#the last thing i want is for her to not even be able to listen to music without it rubbing it in her face

[yelenaslyubov]

Be My Baby

main masterlist || florence pugh || requests

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: florence pugh x fem!reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+), smut, reader receiving, fingering, reader starts story married to a cis man!, cheating

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: (inspired by florence’s new shoot with vogue and set in the mid-to-late 1900s), after moving to the suburbs for a quieter life, your next door neighbor turns out to be a sweet surprise. infatuated by her personality, you make it your mission to get to know her better, even if that means breaking the rules.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 2.8k

A thinly paved road and bushels of trees flew past on either side of the car. Being away from the city was a dream at last, as you had begged your husband for years at the opportunity. Now, he had the chance and he took it.

It was just as you had pictured it; perfectly wooded with plenty of neighbors around to keep you company. Your husband would work in the city, which was about an hour drive, but it was what you asked for with easy living.

As you neared the end of the road, you passed a large house coming up on the right. The sharp home was white with plenty of wood finishes. It seemed to fit just right in front of the trees.

Just like you remembered, your house was the last on the road and it looked just like the pictures you had seen in the mail. The accents of stone and black trim were to die for, and you knew the inside would be an even better satisfaction.

The car pulled into the driveway and it stopped with a squeak. The smile on your face could not be disguised. Your husband opened his own door but regretted not opening yours as well. Your smile faded as you helped yourself out of the car.

“Well, I hope it is everything you’ve dreamed of because I spent a pretty penny on it.” Even the sound of his voice repulsed you more than you could ever imagine.

Truthfully, this was all for you. You knew that getting the dream house you wanted allowed you to be in peace for most days. Your husband traveled for a living which left you in solitude to your heart's content.

When you walked into the house, boxes of your belongings littered the floor. The movers had gotten there the day before you and dropped everything off. The only thing put together was your bed, thank goodness.

“Hopefully this can all be unpacked by the morning, I need to leave tomorrow early for the airport,” your husband said.

“So soon?” you asked with an undertone of happiness.

He shot you a glare. “Yes, so soon. I couldn’t imagine you would understand.”

And so, the night was spent listening to records on vinyl after you were able to find the turntable, while each of you made a silent effort to unpack your life. By about midnight each of you called it quits and decided to go to bed.

Your bed felt just like it always had, but with a new view. Your eyes fluttered shut as you watched the tall pine trees dance in the breeze swooping by. How lovely it was to finally be surrounded by nature.

.

.

.

By morning your husband had already left with no trace but a simple note at your bedside that read “car delivery this afternoon. I will see you later.”

Later. Later could mean anything, so you anticipated hours or even days that he could be gone. Without a car until the afternoon left you stranded at home with no food, which seemed just like him.

You stumbled out of bed and threw your green, silk robe around you as you shivered. You nearly jumped at the sight in front of you in the mirror. The move had clearly been rough, with your disheveled hair and mascara smudges painted under your eyes. Luckily, with the unpacking you did last night you had just enough collected to take a shower and make yourself more presentable.

You made your way into your new bathroom that was covered with baby pink tile, along with a toilet and bathtub to match. You reached for the dial in the shower, but just before you were able to turn the water on you heard the doorbell ring. You waited a moment just in case you misheard, but it rang again.

Living in a new place called for precautions because you did not know what you would find behind the front door. You hoped for the car delivery, but you assumed that was slim.

You approached the door and peaked out the window beside it; no car. You walked closer to the door and jumped when the doorbell rang again.

“Hello?” a sweet voice spoke from the other side of the door. A woman.

Your chest became a bit lighter when you realized it was a woman. You wrapped your robe tighter around you since you did not know exactly what to expect when you opened the door.

The lock snapped to the left with a pop and you opened the door to reveal a blonde haired woman.

“Good morning! Oh, I’m sorry if I woke you up!” she exclaimed.

“You didn’t wake me, it’s no problem at all,” you responded.

You felt severely underdressed standing in front of her. She was wearing a light blue dress with white trim and shoes to match. Her hair was cut shorter but you could see the curls that were meticulously curved above her forehead. You became very distracted by the way she presented herself and the pretty smile she had.

“I saw you get in last night and thought I would just bring something over for you from my family. My husband and I live in the house on the right through the trees.” You looked in the direction she was pointing and it turned out to be the house you noticed when on the road last night.

“Oh my, well thank you very much, I appreciate that!” Your new neighbor handed you the glass dish of food. “My name is y/n y/l/n, it’s nice to meet you.” You held out your hand for her to shake.

“My name is Florence Pugh, it’s wonderful to meet you. It’s nice to have a friendlier face around here, most of the women I’ve met have been absolute vultures, but I can tell that we’ll get along just right,” she giggled and it warmed your heart.

“I appreciate you coming and introducing yourself to me. I’m new to the area and don’t know a soul, so having some company around here will be so lovely,” you expressed.

“Anything, my dear. Well, I best get back home and leave you to your day.”

You hesitated to protest her departure. “Well, my husband travels for work and I’m not sure when he will be back, so if you’re not up to anything…”

“I’ll be back in an hour to help unpack!” she said.

“You’re too kind, I appreciate you, and this food,” you laughed.

“It’s no problem at all! I’ll see you in a flash!”

She was gone just like she had come and you couldn’t help but watch her leave. The flow of her dress rocked back and forth with her hips and her hair bounced as she walked.

You went back inside and tried to resume as you were. You put the food in the fridge and tried to contain your excitement for the dinner you would be having.

