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pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

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Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l and @sipsteainanxiety for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

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jpmarvel90 · 8 months

Text

Don't let me down - Final Part

Masterlist Scarlett Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Relationship: MamaScarlett x 16 yr old Reader

Summary: With Y/n still healing from her injuries, she now has to face her abuser in court. The difference for her this time, she has a family there to support her.

Word count: 7418

Y/n's POV:

"I got you sweetheart. Just use me for balance." Mom instructs me as she helps me to get out of the car. I'm still a little dopy from all the meds I got at the hospital, so it's proving to be a bit difficult to get to my feet with my crutches. "Here let me help." Dad says taking my other arm and helping me to my feet. "Laura, honey. Could you go and open the door for us please?" Mom asks, holding out the keys to my girlfriend.

I watch as she grabs the keys and rushes to the front door. My eyes don't leave her until she's disappeared into the house. "Someone's in love." Mom teases me, making dad laugh. "Shut up." I mumble, making them laugh more. "Come, let's get you inside. You ok on your crutches." Mom asks me and I nod, taking my new walking aids she's holding out to me.

With a bit of a struggle, I start to hop my way towards the house. Mom stays close behind me and dad to my side just in case I fall. The first obstacle I face is the few steps leading into the house. Having never used crutches before, I find it difficult to get up the steps and into the safety of the house.

I smile when I see Laura rushing around the living room, moving the footrest into place, and grabbing a couple of blankets. "Let's get you on the sofa and we can think about some lunch." Mom suggests, guiding me into the living room. Laura takes over in helping me get comfortable on the sofa and props my casted leg up with a pillow.

When I'm comfortable Laura dashes off to the kitchen to help mom with lunch, whilst dad sits next to me fussing over me. "Are you ok? How's the pain? Are you comfortable enough?" He rushes out a number of questions, making me smile. I can't believe I got lucky enough to have a dad that cares about me so much. "I'm doing good dad. I'm sore but I'm also aware that I'm going to be in pain for the next few weeks." I respond, resting my hand on his.

He looks up to me with a warm smile. "I'm never going to get used to you calling me dad." He shares, squeezing my hand and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "If you're like this with me, I can only imagine the emotional wreck you're going to be when Cosmo starts talking!" I tease him. "Talking of Cosmo, when do I get cuddles with my little brother? It's been three days since I've seen him!" I pout. I won't tell any of them this, but Cosmo is definitely my favourite. He's so cute and he's my snuggle buddy. It's exactly what I need right now.

"Melanie is coming around to drop him home in a couple of hours and you can hug him until your hearts content." He responds making me smile widely and giving a little fist bump, making him laugh.

After a few minutes, mom and Laura return to the living room with plates and drinks in hand. Laura is holding a plate with some sandwiches on and hands me a glass of juice. "Thanks babe." I smile at her, puckering my lips for a kiss. She chuckles but gives me what I want and slips into the spot that Colin had just vacated. "You ok?" She asks me quietly, but I can feel mom's eyes on me too. "I'm hungry, so thank you for this." I smile at her, taking a big bite from my ham and cheese sandwich. "How's your pain?" Mom jumps in, clearly not happy with my answers.

"Still manageable, but they gave me a good dose before we left the hospital this morning." I respond as she nods, still looking at me concerned. "I'm fine mom." I reassure her, not wanting her to sit there and worry about me. "Well, any pain, let us know and we can get you the relevant pain killers." She instructs me and I easily agree. I have no plans to let the pain get too much!

Dad thankfully puts the TV on whilst we eat, otherwise it would have been awkward silence with everyone's eyes on me. As I'm eating, I keep thinking about how lucky I am to have my parents. I've been hurt badly before, but it was at the hands of my parents, so they didn't give me any love and care. This is all so alien to me. But it's nice to know that they care about my wellbeing.

I hadn't initially planned on calling them mom and dad. But when I was in pain, I wanted my mom. Scarlett had proven to me that she is sticking around and wants to be my mom. Ever since I've moved in here, she has done everything to make me feel safe and loved. Calling her mom felt good. It made me finally feel like I was home with a family.

I'm so glad that I did because their reactions were everything I could ask for. Knowing how much it means to them to have the title of mom and dad, makes me happy and is another element of proof that they are my family. I finally feel happy. I have everything I could ask for.

With lunch finished, we sit enjoying each other's company. Though when the doorbell goes, I get excited to see my little brother again. I can hear mom greet Melanie and Cosmo at the front door and wait in anticipation. "You're cute when you're excited." Laura teases me, making me pout. One that she is quick to kiss away. "Dad's still in the room." Dad calls out to us, making Laura blush. "Makes up for all the times I've walked in on you and mom sucking face." I retort, making his mouth drop open, no response found.

Thankfully, our conversation can't carry on as mom and Melanie walk into the living room, Cosmo in mom's arms. I hold my arms up and make grabby hands to my little brother, making mom laugh. She thankfully, doesn't keep him away from me and I hold him close. He starts babbling at me with a wide smile as I chat back to him. "How do you have this affect on him?" Dad asks me. "I'm just that likable." I respond, making them laugh.

"How are you feeling sweetie?" Melanie asks me, taking a seat. "I'm doing better now I'm home." I respond. "I was so worried when your mom called me. I'm glad that you're doing ok." She smiles at me. I notice that everyone else has disappeared out of the living room, with Laura saying she was going to grab me a hoody as she noticed I was cold. I didn't even realise that until she pointed it out. She knows me so well. "You've got lucky there." Melanie points out, nodding her head towards the stairs where Laura just disappeared. "Yeah. Not quite sure how I landed her." I chuckle in return.

"You're not a bad catch yourself Y/n. Don't talk badly about my granddaughter." She playfully scolds me. Calling me her granddaughter catches me off guard and I suddenly become very interested with the baby in my hands. Keeping my gaze on Cosmo I decide now is as good a time as ever to talk to her. "Uh. About that." I start, not wanting to make eye contact. "Calling you Melanie seems weird. Especially as I'm calling those two weridos hiding in the doorway mom and dad." I start, calling out my parents whose presence is very obvious.

We both laugh when we hear whispered shouting and the sound of them scurrying away. "What I mean is. Would you mind if I called you grandma like Rose does?" I ask tentatively, still focusing on a smiling Cosmo. When there is no response, my whole body starts to tense, worried I've made this awkward. Though a soft hand under my chin, brings my gaze to meet Melanie's whose is glossed over.

"I would love that Y/n." She tells me, her voice full of certainty. "From the day you were born I have loved you with everything I have. Getting a chance to be your grandmother is everything that I've wanted. Getting to see you happy here with Scarlett and the family, is perfect. So yes. Please do call me grandma." She shares, cupping my face as a few tears fall down my cheeks. "Thank you." I sniffle as she pulls me into a tight hug, careful of the baby between us. We both quickly compose ourselves and are soon talking about something entirely different. Seems like we're similar in not enjoying lingering on things that make us cry!

The rest of the afternoon is nice as we spend it together and I'm excited for Rose to come home so we can have the movie night that I promised. Mom and Laura went out shopping to get everything that we're going to need. When they come back in, they're laughing together over something, making me look to dad and grandma. "Should I be worried how well they're getting on?" I jokingly ask. "Oh, shut up Y/n/n. Surely you're happy I get on with your mom." Laura jumps in, clearly having heard my comment. "Besides, we bonded over the trauma of seeing you hurt." Mom adds on. "Anyway, shouldn't one of you be going to get Rose?" I ask, quickly changing the subject. Dad jumps up after realising the time and offers to go and get her.

An hour later and the front door swings open, Rose rushing through the house. "Sissy! You're home!" She cheers, jumping on the sofa next to me and wrapping her arms around me. "I missed you." She tells me as I hug her. "I missed you too Rosie." I respond. She pulls away and scrunches up her face as her gaze lands on my eye. "It's looking yucky today." She points out as I chuckle at her blunt response.

My eye has completely swollen shut and when I caught a glimpse in the mirror in the hospital bathroom, I winced at it myself. It's a lovely shade of dark purple and reminds me of some of the injuries I suffered at the hands of my adoptive parents. Not that I would ever say that to Scarlett as I think that might push her over the edge.

"What movie do you want to watch?" I ask Rose, moving the subject on from my injuries. "Uh. Can we watch Toy Story?" She questions in return, and I respond with a wide smile. "Yes! I love it and it's Laura's favourite." I share and that makes Rose even happier. "How about we order some food and then we can get settled in for the movie. As it's Friday, we can maybe even watch the second one two. Mom, are you staying?" Mom suggests before turning to grandma. "I would never miss out on movie night!" She responds making Rose cheer.

It's a lovely evening, probably one of my favourites since I've moved here. It's calm but I'm surrounded by my family. Laura is snuggled into me on the right and I have Rose on my left, her head resting on my shoulder. We have pizza for dinner and eat far too many snacks. But it is so worth it!

Rose falls asleep near the end of the second movie and Scarlett coos over how cute she looks asleep with my arm wrapped around her. "I'll take her up." Colin offers, walking over and carefully lifting Rose into his arms. "Laura, would you like to stay?" Mom asks. "Oh uh. If that's ok?" Laura responds in surprise. "Of course. But the door has to stay open at least a few inches." She warns me with a pointed finger. "Seriously mom. I'm fresh from surgery and not very mobile at the moment. What do you think will happen?" I ask her with a raised eyebrow. "Rule still stands Missy. Now, shall we start the journey to get your upstairs?" She raises and eyebrow at me before standing and holding her hand out to me.

I quickly say goodbye to grandma before she leaves. She promises to come back tomorrow and I'm excited to spend some more time with her. I then move my focus on to the stairs in front of me.

Between mom and Laura, they get me to the bottom of the stairs. I hand my crutches to Laura and place my butt on the step. Mom then takes my injured leg carefully, holding it up as I use my arms to shuffle up the stairs. The doctor suggested this was the easiest way to get upstairs without the risk of falling. It's not the most elegant, but I make it work.

