teachers aren't so crabby. There's a collective togetherness felt across the whole campus for the first month or so, it's the highlight of the year.

“Here again early?” The voice of your colleague startled you, prompting you to spill some coffee over the papers you’d been grading.

“Shit,” You muttered, quickly trying to dab away the liquid, “Uh, yeah, I always do.” You chuckled, shrugging away the situation. You looked up to see who’d entered the room and smiled, noting it was one of your close work friends, Omera. The woman has worked here for almost as long as you, having started two years after. She isn't a teacher, instead she works in the office as a secretary. Omera also has a ten year old daughter, and is an amazing single mother. You've met her child, Winta, a few times in the past. You two became friends quickly, finding out you had many things in common.

“I prefer the extra twenty-five minutes of sleep.” She chuckled lightly, padding over to the old coffee machine. You always made sure to brew a full pot, as you were usually the first person to make any. You nodded towards her with a quieted snort, rolling your eyes, before looking back down at the work in front of you.

“Oh, did you hear? Dean Karga hired a new Astronomy teacher.” She smirked, pouring the coffee into a cup as she leaned against the cabinets. “I got a peek of him after his interview,” She paused to throw away the stir stick and trot over, sitting at the small table to join you, “And he’s cute.”

“I didn’t hear,” You raised your brow, “We’re two weeks into the year, why hire him late? Is he new in town?” Your curiosity peaked as you gawked at the woman for answers. 

“I don’t know.” Omera shrugged, taking a sip of the hot liquid, “Could be. But anyways, the Dean is going to introduce him during the morning meeting.” 

“Oh maker, I remember when he did that with me.” You chuckled, shaking your head. Every new member of staff got introduced to the others by the Dean. Greef tries to be a comedian during, but it always ends up being an awkward stand up set with no laughter and scoffs of pity. 

“I guess we’ll see what happens.” Omera smirked, “Oh, and I heard he’s single.” She added with a tap to your arm. The woman knows that you haven't dated in a while; you just haven't been trying. 

“Oh, I don't know…” You trailed off, shaking your head. You didn't have time to think about that. You had more pressing things to worry about like your job, and...

“Just see how it plays out.” The secretary pleaded softly, prompting you to finally cave. She gave a small cheer of delight, her excitement rolling off her thin figure in waves.

-

It took another half an hour before most of the staff finally arrived, just in time. The morning meetings always took place twenty minutes before the starting bell, leaving enough room to cover current topics and get to your classroom.

With the teachers lounge packed as tightly as could be, the Dean finally stepped into the space. Following behind him was, who you could only assume, the new Professor. You didn’t catch a great glimpse, as someone partially blocked your vision, but from what you saw you were intrigued.

“Alright, alright everyone.” Dean Karga’s voice dispelled the murmurs of the room, making it deafeningly quiet. The only sound you could hear was the chattering of students walking the halls outside. You glanced at Omera beside you, her eyes fixated on the new teacher next to the Dean. Scooting slightly until your view wasn't blocked, the mysterious man finally came into view.

You couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering in your belly, the man in your vision causing them. The Dean’s words melted away, your head becoming fuzzy as you looked at the new teacher. He was handsome, to say the least. He donned a brunette mop of loose, curly hair, and stubble to match. He was broad, the light gray suit he donned only making him look more so. He stood with his hands on his hips, gaze scanning the room when he unsuspectedly locked sight with your own.

Time froze for a moment as his dark eyes peered, your heart gaining speed and your breath catching in unison. Though looking at each other in a crowded room, you felt as though you were the only two. You could've sworn he gave you a gentle nod and a grin, but it felt hazy.

When you finally blinked and looked down, you noted how warm your cheeks had gotten. You felt flustered, the hot rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins and warming up your cold hands. You kept your gaze on the floor ahead of you, trying to steady your racing heart. It was silly to be so flustered over a look, but you haven't experienced that in years.

“And this is our new Astronomy Professor, Din Djarin,” Karga’s words floated back in and you furrowed your brow, trying desperately to ignore the man beside him. The crowd murmured greetings towards the man in the light gray suit, and you felt Omera’s elbow poke your side. Looking towards her, she held a smug expression only fueling the heat in your cheeks. 

“Okay, first period is about to start. Better get you all to class.” The Dean’s voice echoed, and the room erupted with chatter as the herds began to clear out. You, flustered, grabbed your stack of papers and bag, ducking your head to exit silently. Getting to the safety of your classroom was all you cared about. 

--

The day surprisingly flew by, despite the whole meeting fiasco earlier that morning. Getting into the groove of class always caused the days to drift by without a blink. Plus, you tried to make the curriculum as engaging as possible to keep both you and your students interested.

After dismissing your last period of the day, you remained in the room working on the papers from the morning. The afternoon sunlight barred against the windows and lit the room brilliantly. That's one reason you loved your classroom; no matter the season, you always got sun. Plus, you’d hung several plants by the windows three years ago much to Dean Karga’s dismay. But it made the space feel less like a prison cell with its painted white brick walls and cold, tile floors.

A knock on the door filled the silence of the space, startling you slightly. After letting out a chuckle at your scare, you yelled for whomever to enter, knowing sometimes students will leave something behind. However, when the door clicked open and you looked up, your breath caught. 

“Hi,” The new professor's low voice echoed in the silence as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind. You cleared your throat, standing up from your desk and subconsciously straightening the fabric of your clothes. 

“H-Hi, you must be…?” You stuttered out the sentence, walking to the edge of your desk and leaning against the surface for support. Of course you know him, but you’d feel impolite not asking. The man trotted into your room til he stood only a few feet in front of you.

“Oh, uh Din, Din Djarin.” He spoke, sticking out a hand for you to shake. Complying, your much smaller hand became engulfed by his own as the two of you greeted the other. You were quick to introduce yourself, managing not to stutter as you spoke this time. The man repeated your name, the sound of it rolling off his lips like velvet. 

“Is there a reason you stopped by?” You questioned, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. His head tilted in question before he realized what you'd asked.

“Oh, Yes, I was just making a point to introduce myself to the staff personally. The Dean put on quite a show.” Din commented, shaking his head. You don't remember a thing about what Dean Karga had said during the whole meeting, only the vivid eye contact between you and the man in front of you, but you chuckled at his claim nonetheless. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.” You smiled softly, studying the man's face. You couldn't help but notice a few minor scars across his warm skin, one tainting the bridge of his curved nose and another along his cheekbone. There was even a small one hiding on his chin, just showing from behind his stubble. 

It made you curious as to how an Astronomy Professor could get such things. Then again, people get scars in all types of weird ways. For example, you have a scar along your thigh that you got from a bike accident involving a hill and your chain catching. You were thirteen at the time.

“What do you teach?” The man questioned, his eyes looking around the room, no doubt trying to guess. The night teacher you shared the space with had put up some decor, but for the most part, the walls were bare of any guidance; aside from the several plants hanging by the window.

“Film and Literature. Have been for...” You paused to do the mental math, “Six years.”

“That’s a long time.” Din observed, nodding his head. You agreed with a slight chuckle, looking away and biting your lip. The man's eyes studied your face as you gazed elsewhere, enamored by your delicate features. Seeing you from across the teachers lounge had been burning in his mind all day. In fact, he had started going room to room for ‘introductions’ just to find you; It only took him seven classrooms.

“Well, I love it,” You shrugged, a smile taking over your face, “And what do you teach?” You finally looked back up at the man, your eyes greeting once again. The intimate contact caused such an anxious stir in your belly, but a welcomed stir. 

“Astronomy.” He responded with a nod, putting his hands onto his hips.

“A spaceman huh?” You questioned with a laugh, “I suck at science… hence why I am an Film and Literature teacher.” You gestured to the empty desked room. The man just chuckled along before you two fell into silence again. It didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as before, your tension slowly melting away.

You haven't felt this way around someone for a long time. At least not since your college boyfriend over seven years ago, you dated for two years before you graduated and moved. You haven't really made an effort to since, not for any reason in particular, mostly just because you haven't found someone who made you feel special. Plus, it’s a small area and most of the men weren't available

“Well, I should let you get back to work.” Din spoke after a moment of wordless stares. His sentence was slow and hesitant, almost like he didn't want to leave.

“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot.” You stood up from leaning against your desk and chuckled, looking to the stack of papers on the surface.

The two of you began a slow pace towards the door, heads cast to the floor in shyness. Your sets of footsteps sounded against the tiled floor, filling the empty silence with an echoed click. When you reached the door, the man turned on his heels, nearly bumping into you.

“I'm in room 302 If you'd ever like to stop by?” The man’s statement was more spoken like a hopeful question.

“Okay, I’ll be sure to.” You bit your lip before giving him a gleeful smile, nodding your head. The man perked up at your response, giving you one last goodbye before stepping out of the room.

------------------------

I know there are a few people who want to be tagged, but i lost your @’s! Please send an ask if you want to be added to the Shooting Stars tag list!

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

    Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

    Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

    But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

    That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

    “Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

    The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

    “You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

    You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

    Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

    “Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

    “Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

    “I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

    “Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

    “Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

    You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

    Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

    “It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

    “Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

    “Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

    “Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

    “And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

    Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

    Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

    “No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

    You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

    And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

    You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

    Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

    “I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

    “Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

    Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

    For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

    Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

    “There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

    “Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

    “We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

    “And that is exactly why I have to go.”

    Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

    “But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

    “Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

    “What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

    Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

    “They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

    “Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

    “But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

    “By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

    If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

    You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

    Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

    “Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

    A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

    “Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

    “Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

    “And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

    “Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

    She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

    “I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

    “I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

    “Still—”

    “Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

    “And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

    “I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

    An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

    “Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

    Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

    “They are people. People with families.”

    “People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

    After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

    “If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

    With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

    On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

    A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

    Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

    “You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

    “But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

    “I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

    “That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

    “Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

    “Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

    “I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

    Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

    Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

    “Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

    “Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

    Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

    “I want to help too.”

    Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

    “Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

    Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

    “Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

    “I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

    Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

    You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

    “Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

    “Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

    The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

    Wake up.

    You have to wake up.

    This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

    Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

    Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

    All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

    It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

    What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

    The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

    A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

    “Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

    The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

    “You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

    His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

    “You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

    “There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

    You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

    The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

    “Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

    The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

    “The end? My end?”

    “No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

    “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

    “It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

    “A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

    “I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

    “Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

    “You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

    “So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

    The boy smiles.

[crimson-dxwn]

At Odds - Chapter 4

Summary: The Empire uses dirty tactics to bring Mandalore to its knees. Orla gets in a fight(s).