That day, Florence came back over and helped you unpack for the rest of the night. You shared your stories with one another and laughed until your stomachs hurt. A real friendship began to blossom between the two of you, which helped with your boredom.

A couple months went by and your husband had been back to the house a couple times before traveling again for work, and Florence never left your side. You saw your friend almost each day and adored every second spent together. She made your world feel less lonely just by being there.

One morning while your husband was gone, of course, you decided to take a walk over to Florence’s house to see her. You noticed her husband stomping to his car with a look that could kill. He got in the car and drove away with only dust behind him. You tried to stay hidden until he was down the road, then you approached their house.

You knocked on the door and heard footsteps hurrying towards you. She opened the door and she was crying.

“Oh Flossie, what’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“You’re not alright and you know it.” You slid inside past her, closed the door, and took her hand while dragging her over to the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’re just having marital problems, that’s all. Just a rough patch.”

“You’ve seemed off the last couple weeks, so I wouldn’t say it’s all marital problems,” you said.

You poured the two of you a glass of white wine and brought out your box of cigarettes, offering one to Florence as well.

“Y/n, it’s 8 in the morning, we can’t drink yet!”

“Says who?” you smiled, which made Florence smile back.

The two of you talked for a couple hours and Florence poured her heart out to you, all of it that she could at least. She explained the indifferences between her and her husband, as well as her own personal indifferences.

You placed your hand on top of hers and squeezed it. “I’m sorry you have to do that all on your own,” you said.

“Believe me, you being here helps more than you will ever know.” Florence smiled at you, her kind eyes meeting yours and getting lost in each other.

She had been looking at you longer than anticipated, but you couldn’t seem to look away. Florence looked from your eyes to your lips; back and forth, and back and forth.

Before you could control either one of your impulses, each of you were leaning in close, meeting each other in the middle. Her lips found yours so easily and you closed your eyes. You couldn’t believe the comfort and softness you felt for her, even in this unexpected moment.

You were so wrapped up in the moment that you hadn’t realized what was actually happening. Florence seemed to gain consciousness the same time as you and you both pulled away quickly.

“I- I’m so sorry y/n, I don’t know what overcame me!” Florence said frantically.

“Please, don’t apologize, Flossie, it’s alright. Just calm down.”

Florence was pacing around the room, anxiously picking at her hands not knowing what to do. “This is so unlike me, I’m so sorry,” she kept apologizing.

“Florence!” you tried to get her attention. “It’s alright, I promise. No harm done.”

You grabbed her hands so she would start to calm down a bit. You smiled at her to reassure her that all was well.

“I believe you then,” Florence smiled. “You better be going, I’m sure you have things to do.”

“When do I ever have things to do?” you laughed.

“Well, you know…”

You could tell that one way or another, Florence was trying to make you leave, so you decided to go ahead and go before she kicked you out.

“You’re right… I should get going. I’ll see you later on, Flossie. You take care of yourself, you hear?” She nodded in response and you left her standing in the middle of the living room.

As you got home, you felt confused and disoriented as to what happened. You had to admit, you didn’t hate it, but you knew it was wrong. You both had husbands and you were both… women. Even with the doubts and differences in your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Florence didn’t leave your mind all night, or for several days for that matter. You figured you were better off leaving the two of you with some space after what happened. Florence was clearly shook up about it and you didn’t want to push her. You wanted her to come to you first; and that’s exactly what she did.

One day, a couple weeks after the incident between you and Florence, you had just finished up cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming the house, so you decided to hop in the shower to clean up.

It happened almost the same as it started between the two of you. Before you had the opportunity to shower, your doorbell rang. You answered it to find Florence waiting for you.

“Hello, I thought I would stop by and see how you’re doing, but I can see that you’re busy-”

“Flossie, please don’t go,” you begged.

Florence stopped before she could leave. “I’ve missed that— ‘Flossie.’”

“I’ve missed you,” you smiled. “Come in.” The two of you made your way to the couch and sat down.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by, I’ve just been… thinking a lot and I just feel bad for that day.”

“Please, don’t apologize anymore,” you told her. “It was just something silly in the moment, it meant nothing.”

Florence’s head dropped and she looked down at her hands. “Right, it meant nothing.”

You looked at her and saw the sadness that she expressed. You took her hand and she looked back at you.

“Unless… it did mean something?” you asked. Instead of sadness, her eyes were hopeful, just like yours.

“I know it’s not right, but I can’t seem to help it. I can’t stop thinking about you,” Florence said.

It was more forced this time, much more indeed. Florence crashed herself into you, knocking you down on your back against the couch. These two weeks left you hungry for each other, leaving you starved and grabbing for anything you could touch.

Her hands grasped your blushed cheeks, your tangled hair, and the spaces of your neck. You held her flush against your body, not wanting this secret moment to end.

Each of you couldn’t stop yourself, which is how you found yourself in the position of your robe being taken off. Your body was exposed to the brisk air, but you didn’t seem to mind.

There was no time for Florence to get a good look at you because she was too busy touching every part of you. She was quick to drag her hand down your front half and stopping down before your stomach.

Hesitation was not an option because you both knew you may never get this moment again if anyone were to find out. Without thinking, Florence drew her fingers through your center which caused you to squirm.

You let her do whatever she desired with you simply because she was Florence. Part of you had waited for this moment, but another part was taken by surprise that it was happening at all.

She began rubbing her fingers all through your cunt. It didn’t seem to matter what she did to you, your body was completely euphoric.

Florence’s fingers rubbed circles on your clit while you cried out of pleasure. You had never felt anything that had been quite of this measure, and you didn’t think you ever would again.