When I'm at the top of the stairs the two of them lift me up as my arms are already aching. I then hop into my bedroom where Laura helps to get me into some pyjamas. Turns out I lose a lot of dignity when in a full leg cast! We eventually get into bed and Laura makes sure that my leg is elevated before getting under the quilt next to me. "Are you going to get any closer or you just going to cling to the edge of the bed?" I ask her, almost insulted that she's not cuddling up to me. "I don't want to hurt you." She explains, fiddling with the hem of the quilt. "I'm fine babe. I'd be far more comfortable being able to snuggle with you." I defend.

She looks at me with a frown for a bit and then slowly moves closer and rests her arm over my waist. "Is this ok?" She asks tentatively. I move my own arm around her shoulder and pull her closer and press a kiss to her head. "Perfect." I respond. It's so often Laura that holds me, but my currently situation makes that difficult and I'm actually enjoying being the one to hold her for once. It's not long until sleep starts to wash over me and, with Laura's soft movements over my stomach, it doesn't take me long to fall into a deep, much need sleep.

__________

Over the next couple of weeks, Laura is amazing. She's been the best girlfriend that I could ask for. She drives me too and from school as Mom has started to work longer hours. I'm basically waited on hand and foot. When we're at school, her and the team help me out as much as they can. I've still been going to training and matches but I've been helping Coach Saunders from the side lines. I hate that I'm not able to play with them, but I feel somewhat useful from my position on the bench.

I'm using it as a distraction as this week I have my date to appear in court and provide a statement against Mr Woodstock. I'm really nervous and I'm worried about having to share everything that's happened to me. Mom and dad have been really attentive of me, checking in on me regularly. I've assured them I'm ok. It's going to be a horrible experience, but I'm doing as well as I can be in the situation.

Come the morning of the court case I'm a nervous wreck. I didn't sleep well, and I couldn't stop going over what I needed to remember. I knew that mom wasn't sleeping either as I heard her walking around during the night. I think she feels a little helpless and she's probably also nervous as she's going to hear about some of the things that happened to me that I've not shared with her before. It's not going to be fun for any of us.

Grandma has Cosmo today and will be picking Rose up for her to stay with her. We've not really talked much with her about what's happening as it's hard for a 7 year old to understand. But she's happy to be having a sleep over at grandma's tonight.

I just about manage to get myself ready into the pant suit that mom had bought for me to wear. Thankfully, it's a wide leg and I can fit the leg over my cast.

I finish my hair and I then start to make my way out of my room. Thankfully, dad is coming out at the same time and helps me to get down the stairs and into the kitchen. As we turn the corner, I see a familiar dirty blonde sat at the island, chatting with mom. "Lizzie?" I question, making her turn around and stand from her seat. I notice that she's dressed in a suit herself. "Hey kid." She greets me, walking over and giving me a cautious hug.

"What are you doing here?" I ask her, as she helps me to a seat. "I wanted to be there to support my niece." She tells me with a soft smile. I'm shocked she would do that for me. I'm so grateful that she wants to support me. But I also know how much of a support she will be to mom. "How are you feeling sweetheart?" Mom asks me as she places some pancakes in front of me. "Nervous." Is the only word I'm able to get out. "I can understand that. Just remember we are all here for you and Danny is going to do a great job in helping you out. You are so brave for doing this. I just know you're going to do so well." She reassures me, pressing a kiss to my head.

I don't eat a lot. I mainly move the pancakes around my plate whilst the adults talk. I feel slightly sick and I'm worried if I eat, it'll just give my stomach something to throw up with all the nerves I'm feeling. Thankfully, mom and dad don't push me to eat and we're soon out of the door on our way to the courthouse.

Lizzie sits in the back of the car with me and holds my hand tightly. It's the quietest car ride I've had. The radio is playing quietly, but no one is saying anything. Thankfully, we get to the courthouse pretty quickly and I'm shocked when I see my girlfriend waiting for me on the steps leading up to the building.

As soon as she sees our car, she rushes down the steps and opens my door to start helping me out. "What are you doing here?" I ask her. She was meant to be in school today and practice this afternoon. "I ditched. There was no way that I'm not being there for you today." She responds, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before helping me to start the hard task of getting out the car and on my feet.

"You really didn't have to do that. We've got our exams soon." I grimace as I fight the pain from the unusual movement to my leg. "Well, luckily for me, I have this really smart girlfriend who can tutor me if I need it." She smirks at me as Lizzie passes me my crutches. "Ready to head in?" Dad asks me as he and mom flank my sides and Lizzie follows from behind. I nod and we start to make our way to the entrance.

The security guard sees us coming and kindly holds the door open for me and Danny meets us in the lobby. He greets each of us and goes over the proceedings for today. They're currently in session right now and I'll be giving my testimony after the next recess.

Danny takes us into one of the side rooms and we go over everything one more time. "I actually think that today may be easier than we expected." Danny starts to talk, taking us all by surprise. "Why is that?" Mom asks. "He's been very explosive in court. Even his lawyer looks fed up with him. He's said a couple of things that have contradicted his own statements. I don't want to get your hopes up, but I'm hopefully that the cross examination won't be as tough as we anticipated." Danny explains.

You'd think that would help to put my nerves at ease, but I don't let it get to me. I still want to be prepared for the worst. I can't be caught off guard today if I'm going to do a good job. "He's made this case into a bit of a circus, and I believe he only pleaded not guilty to try and get his fame. But it's a closed case and that's frustrated him." Danny answers after dad questions his motives.

I try to remain focused, but all I can think about is the fact that I'm about to see Mr Woodstock again. I feel a hand take mine and I look down to see familiar rings. I turn and see mom's concerned gaze on me. "Everything is going to be ok, and we'll be right here." She reminds me and wraps an arm around me, providing me with comfort that I desperately need right now.

A court aid comes in and notifies us that a 10 minute recess has just been called. I decide now is the time for a quick bathroom break to allow me a moment to compose myself. I can do this. I know I am telling the truth and I can help ensure that he gets what he deserves. I just need to be brave.

Scarlett's POV:

I'm so nervous for today. I can't even imagine how Y/n must be feeing right now. She's been quiet and barely touched her food, but I couldn't force her to eat, especially when I had done the same. I wait anxiously for her to return from the bathroom with Laura. I know that she needed a minute, but I don't want to leave her side today.

I give her a big smile as I see her walking, well hopping, down the hall back to us. Danny then guides us into the courtroom and directs us to a row of seats. But before we can get there, my eyes land on the man that has hurt my daughter in more ways than one.

I feel sick as he smirks in our direction, and I move my body to block his view of Y/n. Though it doesn't stop him calling out to me. "You can't even protect your daughter when she's living in your own home!" He snarls at us. I can see Y/n's whole body tense, but she keeps her head up, ignoring his comment. "Dean that's enough!" His lawyer scolds him. Danny's right, he does look completely fed up with his client.

As well as Y/n has been able to ignore Mr Woodstock's comment, I can't. He's right. I promised that she would be safe with me, yet she's already had a two night stay in the hospital. "Don't listen to him. He's trying to get a reaction from you." Colin whispers to me as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me away from the staring match, I have with the man who abused my daughter.

He's right and I shake this feeling and turn to focus on my daughter. She needs me at 100% right now and not feeling sorry for myself. Lizzie and Colin file into the row first then I follow, helping Y/n get into her seat. Laura then takes the spot the other side of her, and Danny sits on the row in front of us, turning to reassure Y/n.

"Miss Y/l/n, thank you for giving your testimony and coming in here physically today." The DA greets Y/n, holding his hand out to shake Y/n's. She gives him a tight lipped smile whilst he explains what's going to happen and we all listen intently. Almost as soon as he finishes talking, the judge returns to the room, and we take our seats for the session.

I notice Y/n's hand tapping at her leg, whilst her eyes dart around the room. She's trying to ground herself, so I reach out and take her hand hoping that the touch might give her some comfort. She squeezes it in return, turning slightly to mouth a thank you.

"Your honour, I'd like to call Miss Y/n Y/l/n to the stand." The DA states, making Y/n's whole body tense. Laura and I both stand to help Y/n to her feet as Danny moves to the aisle. He waits for her to stand and moves to kindly escort her to the stand. As they're walking, I hear a chuckle from the defence bench, and I start to fume when I see him laughing. "Now that's an injury I didn't do!" He laughs out loud. "Mr Woodstock, please refrain from calling out. You are already on a warning." The judge scolds him, but his smile doesn't falter. It makes my blood boil and it's taking everything in me to not go over there and punch him.

Y/n once again ignores him, making me look at her in awe. She has such strength. Danny makes sure she's settled and comfortable before returning to his spot. Laura scootches closer to me and I take her hand in mine. I think that we both need it.

"Thank you, Miss Y/l/n, for coming in today and providing us with this testimony." The DA smiles at her. "You're welcome, Sir. But please call me Y/n." She responds, with as confident a smile as she can.

DA: "Of course. Now Y/n, you were in the care of Mr Woodstock for 19 months. Is that correct?"

Y/n: Yes sir. I was moved to his foster home when my parents passed away.

DA: How many kids were in the home when you arrived?

Y/n: There were three others. Four including myself.

DA: What was it like when you first started living there?

Y/n: It was ok. He kind of left us to it. There was food in the fridge, and we made sure to do the chores. But we didn't see him often. I liked it because it meant that I was able to join soccer at school and make some new friends. My previous parents hadn't been so accommodating.

DA: So, it wasn't actually a bad living situation?

Y/n: No sir.

DA: When did that change?

Y/n: I couldn't give you an exact date. But more kids started to move in and at one point there were 14 of us. This was maybe after about three months. This was when he started to drink. The more he drank the more angry he got.

DA: And when you say angry, what would set him off?

Y/n: Anything really. If something was out of place in the house. If we were late home or there wasn't beer in the house. Sometimes you just had to pass him and he would get angry at you for being there.