Warnings: Realistic medical scenarios (including a minor character death), violence, blood, c*ddling

Words: 4200

Mij Gilamar is the kind of physician every young doctor or medic looked up to - kind, brilliant, a patient teacher. He’d been a mentor to her back in medical school and so much of her success was due to his encouragement and kind words. So seeing the look of anxious terror on his face is not putting Ori at ease. 

She looks down at the datapad sitting on her lap. Her stylus hovers over the question on the form. Is there any chance you could be...

He'd been sent from Sundari, to try and prepare Keldabe for the onslaught of the illness that had now overwhelmed the old capital. The man looks tired, his brown hair streaked with silver hanging limp, armor loose on his gaunt frame. The room was full of nurses, doctors, medics and therapists, mostly specialists who didn’t work in the field that often. 

“It’s become clear this is an engineered agent. I expect you to keep this in the utmost confidence moving forward. We have the best bioengineers on Mandalore working on a vaccine and we need to do what we can for our patients until they develop one.” 

The situation really must be dire if they were bringing the obstetricians to the party. Dr. Gilamar explains the proposed mechanism of the virus, how its symptoms mimic Candorian Plague, how the agent’s genetic sequence has been altered. With a grim expression, he continues to detail the therapies that had been attempted in Sundari without success, that the fatality rate was nearing thirty percent, how it was spreading like wildfire in the ruins of the city. The mood in the room is grim.

He goes on about containment strategies they’d tried in Sundari, how they believed the virus spread, how it killed. Who it killed. 

“I understand if any of you want to opt out. We won’t think less of you, nor will we ask for reasons.” 

Ori doesn’t want to opt out. She has a sense of duty to her people. But watching them die without tools to help isn’t what she has in mind. No matter the risk of transmission, which according to Mij was still out of control. What nobody was addressing in the room was who exactly had set the virus upon Mandalore, if it really was an engineered organism. Mandalorians always had enemies, but it was easy to guess the most likely culprit. Either the Empire was clumsily stupid or so incredibly bold that being stealthy didn’t matter to them. Unfortunately Orla suspects it was the latter. Mij finishes up his speech and tittering erupts throughout the room.

“Please let me know if you have any questions, otherwise you can return back to your work. I expect to hear from you soon regarding your decision.”

They all file out of the room, turning in pads as they go. Looking around her, Ori doesn’t see a single person decline to work with the pandemic patients. A ping comes from her datapad from the nurses upstairs; one of her patients is getting ready to push and she needs to be there soon. Gathering her things, she moves to head back up to the delivery ward before Gilamar stops her. 

“Doctor Beviin, it’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, Mij. I wish it was under different circumstances.” 

“Agreed.” He sighs, pursing his lips. “We’ll need you here. I know you’ve been a specialist for a long time - and I don’t want to pressure you - but we don’t have enough boots on the ground here and we haven’t even hit the peak yet.” Orla wishes she could see the bottom half of his face through the mask. 

“Of course, Mij,” she tells him as her datapad pings again, “I’m so sorry, I have a patient upstairs I need to take care of.” 

He nods his head, body relaxing minutely as she signs her form and hands him the datapad. 

---

Three Weeks Later

Summer, Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

In Keldabe it starts as a cough, benign enough at first that people don’t stay home from work or travel. Mandalorians fight through illnesses and this is no exception, though that is the exact reason it spreads so well. 

The spread of the illness concides perfectly with an Imperial garrison being erected just outside Keldabe, complete with a bland-looking Administrator to oversee it. Plus hundreds of transport ships packed with shiny new stormtroopers to man the helm. 

Unfortunately the populace is too preoccupied by the sickness spreading to the city to put up much of a fight. Even Mandalorians couldn’t hope to bring down the might of a government consolidated from both the gutted Grand Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. It wasn’t a secret the population wasn’t replenishing itself; many had died in the Clone Wars, as mercenaries on both sides and many battles in between. Death by a thousand cuts. Ori couldn’t decide which was a more frightening prospect, immediate and painful death from this virus or slow and strangling subjugation by the Empire.

The new Imperial administrator laments the incompetence of the Mand’alor in controlling the pandemic. The screen in the doctor’s lounge is perfectly positioned in front of her chosen couch so Ori can watch the woman drone on about the might of the Emperor, how peace and security has been restored to the galaxy... all while supplying no aid, staff or medicine to the planets that need it. Kriffing useless Empire. If only she could be a fly on the wall in the Mand’alor’s meetings. 

It’s her twelfth day in a row at the med center and the exhaustion has officially permeated every cell in her body. She sinks into the worn cushions with a deep sigh. If she could just close her eyes for a minute, just to catch up on a little rest, it will take the edge off her exhaustion. The med center has physician sleep rooms, but the beds are never as comfortable as she needs and the sound of doors slamming in the halls wakes her every few hours. Overhead code pages are happening almost every hour now, with patients actively dying in the emergency ward, on the floors, in the intensive care unit. The code team is being run ragged, even with rotating staff. 

She tries to get comfortable on the threadbare couch. Clearing her mind has been….difficult....the past few weeks. Despite her exhaustion, her mind races. Her last day off was almost two weeks ago, when Mij had sent her home, refusing to hear any sort of counter-argument, even though she knew he was sleeping at the hospital too. By now there is an almost endless stream of patients coming through the center. 

Not to mention her cycle is late. Very late. Really, she thinks, she should know better. But denial is a powerful thing, no matter how much knowledge you have. She needs to confront the facts. Just not right now, she thinks, as her eyes close.

She has been chalking her distraction up to the sudden appearance of the planetwide plague without a cure had occupied most of her free thoughts for the past few weeks. There seems to be no real rhyme or reason to who succumbed. By now the med center itself is so full that all hands were now taking care of pandemic victims - surgeries are canceled, and whole wards are blocked off for coughing, dying patients that even bacta can’t help. Plus she had all her house calls and deliveries. Babies waited for no pandemic.

Finally, her exhaustion wins out over her rushing thoughts and she drifts off to sleep.

*BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP* *BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP*

She wakes to the anxiety-inducing page tone coming from her commlink, ripping it off the waistband of her trousers and pressing the silence button.

<URGENT Rm 1379 Please come to bedside> 

Kriff

And then she hears the code page overhead. 

KRIFF. 

She’s up from the couch in a second and jogging through the med center, stiff achy limbs protesting every movement, though her exhaustion is temporarily forgotten.

Room 1379 is Maari. She is older, but not elderly. The past few days, Orla had been cautiously hopeful that she was on the mend. She’d stopped coughing up blood and even taken a few turns around the ward with the nurses. 

She and Maari had talked the day before about how excited she was to go back home. 

Ori reaches the room to find nurses and techs already working to resuscitate her. The woman is flat on the bed, back arching as she tries to drag a breath in through ravaged lungs. They’re scarred down and filling with blood - it’s what happens sometimes when patients relapse. Her team has seen it countless times by now.

Maari thrashes back and forth, desperate for air. The oxygen mask over her nose and mouth is coated with red, and her eyes roll around frantically. The rush of people is deceptive. To an outsider, this looks like chaos. In truth, it’s a well oiled machine. Each member has their role, and in the last few weeks they were all experts. Everyone in the room knows how this is going to go, but they try anyway. Even bacta nebulized through the mask can’t heal such damaged tissue. Mij turns up in the middle of the code with purple smudges under his eyes, looking even more ashen than usual. 

There’s not much they can do at this point. She has no pulse, no electrical activity keeping her heart beating in art sort of organized rhythm. The medic compressing her chest drips beads of sweat onto the plasteel bed frame as Ori orders another push of medication with no response. Her team has been doing resuscitation for over an hour without a response and the looks on their faces tell her it’s time to stop. 

Orla calls out time of death and the team debriefs. Maari is covered with a sheet and paperwork is started. Her family hasn’t been allowed to visit, and Ori prepares herself to make the call to her daughter. Propping herself against the wall outside the room to take a breath, she sees the transparisteel doors that lead to the outside, where two stormtroopers are laughing and jostling each other at their post.  

Stormtroopers ‘guard’ every business and government building now. The Empire taxes Mandalore’s imports and exports and blockades their space. Weeks of begging hadn’t convinced them to send aid. 

Something snaps in her when the aides wheel the body out of the room. Her exhaustion and frustration mixes into something ugly, curling in her belly and filling her with searing rage. If the Empire has decided to wipe her people out, she isn’t going to go down without a fight. 

“Hey!” she yells at the men by the door. The troopers straighten and tighten their grip on their blasters. The other staff around her must think she’s officially lost her wits. She must look horrifying because both white-armored men take a hesitant step back. 

“What the kriff are you laughing at? People are dying and you think this is funny?” She’s screaming now, her throat is straining with it. The two troopers aren’t shocked anymore. Now they’re angry, defensive, she can tell by their body language. She desperately wants to knock some sense into them, wants them to see her people’s suffering. But she’s still in her scrubs, and they’re in armor.

The trooper to her right grasps her upper arm. Ori is still so angry she barely feels the grip bite into the flesh. 

“You think you’re so fucking tough guarding a hospital full of sick people?” she snarls. Her twisted expression reflects back at her in the trooper’s visor. 

“Stand down, citizen.” 

The trooper on her right aims his blaster. The movement rips her out of her focus and she realizes that multiple people are watching on the ward. Mij has a hand behind his back, presumably on the blaster she knows he keeps hidden beneath his uniform. The stormtrooper’s helmet is still inches from her face and cool durasteel digs into her ribs. 

“I said stand. down.” His blaster shoves further into her side, pushing her back into his companion with his hand crushing her arm. How had she lost control like this. How kriffing stupid was she? Her breathing comes hard and harsh, and her stomach roils unexpectedly. 

The seconds go by slowly as she lifts her hands up in surrender. Saliva pools in her mouth and she swallows it back down, which she finds out is a giant mistake as everything she’s eaten today - a grand total of four crackers and some water - splatters onto the trooper’s feet. He jumps back, blaster forgotten.

“What the-“

The other trooper shoves her aside, disgusted, and she takes the opportunity to scurry through the med center doors, wiping her mouth on a sleeve. Somehow Mij Gilamar looks even more concerned then he did when a blaster was in her ribs. His brows knot together as she walks towards him, needing to brush of what just happened and get back to work. 

She’s almost to Mij as the room spins sideways and her vision goes black.