She picked up the pace while her lips were still all over your face and body. You couldn’t stop moving and reacting to the touch you were receiving from her, so Florence had to take matters into her own hands.

She barred down and put her weight on your body, preventing you from squirming too much.

“It’s so cute how much you move under me,” Florence said, turning your cheeks hot. Her words didn’t help you move any less.

You could feel yourself getting closer, as it didn’t take much for you to relinquish yourself to her completely.

“Flossie, I think I’m-” you tried to get out.

“I know, my dear. You can do it,” she whispered to you.

All it took was her words and the gentle but hot kiss she left by your ear that did you in. Your moans could be heard loudly over Sam Cooke who was playing from the turntable across the room.

You felt in a daze as your high came to a close, and all you could see now were the hazy eyes of Florence staring back at you. She rubbed the side of your face and swiped the hair out of your face.

You sat up out of surprise. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Me neither,” Florence giggled.

You stood up and got your footing before looking at Florence. She looked so naturally ethereal with the white pleated dress she had on, along with her messy royal looking hair. She stared at you and covered her mouth with her hand, laughing at you.

“What’s the matter?” you smiled.

“I didn’t even realize I did that much damage.”

You walked over to the mirror and gasped. There were dozens of lipstick marks all over your face and chest.

You smiled at her in the mirror. “That only means you have to help me clean it all up again.”

You took Florence’s hand and pulled her towards the bathroom while a trail of each of your clothes littered the hallway.

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.

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[court-jobi]

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore. 

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 3

🌅Don’t you dare runaway (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change—Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing, Mention of Sex (the word is pronounced once)

Words count: 3.3k

chapter 1 - chapter 2

It’s 4 a.m. when the alarm rings and the shrill melody is a relief to Osamu’s ears.

The man hasn’t been able to sleep a wink all night. First, he found the futon way too hot to his liking and in an attempt to cool down he tried to slide onto the tatami mat, but it turned out to be way too cold this time (if only he had someone pressed against him, maybe that could help find the perfect balance). Then, he remembered the words he told his brother—sure ‘Tsumu acted like a spoiled brat but ending the year angry at him left a weird bittersweet taste in his mouth (he wished he had someone he could express this feeling to, someone who would listen and reassure him.) And finally, finally, he couldn’t calm the rapid beats of his heart each time he remembered that only a small corridor was separating you from him (and if only that someone he needed was you, he thought dismissively somewhere between dusk and dawn).

So, when the alarm rings, even though it means waking up, driving another hour and a half and opening the restaurant, he is relieved.

Osamu can’t decipher whether you had a good sleep or not when he joins you in the kitchen a few minutes later.

You have a cup in your hands and you’re glancing at the window. He turns his face to where you’re looking. The snow has melted. The world outside is silent, untouched by the morning light.

“Hi.” You tell him calmly; he didn’t realise you had noticed his presence.

He smiles in response as you put your cup of tea away, “should we go?”

“After ya.”

His words make you laugh a little, you cover your mouth with your hand and answer, “It’s way too early but you’re already such a gentleman.”

“Always with ya.”

Osamu doesn’t know if it’s because he’s not fully awake (or asleep) but his voice comes out so seriously that you widen your eyes slightly and a faint red hue creeps across your cheeks, and to the tips of your ears. Your eye contact stops after a few seconds, but it’s more than enough to fill Osamu’s lungs with an air he had never quite breathed before. If it had lasted longer, the man is convinced he would have melted, like the snow, in an unfair way.

You both thank Grandma Yumie for her hospitality. She doesn’t hide her will to welcome you again any time of the year, at any hour of the day.

“Take care of each other.” She ends up saying. A quick glance at Osamu makes it's obvious that she specially addressed those words to him.

It’s so cold inside the car, Osamu doesn’t wait for your arms to shiver to give you his hoodie. A grin slips through your lips when you put it on and notice how big it is for you. Your eyes seem a little bit glassy not because you cried but because of the lack of sleep. You probably found the bed too cold or too hot just like him, Osamu concludes.

“Ya can sleep if ya want. I’ll try not to drive too fast.”

“Nah, I've got to keep you company. What a bad co-pilot I would make if I fell asleep.” You sound a little proud when you say that, he finds you cute.

“Co-pilot? Ya distract me most of the time.”

You straighten suddenly and frown, “What? How dare you-”

“Say bye to Oba-san.” He starts the engine and waves at the old lady who stayed by the door to watch you leave.

You click your tongue, “Shut up.”

The ride is, without surprise, quiet. It’s not the quiet of yesterday due to Osamu’s bad mood—it’s a comfortable quiet. The kind that seems to be in harmony with the nature outside who’s slowly awakening

Osamu drives mostly on instinct. He tries to think about the day coming ahead to keep his focus: first he needs to wash the rice, then he will cut the cucumbers, prepare the sauce… He enumerates the list in his head. It’s gonna be a long day, he realises.

He sighs loudly, the sound filling the otherwise silent car.

You’ve been so calm that Osamu starts to think you might’ve fallen asleep. He risks a glance at you, your head resting lightly against the window. The sight both distracts and grounds him.

Something inside his chest is warm.

Unknowingly, a new rhythm has settled in his heart. When did it start? Maybe it has always been like that with you (peaceful, obvious). It’s so pleasant, Osamu wouldn’t mind feeling it for the rest of his life.

“Osamu, stop.” You suddenly exclaim and in a split second the man, lost in thoughts, is brought down to earth.

He does stop on the roadside, and you get out of the car.

He’s confused, almost worried, at first, so he follows you but soon all his fears disappear.