DA: What would happen when he was angry?

I watch as Y/n pauses, she takes the glass of water in front of her and uses her time to calm her breathing. She's already spoken so well, but this is where the questions are going to become more difficult.

Y/n: It started with yelling. He might throw things. One day I yelled at him because he threw a glass near one of the younger kids and that was the first time that he um. That he... he hit me.

I feel tears prickle at my eyes as I watch Y/n share this. You can see the turmoil in her own eyes as she talks. Colin reaches around and wraps an arm over my shoulder. He looks to me and I see that his eyes are also glossed over.

DA: Did he ever hit the younger kids?

Y/n: Not at first. Us older ones tried to make sure they were kept out of his way. But we weren't always there to protect them.

She shares, her head dropping as if she's ashamed she wasn't able to do more to protect them. But she was just a kid herself. That wasn't her responsibility.

DA: When the defendant would engage in physical violence with you, was it just one hit or multiple?

Y/n: Uh, that depended on how angry and drunk he was. It was common to get a slap or a punch here or there. But when he was really angry, he would become terrifying, and it was like he didn't have control. There were times that we were beaten until we were unconscious.

Mr Woodstock: Yet you still didn't learn!

There's a collective gasp at his outburst and the judge hits his gavel. "I've told you once in this session Mr Woodstock. One more outburst and you will be removed into custody." He threatens.

DA: Did you ever get treated at the hospital?

Y/n: Only if Mr Woodstock took us. He would only do that if it would be something that the school might pick up on or we wouldn't heal on our own.

I can't believe how well she is speaking right now. The pain is evident on her face, but she is answering clearly and concisely, just like Danny coached her. Not once has she allowed her gaze to move to Mr Woodstock, even when he had his outburst. I'm so incredibly proud of her and I'm lucky that I get to call her my daughter.

DA: This next question may be difficult, so please take your time if you need to. Are you able to tell us the most severe injuries that you have received from the defendant and what led to that?

My breath hitches at the question. I'm not naive. I know she's been through more than I saw when she first moved into our home. But knowing that I'm about to hear it now makes me feel sick.

Y/n does take a moment as she collects her thoughts. She takes another sip and I notice that her hand is shaking as she drinks. She is doing such a great job of hiding how nervous she is.

Y/n: I was playing with Freya, one of the younger kids at the home. Whilst we were playing, I accidently knocked over one of the bottles of vodka that was sat on the kitchen table. The crashing sound got Mr Woodstock's attention and I could hear his loud footsteps coming down the stairs. I told Freya to run and not say a word so she would be safe whilst I focused on clearing up the large shards of glass.

Of course, she protected the younger girl. She always has been so caring. She would have known she was in for it when Mr Woodstock got there but she made sure the little girl was safe over her own safety. Y/n takes another deep breath and I notice a shake appear in her voice as she starts to talk again.

Y/n: Within a second of his being in the kitchen, he had lifted me off the ground, his hand tightly around my neck as he pinned me to the wall. He was yelling at me for making a mess and how much that bottle had cost. His grip was really tight and made it difficult to breathe. He then uh....

DA: It's ok Y/n. Take your time.

I want to just get out of my seat and wrap my arms around her and protect her from the world. To take away all these bad memories.

Y/n: H-he punched me in the stomach and threw me onto the floor. I landed on the glass, and I could feel it cut my skin. The cuts stung when the spilt alcohol hit them. I was so scared. I had never seen a rage like it before. I thought he would go too far this time.

Tears are now falling freely down my cheeks and I can hear sniffles coming from Laura. She knew a lot of what happened to Y/n, but I'm sure that doesn't make hearing any of this any easier.

Y/n: Whilst I was on the floor, he repeatedly kicked me in the stomach and then once to the head which knocked me out.

DA: What happened after?

Y/n: Harriet, she found me and got one of the other kids to help carry me up to our room. Whilst I was unconscious, she cleaned my cuts and stayed with me until I woke up.

DA: And did you receive any medical treatment?

Y/n: No sir. Mr Woodstock said if I even thought about going to the hospital that he would kill me. He also called in sick to school for me so no one would be able to see the damage.

There is a silence as we all take in what she has told us. This was just one occasion. I can't imagine the fear she must have lived in.

DA: This is another difficult question. But I have to ask it. Did he ever sexually assault you or any of the other kids.

Y/n: No. Well, I guess I can only confirm for sure that he did not with me. I don't believe he did with any of the other kids. But I would not be able to say that with certainty.

I didn't realise how much I needed to hear that. I let out a breath of relief. There was a part of me that was terrified that she had experienced far more pain that she had shared. But hearing her confirm that she had at least been spared that pain, is a small bit of solace I can take.

DA: Thank you Y/n you are doing so well. I just have two more questions for you. The night that the police were called on the defendant, could you explain how you had come to be injured that day?

Y/n: Whenever we had guests, Mr Woodstock would make sure that we all looked our best, the house was spotless, and he was sober. After a misunderstanding, my biological mother and Mr Osborne had come to the house looking for me. As he wasn't expecting them, Mr Woodstock was drunk when they arrived. When I returned home that evening, he was angry at me that they had come by and seen him in that state.

DA: Thank you Y/n. Is there anything that you'd like to add to your testimony?

I watch as Y/n ponders the question. We knew this was going to be asked but she had always declined adding anything. But for the first time her gaze moves to the defendant's table, and she locks eyes with Mr Woodstock.

Y/n: I've not had an easy life. My adopted parents were just as bad as Mr Woodstock. When I was moved into his home, I felt relief that maybe I was able to get a childhood that I had missed out on. Yes, I may have had more freedom and the chance to make new friends. But what you don't see is the effect that Mr Woodstock has had on me internally. I struggle to trust people, which is very hard when you're trying to build new relationships. I'm constantly questioning my worth after being told that I'm useless and unwanted. I have both mental and physical scars all because of that man. He made my life hell and I'm grateful that he is finally being held accountable for his actions. I just wish I had the courage to step forward sooner. But I will say, for all the pain I went through, some goodness came from it all. I was reunited with my mother, and I have a family now. I'm in a place where I am safe and loved. Somewhere you always said that I would never get. Well, I proved you wrong Mr Woodstock. I'm finally happy.

Pride overwhelms me at her words. I still have an endless stream of tears running down my cheeks as my emotions are all over the place. Her gaze moves from that horrible man to me, and I mouth 'I love you' to her and give her a teary smile. One that she returns easily.

DA: That was very well said Y/n. Thank you for taking the time to come and share your experience today. I understand that this is very hard for you to have to relive, but we appreciate you being brave enough to share your story. The state has no further questions your honour.

My heart starts to beat harshly against my chest as the defence lawyer stands behind his desk unbuttoning his suit jacket. I pray he goes easy on her. Not breaking her down and making people question her truth. There is nothing I can do but watch what is about to occur.

"Your honour. I cannot in good conscience cross examine this witness. I have no evidence to the contrary of Miss Y/l/n's testimony and the outbursts from my client have added to her statement. It would be immoral for me to question her honesty when I believe her words. So, with that said, the defence rests." We are all in shock as he declines to cross examine taking us all by surprise.

"Are you serious! You're not going to defend me?!" Mr Woodstock shouts at his lawyer. Keeping calm, we watch as he whispers something to Mr Woodstock who looks frustrated before reluctantly accepting whatever it is he said. "Your honour. My client would like to adjust his plea from not guilty to guilty on all accounts." There's another collective gasp from the audience in the courtroom. That was not how we saw this going.

"I cannot say that I don't appreciate the unnecessary use of federal funds for this court case. But I appreciate you changing your plea before more can be wasted. I will call a recess until Friday when I will sentence the Defendant." The judge hits his gavel and court is dismissed. "Miss Y/l/n, you're free to leave the stand now." The judge smiles kindly at her whilst Danny moves quickly to help her.

We all jump up and move to Y/n, taking our turns to hug her. When it gets to me, I hold her tightly as we both cry in each other's arms. "You are incredibly brave for doing what you did, and I can't tell you how proud I am of you." I tell her whilst cupping her face. "Thanks mom." She returns through a small smile. "You did a great job Y/n. You spoke as someone far beyond your years." Danny compliments her as I finally let her go from my grip. "All thanks to your help." She replies but Danny shakes his head. "That was all you." He defends.

"How about I go and grab the car and we can head home and get some takeout to celebrate?" Colin suggests and we all agree. "Come on, I'll escort you out." Danny says, as we make our way out of the courtroom and towards the exit of the courthouse.

When the door opens, we're met by a flood of bright flashes. I look around and see paparazzi surrounding us.

Scarlett who is the girl?

Why are you in court?

Is she your secret daughter?

Who hurt her?

I quickly move to Y/n's side as Laura stands protective on the other. Danny walks slightly ahead to block the view on my daughter as Lizzie flows behind as we basically block her in and hopefully from view of the intrusive cameras. I avoid every question being shouted at us, and focus on making sure my daughter makes it safely to the car.

Thankfully, Colin doesn't take long to arrive at the bottom of the steps and the security guards have come over to help too. We get Y/n in the back of the car and all slip in as quickly as we can so we can get away from this madness.

When we're around the corner and out of sight, I turn around to see Y/n breathing heavily on the back seat. "Are you ok? I'm so sorry about that? I don't know how they knew we were there." I rush out hoping she doesn't blame me. "It's ok mom. You couldn't help it." She responds, giving me a half hearted smile. "It was bound to come out at some point." She adds on. "Yeah, but this was not how I wanted it to. I wanted to control it, so you were as safe and as comfortable with it as possible." I share, frustrated that it's come out like this. "Seriously mom it's fine." She reiterates so I leave it for now.

