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daisynik7 · 1 year

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Give You Blue

Chapter 1: How It Ends

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: explicit sexual content/smut (brief flashback), language, angst, a breakup

Word Count: ~3.2k

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Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: Reiner, your best friend since childhood and your high school sweetheart, breaks up with you the night before the new semester begins. With his car packed with both your belongings, the hour long drive back to campus the next day offers some clarity. Author's Notes: Excited to be writing a new series! I hope you all enjoy it. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciate. Thank you so much!

“I think we should break-up.”

It’s the last day of summer vacation, the night before you and Reiner head back to Stohess University for the start of a new schoolyear. You’ve been at his place all day, helping him pack his car, which is already halfway full of your own belongings. With the door to his bedroom wide open, you can hear his mom humming a familiar tune downstairs as she puts away the leftovers from tonight’s dinner. Her signature meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a favorite of yours and Reiner’s. It’s been this way since you were ten years old, when the two of you finally started eating real food instead of only candy, pizza rolls, and chicken nuggets.

The words come out of his mouth low and monotone, an automated machine void of any emotions. That’s why you’re convinced it’s in your imagination, until he speaks again. “Coco, did you hear me?”

Coco. It’s the silly nickname he’s had for you since you were five, the first time you ever met on the school playground. You were in the same kindergarten class, but Reiner could not, for the life of him, remember your name for two whole weeks. What he does remember is you eating a homemade coconut macaroon every first recess of the day. And like a typically five-year-old boy, he picked on you for it, calling you Coconut even after he learned your name. Even after you became the best of friends. Eventually, it became Coco for short, and from there, it just stuck. You’re not sure if you ever liked it; maybe you only did because it was him calling you that. One of the many special secrets shared between you two throughout the years.

You turn towards him, a pair of his socks in hand, ready to roll and toss into his half empty luggage, unfazed. “Huh?” You’re prepared to hear him say something else, anything else.

He swallows hard, a serious expression on his face, glancing at his feet. “I think we should break-up.”

It takes you a good minute to process it. Three minutes, if you’re being completely honest. And he doesn’t rush you this time for a response, seeing you stare back at him, a deer in headlights, seconds before getting hit and crushed under the weight of a semi-truck. Because that’s how it feels when your boyfriend of four years and your best friend of even longer tells you that he thinks the two of you should break-up.

You’re surprised at how long it takes for the tears to stream down your face. Everyone knows, Reiner included, how much of a sap you are. You cry easily over the most insignificant things – a car commercial, people playing with puppies, a sad scene in a movie. But this – this absolutely warrants all the tears you’ve cried over stupid shit like that.

Reiner quickly closes the door and wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His facial hair brushes against you, a sensation you’ve always found comforting. He was a late-bloomer, incapable of growing that rugged look all throughout high school. It was really only last year when he needed to pay more attention to it; grooming became part of his regular routine. Now, it’s harsh and coarse against smooth skin, an itch you want to scratch but can’t. Somehow, you keep your volume to a minimum, aware that Mrs. Braun is downstairs, blissfully ignorant to what’s happening above her. Through quiet, choked sobs, you ask, “Why?”

He sighs, a pained expression on his face now; he’s always hated seeing you cry. How much worse does he feel knowing he’s the cause of it? Leading you to the edge of the bed, he sits, and you follow. With your hand in his, he starts explaining himself. “We’ve been inseparable for so long; I just think we need to take some time to figure ourselves out. As individuals.” He’s practiced this before, you can tell. He usually sputters when he’s put on the spot. Not this time. He’s been thinking about this for a while, you realize, and it breaks your heart more.

It’s hard for you to look at him as he speaks, so you stare at his lap, his hands holding yours delicately. When you don’t respond, he continues. “We’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t. I just need to explore my horizons.”

In your mind, you replace the word horizons with options. He joined a frat last semester, which you can admit, worried you at first. He assured you nothing about him would change, and you believed him. Before your logic can stop you, you spit out, “So you’re trying to fuck some sorority girls, is that it?”