“Look. The sun is rising. I’ve never seen the sky like that before.” Your amazement is that of a child, your voice is high, and you run to the edge of the cliff to get even closer to the panorama. Osamu sees your chest rise and fall as you take in the air, “It’s beautiful.”

Osamu blinks.

No, you’re beautiful, is the only thought running through his head. But honestly, when are you not? Although, he just notices it now.

A ray of sunlight falls perfectly on your face, and he wants to kiss you.

Fuck.

He really wants to kiss you. Irresistibly. Outrageously. Unconditionally so.

The background seems like a mere white noise to his ears. You’re telling him how pretty the view is again, but he doesn’t care. All seven wonders could stand in front of him but that would not satisfy his eyes compared to that sight of you, bathed in the sun.

Look away, look away, he tries to convince himself. Look at where she’s pointing. But it’s too late now. He’s mesmerised by the moves of your hair, captivated by the features of your face, he suddenly feels like he’s losing all sense of will but still, it feels good. It’s freeing him.

Because everything makes sense now.

The discomfort he feels when you call him “friend”, the desire to live in a house with you, the feeling of protection he constantly shows towards you, the new rhythm that his heart is beating to.

It’s because he is in love with you.

He wants to stop time and never go back to Osaka. He wants to stay there, watching you smile. Gosh, the sunrise looks so good on you, it’s probably becoming his favourite colour.

You catch him looking and smile, “by the way.” You start and he has to pinch his arm to refocus, “Happy New Year.”

On January 1st, at 5 a.m., Miya Osamu realises that the love of his life has been standing before him for a decade.

Atsumu has been waiting in front of Onigiri Miya for an hour.

The cold bites at his skin and seeps into his bones like a river entering a cave and flooding it. After avoiding death from fratricide, he is now convinced he will succumb to hypothermia.

He sits against the wall, hands deep in his pockets, seeking warmth. He curses himself for not bringing gloves (it’s always Osamy who remembers that kind of stuff). Maybe his fingers are going to freeze and break and fall—his career will be over soon, farewell National Team, goodbye Olympics.

When his brother’s car finally pulls up, he jumps.

“I’ve never been so happy to see ya.” He exclaims, eyes on the verge of tears. “How was yer ride? Ya must be tired. Can I do somethin’ to help?”

His eyes dart toward Osamu, and you can see the guilt written all over his face as he talks. But his twin only glowers at him before walking straight past him and opening the restaurant.

The older brother clears his throat and glances at you, clearly unsure of what to do.

You put your hand on his arm and suggest gently that he should get the rice bags from the car while you start cleaning the counter and getting the tables ready.

Atsumu hesitates for a moment before nodding, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah... alright.”

Inside the restaurant, Osamu watches you take off your shoes and pick up the broom. “Ya should go home and sleep,” he says quietly before taking a glimpse at the other man still outside, “both of ya.”

You shake your head and smile. “Don’t be stupid, Osamu. Atsumu and I are happy to help. We’ll sleep later. Right?”

Atsumu finally lumbers inside with the first bag of rice slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, his brother remains unusually calm. There’s no yelling or anger—just silence. And for Atsumu, the silence is worse.

“What?- Oh yeah, of course, we’ll help. Ya don’t have to worry, go to yer kitchen and make us some good onigiri. Like always. ‘Cause yer a great chef, ya know. The best I should say. The best of the best.” Each sentence comes out more awkward than the previous and it takes everything in you not to laugh at how he stumbles over his words.

But Osamu only sighs in response before grabbing the rice bag from Atsumu.

Something about his attitude makes the blond twin uneasy. As he passes by you, he leans down and whispers into your ear, “D’ya think he’s still angry at me?”

“Maybe a little bit.” You say back, trying to keep your voice low. “But don’t worry, I’m sure it will be over soon if you help him today.”

Osamu glances over with furrowed brows, his eyes narrowing slightly as he catches you both whispering. “Yer helpin’ or not?” His voice is devoid of his usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, yeah, comin’.”

Atsumu hurriedly runs back outside to finish the job.

You don’t see each other for the next few days. At first, Osamu thinks it’s for the better. He has been awfully busy since the beginning of the year—which has been a greater success than he had planned. He likes his job because of how different each day is. If a day is calm, the next can be swarming, if sometimes he takes the time to discuss with the workers who come for their lunchtime, another time he will enjoy the silence of the off-peak hour. He tries to innovate in what he makes depending on the seasonal products or fresh fish of the market. It’s never repetitive, always new.

He can say he is content with his job.

So, when the second week of January starts, he thinks he deserves to rest (and he probably needs to).

But he immediately regrets it when he finds himself unable to fall asleep. He closes the restaurant earlier than usual and goes to the konbini to buy that eggs and mayo sandwich he has been craving for months (Osamu prefers homecooked food but a little treat now and then is always welcomed). He gets home, lies down on his couch and turns on the TV. He learns about how Tibetan Sand Foxes like to prey on pikas (why do they look like Suna by the way? Suna, his former teammate, your ex, your first love, the guy who broke your heart, the only boy you ever dated, ever loved, ever had sex with-). His heart misses a beat. He immediately skips to the next channel. There’s a documentary about street food in Hong Kong, but only a few minutes in, he turns the TV off. This reminds him too much of work and tonight is supposed to be about anything but work. His life is dedicated to food now, and he won’t change anything about it, but at the same time, his brain needs a break from the one thing he knows best.

So, he grunts and lies down flat on his back, hands behind his neck.

He looks at the ceiling and tries to clear his mind. He thinks that resting like this will help his head wind down, but the more he tries to relax, the more his thoughts turn chaotic.  