When we get home, we all change out of our nice clothes and into comfy alternatives for our lazy evening. The atmosphere is completely different. It's lighter now. "Why did you ask them to call you Y/n in there? Danny had mentioned about courtroom protocol." Laura asks Y/n, whose gaze dropped to her hands. "I don't like my name?" She mumbles. "What do you mean?" Colin asks. She then looks up shyly. "Y/l/n is the name of the people who hurt me most. I didn't want him to keep using it whilst I testified." She admits almost scared to do so.

"Then let's change it." I state confidently. Both Y/n and Colin's heads snapping to look at me. "I think we need to address the rumours before they get out of control. I would love it if I could introduce my daughter to the world as Y/n Johansson." I smile at her. "Let us adopt you. You've always been my daughter, but I want it to be legally so. I want there to be no doubt that you are part of this family and I'm your mom." I'm practically begging her. I just hope that she feels the same.

"You're serious? You both want that?" Y/n asks, looking to Colin now. "Oh kiddo. I don't need a bit of paper to call you, my daughter. But adopting you would make me happier than you'd ever know." Colin shares with a teary smile. "So, what do you think?" I ask her as I wait for her response, my heart thumping in my chest. Y/n looks around to Lizzie and Laura who are both smiling widely at her. "Ok, I'd love that. You've given me everything I could ask for. Everything I thought I would never get. Thank you so much." She responds.

At those words I'm out of my seat and wrapping her in a tight hug. "Thank you for coming back to me and giving me a chance to make things right with you. I can't tell you the happiness you have brought to my life by being here again. I promise you that you will always have a safe home here. I love you so much my sweet girl." I tell her as I hold her close. We have cried so much today, but this time it's happy tears and I couldn't be happier.

Y/n's POV:

I can't believe it. They're actually adopting me. They really do want me to be part of this family. There was a time that I thought that I wouldn't be able to forgive Scarlett. But now I can look back and see that she thought she was doing what was best for me. She had no control over what would happen to me. She trusted that the state would keep me safe. I can't blame her forever.

She has done nothing but prove herself since I moved here. She has given me so much love as well as a dad, a sister and brother. Hell, she's given me this huge wider family too. It's surreal to me that I have that now. As we settle down, I cuddle into Laura, who wraps her arm around me and places a kiss on my head. "Are you ok?" She whispers to me so the others can't hear. "I'm happier than I've ever been. I've got the most amazing girlfriend I could ask for and a family I never thought I'd have." I respond truthfully, moving my head so I can connect my lips with hers. As I pull away, I look into her gaze and just see love in return. "I got my happy ending."

#scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson #celebrity fanfic #celebrity fanfiction

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 month

Text

It’s everyone’s favorite time of year: summer blurbs!! As always, the rules are only one character per prompt, and once the prompt is crossed off it’s gone forever! You’re welcome to request more than one, but please send individual asks, as it’s easier for me to keep track of <3 This event is running from June 1-30, but feel free to start requesting now! (I know it’s early but finals are right around the corner…) This will stay open until all prompts are taken, so act fast if you have a specific idea in mind!! I love you all and I hope this summer is wonderful for everyone <3

Prompts:

1. Lemonade (Poe Dameron)

2. Post-swim shower (Roy Kent)

3. Sunbathing (Poe Dameron)

4. Ice cream

5. Farmer’s market (Finnick Odair)

6. Backyard parties (TASM!Peter Parker)

7. Sunrises (Finnick Odair)

8. Picnic (Sejanus Plinth)

9. Beach trip (Sejanus Plinth)

10. Tropical drinks

11. Rain through an open window (Jamie Tartt)

12. Matching swimsuits (Sejanus Plinth)

13. Fireflies

14. Lake house (Poe Dameron)

15. S’mores (Santiago Garcia)

16. Drive-in movies

17. Sunset on the beach (Finnick Odair)

18. Collecting seashells (Jamie Tartt)

19. Fresh fruit (Finnick Odair)

20. Road trips and diners

21. Fixed AC (Jamie Tartt)

22. Friendship bracelets (Santiago Garcia)

23. Water balloon fight

24. Caught in a rain shower (Poe Dameron)

25. Wildflowers (Sejanus Plinth)

26. Stargazing (Jamie Tartt)

27. Evening walks (TASM!Peter Parker)

28. Breakfast outside (TASM!Peter Parker)

29. Sleeping in (Finnick Odair)

30. Last minute vacations (Poe Dameron)

Characters:

Poe Dameron

Santiago Garcia

Jamie Tartt

Roy Kent

Sejanus Plinth

Finnick Odair

TASM!Peter Parker

Tagging some of my wonderful and lovely friends because they’re wonderful and lovely: @onceuponaoneshot @beybaldes @whimsical-roasting @hopefulromances @dameronalone @eyelessfaces @benedictscanvas

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #roy kent #roy kent x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader

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heqvenlymoons · 1 month

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The Robbery of a Potted Plant

For Maribat March Day 16: Robbery

@maribatserver

Damian was looking forward to a weekend of having the entire manor to himself.

Dick was in Bludhaven, Tim was working in his office at WE, Jason was sleeping over at Roy’s, Cass was in Shanghai along with Steph and Barbara for a ‘girls' weekend’ or whatever it is they called it, Father was in space somewhere while Alfred was on a well-deserved and overdue vacation.

That left Damian to his own devices for what was supposed to be a peaceful weekend without his meddlesome imbecile siblings.

He had been looking forward to it and was playing video games (yes, he is capable of such activity) when the unexpected doorbell ring interrupted his solitude.

Damian set his controller down, scowling at the empty room. He knew his nosy family’s habits and routines like the back of his head, and he was sure no one would return until Sunday night.

Perhaps Alfred changed his mind and returned because he felt Damian was incapable of tending to himself. Typical of his pseudo-grandfather figure, always putting others before himself.

Or it could be Todd returning to retrieve something he had forgotten to pack earlier in the day.

Damian’s eyes narrowed when he heard the bell ring again, somehow sounding louder than the first attempt.

That wasn’t right. If it were someone from the family, they wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell.

He made his way out of the living room and, as he did, grabbed his katana from under the coffee table.

Of course, he wouldn’t put it past Todd to forget his keys, or god forbid he lost it.

Todd or not, it didn’t stop Damian from clutching the hilt of his katana and hiding it behind his back for a surprise attack.

If it was one of his family members, they could dodge his attack. If not, how unlucky of the intruder to have stumbled onto the manor’s property.

The bell rang once more just as he reached the door to crack it open.

He met with the sight of an admittedly pretty girl looking about his age, with raven pigtails, bright blue eyes that put his emerald ones to shame, and an innocent face that looked like she wouldn’t harm a fly.

His brows furrowed regarding the girl in front of him with suspicion. She could be a delusional fangirl. But he knew better than to underestimate the enemy.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his katana, ever so ready to strike if she were to make any sudden moves.

“Who are you? How did you get past the gates?” He demanded, his voice sharp with wariness. He knew the gates were closed at all times.

He supposed she could’ve climbed over the gates, eying her short and tiny figure. Despite his deduction, he couldn’t shake off his skepticism. The girl was getting more suspicious by the minute.

A blinding smile fell across her face, and he stared.

Her smile was bright like some sunshine child, and he couldn’t have predicted the words that fell out of her mouth next. “I’m here to rob you!”

Damian swears he could see sparkles emitting from her glimmering eyes. That didn’t stop him from wanting to scoff at the pathetic attempt to rob the manor. What kind of an amateur announces a robbery?

He eyed her with a contemplating gaze, intrigued against his will. The girl didn’t look to be struggling with money or in debt.

He kept his expression blank, interested in how this interaction would play out. “Are you even qualified?”

An offended look replaced her sunny smile, and she glared at him.

He could’ve sworn he heard faint laughter coming from her purse.

“That doesn’t matter. Just, can I rob you?” the girl huffed out, looking impatient like she had somewhere to be and made the sporadic decision of committing the worst robbery attempt of the century.

Had she forgotten what city she was in? That was possible. She did have a French accent.

“Miss, this is Gotham,” he drawled, letting his katana hang on the spot behind the door with minimal effort. If the girl turned out to be a threat, his katana would still be easy to access.

She merely raised a brow in response, unimpressed. “And?”

“You don’t just ask for permission to rob someone. Do you see the Joker asking people politely if he could respectfully hold them hostage?” Damian asked dryly.

“Well, Mr. Riddler asks riddles. Scarecrow rhetorically asks people if they want to test out his new fear toxin gas. My question could as well be rhetorical,” the girl countered, looking at him like he was the crazy one.

He rolled his eyes. “Tt. Didn’t seem like it.”

“Can we make this quick? I have somewhere to be,” she said, looking annoyed.

She pushed past him, and he reacted, the katana appearing in his hand in seconds and on her neck.

What caught him off guard was she had punched him. Hard. In the solar plexus. He grunted, his katana clattering to the ground.

For someone so small, she packed quite a punch.

His hand twitched toward his katana as the girl disappeared into the manor. He should be slitting her throat for that, but he found the situation mildly amusing.

She reappeared a second later, hauling a medium-sized potted succulent.

“Of all things in the manor, you decided to rob a plant?” Damian asked in disbelief, wondering why he even cared.

Why did he intend to let the girl walk free after robbing the manor? Even if the robbery in question was something insignificant like a plant.

Was this how Father felt every time Catwomen stole? Why did it have to be a genetics thing? Damian could already hear his siblings’ teasings. They could never find out about this.

“There’s nothing wrong with plants!” she protested, holding the plant close to her chest for emphasis.

Damian should phone the GCPD. But all logic seemed to have flown out the window because instead, he said, “I will let you go just this once out of pity so you can get the taste of having successfully robbed someone. With your non-existent thieving skills, it is unlikely that you would be let off as easily the next time, let alone be successful in the operation.”

“Oh, thank you, kind sir. I’ll be taking my leave now,” the girl grumbled, albeit sarcastic.

He was coming up with a last-minute dignified plan to get her name and number without losing face when she shoved a piece of cardstock in his hands.