He clicks his tongue at you, disappointed. You’re better than this, you know this, and he does too. “C’mon. It’s not like that.”

“Then what? Don’t bullshit me, Reiner. If you’re going to break-up with me, I deserve to know the truth.” It’s fighting words. You can’t help it when you’re defenseless like this.

He hesitates before confessing, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”

It fucking hurts to hear. The one person you were so sure would never harm you, stabbing you in every vital point of your body. It’s betrayal, disappointment, and heartache all at once, and you’d give anything to turn back the clock and go back to even a few minutes ago, when you were happily folding his laundry. You’re speechless, a jumble of thoughts stuck in your throat, gagging you until it’s too hard to breathe and you’re gasping for air. There’s static noise surrounding your ear drums, and Reiner’s voice is so muffled that you can barely understand him. You reach around him for a pillow, burying your face in it to hide your cries.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” Baby. He still calls you that through a breakup. You’re his baby that he’s not in love with you anymore. It’s all so fucked up. Between anguished sobs, you ask, “What did I do wrong?”

He rambles on and on about how it’s not you it’s me. It was nothing you did, except in the back of your mind, you keep thinking why wasn’t I good enough? He strokes the back of your hand with his palm, his skin cracked and calloused from rock-climbing, one of his new favorite hobbies. You’ve been nagging him about using that special cream you bought for him, the one that’s supposed to help soothe skin with a tiny dollop. Did that annoy him? Is that the feather that tipped the scale? You can’t help but replay every single fucking thing you’ve ever said to him, every single thing you’ve ever done for him, trying to discern when and where it went downhill.

You’ve always been best friends first, lovers second. You thought it was special this way, that it means something more. Now, as you sit at the edge of the bed with him, listening to him talk in circles about how this isn’t your fault, you realize that maybe that’s what led to this. Better off as friends, nothing more. You were both sixteen when you decided to cross the line. At the time, it felt right. Looking back, maybe it was just convenient. Were the two of you doomed from that day on?

“I’ll always love you, Coco.” He repeats it, hoping it’ll make you feel better. You hold your tongue, tempted to reply then why are you doing this? It’s a slap in the face when he says it. A consolation prize reminding you that you lost.

At the end of the day, you can’t hate him. There’s too much history there. You’ve been through too much together, seen each other at your lowest points, held each other up at the highest. That kind of relationship is rare, a treasure too precious to throw away. But damn, you want to bury it in the darkest depths of the ocean right now. Hell, you want to sink down with it.

There’s no yelling; you don’t have it in your heart to scream at him with his mother in the house with you. He probably planned it like this; he knows you too well. You don’t like making a scene, especially in front of Mrs. Braun, who’s basically another mother to you.

You think back on the other night, in this very bedroom. His mom went out to dinner with some friends, leaving you two alone. Of course, you took the opportunity to fuck each other silly. He ate you out sloppily at the edge of the bed, kneeling before you on the carpet with your legs spread wide. Was he already considering the break-up in this moment? He must have. This kind of decision doesn’t just happen. As he bounced you on his cock, his usual tired eyes peering up at you with a small grin on his face, he said, “God, you’re perfect.” And when you came with his thumb on your clit, cock still buried deep in your pussy, he whispered, “I love you,” before he released inside you. He repeated it when you relaxed against his chest, bodies spent, chanting it while he caressed your back. I love you, I love you, I love you.

You sleep in his bed tonight. Instead of being cuddled in the middle, you roll the farthest you can, turning your back to face away from him. He does the same.

“Are you still awake?” he whispers, barely audible. You don’t respond.

You hear him exhale. “I’m sorry.”