------

Kal watches Ori sleep. Somehow she looks so much smaller than the last time he’d seen her like this. Though the last time he’d seen her like this, she’d been naked in his bed where he could run his hands over her bare skin. Where she could make him forget every horrible thing he’s seen and done from Kuat to Kyrimorut. 

Her chest rises and falls slowly and he finds himself watching it to calm himself. She’d made quite the scene in front of two stormtroopers and Kal was sure they were going to haul her away to god knows where in retribution. Fortunately the one had been too preoccupied cleaning vomit off his plastoid to care.

The situation in the hospital in Keldabe was as close to any war zone that he’d ever been in and it was no wonder she’d worked herself to the bone. She was mandokarla. 

He’d been at the med center to talk strategy with Mij, who wasn’t able to leave the wards. Only he, Mij and his sons knew about the vaccine the Empire was keeping in secret. About the plans to cow the Mandalorians into giving them what they wanted. He hadn’t been trained to fight fair, it wasn’t their way. But this, this pandemic, was a whole new brand of dirty fighting. He’d spent a few hours in the medcenter so far and seen the absolute carnage. 

He has an enduring sort of affection for her that he can’t seem to shake. Mij tasked him with looking after her and he wasn’t about to tear himself away.

------

“You’re working yourself too hard, doc.” 

Her vision swims in and out, but there’s Kal, clear as day, sitting in a chair next to her bed and tapping at his commlink. Ori starts, not fully sure of where she is. 

“You’re still in the hospital,” he says gruffly, leaning towards her, “Tried to get you a bed but they’re all full. Wouldn’t let me take you back to Kyrimorut with me. So here we are.” 

She gains her bearings while he talks. Here is one of the unoccupied physician call rooms. 

“Not working too hard,” she rebuffs.

“Mij tells me you’ve been overdoing it.” Ori rolls her eyes at him. They’re falling into their usual routine. “You puked on a stormtrooper.”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, demanding an explanation like she owes him one. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have one that she wants to offer to him. 

Next to her bed is the worn datapad that she charts on and she picks it up to check her chart. Ori feels herself blanch with him in front of her as she reads her diagnosis. Mij must have had them draw blood after she passed out, and it’s a little unnerving that she doesn’t remember it, though when she looks at her right arm she can see the red mark where the needle had been. In her other arm is an IV line. 

“Mij put me in charge of you until he gets back.” Kal looks incredibly pleased with himself, like they were playing a game and he had just won. He leans back in the wooden chair in the corner which creaks in protest.  As usual, he wears his golden armor, which shines dully in the low light of the call room. Ori can’t remember a time when she’s seen him out of it, except when they’ve been in bed together. The blood rushes back into her face at that thought.

“So what did they do?”

The memory reasserts itself painfully. Ori doesn’t even know how much time has passed since Maari died. Behind her eyes she sees it all again. 

At least she knows where she is. At least she didn’t wake up alone.

“I had a patient die...and I saw them out there laughing. I don’t know...I just lost it.” 

It isn’t a good reason, she knows that. She wonders if Kal can even make sense of her babbling, she wonders if the troopers will report her, if she’ll even have a job to return to tomorrow. Some of her hopes she doesn’t, just to get a bit of relief from the exhaustion. Part of her hopes she’s infected, is jealous of the people lying in their sickbeds being taken care of instead of run into the ground. 

But she’s not infected, she’s not even sick.

“Who died?”

“Maari Rook” 

He nods, keeping eye contact. Men like him don’t flinch away from death; she wonders how many have died at the point of his knife or blaster. It’s surprising how composed she is, barely a few hours after the fact. Kal must think she’s losing her wits. She’s sure he doesn’t miss the way her voice wobbles and she sniffs.

“What can I do to make it better?”

It’s hard for her to get the request out and she feels weak for even asking. After all, they don’t know each other that well and she had no right asking. 

“Can you just…” she says softly, still a little embarrassed from her outburst earlier, “lie down with me?”

He freezes, obviously not expecting this type of request. The ice in his blue eyes softens and a smile tugs at a corner of his lips. He looks almost boyish - she wasn’t expecting him to look so pleased. The armor comes off, chest piece first, then arms and gauntlets, thigh pieces next...and she must have dozed off because her face is pressed up against a warm chest and his arm is wrapped around her, the other stretching over his head to snake under the pillow. 

“Mij is giving you a few days off,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling her ear. She hums in reply, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize the hint of cedar she can smell from the mountains around Kyrimorut that has percolated into his clothes. His body heat seeps into her bones as she snuggles closer; her hands twine in the fabric of his tunic. A large hand strokes through her tangled hair. Right now she wants to forget about the world outside and just sink into the warmth and safety surrounding her.

“One of my boys thinks the Imperials has a vaccine here on-planet,” he continues as his chin rests atop her head, “this’ll be over soon. Just be patient.”

But she can’t be patient. 

Kal leaves her an hour or so later, assuming she’s fast asleep. Ori keeps her breathing deep and slow until she’s sure he’s gone. All she can think about is the possibility of a vaccine. Certainly, she’s had the thought before, since they weren’t seeing any troopers come down with the illness. The audacity of keeping vaccine on-world  wasn’t something she’d considered the Empire bold enough to do. 

The guards in front of the gleaming new garrison let her through without a fight. She tells the front desk her name and her complaint. Ori hopes they’ll let her talk to someone with any sort of importance or rank, if she can make somehow them see reason. 

The bored-looking secretary beside the durasteel door looks her up and down, obviously unimipressed by her simple work uniform and disheveled hair. Strands are falling out of her bun and tickling her neck and she reaches her hands up to nervously smooth them back. She can’t remember the last day she washed it.

The secretary buzzes them into the room with nary a word and Ori follows the troopers’ lead into the office. The two stormtroopers who had escorted her into the office are silent by her side when the officer finally enters the room. The shining surface of the pure white plastoid keeps them separate, impersonal. 

Behind a severe durasteel desk sits a man in a grey officer’s uniform. She wonders if it looks much different from the Republic officer uniforms - Mandalore had been removed enough from the conflict of the Clone Wars that she’d never even seen a Republic officer. Before the events of the last few months, there was hardly anything that made two regimes distinct. He’s certainly not a clone. From the few officers she’s noticed around Keldabe, this Empire seems to favor humans more than any other species, and at least from the groups of troopers she’s seen occupying Keldabe most are men. He rises, extending a hand for her to shake. 

“Dr. Beviin,” he says smoothly, “it’s a pleasure.” The polished Core accent fits his persona, with his slick shiny hair and boots to match. His face is clean-shaven, with the plump look of a young man, unscarred. This was some politician’s favored son, no doubt, tasked with bringing Mandalore to its knees. Anger threatens to rise again, but she tempers it before it can best her again. She has a goal here. 

“Likewise,” she replies. He gestures to the seat in front of his desk and she takes it. Her stormtrooper escort settles at the back of the room. 

“I’m Corporal Hadley. How can I help you?”

“Corporal, as you know there’s a virus tearing its way across the planet.”

“Ah yes, I’m aware.” 

“If you’re going to occupy a planet, you have a duty to its citizens.” She keeps her voice and manner neutral, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, though her anger and frustration are slowly rising. She hasn’t slept, and it always makes her testier than usual. 

“The Empire takes care of its own first. Once your people prove their loyalty, then we will provide a vaccine. I don’t understand why you think your people will get anything for free.” 

She decides to pull out the trump card.

“I know you have it here. I demand you distribute it as soon as possible.” 

“Or what, Doctor Beviin?”

She is silent at this, for she has no reply. There’s nothing she can threaten them with except knowledge and they know it. It dawns on her then how stupid she is, how she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Not even Kal.

“The Mand’alor will -”

“The Mand’alor won’t do anything. There’s nothing he’s willing to barter with that the Empire needs that badly.”

The unnamed officer jerks his head at one of the troopers, so quickly she almost misses it, until she hears the crack of a rifle butt against her own face and pain lances through her cheekbone. The strength and shock of the blow is enough that she falls to her knees, watching her own blood patter onto the duracrete floor. Her cheekbone is broken, she’s almost sure of it as she reaches a shaky hand up to her face and feels it crushed inwards. Her fingers come away covered in blood.

“You hutuune,” Ori hisses, “Cowards.”

“Shut up,” one of the troopers mutters, pushing her to the floor for good measure, grabbing her comm out of her pocket and crushes it under his foot. The other pipes up as the officer watches. 

“You know they say you’re supposed to rub their nose in it.” 

A boot presses between her shoulder blades and grinds her harder into the floor, forcing the air out of her lungs, duracrete scratching painfully against her broken cheekbone. Tears spring to her eyes and she can’t hold them in, ashamed at how stupid she’d been to believe she could negotiate with Imperials. Desperation had blinded her. 

“I thought Mandos were supposed to fight back? That’s what the briefing said.”

Ori doesn’t dignify his comment with a response. Not everyone fights with fists. It was something she had struggled with her whole life, though now was a rare exception where she wished she could take on three men and win. 

The boot nudges at her again and she tries to flatten herself against the ground instead of instinctively curling inwards or using her hands to give away what she is desperately trying to protect. She prays they don’t take the beating further. 

“Doctor Beviin, you’re under arrest for treason and assault of an Imperial officer,” says the grey-suited captain, with a tone so bored that he could have been ordering tea instead of standing over a woman his soldiers had just brutalized. 

Bruising fingers attach themselves to her upper arms and haul her to her feet. The troopers march her out of the room as she tries to keep up, blood still trickling down her face and onto the collar of her work uniform. She can’t reach up and wipe it off.

Taglist:

@leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @cherry-cokes-world @clonewarslover55 @passionofthesith @808tsuika @wolfangelwings @the-arctic-violet

[faulty-writes]

Warning: None. 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Characters: All Might x Student!Reader 

[ This is my fourth piece for the hero bingo event hosted by @bnhabookclub​​ the theme for this square was flower picking. Originally I was going to do this piece with Himiko but as I was looking through some bnha fanart. I saw a picture of Midoriya giving All Might a bouquet of flowers and suddenly a new idea was born. I hope you enjoy. ] 

[ When All Might announced he was the newest teacher at U.A. you could hardly contain your excitement. Despite being a third year, you couldn’t help but fan over your favorite hero and decide to try and thank him somehow. But what could you possibly give the number one hero? Luckily Midoriya has an idea, but you were a little hesitant if it’d work ] 

When All Might began teaching at U.A. you were in your third year, slightly trailing behind the Big Three. Of course, it gave you plenty of motivation to improve. Along with the fact that your favorite hero was now a teacher, it made you train twice as hard and you often used up any extra time you had, with your teacher's permission, using the training field or USJ to improve your combat and quirk tactics. 