What are you doing right now? He wonders. You are in Aomori with Atsumu and the rest of the team. Perhaps you’re making a video with Bokuto or eating apple pie with Hinata (stop thinking about food ya moron). Is Sakusa near you? Are you talking to him? Looking at him? How does that make you feel? Maybe thinking about food is a better idea because Osamu suddenly feels his muscles tightening and a dull ache settles from his lower abdomen to his chest.

He hasn’t seen you often this week when work took you away, and that was fine—he was busy too. But these past few days, the empty space where your presence used to be felt bigger. It was like a silence he wasn’t used to, one that lingered too long after the noise of the day had died down.

Without realising it, his eyes close. His body, heavy with the fatigue he refuses to acknowledge, finally gives in.

When he wakes up, he is sitting on a chair, it’s stiff and uncomfortable. He blinks a few times to get used to the light.

“We’re going to the cafeteria, you’re coming?”

He doesn’t recognise Suna’s monotonous voice at first, but still, the middle blocker is here, standing in front of him. His hair is long, and he is wearing their high school uniform.

Osamu opens his mouth, once, twice, before looking around him. He is in his second-year classroom. He looks at his hands, there’s dry and bruised, from volleyball ?

“What yer doin’ here?” he says to no one at all.

Suna is gone.

When he turns around, you are with your ex-boyfriend.

“I love you.” He hears Suna say, “Be my girlfriend.”

Osamu wants to get up, but his body doesn’t move.

He knows something is irrational about the whole situation. First, he graduated from high school years ago, and then Suna would never confess in front of everyone.

However, there’s an urge inside of him to stop you from giving an answer. He wants to tell you to say no for you deserve better than Suna. Don’t choose him, choose me, he wants to tell you.

But he is glued to the chair.

“Fuck.” He groans before hitting his forehead on the table.

“Where’s Sakusa-san?” You finally reply.

Your voice is so soft, Osamu thinks you sound like peace in the middle of chaos.

He lifts his face and sees you. You’re taller and your cheeks are thinner, you don’t look like the teenager you once were. Suna has disappeared and you’re in Osaka’s gym.

The boy doesn’t look around this time to understand what he is doing here. Nothing makes sense anyway.

He knows he has to join you before Sakusa does.

“Wait.” He exclaims and starts running towards you. But you don’t hear him.

He shouts your name, perhaps his throat will ripe from screaming too loud. That doesn’t matter because he needs you to listen to him, “Sakusa doesn’t know ya can’t sleep if ya don’t have a cup of tea, black tea, not white, not green, but black. He doesn’t know ya prefer boiled eggs instead of poached and that yer tongue itches if ya eat the skin of peaches.” He has stopped running now and is almost out of breath, “Ya used to love spring, but ya don’t anymore, ‘cause ya have allergies and ya think summer is better because it’s the season of fireworks and festivals and… and-”

He wants to keep going but he is suddenly overwhelmed by all the things he knows about you (everything); and all the things he wants to learn about you (anything).

He sinks on his knees.

“I don’t know where we are and am so tired, but I love ya, I love ya, I love ya.”

There’s a sensation of greatness once the words have come out of his lips. It’s infinite and endless.

His eyes are directed to the polished floor. He sees tears falling on his hands and wetting his fingers.

You don’t answer and when he looks up, the scenery has changed again. He is on top of a mountain, sat on the grass. When he decides to stand up, he wonders where you are. Have you heard him? Or has he lost his chance to tell you how he feels?

A warm hand rests on his shoulder, “Osamu-kun.” It’s the feeble but gentle voice of his grandma, “For yer words to be heard, ya need to face the truth.”

“I should have realised I loved her sooner, in high school, I should have dated her, not Suna, not him, me.” There’s panic not only in his tone but in his heart. His hands start shaking.

“This is not about ya, this is about her.”

He doesn't listen to the old lady, “How am I supposed to forget her now? What should I do? Our friendship will be ruined because of me. Grandma’ I-I’m screwed.”

“Give her yer heart, fully.”

“But what if-”

“Son,” her voice is firmer now, “don’t you dare run away.”

The sun is rising when Osamu looks to his right. How is he supposed to spend a lifetime showing you how he feels when it took him a fraction of a second to fall in love with you ?

Loving you is crushingly beautiful but painfully right.

A loud noise resonates in his ears. Does it sound like keys? Or a door opening? Or footsteps?—

The moment that follows he cracks his eyes open.

“Don’t tell me ya were sleepin’?” Atsumu bursts into the living room. “We came back a day earlier. I'm hungry.”

“We?” Osamu asks. His eyelids are heavy with the weight of sleep and when he tries to sit, he feels his head spin.

“I brought apple pie.”

You appear in his field of vision and lean towards him. His heart beats differently now.

You smile with all your teeth, it’s brighter than the sunrise, and he finally realises that a few minutes ago he was dreaming (about you).

“Do you want to have a bite?” You ask him.

This isn’t supposed to happen, he thinks, his heart isn’t supposed to ache like that, he isn’t supposed to hate the stupid distance between you (a meter? Maybe less? Even a centimetre would be too much anyway). It’s ridiculous but he finds himself wanting to break it. But Osamu is not stupid, he can question everything, and analyse his feelings in every sense, he can’t hide it. Dream or not, whether you’re here or away for days, he’s madly in love with you. He will not need a third realisation to admit it, it’s clear that he wants you now.

“You look exhausted.”

There’s worry on your face as you frown. You’re about to put your hand on his forehead to take his temperature but his instinct orders him to avoid your touch, so he gets on his feet and goes to the kitchen.