Several minutes later, he stops stirring and his soft snores fill the quiet. Eventually, you fall asleep too, wiping your tears on the pillowcase.

~~~

The next morning, you pretend that everything is normal at breakfast. Mrs. Braun prepares a feast, as usual, before you make the journey back to school. She remains ignorant to the fact that you and Reiner are no longer a couple. He mentioned it last night, how he doesn’t want his mom to worry, that it’s not the right time to break the news to her. Honestly, he’s too scared to confront it, knowing for a fact how big of a deal this will be to his family. You two are practically married in their eyes. Well, were.

You do your best to act like your cheery self, despite being close to dead inside. Reiner gives you nervous glances here and there, afraid you’ll explode any second. You keep your cool, though, making conversation with Mrs. Braun, feigning excitement for the upcoming semester. Laughing along to jokes about how Reiner should be more focused on his studies and less on the frat parties. Ha ha ha.

Around noon, with the car fully packed with yours and Reiner’s possessions, you bid farewell to his mom. She gives you a warm embrace, squeezing you extra hard. “Take care of yourself, dear. And take care of Reiner too. Love you.” It takes all the strength you have left in your feeble body to not sob on the spot, so you quickly return the sentiment and walk to the passenger side, closing the door shut, burying your face in your palms. A few moments later, Reiner joins you in the driver’s seat, one more wave to his mother before starting the car and driving away.

It's silent for the first five minutes, you wiping your tears with your sleeves, him changing the song every three seconds on his playlist to preoccupy himself. He finally picks a song, a familiar one that you know all too well. It brings back memories of the summer right after you graduated high school. The melody synonymous with weekly road trips to the beach or warm nights staying in, watching a movie marathon in bed. A bowl of popcorn on your lap, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His face nuzzling your ear, lips nipping at your lobe. Soft touches leading to rough sex, with your mouth biting the pillow to muffle your moans as he pumps his cock into you. The cuddling afterwards, him whispering that he loves you, and that he’s so happy that you’re both going to the same college. Because he wants nothing more than to stay with you, to be with you, for the rest of your lives.

You can’t take it anymore. Before you realize, you reach over to shut off the radio, the silence louder than the music that was playing. He glances at you, mouth agape like he wants to yell, but he doesn’t. He focuses his attention on the road again, taking a deep breath before saying, “You could have asked me to change the song.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning your head against the window, watching the blur of buildings pass as you approach the freeway. “Every song on this playlist reminds me of you. Of us.”

He pauses, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

You’re sick of hearing it, but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you ask, “When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you wanted to break up.” After having a night to let it sink it, you’re ready to talk about it. At least, you think you are.

He thinks carefully, knuckles tight on the wheel, brow knit. You wait patiently for his answer, growing more afraid of whatever harsh truth he’s about to drop on you. “It’s been on my mind all summer, if I’m being completely honest.”

Never mind; maybe you’re not ready for this. Still, you let curiosity get the best of you. You swallow back the quiver in your throat, tears welling in your eyes again. “Why did you start thinking about it?”

He sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I thought I already told you yesterday. It’s not you, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the cliché. “I’d rather hear the truth than hear that bullshit again.”

He bites his lower lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I guess I started to think about how you and I have been together forever. Basically our whole lives. We don’t really know what’s it like to not be with each other.”

“And that’s bad?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just…college is supposed to be about experiencing new things, right? Stepping outside our comfort zone. I don’t know if we can do that if we’re together. We rely on each other so much; we’ll never be able to explore the real world.”

You continue to stare out the window, watching as you zoom past the other cars on the street. Reiner has always been a fast driver, foot heavy on the gas pedal, raring to go past the speed limit for that tiny rush of adrenaline. You, on the other hand, are safe, never willing to push the boundaries, even for a fleeting moment. Maybe this type of mentality goes beyond the steering wheel.

After a moment, he asks, “Haven’t you ever been curious?”

“Of what?”