On occasion, All Might would show up and observe you, which made you a little nervous but you tried to remain calm. If anything to try and impress the number one hero, sometimes it worked but when you happened to mess up, you took it rather hard. All Might never seemed to think less of you, “Do not fret young Y/n!” he’d say as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “I believe you have improved yet! Do not give up! For I am here and I believe in you!” he declared and you couldn’t help how your heart raced. Being around the number one hero would make anyone weak in the knees. 

Still, you thought All Might’s dedication to not only the world but the students of U.A. was admirable and you wanted to try and do something special for him. Of course, you weren’t sure what you could get the number one hero that he didn’t already have. More than likely he had riches beyond belief and could get anything he desired at the snap of his fingers. So what could you possibly manage to get him that would impress him or at least earn you a hug? 

You weren’t sure, but you knew of one student that might have the answer. He was supposedly teased about being All Might’s number one fanboy and though you had heard stories of how he couldn’t control his quirk yet. You decided he might be your only chance and so you tracked down the green-haired boy known as Izuku Midoriya. He was a student in Class 1-A and though he was a tad bit too ecstatic when you walked up to him asking for help. You managed to get his attention just long enough to tell him what you needed help with. 

“Huh?” he seemed confused at first, you knew it was a strange request. Asking what type of gift you could get All Might, “I know, it’s weird. But...he is my favorite hero and he’s already supported me so much. I just want to do something nice for him.” you explained before Midoriya tapped his chin, you could hear soft muttering before he finally spoke. “Well...All Might did mention once that the Cherry Blossom Festival is his favorite nonhero event,” he said and your eyes lit up. “Maybe you could get some Cherry Blossoms? I mean...I don’t think he’d r-reject them or anything.” you smiled and reached over to pat Midoriya’s head. “Thanks,” you said, feeling more confident than ever that your gift would impress All Might. 

You had actually skipped a day of extra training to go hunting for the Cherry Blossoms, locating them wasn’t a difficult task. However, climbing the Cherry Blossom tree to get the precious flowers was. You got several looks despite the fact you were dressed in your school uniform. But no one asked any questions so you continued on, picking every small branch of flowers you could get your hands on and tucking them away in the basket that hung loosely from your arm. Once you believed you had enough, you carefully climbed back down. Smiling as you looked at your now full basket, “I just know he’s going to love these.” you said before running off. 

You had planned to give all Might the basket of the flowers the next day, though you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. So you went to find Midoriya once more and he looked rather surprised you had taken his advice. “So do you think he’ll like them?” you asked and watched as Midoriya reached over to take a small branch out of the basket, he looked it over and brushed his thumb across the pedals. “I...I mean I’m sure he’ll like...them,” he said as he glanced down and a soft blush came to his cheeks. You partly wondered why he was so shy around you, but either way. At least you had the approval of the number one fanboy. 

Still, you kept the basket of cherry blossoms safely in your locker, you weren’t about to risk them getting damaged in any way. Though your classmates noticed you seemed distracted throughout the day and you had almost gotten injured during training because of it. Well, that and the fact that All Might had shown up to yet again observe the hero students. Your heart raced thinking to the moment when you’d give him the flowers, there was that small doubt you’d make a fool of yourself. 

It felt as though the rest of the day progressed rather slowly and honestly, you were a little drained by the end of it. But you knew, more often than not. All Might was seen at the training grounds with Midoriya during free hours, though knowing the first-year would be there was a little intimidating. You still planned to give All Might your gift, so you changed into your hero costume and proceeded to the training ground. 

“Ah, young Y/n!” All Might said as he saw you, his bright smile followed after. “As always it’s wonderful to see you here! Training hard to match up to the rest of us Pros I see!” he said as he raised his muscular arm into the air and you watched those fingers as they chopped through the air with ease. They could just as easily snap your neck if All Might so desired, it was amazing how strong and yet gentle the hero could come off as. 

Still, you appreciated his praise, as much as a student could. Despite the fact that much like Midoriya, you might have the smallest crush on him. But who couldn’t? The man was amazing and it was an honor to be in his presence let alone have him speak to you, much less know your name and encourage you. “Uh...y-yeah! Anything...to be like you All Might!” you replied and almost face palmed yourself, damn why did you say such a stupid thing!? However, you heard the hero chuckle and your anxiety lessened. 

You had placed the basket of Cherry Blossoms by a tree near the training field, your goal was to give them to All Might before he left with Midoriya. Though it annoyed you that Midoriya continued to give you knowing glances, it was almost like he wanted to watch you give the Cherry Blossoms to All Might and a part of you was almost suspicious that he’d want to write it down in that little notebook of his. Still, you proceeded to go through three rounds of training before leaning over. A sweaty mess, you might have overused your quirk but with All Might present. How couldn’t you? 

You nearly shivered when you felt a hand on your back, gently patting it. “Wonderful job! You’ll make a fine hero yet, though I wouldn’t overdo it! When a hero overuses their quirk, well heh heh it could result in some minor consequences.” he warned you, though his advice wasn’t wrong. You took a deep breath and turned around. “Thank you, All Might,” you said with a smile, taking a moment to admire him. 

Unfortunately, it seemed like his training with Midoriya was over and he nodded. “Well,” he said, bringing two fingers to his forehead in a salute type fashion. “Young Midoriya and I must be off, you know hero work!” he turned to leave and you panicked for a moment. “W-Wait!” you cried out and before you could register your own actions, you grabbed his arm. He turned to you with a surprised look and you blushed before releasing his arm. 

Though you managed to get away with your actions after you explained you had something for him, a gift of sorts. “Well, that’s very nice! Hurry now.” All Might warned, though you were unaware of his quirk limitation and he needed to get back to the safety of the U.A. teachers lounge before his quirk timed out. He turned to look at Midoriya as you ran off to get the gift. “Go on ahead Young Midoriya! I will be there shortly!” he said and much like a good little fanboy, Midoriya nodded. “Uh, y-yeah of course! Anything you say All Might!” he said before running off. 

You were a little nervous as you approached All Might, the basket was hidden behind your back and your stomach twisted with butterflies. “Uh...so um…” you tried to form words, but they all came out jumbled and you cursed yourself, now wasn’t the time to make a fool out of yourself. You took a deep breath before looking up at All Might. “I got these...f-for you, um...I thought you’d like them,” you said as you slowly brought out the basket. You watched as All Might’s expression went blank and he reached out for it. 

You swallowed as All Might picked up a branch and a smile came to his face when he realized what it was. “Ah, Cherry Blossoms! Quite lovely…” he said before looking at you, “Thank you, for bringing such beauty to U.A. and for me, I couldn’t be any more surprised!” you gasped as you felt his strong arm wrap around you. Oh God, he was hugging you. The feeling of being pressed up against the muscular hero was nothing short of amazing, however, you didn’t get the chance to return the hug as All Might suddenly stepped back. 

You looked confused before you noticed a thin amount of smoke begin to surround the hero. “Uh…” you wanted to ask if he was okay, but then you noticed the small trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat, “Thank you! Dear Y/n for the flowers, I appreciate it! Now I must go meet with Young Midoriya!” he said and before you could call after him, he used his quirk to make a hasty getaway. Leaving you a little confused and concerned, but at least he liked the flowers. 

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Two for One

Fandom: Marvel (Professor AU/College AU)

Pairing: Stucky x F!Reader

Summary: Ever since you became the TA for Professor Romanoff, you’ve been seeing a lot of Professors Rogers and Barnes. They seem to be attracted to you, but you have a hard time deciding between the two. What do you do?

Warning: smut - bjs, threesome, semi-public…just a whole lot of naughty mk?

A/N: based off of this post and my tags in it. also, word count is about 4.1k. so yall better appreciate this and the struggle i went through to write this (i’m looking at you @chloerinebarnes )

Steve was sure that if Bucky bit his lip any further, he’d draw blood. He nudged his boyfriend with his elbow, gaining his attention back, “Cool it with the staring and lip biting. You’ll scare her off.”

Bucky groaned, “She’s killin’ me with those jeans, babe.”

Steve snorted, “Tell me about it,” he murmured as his eyes went back to across the lounge. You were standing off to the side, speaking with Professor Romanoff, the teacher you were a TA for. You were nodding to everything that she was listing off for you to do. After handing you a stack of papers, you saw yourself out of the lounge. Bucky and Steve’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. 

Ever since you became Professor Romanoff, aka Natasha’s, TA, Steve and Bucky have been seeing you more and more. Not that they minded. You were beautiful, funny, and smart. Honestly, you were the missing puzzle piece in their life. 

Don’t get it wrong, Steve and Bucky were completely devoted to each other. But for the past few years, they’ve been feeling like they were missing something. And they believe that something is you. 

But how does one go about proposing a polyamorous relationship? You don’t. It’s not a very common thing and it’s not accepted in a lot of places. Nonetheless, Steve and Bucky adored you from the moment they met you. 

So, they hatched a plan. They would worm their way into your heart individually and when it came to the point where you “have to choose”, they’ll give you the other option: a two for one deal. 

_________________________

You’re in the school cafe, a pile of papers off to the side that you’re making your way through. You suddenly feel a presence looming over you and you look up to see Professor Barnes. 

You give him a polite smile, “Hey there, professor! How’s it going?”

“Monday mornings were never my thing hence,” he gestured to his large coffee cup.

You snorted, “Tell me about it,” you pointed to your own, “This is my third one already.”

“Mind if I sit?” he points to the seat across from you.

You shook your head, “Not at all!” you move your things around to give him a little bit more space, “Enjoy your weekend?”

He shrugged, “Just stayed home, watched some Netflix, graded papers. The usual.”

You nodded, “That’s become my usual now too. Although, yesterday my friends Pietro and Wanda dragged me out of the apartment to go to a bar. Gonna be honest, had a bit too much.”

“That explains the coffee and you still grading papers that are probably due today.”

You sighed, “Yeeeaahhh. Never listening to the twins again,” you said with a snort. 

“I wish I could help. Russian Literature was my minor. But I’m sure if Nat found out, she’d have both our heads.”

“Definitely. Romanoff’s great, but, damn, does she terrify me!”

Barnes snorted, “Same here.” he stood up and grabbed his coffee, “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Professor Barnes!”