“I really want to try that apple pie, I’ll put the oven on to warm it up.” He probably sounds fake but that’s the only escape he can think of. He doesn’t want to turn to you because your arms are probably crossed and lips turned into a pout (you always do that when you’re upset but Osamu finds it cute).

Once he’s far enough from you, his face starts to burn, he puts his hands on his cheeks as if it would make the flush go away.

He feels like a teenager crushing on his classmate.

But he can't run away anymore.

author notes: not a lot of action but a lot of feeling, what do you guys think?

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt

[wanderingsoul6261]

Gif credit goes to scre6m

Tyler Owens x Reader

Synopsis: request fic done with "Blown Away" by Carrie Underwood on the brain. Reader is in an abusive marriage and Tyler finally comes to save her.

Warnings: mentions of abuse/degrading words, swearing, implied character death (not Y/N or Tyler) I think that's it. Let me know if I misses anything. I tried, so I'm sorry if it sucks.

Also not edited, so if there are mistakes, I'm sorry.

Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to hide it for long. She knew eventually that the wounds she wore, that spread across her body like vines, withering her soul away to nothing would give way to something. It was only a matter of time. Her excuses of being too clumsy would only hold up for so long. The split lips, black eyes, and bruises on her body would give way to a story in which people would shove their sympathies and self pity into her face. She didn't want it though. Y/N didn't want the attention, the spotlight. 

She could barely muster up the courage to be on the livestreams with the Wranglers, sitting in the back seat of the red beast that they rode into tornadoes often. Y/N almost grew envious of the truck, watching how well it was cared for and maintained, treated so well. She got barely half of that treatment at home. 

From her husband. 

Oh how doting he was when they first met, willing to bend over backward for her and give her the world. Love her as if she was the last one on Earth, looked at her as if no other woman existed. 

Then he ripped it out from underneath her, twisting a knife into her back at the same time. No matter how much she tried to reach for that knife, she couldn't reach it. She couldn't pull it out, no matter how badly she wanted to. 

But the only person who also seemingly caught on to how she felt was the very man that couldn't have her. 

One Mr. Tyler Owens. 

The man fell head over heels for her but while she was married, he couldn't do anything but watch from afar, appreciating her as a friend only because that was the only way he could have her. And for a while he was okay with that. 

Until he wasn’t.

He noticed the bruises. The split lips. The flinching whenever he or anyone else raised their hands above a certain threshold. Tyler was the one who broke down her door to get to her after finding out she was having a panic attack, the yelling outside the door from the variety of storm chasers overwhelming her. He held her while she slapped and clawed at him, begging him to let her go until she realized it wasn't her husband, and that she was okay. Tyler listened through the paper thin walls of the motel as her husband yelled at her through her phone speaker, calling her terrible names and treating her in a way that not ever, did a single person deserve. He listened as she had nightmares, wanting so desperately to help her, to hold her and reassure her. 

Tyler wanted to be the one to love her because he knew he could do it. 

Not her abusive husband. 

He wouldn't be a husband that kept constant tabs on her and limit her freedom, beating her when she disobeyed or tried to fight back. 

No. He would love her and care for her with every love sick bone in his body, because truly, all he lived for in this world, was her. 

Even if he couldn't have her. 

Even as he now raced towards her home, dead set in the path of EF4 Tornado, threatening to engulf every single thing in its path, including Tyler, Y/N and her abusive husband. He would save both of them, as much as he wished for him to be swept up by the storm and never seen again. 

Tyler had barely put the red beast he drove into park, before his boots hit the ground, his heart pounding in his throat as he called out. 

“Y/N! Y/H/N!” He raced towards the front entrance,hearing yelling and screaming coming from inside. Tyler held his breath, feet pounding up the steps to their home as he forced his way inside, the noises now louder as he tried to figure out where the sounds were coming from. The yelling and screaming echoed from the back of the house, completely forgetting the wind howling outside for a single moment. 

Then he saw her. 

Y/N came around the corner, trying to dodge something her husband threw. Tyler watched as whatever it was shattered against the wall, calling her name before he even realized what he was doing. Her head whipped in his direction, catching sight of him, and he watched as her eyes flooded with relief, before the booming voice of her husband filled the house. 

Y/N rushed towards Tyler, his hands capturing her tear soaked face in his hands, and oh how his heart broke for her. The redness on her cheek, likely from being slapped, along with a split lip. Bruises on her wrists where her husband forcibly held her. His calm resolve started to crumble as he continued to look at her, melting into anger. 

“Y/N. Get to your storm cellar now.” 

“What about you?” She asked. The wind outside grew louder, signaling their impending doom. 

“I'll be there. I promise.” as he spoke those words, her husband rounded the corner from the back of the house, catching sight of the two. 

“Who the hell are you? Have you been fucking my wife? Some fucking nerve to show up here.” He bellowed, advancing on the two. 

“Y/N! Go!” Tyler shoved her out of the way and towards the direction of her storm cellar. She hesitated for a split second, looking between the two men before she finally disappeared. 

“I always knew my wife was a whore. Fucking any man she seen.” Tyler watched as her husband closed the last few steps, the front screen door bursting open from the force of the winds outside. His eyes searched the room, finding an umbrella conveniently placed near the front door, and a split second he grabbed it, swinging it around and heard the destructive crack as he hit her husband upside the head. 

And he collapse to a heap, Tyler standing above him. His chest heaving with panic as he hesitated on what to do. Drag her husband down the stairs to the storm cellar, saving a life, or leave him, giving her a chance to be free from him, also effectively saving a life. 