“What it would be like to date other people?”

It’s your turn to bite your lip, contemplating the question. In all honestly, you’ve never pictured yourself with anyone else besides Reiner. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and neither were you. But when you pour your heart and soul into one person for years, it’s difficult to imagine repeating that process with someone else.

You choose your words carefully. “I never thought about it, no. But I…I guess I can see where you’re coming from.”

He doesn’t respond to that. You can’t tell from his expression if he’s relieved or concerned. Minutes pass before he speaks again.

“You’re still my best friend, Coco. I hope you know that.”

You bite down on your lip harder, hoping the subtle pain distracts you from the influx of tears gathering in your eyes. Throat dense, tongue heavy, holding your breath because if you don’t, it’ll all come to a crumble. Before you lose it, you tap on the dial of the radio, turning it to increase the volume, not caring what song is playing anymore. Anything to get rid of the strained silence at the end of those words. For some reason, it hurts more than what he said last night.

He doesn’t continue and neither do you, him studying the road, you gazing at the evanescent glimmer of the ocean as you cross the bridge. Officially leaving Marley and entering Paradis, halfway to Stohess University. It was your top choice when you first started applying for college, and it became Reiner’s, too. And when you both received your acceptance letters, you were thrilled, and so was he. So much so that he ordered matching sweatshirts from the online store, ecstatic to let all his friends and family know that the two of you were going to Stohess, together. That part of your life, although not that long ago, seems like a dream. You’re wide awake now and the gut-wrenching reality of it all is settling in.

Finally on campus, you point him in the right direction towards your new dorm. He finds parking right in the front, reversing the car and backing into the spot. Turning off the ignition, he remains still, waiting for you. Without facing him, you announce, “I’m going to check in.”

He nods, looking down at his lap. “Okay. I’ll unload the car.”

After you check-in and receive your key, you make your way back to the Reiner, who’s already taken out most of your belongings from the trunk.

“I’m on the first floor, so I can take it from here,” you tell him, grabbing one of your suitcases.

“I’ll help you. It won’t take long.”

You don’t argue, swinging another bag over your shoulder and leading him to Room 104. You unlock the door, relieved that it’s still empty. Not ready to face Annie, your roommate, just yet. Reiner helps move your heaviest items, the mini fridge and a box of clothes and shoes. When everything has been pushed into the room, you both stand around, hands on your hips, waiting for the other to speak first.

“Thanks for your help,” you start. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll help you with your stuff now,” you offer, grabbing your keys from the desk.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure there will be some brothers there to help me.” He’s moving into the frat house on Greek Row, a few minutes’ walk from the sophomore’s dorms. Last year, the two of you lived in the same building, one floor apart from each other. It seems symbolic the way you’re separated this year.

“Anyways, I should get going,” he says, running his fingers through his hair.

“Sure.” You consider stalling by asking him to help you unpack, but you decide not to.

He looks at you, sadness in his eyes. For the first time all day, you finally meet his gaze, the lump in your throat returning. Stepping towards you, arms out, he embraces you, wrapping you snug in one of his signature bear hugs. “I love you, Coco. I really do. This is just something I have to do.”

You keep your arms to your side, nestling your face into his chest, memorizing the familiar scent of his t-shirt, tears soaking through the fabric. If you return his embrace, you’re certain you won’t want to let him go.

He kisses you on top of the head, giving you one last squeeze. Then, without another word, he walks out of your room, leaving you alone.

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog

#eren jaeger #reiner braun #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x y/n #reiner x you #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader #aot fanfiction #reiner smut #aot x reader #attack on titan smut #eventual eren smut #eren smut #aot smut #give you blue #reiner braun smut #eren jaeger smut

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friendly-neighborhood-boricua · 2 months

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Parent-Teacher Conferences

Summary: James meets his favorite student's mother for the first time.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr

teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james teacher!james te—

specifically james as a kindergarten teacher

(see inspiration post)

(just kindergarten instead of preschool)