He smiled down at you, and with a wink, he said, “Call me Bucky,” and he waltzed out of the cafe like it was nothing. And you hated to admit that that little gesture made your cheeks heat up and make your panties slightly damp.

___________________

You were struggling with holding the pile of graded papers in your arms and trying to get your notebook out for Romanoff’s class. Just when you thought you had it, all the papers tumbled forward onto the ground. You groaned and hung your head back, staring up at the sky asking, “Why me?”

You bent down and began to collect the papers, and then another pair of hands came into view. You tried to object, “It’s okay! I got-” when you looked up, staring back at you was he striking blue eyes of Professor Rogers, “I-I got it, Professor Rogers,” you stammered as you quickly collected the essays.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind helping,” he said with a shy smile, grabbing the leftover papers and handing them to you. You both stood up and awkwardly stood there, “So, uh, headed to Nat’s-I mean, Romanoff’s office?”

You nodded, “Yeah. Gotta turn in all these papers I graded.” you gestured to the pile that was back in your hands. 

“Oh, well, my office is in the same direction. I’ll accompany you.”

You two walked together, towards the Literature and History building, “So, uh, how was your weekend?”

“Oh, uh, pretty bland, honestly. Just hanging out and grading papers. What about you? Did you spend your weekend grading all of these?” he points to your pile.

“Sorta,” you answered, “I got most of them done. Then I went out last night. Got drunk and never finished the rest. I just finished up in the cafe. Professor Barnes was actually there too. Surprised you weren’t with him. You two are usually attached to the hip,” you say teasingly.

Rogers snorted, “Please, I couldn’t shake ‘im even if I tried. We actually live together. We see a lot of each other and you would think we’d get sick of each other. But we don’t.”

“That’s good. I love Pietro and Wanda, but, God, I don’t think I can spend every second of the day with them.”

He chuckled, “Guess you just gotta find the right people that’ll make you want to see them all the time.”

Soon enough, you were in the building, standing in front of Professor Romanoff’s office, “Well, here’s my stop,” you say.

“Yeah. Anyway, I hope you have a good rest of your day, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Professor Rogers. You too!”

“Please, call me, Steve,” he says with a grin and then turns around, heading for his office in the other direction.

___________________

Bucky is eating lunch in Steve’s office. Steve is typing away at his computer, occasionally pausing when Bucky feeds him a forkful of penne pasta into his mouth. 

“So, progress?” Bucky asks, his own mouth full of pasta. 

Steve chews a few more times before swallowing. He takes off his glasses and sets them onto his desk, “Told her to call me Steve after I helped pick up her papers that she dropped and accompanied her on the way to Nat’s office. She said she came from the cafe and you were there?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. Grabbed some coffee, sat with her and chatted a little bit. When I left, I told her to call me Bucky. You still think we should do this?”

“I really like her, Buck. I just-don’t you feel it? That spark with her?” when Bucky nodded, Steve continued, “Then can you imagine how it would be if all of us were together?”

“It’d be like nothing we’ve ever felt before,” Bucky murmured.

“Exactly. We gotta try, but we can’t be too overbearing. She’s gotta be the one.”

Bucky set down his tupperware of pasta and rest his hand on Steve’s, “She’s out missing puzzle piece.”

___________________

You sat in the lounge next to Professor Romanoff, or Nat, as she’s allowed you to call her. You’re both going over test grades and that’s when you hear the screeching of wood against the floor and then you look up to see Bucky and Steve settling across the table from you.

Your eyes brighten and a smile appears on your face, “Hey, Bucky! Hey, Steve!”

Big grins appear on their faces when you acknowledge, “Hey, doll,” Bucky says, and you feel your cheeks heating up. 

You duck your head down, biting your lip and continuing to grade papers. You hoped that Nat ignored that interaction, but she didn’t. While you continued to grade papers, Nat gave questioning looks to the professors across from her. Both gave her shrugs and pulled out their own work that needed to be done. 

Words started to blur as your eyes skimmed through another test, your red pen marking wrong answers. You could feel yourself getting a headache so you groaned and fell back into your seat, “I need a break. I’m gonna walk to the cafe. Do you guys want anything?” Nat and Bucky shook their head but Steve stood up.

“I’ll go with you. I think I need to stretch my legs anyway.” he turns to Bucky and gives him a nod, and then follows you out of the lounge. After you both leave, Nat turns to Bucky.

“What the hell are you guys up to?”

“Steve and I both like Y/N, so we’re trying to ease our way into her heart and possibly propose a poly relationship.”

Nat groaned, “Jesus Christ. You know what happened the last time you tried that. You and Steve ended up heartbroken and nearly broke up because of it.”

“Dot wasn’t right for us,” Bucky said with a shake of his head, “But Y/N’s different. You know she is, Nat.”

“Maybe so, but then again, you hardly know her.”

“And that’s why we’re trying to spend as much time as we can to get to know her.”

Nat shook her head, “You’re playing a dangerous game. She’s a student.”

“She’s graduating this year. Once she’s graduated, then Steve and I will ask. Trust us, Nat. We learned from the last time and we know what we’re doing now.”

____________________

“So, the semester is half way over and you’ll be graduating soon. Have any plans on what to do?” Steve asked, his hands curled up in his pockets. 

“Travel. Find a job. Maybe find some love on the way. I don’t know.”

“Not looking for love right now?” he asked with a teasing smirk. 

You shrugged, “Oh trust me, I’ve been looking. Just haven’t found anyone that clicks with me, ya know? Someone funny, smart, compassionate, independent. Oh and knows how to cook. It’s surprising how many people here barely know how to cook.”

Steve snorted, “Bucky loves to cook. He cooks our meals all the time. I know how to cook too, but for Bucky, it’s his stress reliever. He’s in his element when he cooks, plus everything is delicious when he makes it.”

“I’d love to try something other than ramen and burgers.”

“I’ll bring you some tomorrow. Buck loves to cook for other people so it won’t be a problem.”

You shook your head, “I can’t ask you guys to do that. You don’t have-”

“You’re not askin’, sweetheart. Plus, we want to do this. Trust me.”

You sighed, “Fine.”

Steve was beaming right then and there, “Great. Do you have any food preferences?”

“Surprise me.”

_____________________

It became a regular thing after that. You and Nat would be in the lounge going over lecture notes or grading papers. Steve and Bucky would appear and slide over some tupperware for lunch that Bucky had prepared for you. At one point, they started bringing some food for Nat too since she complained about them not bringing food for her. Plus, they didn’t want to seem too suspicious. 

As the semester progressed, you found yourself in the company of Steve and Bucky often. Sometimes it was both of them, sometimes it was one or the other. You’d have lunch with them, walk with them to class or the office building. Relax under some trees while you graded papers. You also ended up getting both of their numbers and all three of you would be in a group chat texting away or texting to either men individually. 

You were around them a lot and you couldn’t help the feelings you were starting to develop for both them. It was conflicting. Very much so. You were a student and they were professors. 

It was a month before the semester ended, before you graduated, and you’d had enough. Enough of the feelings and the confusion. It had to stop!

So you burst into Bucky’s office where you knew both men would be. As soon as you step into the room, you freeze. There right before was Steve and Bucky, but they were tangled up in each other, making out. 

“I’m so confused,” you murmured as they stared at you wide-eyed. 

“Doll, I-we-��

“I-I should go. Sorry. I didn’t-I’m gonna-” 

You turn to leave but Steve cried outs, “Y/N, wait!” and you stop. You look at them and they’re staring at you with pleading eyes, “Sweetheart, please, don’t leave. Just-Just close the door and we’ll explain everything.”

Slowly, you move back inside, closing the door behind you. You sit at the chair across from Bucky’s desk. Bucky sits back down into his seat and Steve stands off to the side, running his hand through his disheveled hair. 

“Are-Are you guys together?” you ask apprehensively. When both men nod, you let out a shaky breath, “I-I don’t understand. Both of you made it seem like you were interested in me. Were you just toying with me? Is that it?!”

“No!” both said unison. 

Steve cleared his throat, “It’s nothin’ like that, Y/N. We swear. We-Bucky and I, we’ve been together for a long time. We love each other a lot, but-”

Bucky interjected, “But we feel like we’ve been missing something. And we think that something is you.”

You became even more confused, “But you’re together already. How would that even work?”

“A polyamorous relationship. The three of us can be together. Bucky and I have strong feelings for you, Y/N.”

You shook your head, “This can’t happen,” and suddenly, it felt like Bucky and Steve’s hearts were breaking all over again, but then you continued, “I’m still a student and you’re professors. If this got out, I’d be expelled and you two would be fired. I-” you take a moment to let out a deep breath, “It’s funny. I was coming here to tell you that I can’t choose between you two. I have feelings for both of you, so I was just-I don’t know-take myself out of the equation.”

“But you don’t have to, doll,” Bucky says with a hopeful gaze.

Steve rest his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to prevent him from getting ahead of yourself, “But we understand your reasoning why you don’t want to be with us.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to be with you. I said I can’t right now.” that made both men’s ears perk, “I’m graduating next month. We can put all of this on hold for now and once I’m outta here then...”

“We can wait!” Bucky said all too enthusiastically, which made Steve chuckle.

Steve’s hand moved from Bucky’s shoulder, down his arm and to his hand where they laced fingers, “We’re willing to wait for you, sweetheart. You’re worth it.”

You moved around the desk and to the two men, grabbing each of their hands in yours, “Thank you. You guys mean a lot to me,” you leaned in and pecked the cheeks of each men, “I’ll see you guys soon,” and then you were out of Bucky’s office. The end of next month couldn’t come any sooner. 

__________________

“Y/N L/N!” your name was called as you walked across the stage, shaking the dean’s hand, and accepting your diploma. Cheers from your loved ones and peers brought a huge smile to your face. You walked down the steps dancing on your way back to your seat, your classmates buzzing all around you. 

After everyone’s name was called, the dean stood up the podium to give final remarks and the changing of the tassels, “Now, everyone, I present to you the Class of 2020!” everyone cheered as caps went flying into the air. You hugged the people around you, and waited for your family and friends to meet you on the field. In the meantime..

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Bucky cried out as he gave you a big ol’ hug. Steve stood behind him, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

“Congrats, Y/N,” Steve gave you a hug, nothing to make anyone suspicious.

You were beaming at them, “Thanks you guys. I can’t believe it. I graduated!”