It was a business card for the fashion designer Drake was obsessed with, MDC. Except the pseudonym was struck out, with Marinette Dupain-Cheng replacing it on top instead, and her number was underneath where her email was.

He looked up to see the girl— Marinette, already gone.

She was fascinating, to say.

Hadn’t his family always pushed him to make more friends other than Jon?

Damian would have to conduct a thorough background check to see if Marinette would be worth befriending.

As he pondered the possibility, he couldn’t help but wonder if their possible friendship could evolve into something more.

#maribat fanfic #maribat #maribat march 2024 #maribat damian wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #mlb x dc #maribat crack #crack fic #oneshot #heqvenlymoons

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zzzinternetperson · 1 year

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The new Lifeguard

It was a beautiful but hot day in summer, and Ash had been planning on going to the beach to try and swim a little bit during his vacation in California, just to cool off and relax after his morning at the gym. While walking to the beach which was about 5 minutes away on foot, Ash couldn’t help but stare at woman butts, and breasts. He was straight after all, and he certainly didn’t like any of that “Gay shit”. He walked towards the beach in the burning sun, sweating like a beast and stinking.

Arriving, Ash was surprised to see absolutely no one on the beach when it should’ve been crowded with other tourists visiting and locals, specifically on a hot day like this one. The beach was empty except for some people sunbathing or lifeguards. Ash approached one of the lifeguards to ask why no one was swimming, it was really weird. The lifeguard looked to be in his 20s, he was definitely a twink and Ash thought to himself how he didn’t feel embarrassed to have a speedo hugging his 2-inch looking penis.

“Yo bro, why is there no one swimming?” Ash asked, which the twink lifeguard answered by “Girl haven’t you seen like.. the signs? Scientists discovered like a weird chemical in the water, no one is allowed to swim here anymore!” The twink said with a high-pitched voice. The gym addict, Ash replied by “Nah bro, I don’t care about your bullshit, I’ll swim if I want to, and you’re definitely not gonna stop me with that body of yours.” Ash removing his shirt and revealing his perfect, musky pecs and abs in front of the twink, who looked at him with puppy eyes.

Ash started to walk towards the water, completely ignoring the twink telling him not to go in.

The jock put his two, size 16 feet into the seawater. “See?! Nothin’s happenin bro.” Ash said to the Twink looking at him in the distance.

But no, there was actually something starting to happen, but Ash didn’t feel or notice it. The chemical in the water was somehow making his feet…shrink. Going from a meaty, thick and masculine to small, cute and tiny size 9 feet. His previous jock foot smell which wasn’t noticeable In the water didn’t fade away completely however, Ash’s feet would still be smelling badly of cheese even with his new transformed twink feet. It just wasn’t as powerful and intoxicating as before, even though the smell was still able to be noticed and considered foul-smelling. Ash went deeper into the water, making his legs fully emerged and fully ready to change. His legs that were muscular, athletic and strong quickly changed as he stopped just before his crotch was emerged by the sea water. His legs became less and less muscular by the second, only to become average, slim and skinny twink legs. The hair on his legs also vanished, only leaving a brown coat that was barely visible. The shrinking of his legs made his height change, he was once 6’2 but that became 5’8.

“See, don’t know why you’re being such a puss bout’ it bro!” Ash started making fun of the lifeguard Twink, thinking nothing was happening, while going deeper into the water until his entire lower body & crotch was submerged. Obviously, his crotch was first. Without a surprise, it shrunk. It went from a huge, meaty and impressive 9 inch hard to a small, ridiculous and laughable 3.9 inch hard, and even more ridiculous 1.5 inch soft. His cock was the smallest out of all the lifeguards. Ash’s balls also shrunk, becoming two small grapes resting right underneath his pickle. Surprisingly, his hard-earned muscular butt also deflated, going from being large and huge to being small but really round. His new butt now looked like two small water bubbles, perfectly round, smooth but sadly small. Something that grew was his hole, though, it became bigger and larger, ready for any type of penetration.

Ash’s lower body was now transformed and fully emerged into the water, as he kept going deeper and deeper. His stomach just flattened out, while his pillowy pecs deflated like balloons, also becoming flat with his nipples becoming small, cute and very sensitive. The lifeguard was watching him, full well knowing what was going on to the arrogant jock but having no intention of rescuing him.

Ash’s entire body was into the water now except his head, which made his arms change. They shrunk, deflated and changed until they were small, skinny but defined twigs. They still somehow kept a little bit of their muscle. The hair under his armpits faded away. Ash was now really clean smelling overall except for his feet, and his butt when he farted. Ash started to look back at the twink and admire him. Of course he was straight, but he couldn’t help but stare at his big bubble butt, wishing his was this big. He even got hard looking at him. He didn’t question it though, he was in a sort of comfortable cloud, which was actually the water.

As Ash now had the body of a 19 year old twink, his head was next.

Ash dived straight into the water, completely emerging his entire body including his head. That caused it to change, first it’s shape changed completely, becoming less round than before. As the shape changed, his hair also did. It went from a buzzcut to a fluffy and cute twink teenager haircut that would be smelling of sea on summers like this one from him being in the water or the beach all day. His facial features became more boyish and cute, but also gave him a chill, relaxed and almost dumb look. What made him look even dumber was his ears, they made him look like a dumb ape or mouse. But most people would once again find it cute. His voice became more feminine and boyish, sounding like he hadn’t even hit puberty yet, even though he was 19. The last thing that changed with his body was his skin tone, he was once white.. but he quickly adopted a cute tan earned from the long days at the beach.

His memories were now changing, as his head was still underwater. Ash started to swim, even though he wasn’t that good of a swimmer before, he was now swimming like a pro. Knowledges of knowing how to dive and swim correctly flooded his mind, while other things about his personality and memories were changing.

He'd thought he had always been a homosexual twink, that worked as a lifeguard at a local beach. He had always lived in California, he even had an apartment downtown where he lived alone. He was single but didn’t want to miss any opportunities of getting his flat butt filled. All his previous memories faded into a horrible smelling fart. The fart was so smelly that even inside the water, the eggy smell could still be slightly noticed. The fart made bubbles appear inside the water, just like a jacuzzi, Ash thought. As Ash became dumber, the bubbles emitting from his eggy fart were making him giggle. His IQ landed at 70, which is just like his penis and ass, below average.

His personality started to change, The once arrogant, rude and masculine Ash draining in another horrible smelling fart, which was way longer than the previous one. As the long fart ended, Ash became obedient, chill and extremely submissive. He was 100% a bottom, and it was showing. He was ready to go with whatever others had him do, and was never in charge for anything. He was a really chill person to be with, he was really nice and kind.

New clothes started to appear while the other ones simply faded with the fart, a lifejacket and swimming shorts that showed how small he was on both the front and the back. Ash got his two little but smelly feet out of the water and walked back onto the beach, each step he was taking in the sand resulting in a horrible smelling fart sprouting out of his butt. He greeted the other twink lifeguard and sat with him on the sand. It was just another day at work for him. B.O ; 7/10 Butt size ; 4/10 Penis size ; 1.5/10 Overall looks ; 9/10

#male transformation #straight to gay #smelly feet #twinkification #toptobottom #cockshrink #fart #jock to twink

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harryseightynine · 2 years

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rose; introduction

here’s a piece of something i thought i’d write about and will probably write more of! the harry of this trope is the harry in 2014 (bandana/frat) and longhair!harry.

warnings: pregnancy & kids. fluff & short : )

masterlist | ask

“When will she be born?” Your youngest son, Nate, asked you while looking at your belly where his little sister is.

“At the end of this month.” You replied, smiling as you noticed the excitement in his eyes. “Are you looking forward to meeting her?”

“Much.”

You both laughed and continued talking. Nate telling her about his day at school and how he couldn’t wait to show Rose all of his toys.

Being 26 years old and having 3 children and being pregnant is not an easy task and requires a lot of calm. YN loved her kids, they were everything she could ever want but when you become a mom coming out of adolescence and into adulthood and having a boyfriend who travels the world all the time, it’s not something anyone is used to.

Harry and YN met before he even auditioned for X-FACTOR, your families being friends and the two practically growing up together. He is two years older, they started dating when she was 14 and he was 16 and they continued that way until she turned 18. To say that their relationship was the most beautiful thing and that they looked so happy all the time, as the Internet labels them, would be a mistake.

During the 4 years of relationship, without children, everything seemed complicated. While he traveled around, singing and doing what he loved most, she was studying for exams waiting for him to return to Hometown. On vacation, she’d manage to take a few weeks off to join him on tour and have some time just for the two of them, traveling somewhere quiet or just staying at home, lying down and cuddling.

When she turned 18, for a while, everything looked good. She wasn’t busy with college – wanting to take some time off before studying again – and they had plenty of time just for themselves. Most of 2014 was filled with joy, smiles, kisses and everything else anyone could want.

Until July, when everything changed.

YN was sick for about three days, thinking it was food poisoning, vomiting and having headaches. The idea of her being pregnant never crossed her mind, not least because she and Harry always used protection.

YN was at her sister’s house, decided to stay there for a few days to help her with her newborn niece, when the pregnancy issue came up.

As Claire commented to her friend and YN about how she found out she was expecting a child, she then talked about the symptoms she was having, being the same ones YN had been experiencing lately.

When she realized she was likely to be pregnant, she went quiet, losing attention to the conversation and starting to get scared.

***

As soon as YN left Claire’s house, she ran to the pharmacy closest to her house and bought 5 different tests. Grief was already flooding through her and she just prayed that she wasn’t actually pregnant.

She couldn’t be. That’s the problem. She just can’t be pregnant.

Maybe later, when she and Harry were settled, when she was graduated and in a good steady job, maybe when she and Harry got married. It could be anytime but now.

On top of all these factors, there was Harry’s career in it all. He was world famous, playing shows all over the world and he made money from that. He was only 20 and she was 18, how could they raise a child?