“Tyler?!” Y/N's panicked cry came from below, spurring him to make a decision. He stepped over the crumpled body, dropping the umbrella and running through the house towards the storm cellar. Bursting his way inside, he made sure the door was sealed. Tyler made his way to her, his arms encasing her in a tight hold, his body covering hers as moments later the rumbling above them heightened, the noises outside growing impossibly louder as Y/N sobbed beneath him, tears soaking his shirt as she cried into his chest. 

Somehow, her crying was loudest, beating the storm that raged on above them. 

“It’s okay. I got you. You’re safe. It’s okay.” He repeated the words, the phrases becoming a mantra as the two of them spent the next several minutes in the cold and damp cellar, waiting out the raging tunnel of wind above them. And as he held her, whispering comforting words, his hand running through her hair in a soothing manner, he vowed that no one would find out about today. 

Her husband's death would be accidental, caught in the storm after he was unable to make it to safety. No one would ever find out that Tyler left him deliberately to die, to free them of his wrath and to save Y/N. 

She was safe, and maybe with time, Tyler could finally have her. 

Maybe he could finally have the chance to treat and love her the way that she deserved. 

[pocketgalaxies]

C3E37: marisha + nonverbals

[monsterbisexual]

the silt verses: chapter 34

chapter 38

[softquietsteadylove]

Yknow what’s missing? Hampton AU. May I kindly request a continuation of this one?

Thena stood by the vegetable beds, trying to seem like she wasn't waiting deliberately. She was just here - casually - enjoying the morning sun. It would be strange for her to wait in the garden in hopes of running into Gil while he was collecting the day's ingredients.

She was his employer, she couldn't risk doing anything unseemly or inappropriate. He was the best private chef she had ever managed to procure, and arguably the only one whose company she had ever tolerate. She had even come to enjoy it.

Ever since he had kept her company during her dreadful dinner party she had come to crave his presence more. She had been thus far restraining herself from being too conversational with him, out of fear of seeming untoward. But perhaps having a friendly relationship with her chef wouldn't be so uncouth--they could be friends.

Friends were not her forte. Even through her life in various boarding schools, she wasn't particularly socially minded. How could she have been, after growing up in this massive estate with only Karun to mind her?

Thena checked her phone again, toying with some of the stray hairs slipping from her ponytail. Nothing like 'casually' waiting for someone and checking the time. Kingo would laugh himself into hysterics if he could see her.

He hadn't been at the party, but she did mention that she had managed to avoid most everyone from the worst families to know. He didn't yet know that she had done so by hiding in the basement with Gil, enjoying crudites with his hoodie over her shoulders.

"Thena?"

She spun around, slipping her phone into her leggings pocket. "Gil, morning, how are you?"

That was a lot to pack into one greeting.

He smiled, though, as he always did. He walked up to her, basket in hand, although he wasn't changed into his pristine white chef's jacket yet. "Good, good, getting everything ready for today. I have the weekend menu all planned."

"Oh?" she prompted, hopefully in a way that wouldn't betray her lack of natural conversational skills.

"Well, I know it's not often you have a weekend totally off," he shrugged one shoulder, somewhat inviting her along as he walked up the garden beds and towards the herbs. "I bought some fresh Atlantic salmon, I've got lemons from the greenhouse, I'm gonna pair it with some really nice fennel pasta--you'll love it!"

It already sounded divine, and the way he so passionately described every dish he made always had her entranced. She had never had even close to the passion Gil had for food for anything in her spoiled little life.

"I'm sure I will," she sufficed to say, rather than gush about how she already couldn't stand waiting. She strolled alongside him, watching him eye the tomatoes. "You have yet to make something displeasing, I hope you know."

"Well, maybe I thought you were just too nice to say," he replied in a playful tone. He leaned against the brick edge, reaching for the deepest in colour.

Thena averted her eyes from the muscles in his back. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

"Do you have this morning off too?" he asked, leaning back with his reward and placing them in the basket ever so gently.

No, she had two different meetings she had requested to move, just for this little charade. Not that Karun knew that specifically. But she knew that Gil would be out here longer than usual to collect ingredients for the weekend. This was the perfect time.

She smiled, "serendipitous, isn't it?"

"Lucky me," he grinned and even gave her a wink.

The man was trying to kill her.

She sighed as he reached for some mint in the next section. "Are you certain you want to stay all weekend? Your room is ready, of course, but I can also have you driven home."

"Ah, I don't mind, I have some recipes I've kinda been wanting to try out, and the kitchen here has a lot more room for me to experiment with."

She was happy to let him experiment. Sometimes he discovered the most wonderful things while he was doing so. "Is that so?"

He looked back at her mid-lean, "do you like lavender?"

She restrained herself from making a face. "I admit I have only had it a number of times, at teas and such. I would not want to say I dislike it as a whole if I've only had poorly made creations of it."

"Ah," he nodded, reaching for some anyway. "Well, we can start with some subtle stuff and go from there."

She laughed faintly as he swatted at a bug buzzing around him before arranging his basket again. "I will look forward to it, then."

His eyes met hers, and she wondered for a moment if he could tell that she had waited all morning just to exchange these precious few words with him. Her hands fidgeted behind her back, "Gil, I-"

"Ah!" he hissed, slapping his neck and flinching sideways. He wiped his hand away, shaking it. "Shit, I thought it was a big fly."

"Are you hurt?" she asked, halfway between leaning closer into his space and not wanting to risk seeming even more desperate. Her hands hovered as he rubbed his neck more.