Bucky was ready to ask you out right then and there, but stopped when he saw your family approaching. He and Steve stepped aside to allow you some time with your loved ones. They mouthed, “See you later,” and both walked away to congratulate other students. 

You watched as they departed. A part of you wanted to chase after them and kiss them both then and there, but that would stir something up and you didn’t want any trouble on this momentous day. Soon, Y/N. Soon. 

The day after graduation was when you were to pick up your official diploma. You knew from the group chat that Steve and Bucky would be on campus, due to finishing up finals. And after you picked up your diploma, you wanted to go see them. 

With diploma in hand, you approached the office building, sending off texts to the men:

You: whatcha up to?

Bucky: grading finals in Steve’s office

You: can I stop by?

Steve: of course ;)

Bucky: BRING COFFEE!

You giggled, knowing how predictable Bucky was, two cups of coffee with you already. You approached Steve’s office, knocking on the slightly ajar door, “May I enter?”

The door swung wide open, and Bucky immediately pulled you inside, closing and locking the door behind you. You snorted, “Wow, eager mu-mmf!” you couldn’t finish the teasing retory as a pair of lips matched up with yours, hands cupping your face. 

You heard a chuckle from behind you, “Buck, careful, you’re gonna make her spill the coffee she got for us.” He went over and grabbed the coffee tray from your hands.

You pulled away, mumbling, “Thank you,” to him and then looking back at Bucky who sported a dopey grin on his face, “How long were you waiting to do that?”

“So fucking long,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to yours once more, but it was brief since you pulled away.

“Hey now, two kisses and Steve hasn’t even gotten any from me yet. You’re starting to get greedy, mister.”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed and he ducked his head down shyly, “Sorry, doll,” he then moved aside for Steve. 

Steve pulled you in, wrapping an arm around you and slowly leaning in. His lips were hovering over yours and right as you were about to tell him to hurry up, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers dug into your skin as he held onto you for dear life. For so long him and Bucky have wanted you like this and he feels like if he lets go, if he pulls away, it’ll all be a dream. 

Steve began to walk you backwards until your backside hit the edge of his desk. You pulled away to look at the two men, whose soft gazes faded and turned into lustful ones. 

You smirked, “I’ve always fantasized about being fucked on a desk.”

Both men growled as they started to undo their pants. Steve pressed you up against the desk, kissing you heatedly, while Bucky began to remove things from the surface. You hopped onto it after receiving the okay from Bucky. Steve worked on getting your jeans off while Bucky pulled of your shirt. Clothes flew around the room with no care where they landed. 

“Ah fuck, baby doll. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Bucky moaned, his hand slowly pumping his cock and the other kneading your breast. 

You laid across the surface, opening your mouth, welcoming Bucky’s length. You both moaned when his dick entered your mouth. Bucky thrust his hips back and forth, loving how you looked taking his cock. 

Meanwhile, Steve was paying special attention to your pussy. He licked a strip up your slit, tongue circling around your clit. When you moaned a little too loud, Steve pulled away, “Quiet now, honey. Someone might here your pretty little noises and those are for our ears only.”

Bucky pulled out of your mouth for you to reply, “Sorry, Steve.”

“How wet is she, Stevie?” Bucky asked through his panting.

Steve licked his lips, “So fucking wet and she’s so sweet,” he murmured before slurping up some of your juices. 

Bucky whined, “Lemme taste.” Steve then stood up and leaned over the desk, pulling Bucky towards him, Lips smashing against lips. You wished you could’ve seen the two men swapping your taste, but the view was blocked by Bucky’s body leaning over yours. 

When they pulled away Steve cleared his throat, looking from you to Bucky, “So, how’s this gonna go: i fuck her pussy while you get her mouth, or vice versa?”

You shook your head, “No, I wanna feel you both at the same time.”

Both men moaned at the thought of both of their cocks filling you up to the brim. Steve nodded, “Very well. Bucky, on the table. Sweetheart, straddle Bucky.” Both you and Bucky did as you were told while Steve pulled out a bottle of lube from a drawer. 

You gave him a questioning look and Bucky chuckled, “This isn’t the first time we’ve fucked in this office, doll.” And just the image of Bucky and Steve fucking in this office made you even more wet than before. 

Steve, with his cock lubed up, knelt behind you and in-between Bucky’s legs, “You ready for us, babygirl?”

“I’ve literally been waiting all semester for this, Steve. Now hurry up and fuck me.”

Both men snickered at your haste, “Gotta give our girl what she wants,” Bucky mumbled as he lined himself up with you and you lowered yourself onto him. Steve was right behind you, pushing you forward and slowly easing himself into not wanting to hurt you. Moments pass they’re both inside you and, holy shit, this is something you’ve never felt before.

Both men stay still as they let you set the pace. You rock your body back and forth, allowing both cocks to drag themselves in and out of you. Seriously, the feeling was something unworldly. What made it ever better was Bucky’s lips on your chest and Steve’s hand working your clit. These men both knew what they were doing. 

“So fucking sexy, sweetheart, taking our cocks at the same time,” Steve murmured into your neck, “You love this, don’t you? Love being filled to the brim.”

Bucky bit at your skin, making you hiss, to which he mumbled, “Answer him, babydoll.”

“Yes, Steve. Love your cocks filling me whole,” you gasped when Bucky’s cock just hit that spot that made you shudder. With the way things were going, you knew you were gonna be cumming soon. 

“Wanna make a mess outta you, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, lips still wandering over your neck and chest, “Wanna fill you with our cum, paint you with it. Mark you as ours.”

“I’m yours,” you panted out, “I’m all yours,” you moved your body faster, desperate for your release. 

“Go ahead, baby, cum on our cocks. We wanna feel ya,” Steve mumbled in your ear, his hand working faster on your clit. You dug your nails into Bucky’s chest, a pain he happily welcomed. 

“Come on, baby. Give it us. You can do it,” Bucky encouraged you, slapping your ass and kneading the flesh. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you said through gritted teeth. A powerful wave of pleasure washed over you as leaned down, resting your head against Bucky’s while you came.

“So pretty when you cum,” he whispered.

“Such a good girl,” Steve murmured, kissing your back and shoulders. You moved a bit and felt something wet. You sat up and looked down to see that you just squirted all over you and Bucky.

“Oh shit. I’ve never done that before,” you murmured.

Bucky snickered, “First time for everything,” he said with a wink. 

You then moved off his lap, “Well, lemme clean this up for you since it is my mess.” Both men hissed when your hands wrapped around both their lengths, your mouth gliding over Bucky’s stomach and pelvis, collecting your own juices. 

“Oh my God, you’re perfect,” he moaned, his hand grabbing your head and trying to push it towards his cock.

You slapped his hand away, “I already sucked you off, babe. Now it’s Steve’s turn,” you said with a smirk. You gave a wink to the blonde as your mouth lowered onto his dick. Bucky was right, you are perfect. And you’re theirs. All theirs.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

BNHA - Heartsick

Author Comments: Finally! A finished commission I meant to finish some time ago! All the same, I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: Aizawa Shouta is more than used to the aches and pains that came from being a pro hero. Even if the pain was a little worse than normal, that didn’t mean it was an emergency. He was fine. He was even sure that, if he told himself that lie enough times, it would be true. After all, he had work to do, and, well… What was the worst that could happen?

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia      

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 3,513

                                                     ⁂

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                                   Read the story on AO3!

                                                      ⁂

When Aizawa Shouta felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness that had his eyes fluttering shut and his teeth chomping down on his toothbrush hard enough to ache, his first thought was that he was never going to repeat his last patrol route for as long as he lived. His second thought was that if anyone complained about it, then they could deal with the damn patrol route that managed to hold every seedy bar in Japan. 

Shouta was used to rougher patrols considering he was an underground hero, but there was a difference between a rough patrol and searching every single bar for a ‘suspicious bar tender.’ Especially so, he figured, when every bar on his route had suspicious bar tenders.

Between all of his running around and then talking with his agency once he had found who he was looking for, he hadn’t been able to get back to his room until seven minutes before his alarm had gone off. The temptation to grab his sleeping bag and crawl into a corner to sleep for a couple of years was overwhelming, but he could already hear his students waking up and arguing through the dorm walls.

The walls were sturdy and well-built, but Shouta could hear Bakugou screaming his typical, “If you wanted breakfast then you should have woken up earlier you shitty extras!” 

Spitting out his toothbrush and ignoring the mild chest pain that probably came from some new forming bruise, Shouta rushed to grab his bag and binding cloth. If Bakugou was yelling at his friends for begging for breakfast, then that meant class would start in just over half an hour. That gave Shouta just enough time to grab a cup of coffee, stop by the teacher’s lounge to grab a stack of already graded papers, and, if he was lucky, get just a couple of minutes of sleep in. 

Just another day at U.A., Shouta mused to himself, almost annoyed at the familiar mix of exasperation and fondness each morning he got ready to teach. If he were to talk to one of his friends or coworkers about it, then they would no doubt tell him that it was where he was fond of his class. Shouta was more willing to believe he had finally succumbed to some form of Stockholm syndrome. 

“Is that my nail polish?!” Ah, that would be Ashido yelling at either Hagakure or Kaminari. “I’m going to kill you, you little electric rat!” Kaminari, then, especially going by Bakugou’s loud laughter. 

“Run, Pikachu, run!” Honestly, his kids were going to be the end of- Well. It was either going to be him, U.A., all of villain society, or a combination of the three. Shouta had his money placed on the last option.

Shaking his head and doubling back to his room to get dressed in a clean jumpsuit, a wave of vertigo that shot through his head had Shouta stumbling to catch his balance with a breathless, “What…” As the mild pain in his chest shot up to something heavy and electric, Shouta quickly leaned himself up against the wall before taking a few slow, deep breaths. 

The pain was slow to abate, but his focused breathing did what it needed to, Shouta nodding to himself before continuing back to his room to get dressed. He was used to sleep deprivation causing some nasty side-effects, but they were never typically that bad. It was more likely that he had somehow gained an injury that had slipped by both his and his Agency’s notice.

He had thought about visiting Recovery Girl after the day’s classes, just to be safe, but with that amount of pain… he might be better going to speak with her on his lunch break. If he was lucky it was nothing more than a bruised or possibly cracked rib. He didn’t exactly have the time or energy to deal with anything worse, but knowing how his luck often went… 

“Sensei!” Loud knocking on the door to his rooms followed the shout before Shouta could answer the call. “Ashido’s trying to melt Kaminari’s face off and Bakugou is cheering her on!” And that, Shouta thought to himself, was why he didn’t have time to be dealing with anything worse than a minor injury. 