YN waited nervously for 5 minutes while the tests were done. She was lost in thought, from bad to worse, anxious about what would happen if those tests had two lines, indicating that she was indeed pregnant.

When her cell phone alarm went off, she blinked, a little dizzy, and went back to the bathroom, where the answer was.

It wouldn’t be surprising to say that she almost fell backwards.

***

Over time, Harry and YN managed to adjust to the lives of new parents. Harry cut back on the number of shows, only going early in the pregnancy and when she was six months old, he definitely took time off from everything just to be with them.

They don’t regret having Hazel young, in fact, they think they couldn’t have had a better time for it. Obviously, there were disagreements, insecurities and fears in the beginning, but everything calmed down over time.

Now here they are, with 3 girls and 1 boy. 8 year old Hazel, 4 year old Caroline and Nate and Rose, getting ready to come into the world.

Hazel was like a typical big sister, always protecting her siblings and she was brave and smart. Nate, he was messier and funnier, laughing at everything and getting up to speed. Caroline, on the other hand, was determined, liked to dedicate herself to things, even if it was only with her dolls; she could say she was like YN, while the other two were just like Harry.

They couldn’t wait to meet Rose.

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clotpolesonly · 1 year

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A Working Vacation

for the Stiles Shipping Central discord server’s monthly ficlet exchange!! @get-your-ass-in-the-impala requested funny, so i hope this delivers XD

(ps this is my 200th fic on ao3 and that’s fucking CRAZY yo)

(also on AO3)

There was no one behind the front desk. Stiles had forgotten what room he was in, the keycard didn’t have the room number on it, and there was no one at the front desk for him to ask. What kind of bed and breakfast—one that prided itself on being a wholesome, caring, family establishment, no less—just left the desk entirely unsupervised in the middle of the day? That was no way to run a business and he was seriously considering writing a strongly worded Yelp review.

But he couldn’t do that until he got back into his room. That was where his laptop was. Which he needed for a Zoom-call business meeting in half an hour; Lydia would have his head if he was late for another one of those.

He rapped his knuckles on the wooden countertop and called, “Hellooooo…”

The girl who’d checked him in that morning—Cora, if he remembered correctly—did not appear before him to answer his question, nor did any of the other presumed family members working at this family establishment. The front desk remained woefully unattended. The computer screen hadn’t gone dark, so they couldn’t be too far away, could they?

Absently, Stiles noted that the computer was also unlocked.

Stiles noted this again, significantly less absently.

He was not allowed to use their computer to look up his room number himself. Cora had seemed like the type to rip his arm off of his body and beat him with it if he stepped out of line, and jumping over the counter to invite himself into their system would probably be considered really far out of line. He should wait here until somebody with the proper authorization came back to look it up for him.

He waited patiently. For about twenty-two seconds.

He would be worried about security cameras if this wasn’t a tiny podunk establishment on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. He was impressed they even had electronic keycards, much less CCTV, so he only hesitated a bit before jumping up to slide himself across the countertop to the other side. The computer was old and slow to respond, but everything was very clearly labeled on the desktop and it didn’t take him two minutes to find the list of rooms and their occupants.

“Room 16,” he muttered to himself. “Room 16, that’s me. They should really put the numbers on the—”

The bell above the lobby door jingled. Stiles froze as a pair of fatigued-looking travelers lugged their suitcases in from the parking lot.

“A room for two, please,” one lady said, southern drawl matching her fluffed up, mile-high hair. Stiles’ mouth opened to say that he did not, in fact, work here, but before he could, she added, “Do y’all have a pool? I brought my suit but the last place we stopped didn’t have so much as a hot tub, can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Stiles said automatically. “There’s a pool around the back. It’s only open until six, though, so make sure you get in before then.”

The lady’s husband asked, “Cleaned regularly?”

“Yes, sir.” Cora had assured him as much that morning.

“Good man!” the husband said with a grin. “What room’s got the best view?”

“Uh, well…” Stiles’ fingers moved without his say-so, bringing up the clearly labeled map of the facilities. “If you’re early-risers, you’ll want an east-facing suite. You don’t have to worry about city skylines out here, so you’ll get a perfect sunrise view. I’d recommend the west for its sunsets, but those suites look out over the parking lot." He waggled a hand. "It’s well-maintained, as far as parking lots go, but the uninterrupted forest view to the east is just—”

He made the chef’s kiss noise and the tourists laughed heartily.

"We also offer home-cooked meals for breakfast and for lunch!" Stiles put in. "You're on your own for dinner, but there are a number of restaurants in the town a few miles down the road. I can vouch for them personally, and I would recommend the—"

"What are you doing?"

Stiles jumped a mile high. He whirled around to find a man behind him. A stunningly beautiful man who was not Cora but was clearly related to her, with the same high cheekbones and kaleidoscope eyes. He looked both baffled and offended.

Stiles blinked. "I was…just…"

"He was about to give us our room number," the lady jumped in cheerfully. "He tells us the east side has the best view!"

"That's right," the actual employee said slowly, stepping up to edge Stiles out from in front of the computer. "Room 22 is free."

Stiles leaned against the back wall, cringing internally, as he got them checked in properly and sent them on their way. He cringed externally as the guy turned to squint at him.

"Okay, so, I came in to ask a question but nobody was in here and the computer was unlocked and I waited but nobody came back and I just needed to check one thing and then people came in and they asked about the pool and I was already back here and I didn't wanna—"

The guy raised a hand to stop him. "What was the question? The first one?"

"My room number," Stiles admitted sheepishly. "It's 16."

The employee checked the log. "Well, Stiles," he said, with the familiar undertone of what the hell kind of name is that to his voice, "we don't usually let people behind the counter."

"Yeah, I figured, but I was just—"

“Helping customers, apparently.” He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a particular quirk to his mouth that said he might be fighting one down. His eyebrow rose. “Very nefarious of you. We might sue.”

Stiles wouldn’t have been half as embarrassed if he’d been caught out by someone less attractive, but the pretty eyes and the bone structure and the bulging biceps now on full display before him all added up to him being on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

“I am very sorry, please don’t sue me, mister…?”

The obvious answer was Hale, considering that was the name on the sign out front, but the very attractive man offered up “Derek” instead. The ease of it did nothing to diffuse Stiles’ blush. Nor did the unsubtle once-over Derek gave him.

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Okay, uh, well, that’s good! Thanks for that. Lydia—my business partner, that’s Lydia—she would kill me if I missed our Zoom meeting for litigation purposes.”

Derek cocked his head. “Zoom meeting?”

“Yeah, we need to discuss some quarterly projections, which we really should’ve done before I left for vacation, but I’ll be the first to admit that my time management skills are not what they should be for someone in my position, and my laptop is in my room which is why I needed the—”

“What time’s the meeting over?”

Stiles blinked at him. “Three-thirty, probably. Why?”

“I get off at four.”

Derek promptly turned back to the computer, leaving Stiles to stare at his broad back and comprehend the implication of those words. It took him long enough that Derek glanced back—that smile had finally broken through to grace Stiles with its presence, more than a little mischievous—and jerked his head at the counter. Cheeks burning anew, Stiles hoisted himself gingerly across it.

“Four o’clock, then,” he declared, once both feet were firmly on the lobby floor. “I’ll be here. I guess. For, like, coffee, or something? Bit early for dinner. If that’s what you meant, I mean, I could be wr—”

“I was thinking I’d go for a swim,” Derek said. “Pool’s open until six, you know.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know that, we totally can… Okay.”

When all Derek did was duck his head to hide a laugh, Stiles decided that was his cue to leave, before he said or did anything embarrassing enough to make Derek change his mind. He had no idea what about this situation had made him appealing, but it had, and he was going to make the most of it.

This was gonna be one hell of a vacation.

#Sterek #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Teen Wolf #fanfiction #fics by me

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k-evans-reads · 2 years

Text

On Deck

Chapter 16

Summary: Although they grew up in the same small town, Chris and Sam had both gone their separate ways a long time ago. Chris moved up to become a MLB star, one of the best in the business, while Sam stayed stuck in the same small town. But when multiple injuries ended the Red Sox prodigy’s career, he winds up back in the same small town he swore he’d never be back to. The past may not stay in the past any longer, as old wounds begin to creep back up.

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans X OFC Samantha “Sam” Merrick

Word Count: 4,951

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: Arguments, misunderstandings, slight NSFW.

Previous | Main Masterlist | On Deck Masterlist

“I’m being serious, I think you need to come back to bed,” Chris’ raspy voice muttered before he broke off into a loud yawn and he stretched his arms out above his head.

Sam rolled her eyes as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, heading into the bathroom and leaving the door open behind her. “Yeah you’ve only been saying that for the last ten minutes,” she chuckled as she looked at his reflection in the mirror, Chris’ heart skipping a beat at the look in her eyes before he dropped his gaze to her bare skin.

His eyes stayed there for several long moments as Sam brushed her teeth, sighing and requesting, “Well if you’re not going to come back, then at least put some clothes on. It’s not fair for you to tease me this way.”

“You already got your wake up call, aren’t you satisfied with that?” Sam smirked at him from over her shoulder, but soon she disappeared as the shower turned on quickly and he heard the glass door shut quietly.

“Apparently not,” Chris called, reaching for his phone with another yawn.

Before long Sam stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel as she made her way towards the dresser and began pulling on clothes. “Well when I’m done with my shift tonight I’ll let you get me back in bed, okay?”

“But that’s like eight hours away,” he groaned, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him.

“You have Dodger to keep you company until then,” Sam pointed out, and while Chris and the dog had certainly grown close in the past week since Sam had surprised him with Dodger, nothing could compare to his Sammy.

He stuck his lower lip out in a dramatic pout, complaining, “Somehow his kisses just aren’t as good.”

“They better not be,” Sam laughed as she finished getting dressed and clasped her necklace together. “I’ll know I’m slipping if one day a dog can kiss better than me.”