"I'm fine, just kinda stung," he grumbled before wiping his hands off, metaphorically ridding himself of the nuisance. "Let's get inside."

"Let's," she murmured quietly, eyeing him as his hand lifted faintly. It might have grazed the small of her back but it never landed. "Gil?"

"Yeah?"

She frowned, watching as the veins in his neck became more prominent. The healthy colour of his skin became overtaken by a more aggressive red. "You don't seem well, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I-" he paused, clearing his throat once, and then more aggressively. He tugged at the neck of his t-shirt. "Throat kinda-"

He broke into a coughing fit. It only made the colour in his face worsen, caught between flushing and going pale.

"Gil," Thena repeated, but he swerved. She did her best to catch him, but she underestimated how heavy all those muscles were. "Gil!"

He gasped for air, his hand on his throat in a vain attempt to solve the problem. His other hand floated out for help.

"I'm here, I'm here, it's okay!" she did her best to assure him, holding the floating hand tightly between her own. He was a puddle in her lap, trying to breathe. "Karun!"

It took him only a few seconds, but she feared that was more than Gil had. "Madame!"

"Get the first aid kit! I think it's anaphylaxis!" Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked down at Gil amidst his agony. He was staring at her, asking for help she couldn't provide. "I'm sorry Gil, sh, it's okay, you're going to be fine."

Gil looked at her like his life was flashing before his eyes.

She bent over him, squeezing his hand. "Please!"

"Madame, I have it!" Karun declared, running with the epipen in his hand.

She snatched it from his hand, removing the cap and jabbing it into Gil's leg, against the denim of his jeans. "Please work."

The sound of him gasping was like nothing she could have imagined. It was certainly not something she wanted to experience ever again. He coughed some more, even as she propped him more upright, but he was breathing again. The swelling around his throat went down quickly and visibly.

"Gil?" she sniffed, trying not to be the one crying when he had nearly died in her arms. It took the length of her arm to hold his shoulders up, and even then she couldn't quite embrace him the way he probably needed.

After a few more pants of breath he blinked, "holy shit."

Karun, already calling the ambulance, patted Gil's knee, "very good, sir. Fine pulling through."

Gil gave a dazed thumbs up to Karun, looking up at the sky. His limbs moved like they were too heavy to control, but he managed to turn his head to look at her. "Thena?"

"Hey," she smiled, blinking her tears into her eyelashes as she focused on his face. "Can you breathe?"

He tested it, taking a deep breath, consciously expanding his chest and back as he did. "Y-Yeah, I can, now. Thanks to you, I guess."

"Well," she managed a faint smile, "Karun brought the thing."

"I, uh," Gil blinked at the orange epipen responsible for saving his life. "I didn't know I was allergic."

"Nor did I," she frowned. Because, had she known, she never would have allowed him out in the gardens at all. Or at least not without medical supervision. "We will have to see to it that you get one of these to have with you at all times."

Gil didn't exactly argue. He remained in her hold, both of them only half listening to Karun recite the situation and their location to the medical authorities.

He turned back to them with a crisp nod. "They are on their way, sir. Were you still anaphylactic I would have called for a chopper, but I believe you will be well enough to wait for them to arrive."

"Yeah, no worries, dude."

Thena smiled against Gil's hair. They had a funny relationship, but it charmed her to no end that they got along so well. "We'll be right here."

He made a small sound at that, letting her bury her nose in his hair (propriety as his employer be damned). He mumbled something.

"What was that?" she whispered, brushing her hand over his cheek (forgetting herself completely).

"The tomatoes," he repeated a little more strongly. "They didn't break, did they?"

Thena laughed, although her tears came again as well. "Gil!"

"I need those," he attempted to sit up more within her embrace against her knees. But she tugged him back again. "They're for the shakshuka for breakfast tomorrow!"

"Leave them," she soothed, rubbing his arm and patting his chest. "There will be more tomatoes."

He sighed more heavily, at least sounding more like himself. "At least put them to the side. Don't let the ambulance guys break 'em--they're perfect!"

"I will take care of the produce, sir," Karun assured him, indeed picking up their dropped bounty carefully. "You must focus on resting. I'm sure the Madame will make sure you are well situated."

She glared at Karun, positively flushed at the implicating tone in his voice.

"Cool," Gil gave him another thumbs up as Karun scurried to the house and out of their way. He looked at her, as she held him the way a knight might hold a maiden. "Sorry to ruin your morning."

She laughed again, although maybe later she would admonish him for giving her the fright of her life. "You're breathing; I'll call it a very lucky morning."

[sluttyten]

yall I want TDS3 tickets so badly 😭 but I don't know who to even go with and I'm not going by myself.... but I'm also seriously thinking I'm just gonna go ahead and try to get tickets on friday anyway

[sskk-manifesto]

:)

[cherrygarden]

,

[irrolyphant]

.

[madigoround]

Some days it feels like I am just desperately trying to find reasons to live so I don’t jump off a bridge and it’s hardly even working

Edit: I have spent some very necessary kitten cuddle time and received some very sweet messages from people and I am feeling more sane, definitely recommend nice people and cats lol

[sp-ud]

what a terrible time to realize your mom forgot to schedule you any more therapy appointments.

[burningfaith]

thank god today's the last day here & after tomorrow I won't be seeing these people that much, because since Wednesday I'm at the verge of tears on average 3 times per day. I will never go on any kind of holiday with this family again.

I'm not - in fact - livin' la vida loca...

[sereniv]

apologies are hard and can be embarassing

but life is too short to let your grandma go to bed sad

[adambomb82]

It's that time again