Taking only the briefest of moments to throw a clean jumpsuit on and slip into his boots, Shouta left his rooms and headed for the common room. He was immediately trailed by Uraraka and Midoriya, the three of them walking onto a scene from what Shouta was sure was one of his nightmares. 

Activating his quirk and fighting off a stab of pain that shot through his temples and down into his jaw, Shouta snapped out a sharp, “Enough.” As soon as they all fell silent, which gratifyingly only took a dozen or so seconds, Shouta dropped his quirk and looked at each of the offenders in turn.

“Ashido. If you’re going to kill a student, then do it without notifying the entire campus. Kaminari, don’t steal from the girls. You won’t win and next time I’ll give you detention. Bakugou.” Shouta paused, eyeing the explosive brat, who was staring back evenly, before nodding. “Good job on not joining in with your quirk.” 

“Wha- How come I’m the only one you threatened?!” Ignoring the yelling and laughter, Shouta sighed and turned to leave. “This is gross injustice, Sensei! Where are my rights?!”

“You’re a student,” Shouta called back dryly. “You don’t have any.” Rolling his eyes at the burst of laughter from all of the brats who were there, Shouta paused when he saw Midoriya watching him with a frown. Lowering his voice, and trying not to let his headache make him sound too snappish, Shouta managed a quiet, “What’s wrong, Midoriya?”

“Ah-! No, it’s nothing, just…” Midoriya trailed off, biting his lip nervously before lowering his voice to the point that Shouta could barely hear a word he said. “Are you alright, Sensei? You seem…” He didn’t finish, but it was clear enough what he was asking.

Shouta took a moment to make peace with the fact that if one of his students noticed something was wrong with him, then his friends were going to notice in a heartbeat. As it was, he gave a single pat to Midoriya’s head, along with a soft, “It’s my job to worry about you brats, not for you to worry about me. I’m fine.” Midoriya, the kid with far too big a heart, didn’t look relieved. Shouta resisted the urge to groan and instead added on a soft, “I’ll be seeing Recovery Girl on my lunch.”

That was enough for the kid to at least perk up, giving him a nod before he was letting himself be dragged into whatever warzone the kids were creating with Shouta’s back turned. Shouta watched them for half a moment, gritting his teeth at another starburst of pain before he was sighing and moving to leave the dorms. 

While the pain was annoying, he was relatively sure he’d survive a few more hours. Besides, a bruised chest and a headache was the least of his worries with a class like 1-A to teach. 

⁂

“Shouta.” Fighting off the urge to point out that Nemuri still whined his name out like they were first years themselves, Shouta dragged his gaze to where his colleague/self-proclaimed friend was glaring at him. “Have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?”

“Of course,” Shouta lied through his teeth, absently rubbing at his temple as he glared down at Bakugou’s paper for Hero Ethics. It was frustratingly perfect, as usual, and devoid of any swearing. Even after almost a year of grading the boy’s work it was still jarring. “And it’s nothing I care about. I’m also busy, but I don’t expect you to understand what that means since you never seem to be yourself.”

Nemuri whined, loud and annoying and utterly fake, “Shouta, you’re so mean to your best friend! What happened to that close friendship we had when we were students here, hm? We were so close!”

“We were close because you refused to leave me alone no matter how much I yelled at you and I can nullify your quirk before you put me to sleep,” Shouta drawled, glancing up at Nemuri and then the empty staff lounge before letting himself smirk for just a moment. “And Hizashi’s my best friend, not you.”

This time the gasp was genuine, Nemuri looking delighted and offended all at once, “Oh, you just wait until I tell him you said that-!”

“Sure.” Shouta made sure to look Nemuri dead in the eyes. “That’s if he believed you. After all, that doesn’t much sound like something I would say, does it?” 

At the ensuing silence, Shouta smirked, returning to grading papers. It was always so nice to win against annoyances like Nemuri and Hizashi. Although, he could do without the sharp stabs of pain that spread from his temple, down into his jaw, and echoed the pain that shot up through his right arm. 

“That’s what I was talking about, Shouta.” It was only Nemuri’s voice, soft and genuinely worried, that had Shouta relenting enough to give her his attention. “You’ve been wincing more than when you were wearing multiple casts. You also keep grabbing at your chest. Did you injure a rib or anything?”

“I- What?” Shouta frowned, leaning back in his seat and glancing down at himself. He… hadn’t been aware he was even touching his chest. If Nemuri had noticed, though, then he had to have done it multiple times. “No. I was cleared after patrol after a check over by someone at my agency.”

“And they didn’t notice anything?” Nemuri asked, the frown getting deeper when Shouta felt sharp jolts of pain again. He supposed he was out of breath whenever he felt pain, which might explain the reflexive motion of pressing his hand against his chest; that sharp, desperate attempt to grab for more air. “Shouta-”

“It’s fine,” Shouta sighed, not willing to deal with Nemuri’s crusade of mothering him when he would be taking care of it himself later. “I’ll check in with Recovery Girl on my lunch break. I can last a couple of hours until then.” Homeroom had gone fine, after all, and the kids’ first lesson of the day was almost done. “I have a class to get to, anyways.” 

“If you’re sure,” Nemuri sighed and turned away to look at something on her own desk, Shouta extremely thankful since that meant she didn’t notice his sharp inhale as it felt like, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. “Don’t think I won’t still tell Hizashi what you said, though!”

Shouta was vaguely aware he mumbled something to her but didn’t much care what as he took the chance to leave the room. As soon as he was in the hallway, still empty as everyone attended to their classes, Shouta took the chance to feel along his sides for any broken or damaged ribs. 

Headaches were one thing — he was always feeling headaches. Pain in his arm, too, wasn’t so out of the ordinary considering his long history of breaks in fractures in his arms. Being unable to breathe, however? He had never had problems with that when there had been nothing to cause it. He hadn’t even had any hits or anything so much as a touch to his chest or ribs on his last patrol. 

His search, too, turned up nothing, everything feeling fine and perfectly like it should. He was still exhausted, of course, but there was no physical damage to him. His breathing, too, had started to even out now that Shouta was conscious and being careful to take slow, even breaths. 

Unease prickling at the back of his mind, Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before shuffling his books and papers and heading towards his class. He only had to wait until lunch, after all, and then he could be checked over by a professional. Besides, a couple of aches and pains and a little trouble catching his breath didn’t mean anything dangerous. He was no doubt simply… tired. 

That didn’t explain why the pain kept getting worse, though. 

If it remained at a low, constant level then that would have been easy to pass off. Shouta could barely remember a day when he wasn’t in some type of pain, after all. 

Having his pain escalate from aches to sharp, lightning strikes of pain that were accompanied by nausea and dizziness, however, wasn’t something easy to pass off. His breathing, as well, had only been getting worse — to the point where multiple of his kids and even All Might had started to notice something was off. 

“Aizawa-san, are you certain you’re alright?” Yagi, the former number one hero who half the world over feared, was fluttering around him like a mother hen and acting worse than Nemuri and Hizashi ever could. “Have you been ignoring injuries again?”

“I don’t want to even start to hear that from you,” Shouta managed to reply with a relatively even tone. Apparently, indignation helped with making it seem like he was okay. Yagi, at least, had the shame and decency to flush. “I’m fine. Just a bad day.”

“I see…” Yagi trailed off, studying him with that calculating expression that proved his former title hadn’t been for nothing. “Have you seen-”

“Not. Yet.” Honestly, Shouta worked with children. They couldn’t go running off to Recovery Girl for every scrape and bruise. “I don’t have the time when there are other things that need doing, but if it’ll keep you from butting into my life, I have plans to see her at lunch.” Which might be turning into a lie, Shouta mused. 

He had planned to use his lunch to visit Recovery Girl, but it was possible he would need to use it to catch up on the endless work that plagued his life. While he had managed to finish grading all the current papers for his classes, he still needed to put their grades into the system. And that was to say nothing for all the reports he needed to complete for his agency and the police. He still had half a dozen active files to work on and twice as many closed cases with loose ends to tie up. He also desperately needed a nap.

Just the thought of how much he had left to do was making his head swim — although he was sure trying to keep an eye on Uraraka and Sero’s mid-air battle wasn’t helping. He was proud of how far the kids had come in their physical training, especially during sparring sessions, but watching Uraraka and Sero fight always ended up with him feeling mildly nauseous. 

“I could watch the students for the rest of this lesson if you want to go by and see her now.” Yagi, ever the annoyance, continued to pry. Shouta would have found it almost nice if he hadn’t found it so annoying. “Save your lunch break for actually eating?”

Shouta ducked his head down into his capture weapon, not sure if he was hiding a scowl or a smile as he snorted, “Yeah? Tell me, All Might, how’s that glass house you live in?” Ah, it was always so fun to see Yagi’s annoyed, sulking look instead of ‘All Might.’ “You know as well as I do the physical pain that comes from being a pro. This is nothing new.” 

“You’re shaking.” At the stern voice, Shouta paused and focused on his body because, well… he was shaking. “I know you push yourself, Aizawa-san, but you also know your limits. This isn’t normal. You’re-”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Shouta stressed, hiding a wince as he felt a stab of pain spiral from his temple, down across his jaw, and into his neck. It hurt, but more than that it felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. 

“Aizawa-” Whatever Yagi was attempting to say was suddenly and abruptly drowned out by a dull roar of sound, Shouta sucking in a breath through his teeth that felt like it did nothing as every part of his body suddenly stopped. 

The dull roar grew louder before disappearing as fast as it had come, replaced by a high-pitched whistling sound that almost — almost — drowned out the shouts and screams of his kids as they swarmed around him. It took far too long for Shouta to realize he was on the floor of the gym they had been working in, unable to figure out how he had gone from standing to lying on his back with his lungs feeling like they weren’t working.  

Fuck, he should’ve gone to Recovery Girl. No doubt he had been hit by some sort of quirk on his patrol without his knowledge — or, possibly even worse, a slow-acting poison that he hadn’t been aware of. God, it had been too long since he had dealt with anything like poison and it fucking hurt, and it wasn’t helping that all of his kids were panicking and worried and-

“Out of my way!” And brilliant. His kids were brilliant because they had no doubt kidnapped Recovery Girl and dragged her all the way there while, undoubtedly, screaming about how Shouta was dying. 