“Eh, he’s still a few notches down from you so don’t worry,” Chris shrugged, his eyes following Sam as she finished getting ready.

“Okay, I have to go but I’ll call you on my lunch break,” she sighed, turning and grabbing her phone from the nightstand and picking her bag up off the floor. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” he murmured, smiling when she got close to him.

The smile that was planted on Chris’ lips grew when Sam leaned in to give him a long kiss, but it stayed there long after she had left. Chris laid around in bed for a while before he eventually pushed himself out of bed and into the shower. It was quiet now that Sam was gone, Riley also having vacated the apartment with him going to play some baseball with his friends and taking Dodger with him, leaving Chris alone with his thoughts. Things felt like they were settling in so well as it neared the end of August. He’d been back to Boston a couple times since the beginning of the month, doctors encouraging him that he shouldn’t have anything standing in his way of getting back to playing and working with a trainer had helped him get even more mobility back. He had even shadowed a couple broadcasters to help him feel more comfortable with his role for the next season and he was finally feeling confident.

But that wasn’t the only thing he was feeling confident in.

He had never been so happy in his life. He had been in love with Sammy practically his entire life, but now he actually got to have her. Sure, he’d been with her for months now, but things just felt different now. He just felt like they had become such a strong couple, able to get things out in the open and that they were one big step closer to forever together. It felt like everything was sifting into place so perfectly, but that idea of things in their life going so well all seemed to change in an instant.

“Riley, is that you?” Chris called from where he was putting away groceries in the kitchen as the door to the apartment suddenly opened, expecting to hear the clicking of Dodger’s nails following Riley’s footsteps.

“No, it’s me,” Sam’s wavering voice replied, and within a second Chris had stopped what he was doing and quickly shut the refrigerator. He moved through the room and poked his head around the corner of the opening to the hallway, concern written all over his face.

He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Sam from behind, watching as she slowly hung her bag on the hook, likely stalling before he could see the tears he knew were falling from her eyes. “Sammy? Why are you home so early?”

When she couldn’t stall any longer, Sam slowly turned around. If he was concerned before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now, seeing the way her eyes were filled with tears, how red her cheeks were, and the way her brows pinched in fear. Instantly he thought the worst - that something had happened to Ify or even to Sam and Riley’s mother - but Sam quietly told him, “I got fired.”

His brows rose quickly and his voice grew unintentionally loud as he asked, “You what?”

“I got fired, Chris,” Sam repeated, her voice frustrated. Her hands flew up in the air as she scoffed, adding, “He just fired me. Ken just fired me right in the middle of my shift. Chris, I can’t believe he did that.”

“Hey, hey, stop for a minute and just c’mere baby,” Chris’ voice dropped, holding his hands out to his side as he stepped towards her. “Just let it out baby, I’ve got you.”

Sam accepted his embrace, just burying her face in his chest while she cried the tears he could tell she’d been working so hard to keep at bay. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, just holding her tight, one of his hands rubbing up and down her back as her whole body shook from her crying. Chris could practically feel his heart breaking at the sound of Sammy’s cries muffled against his shirt. It was no secret he wasn’t happy about her working at the diner, knowing she was treated badly and worked so hard, but he wanted her to be able to leave on her own, not this way. He just stayed in place, holding her tight as he helped to comfort her, knowing that was all he could do in this moment.

When her crying had subsided, Chris kept an arm around her as he led her to the couch where they sat angled toward each other. He reached out to rest a hand on her leg, his thumb rubbing back and forth while he watched her try to wipe at the stray tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Once Sam had caught her breath, Chris tentatively asked, “So what happened?”

“Ken’s been on my back a lot lately but today he just wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept bitching about me not being as focused or willing to stay late anymore and how I was a crappy employee,” she told him, and Chris’ brows furrowed in confusion at her words, knowing that - according to Sam - things hadn’t been ‘that bad, Chris, honestly’ the last few weeks, but this seemed to say otherwise. “But then we ended up running out of straws because when I put in the big order before we went to Mexico, I apparently forgot straws.”

“He fired you over that?” Chris asked incredulously, pushing aside the confusion he had felt to listen and be angry at Ken for Sam’s sake.

“Yep,” she confirmed, moving a hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. “He said how I was neglectful and cost him money and he fired me right in front of everyone. Chris, I was so humiliated.”

Chris’ jaw clenched and he pressed a comforting kiss to Sam’s forehead, murmuring, “Fuck him, Ken is an asshole.”

“I’ve worked there since I was sixteen. I’ve been there twelve years only to get berated and fired over fuckin’ straws,” she scoffed frustratedly with a shake of her head.

“Sammy, I’m so sorry baby,” Chris breathed, telling her the truth. “But I’m not going to lie, I’m glad you’re not there anymore. You don’t deserve to get treated that way, especially when you’re busting your ass working the way you do.”

“But what am I going to do? I already couldn’t find another job and I really won’t be able to now that I don’t even have a reference letter.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, baby,” he rushed to reassure her as he moved his thumb back and forth over her cheek comfortingly.

“But what if I can’t find another job? What am I going to do, Chris?”

“I guess you’ll just have to be my trophy girlfriend then,” Chris joked with a shrug of his shoulders, but at Sam’s unamused look he quickly dropped the slight smirk. “Okay, okay bad time for a joke. But try not to stress, Sammy. We’ll figure it out.”

“But I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she repeated, Chris able to see the wheels turning nervously and anxiously in her brain as she rambled. “I mean, what am I going to do about Riley? If I can’t pay for him, he’s going to have to be with our mom more and she already doesn’t do shit for him and then-”

“Sammy, baby, calm down,” Chris interrupted, his eyes locked on hers. “Try to take a few breaths okay?”

“How am I going to be able to take care of him though?”

“Hey, you’re going to find another job,” he assured her, pressing another kiss to her forehead as he listened to her deep breaths. “But until then, none of this is going to be any different. Riley’s still going to be here and you both have the card I gave you.”

“But-”

“No buts. What good is my money if it isn’t there to take care of the people that I love?” He asked, watching as Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t worry about the money, okay? I’ve got all of that taken care of.”

“What if my mom tries to use this to get more custody of Riley? Or if she tries to take away my guardianship of him?”

Chris knew that this had been Sam’s greatest fear since she turned eighteen - that she would misstep in some way and lose Riley forever. And while the idea of ‘custody’ had never been an issue until this past year and add in the fact that Riley - when given the option - would pick Sam over Susan any day of the week, it still was wildly terrifying to Sam to run the risk of not having the boy she raised in her life as much as possible. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, but let’s not worry about things that haven’t happened yet,” he told her quietly.

“I know I just…” she paused, shrugging helplessly. “I just can’t believe this all happened.”

“I know baby,” he agreed, his voice low. “But we’re going to handle it all together.”

He watched as Sam’s brown eyes finally looked up to hold his gaze, letting him see into those watery eyes of hers. Chris could see all the emotion flashing through her eyes, reminding him of the fact that just a few months ago, Sam had still been so guarded, unable to share her feelings or even give Chris a read on them. But now things were so different and he could see every little thing in her eyes before she moved forward, moving to crawl onto his lap and wrap her arms around his neck, just seeking his comfort and he knew that no matter what, they’d always be okay as long as they stuck together.

Sam glanced at the clock, her fingers tapping restlessly against her thigh as she waited for Chris to get home. Nothing seemed to settle her, not the reassurance that Chris was fully behind her and ready to help out however she needed, not the fact that she could fully invest her time and energy in finding herself, none of that seemed to matter to Sam besides the overwhelming sense of floundering and anxiety that had flooded her over these past few days, and it didn’t help that every interview she’d had ended up in failure.

“Hi baby,” Chris’ low voice called out before she heard the sound of the door closing behind him.

“How was your training session?” Sam wondered, turning her head to look over the back of the couch, seeing him walking closer until he put his hands on the couch, leaning down to peck at her lips.

“Brutal. I forgot how intense those workouts are,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her once more and patted Dodger’s head before standing back to his full height. “I was anxious to get home though, my phone died so I couldn’t call you and find out how that interview you had today went.”

“Well after he read my resume, he told me they didn’t feel I was the right fit for the job so I was in and out in about five minutes,” Sam muttered, curling into the couch and pulling a blanket over her bare legs.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll find something,” Chris smiled at her as he walked over to grab a water bottle out of the fridge, calling out, “Besides, I didn’t want you to get that job anyway. I’ve gotten used to having you around and I’m not ready to give that up yet.”

“I’ve never had this many days off in a row ever. I don’t know what to do with myself,” she sighed.

“I think this will be good for you, it’ll teach you how to relax for once in your life,” Chris told her. “Hey where’s Riley?”

“He’s out with our mom, I think he’s going to sleep at home tonight,” Sam didn’t even look away from the television as she answered him with no emotion in her voice.

“Okay, well I’m going to go hop in the shower.”

Sam just nodded her head as she stayed in place on the couch where Dodger was curled up next to her. She nervously tapped her fingers on her leg, hating that most of her days of the past week had been like this, spent sitting on the couch. Sam had worked hard her entire life, and having this time off would have normally been relaxing, but having the stress of being fired and needing to find another job seemed to loom over her.

All she wanted was to just feel normal. She was desperate to not feel sad, stressed, or anxious. Sam just wanted to turn off her brain for a while and be able to go through a day without some type of heavy emotions hanging over her. She already had felt like a failure in so many ways in her life but this felt like the final straw and that was something that wouldn’t stop swirling inside her brain for the past few days.

She kept sitting on the couch, biting at her lower lip until she heard the shower turn off. Sam pushed herself off the couch and shuffled into the bedroom just in time to see Chris walking out of the bathroom in a pair of his tight boxers. As her brown eyes scanned him up and down as he crawled onto the bed, laying down with a long sigh, she felt herself yearning for him, needing a release and a way to distract her brain. Sam came to lay next to him, scooting her body up against him while she started kissing at his bare chest, her hand starting to trace his firm muscles before slipping down lower and lower.

“Baby,” Chris broke her out of her thoughts as he came down to rest a hand on top of her arm, keeping her from moving any lower. “I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

“I think I can get you in the mood,” Sam lowered her voice, leaning in to keep kissing at his chest.

She kept her focus on those little kisses she kept littering across his tattooed skin before Chris spoke up,“Seriously Sammy, I’m just so tired and my knee is really hurting.”

“That’s not what you were saying this morning,” she reminded him, looking up to meet his blue eyes as she remembered how he thrust into her over and over again that morning.

“Well that was before my trainer nearly killed me today,” he chuckled out and then asked, “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

It was then that everything broke inside her and she pushed herself up and out of his grasp while muttering, “You know if you don’t want to be with me anymore, you might as well have the decency to just say it to my face, asshole.”

“What?”

Sam climbed off the bed, whipping around as her hands flew up in the air as she shouted,“If you’re going to break up with me just say it!”

“Samantha, what the hell are you fuckin’ talking about?”

And if Sam’s brain hadn’t been so shrouded with emotions, she wouldn’t have had any clue what she was talking about. She had felt so useless lately. She hated sitting at home trying to figure out what to do with her abrupt termination at the diner and didn’t like all the ‘what if’s’ that came with it all. Sam couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t bringing anything to the relationship, only bringing stress and complications to Chris’ life and in her anxious state, her brain started falling back into old patterns. She could remember back to her mom’s revolving door of boyfriends, none of them being anything more than physical companions, but Sam always knew when one was about to leave when there wasn’t any touching or kissing between them. Because of that being engrained in her brain, her deepest fear - that Chris, the man she loved more than anything, would leave her - seemed to be coming true. And that mixed with what felt like rejection from him caused all the emotions she’d been bottling up to come exploding out.

His blue eyes were wide from where he laid on the bed, his muscular arms pushing himself to sit up farther, eyebrows furrowed while responding, “What the fuck is this coming from? I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Don’t try to lie to me!” Sammy’s voice loudly filled the otherwise quiet room.

“Sammy, I don’t even fuckin’ know how we got here! Two minutes ago everything was fine!” His voice rose to match hers, but then she saw something cross his face, Chris’ head turning slightly when he asked, “Wait, is this because I didn’t want to have sex?”

She didn’t even look at him as she stormed across the room to grab the sweatpants that were nearby, suddenly not liking how vulnerable she felt in just her worn out tee shirt and panties. She forcefully shoved her legs into the black fabric as she told him with the point of a finger, “Just be fucking man enough to just own up to it.”

“Own up to what?”

“That you don’t want me,” Sammy clarified.

“My fuckin’ knee is killing me and I’m tired from my training session so I didn’t feel like having sex tonight and somehow that means I’m breaking up with you?” He was incredulous, eyebrows lifted to the sky. “You can’t be fuckin’ serious, Sammy.”

“Don’t try to blame this all on me!”

“I don’t even have a fucking clue what’s going on,” Chris’ hands tossed up in disbelief, shaking his head, “Can you calm down for like two seconds and at least fill me in?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Samantha, will you stop!?”

“I’m not staying here, I’m going home,” Sam felt the intense pressure of emotions burning inside her chest as she stomped toward the bedroom door, stopping to grab her keys off of the dresser.

But before she could make it out of the room, Chris got to his feet, coming over to stand in front of her and state, “No you’re not, you’re not leaving until you tell me what the fuck is happening!”

“Don’t try to tell me what the hell I can and can’t do,” She tried to push past his firm frame, keeping her eyes away from his as she huffed, “You don’t even fuckin’ love me anymore.”

“Try to say that to my face,” his firm, even tone spoke out. The juxtaposition from his loud passionate voice trading in for that steady statement caught her off guard. Sam thought he must have known that too because he just let her walk past him before he called after her, “I mean it Sam, look at me and say that again.”

The anger inside of her was burning brightly and she whipped around, ready to look right into those blue eyes and repeat her words but something inside her wouldn’t let her get those words out. She knew as she looked into his face that it wasn’t true, and with one look into his eyes, she felt that raging fear she’d lose him that was so present and real that her hands were shaking.

“You want to say that to me now?”

And all in that moment, those huge emotions packed inside her so tightly seemed to come flooding out without her even realizing how it was possible for her to just practically melt in place with just one look in his eyes.

“C-Chris,” Sam completely broke down as the tears she had been trying to keep at bay the past few days came pouring out as her whole body shook, “I love you so much, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren’t losing me, baby. I don’t understand why you think that you were,” Chris was honest from where he stood in the doorway to their bedroom pleading,“Can we please sit down and talk about this?”

“...Okay.”

Sam’s hands were shaking as she brought them up to wipe at her tears, everything trembling as she shuffled back to the bedroom where Chris put an arm around her as he led her to the edge of the bed where they sat.

“I don’t get where all of this came from, baby,” Chris started, dipping his head to look into her weepy eyes as he asked, “Was this because I didn’t want to have sex?”

“I guess…” Sam trailed off, suddenly feeling so embarrassed at all of these feelings that felt so huge and terrifying but eventually admitted, “I just… I feel like you don’t want me anymore.”

“Hey, if I’ve done anything to make you feel that way, I truly am sorry, Samantha. I mean that,” he told her, letting his hand rub up and down her back,“But I kind of think that some of this is because your emotions are so on edge with everything.”

“This is the first time you’ve ever not wanted to though,” her voice was so small now, unsure. But those ever present emotions she’d been grappling with the past week were right at the surface, causing her to admit, “And it’s now when I’m unemployed and mooching off of you.”

“Okay we’re going to come back around to this whole ‘mooching’ business but me not wanting to have sex has nothing to do with you. You know I love you, but I’m truly just really tired and my trainer really stretched my knee more than it’s been since surgery and it’s really hurting a lot. That’s honestly all it is.” She could see the truth in his blue eyes as he looked right at her.

“...Are you being honest?”

“Remember how you felt a few weeks ago when you had that stomach bug?” Chris brought up, waiting for her to nod before continuing, “Do you remember how I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well and I wanted to have sex and you just weren’t up for it? That’s how I feel now, okay? It has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

“I guess I kind of overreacted,” she muttered, hating how she exploded and told him, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay baby, this is just normal stuff in relationships. I think we’ve just been lucky because we’re pretty much on the same page in terms of when we’re in the mood so it’s just something we have to work on communicating when we’re not,” Chris spoke almost more to himself than to her before getting to what still was bothering him, “So now we’re coming back to this whole mooching thing because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Sam knew he was right about communicating. She knew that if this was going to work she had to continue to grow in being able to talk about her feelings rather than stuff them down like she had to growing up. But she wanted him. She wanted this love that was between them. There was no way she could let go of it so she took a step to work on being more honest, telling him, “...I already felt like I was mooching off of you before but now without a job I really am.”

She felt that nervous knot in her stomach as she watched Chris. He just sat on the bed next to her, completely silent as an unreadable thought was on his face. He didn’t say a word as he kept rubbing her back softly, deep in thought for a long moment before Chris finally decided to give words to what was in his head.

“Okay, this all needs to change.”

“What does?”

“Everything,” he motioned with his free hand. “I think that how both of us are thinking about everything that’s happened needs to change.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You’ve taken care of Riley for so long and haven’t taken care of yourself,” Chris observed, his eyebrows arched while asking her, “Did you feel like in all that time that Riley mooched off of you?”

“He was a child though,” Sam quantified.

“It doesn’t make a difference. He needed someone to support him so that he could have the things you didn’t and be able to chase after his dreams.” He wanted to put a stop to her line of thinking that she somehow didn’t deserve the love and sacrifice she gave to others. “But now it’s your turn Sammy. Now I get the chance to support you and give you what you never got.”

“I don’t-”

“Just listen to me for a minute,” he held up a hand, wanting to be able to vocalize all that he was thinking. “I think that this maybe is an opportunity for something new.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to officially move in with me, and Riley too.” There was no wavering in his voice. “This is a chance for you to get away from Susan. You can get away from these dead end jobs that drain the life out of you. You could go to school and do what you want to do for once in your life.”

“Do you even know what you’re saying?” Sam almost wanted to laugh, thinking how truly insane this all sounded to her.

“I know exactly what I’m saying. Sammy, you already know I’m planning on marrying you. You’re the one for me, you always have been. Everything that’s mine is yours and I want every bit of it to go toward you getting to chase after your dreams.”

“Chris, I just… I don’t know what to say,” her gaze dropped down to stare at her hands that were in her lap.

“Just say yes, it’s not hard.” A smile was in his voice while he bumped his shoulder against hers, suggesting that, “You and Riley could move in and you could go to school, maybe even partly online so you could come to Boston with me. We could get a bigger place too here in town, one that we pick out together.”

“I feel like I just can’t accept all of that.”

“I want you too,” Chris spoke without hesitation. “I want it more than anything Sammy. I want us to be together and I want to see you happy. You’re not even accepting anything, this all is ours so you’re only using what’s already yours. Please baby… please just say yes.”

Sam finally lifted her eyes, looking up into his face as she whispered, “I want to so badly, but I don’t deserve it Chris. How can I possibly let you do that?”

“Because I love you,” A soft smile showed up on his lips, nothing but honestly in his voice. “I want you to just shut off your brain for two seconds and just answer with your heart.”

“...Then yes,” Sammy finally answered with her heart instead of her head, fully open to him as she told him, “I love you Chris, I love you so much and I just want to be with you.”

He gave her a smile, his eyes softening as he pulled her close to him, his chest rumbling and voice low as he told her, “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

A/N: Thank you for your patience lately! We missed posting but needed time to get on track, as well as deal with insanity in our lives. ICYMI, we made an announcement about our posting schedules! We'll be back on 8/25 with a Playing With Fire update!

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