The whistling in his ears began to fade out, taking his hearing along with it as he fought to suck in breaths that were doing next-to-nothing. He felt small, cool hands against his neck, and then heard a sharp swear in a familiar voice followed by the muffled words of, “-going into cardiac arrest-!’ and… 

⁂

Groaning softly, Shouta forced his eyes to open, blurred vision slowly focusing on a ceiling that was more familiar than he would have liked. The infirmary of U.A. was a place he knew all too well and, considering he last remembered collapsing in the gym and felt like he had been hit by a train, he was no doubt about to be yelled at by Recovery Girl herself. Maybe if he pretended as if he was still unconscious… 

An amused giggle interrupted his thoughts, followed by a quiet, “No worries about pretending to be asleep or whatever you were plotting. RG had to go deal with one of Power Loader’s classes. You know how the support kids are.” 

“Annoyances from hell and not my problem,” Shouta responded, making a face at the dry rasp of his voice. A hand was holding a spoonful of ice chips out for him, Shouta opening his mouth gratefully as Hizashi gave him a tired smile. 

“You know, when I joked about those kids of yours giving you heart problems, this isn’t what I meant.” It took a few seconds for Shouta to parse through the words, remembering how he had collapsed and been unable to breath and Recovery Girl’s words of cardiac arrest. 

Shouta took a few seconds to mull over his response, glancing from Hizashi to Nemuri, who was on the other side of his bed and tucked up in a chair with an expression torn between relief and worry. She looked a few seconds away from scolding him, so Shouta made sure to speak up first. 

“So.” Shouta looked between the two, unable to stop his lips from twitching, “I had a heart attack.” Nemuri must have noticed his grin because she immediately puffed up.

“Shouta. This isn’t something to joke about! You just had a heart attack from too much stress!” Biting his lip to stop a smile that Nemuri would only yell at him for, Shouta watched as she puffed herself up even more. She really did know him too well. “Shouta!”

“Sorry,” Shouta managed, a laugh slipping out even as he tried to stop it. “It’s just- Well…” Shouta shook his head, unable to help but find the amusement because, “Leave it to me to have a heart attack before my hair even turns gray.” 

His friends were absolutely quiet, Nemuri finally slumping back down in her chair with a muttered, “Your kids will probably be to blame for that, too.”

On his other side, Hizashi tugged on Shouta’s blanket before nodding his head towards the doorway. It wasn’t hard to spot the eavesdropping students that were practically radiating worry. “Blew off all their afternoon classes to stay here,” Hizashi explained quietly, soft smile on his face. “Couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to their favorite teacher.”

“Hm,” Shouta hummed, closing his eyes and settling back down, breathing out slowly at the ache in his chest. “I should expel them for that.” 

Immediately Nemuri and Hizashi were laughing and half of his kids were yelling and complaining from where they were ‘hiding.’ It was a chaotic mess of noise and sound and people yelling at others to shut up and it was an absolute headache. 

Shouta could have done without having to go through the heart attack first, but, well… the moment he was in wasn’t such a bad one, in the end. 

[heli0s-writes]

VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

 “You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

--

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

--

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

--

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

--

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

--

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

[greyspilot]

From the prompts list, I’d love to see 21, 42 and 56 (or just one of ‘em if you don’t want a combo :))

(as discussed, I only did 21 + 42 for this)

21. “Is this really your idea of fun?” + 42. “Truth or dare.”

Word count: 1500

Wow this got away from me, I’m sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoy it

.

Steve really didn’t want to be at this party, in Tommy’s house, in Tommy’s kitchen drinking Tommy’s cheap beer and listening to Tommy’s shitty music. (Steve really just didn’t want to be in Tommy’s life, but Billy was in Tommy’s life and Steve wanted Billy in his, maybe a little more than he cared to admit, so he made sacrifices.)

Yet here he was, standing in a corner with a beer in his hand (the same one he’d grabbed when they’d arrived and quickly lost the urge to drink) and completely alone. And it wasn’t like he was upset about that, not really. He didn’t mind so much that girls didn’t stop and flirt, that guys brushed past him without a boisterous clap on the back and an exclamation of King Steve! He didn’t mind that he went relatively unnoticed these days. Really. He didn’t.

What he did mind was that Billy had been bugging him for a week to come to this damn party. Had been saying this ain’t about Tommy, fuck him, this is about you and me having some damn fun, Stevie! What he did mind was that he was weak around Billy Hargrove. Weak to the way Billy had wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the way Billy called him Stevie, the way Billy had leaned in last night and murdered in his ear, voice low and rough from the weed they’d been smoking all night, c’mon, pretty boy. Just go with me.

What Steve did mind, was that he let Billy Hargrove play him like a fucking violin because sure, Billy had bugged him, almost begged, Steve to come to this dumbass party and then fucked right off the moment they arrived. What he did mind was that he didn’t even really care that he’d left him; not until Billy ended up in the living room where Heather and Carol and whatever other pretty girls they were friends with sat on the floor in a circle. Hadn’t minded until Billy plonked himself down and joined their stupid game of truth or dare.

They weren’t even playing properly, anyway. It doesn’t count when every round is I dare you to kiss Billy!

And okay, maybe Steve was jealous. Maybe he liked having Billy around the way he had liked having Nancy around and maybe it took him a while to realise that. And maybe it hurt somewhere deep in his chest each time someone crawled into Billy’s lap, wrapped their arms around his neck (the way Steve wanted to) and pressed their lips to his (the way Steve wanted to so fucking badly). Maybe his heart broke every time Billy didn’t kiss back, choosing instead to look over her shoulder and stare at Steve, instead. (And if Steve thought he saw a tinge of longing in those blue eyes, then that was his business.)

Billy didn’t need to know any of that, though.

And fuck, Steve needed to learn some self-respect. He wasn’t a masochist. he didn’t like watching Billy with those girls, but Billy was like the sun; so bright and beautiful and he knew that if he looked, it would hurt, but it would be so worth the pain. 

Until Steve couldn’t do it anymore. Until it hurt too much to look. He’d always known the time would come to look away, to close his eyes before he blinded himself with Billy’s light. He only hoped he wasn’t too late as he kicked himself off the wall and shuffled into the kitchen, downing the rest of his beer on the way as if the alcohol would drown out the thoughts of those blue eyes on him.

All of a sudden beer didn’t seem strong enough (he was still thinking of those eyes) so he grabbed a red solo cup, was in the middle of filling it with too much tequila and not enough pink lemonade when he felt the weight of an arm, warm and familiar, drape across his shoulders.

“What are you doin’ back here by yourself, pretty boy?”

Steve wanted to roll his eyes, to snap, but he bit his tongue, used all his strength and self-control to shrug off the arm and mumbled: “Like you care.”

“Whoa, hey,” Billy frowned, feeling suddenly sober despite the fact that he hadn’t been even close to drunk the entire night, hadn’t even finished one beer, too busy watching the way Steve Harrington, ex-king of Hawkins high and resident pretty boy, had spent the whole night watching him. “What’s with the attitude, princess?”

And Steve, who had spent all night alone, had spent all night watching Billy Hargrove, boy of his god damn wet dreams, kissing people that were not him, was at his wits end.

In an outburst reminiscent of his King Steve days, he slammed the cup down on the bench. “You asked me to come to this stupid party and then you ditched me for some shitty game!”

Now, Billy never claimed to be the most observant person. He knew he had a tendency to get caught up in his head, to project his ideas onto others, but he was sure he heard a twinge of jealousy in Steve’s words.

“Why don’t you join the fun?”

Steve couldn’t help but scoff, roll his eyes, turn away from Billy and go back to his drink. “Is this really your idea of fun?”

“Could be,” Billy said, crowding in close to Steve’s personal space. “If you were there.”

And sure, they were friends now, had built their bridges a long time ago, but this was new. And sure, Steve’d had Billy warm and sweaty and pressed up against him on the court, but this wasn’t basketball. This was Steve and Billy, alone in a kitchen while a party raged on around them.

Billy’s hand landed soft on Steve’s shoulder and Steve felt like they were in their own, private bubble as Billy spun him so they were face to face.

Steve’s heart jumped into his throat.

He could feel Billy’s soft, warm breath hitting his face, smell the beer and the sweat and the cheap cigarettes. From this close, he could see every freckle, now barely-there from lack of California sun, could count every eyelash. From this close, Steve could kiss him if he wanted to.

And fuck, he wanted to.

And then, Billy was saying-

“Dare me.”

Steve froze. Blinked. Tried to process exactly what Billy was asking as all he could focus on was the blue of Billy’s eyes, the blonde curl falling over his forehead.

“What?”

Billy gave a small, half-smile, the kind that was reserved for girls in the halls and teachers at school and the older ladies that had nothing better to do than lounge by the pool and eye a minor. This wasn’t the kind of smile Billy Hargrove used on someone like Steve Harrington.

Except that, apparently, it was.

“Truth or dare,” Billy said. “We’re playing. Dare me”

Steve shook his head. Billy was drunk, must be. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the game works, you-”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington! Just dare me!”

Billy was getting worked up now, pressing closer to Steve, towering over him because even though Steve was just that little bit taller, Billy was broader, with tide shoulders and a strong chest and arms that were made to be covered in sweat and glistening under a golden sun.

“To what, Billy?” And Steve was getting worked up too. His voice was strained and it was taking everything he had not to reach out and touch what he knew wasn’t his. “You aren’t making any sense!”

“To kiss you!”

The world stopped spinning. The air left Steve’s lungs. He opened his mouth to try and speak (not that he even knew what to say when the boy he’s been wanting for months was talking about kissing him) but Billy beat him to it.

“Because I want to, pretty boy. Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. But I won’t unless you want me to. So dare me.”

And that, fuck, that knocked all the air right out of Steve’s lungs. His chest tightened, his heart raced, beating so hard against his ribcage he wondered if Billy could hear it.

What did he say to that? Billy wanted to kiss him. Billy, who was drooled over by every woman within a hundred-mile radius, who was a golden adonis stuck in Hawkins, Indiana and he wanted to kiss Steve. Steve who was a nobody, who hadn’t been anybody for a while now, who didn’t even want to come to this dumb party in the first place.

What did he say to that?

Well.

He looked up at Billy through thick lashes, brown eyes sparkling, tongue coming out to wet his soft, pink lips. And then he spoke, and it was soft and it was low, barely a whisper but Billy heard it loud and clear.

“I dare you.”