(yaknow, for the plot)

Okok lets get started :D:D:D

You’ve got a sweet baby boy of a son (I’m sorry if you don’t!! I also don’t but idk my stepmom is pregnant with a boy and I’m super excited and this mess is what came out so here you go)

And he’s five and in James’ kindergarten class

Baby boy is just the sweetest little thing

James loves him to death

He’s smart and nice and helpful and just an absolute gem

Like seriously tho James goes to the library during his lunch break to hang out with school librarian!Remus and school secretary!Sirius and just can’t shut up about how much he loves your son like James just talks about him the whole lunch period

And Remus and Sirius are like

“That’s great, James 😐"

But James doesn’t care he’s just too excited to have such a bright young boy in his class

And also (because James is nosy af) he’s super curious to see what kind of parents this kid has

So parent-teacher conferences roll around and he’s like “What kind of geniuses are raising this kid?? Let’s see em????”

And then nurse!reader rolls up to the 7:30 PM meeting, still in her hospital scrubs and profusely apologizing for being like three minutes late

And James is like

What.

Not at ALLLLLL what he was expecting

(not that he’s complaining, you’re fucking adorable and a great break from all the stuffy parents he’s had to deal with all day)

So you and him sit down and talk about your son’s work at school

And James just gushes about him to you practically the whole time

Like legit James fell for him before he even met you

Meanwhile you’re like

1) damn i didn’t know my kid’s teacher was so pretty

(Not like that’s important ofc because you have priorities and your son always comes first.)

And 2) but like can my son read?? Can he do math?? Are you teaching him science sir????

And James is like “yeah but he’s NICE and KIND and EMPATHETIC

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET FIVE YEAR OLDS TO SAY THEY’RE SORRY

“AND HE JUST DOES IT”

And you’re like

“……yeah…… bc that’s an important part of learning to be a good person … ofc I showed him how to be kind?? Like what????”

And James

(poor baby’s bar is on the floor from all the Karens who’s kids he teaches)

He’s just so enamored about how you’re just like naturally kind and caring??

And you imparted that onto your kid????

Your conference time is the last one on James’ schedule, and he absolutely irritates the fuck out of Remus and Sirius as he drives them back to their flat

Like he can’t shut up about you

And your kid

Like he just loves your son

And has a little puppy-love crush on you

Remus pretends to be annoyed and Sirius teases him

But when James drops them off they’re already planning you two’s wedding

(Remus: “You know, we haven’t actually even met her …” Sirius: “So? Have you ever seen James this smitten??? It’ll happen, love. Trust the process.”

#teacher!james potter #teacher!james potter x reader #james potter x reader #teacher!james potter x you #james potter x you #nurse!reader #james potter x nurse!reader #teacher!james potter x nurse!reader #james potter x mom!reader #mom!reader #librarian!remus #librarian!remus lupin #school librarian!remus #school librarian!remus lupin #secretary!sirius #secretary!sirius black #kindergarten teacher!james potter

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idyllcy · 8 months

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sheer curtains

word count: 2.8k

warnings: hurt/comfort, messy soulmate relationship, angst to fluff

summary: It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

Tim's no stranger to the concept of soulmates.

Fingers pressed to your skin, nose dug into the skin of your neck, Tim has known you for longer than he could imagine. Since the early mornings of waking up in the mansion to the late nights where you'd beg your mom to stay until he fell asleep, you've been a cornerstone in Tim's life for a long time — fingers laced with him under the lunch table in middle school, arms wrapped around his waist during the short time he was in high school, registering the bond together years later than supposed to, you are Tim's soulmate, through and through.

His timer only had four years compared to everyone else in the hospital he had been born in.

And true to the clock, at four and a half years old, you skipped into his life, following behind your mother as she introduced herself as the new maid. Your timer hit zero, made a beep, and promptly disappeared into your skin, only the date left behind. Tim's wrist had done the same thing from the top of the staircase when the two of you met eyes — but neither of you would say anything about it. You would remember, but you wouldn't know. The small glimmer of his blue eyes and a matching one in yours — the two of you knew, even without asking, that the two of you were soulmates.

Neither of you really knew whether it was platonic or romantic, and neither of you really cared.

The sandbox in his backyard mattered more to the two of you.

Even when you two were muddied from the water spilled into the box to build a mound of sand called proudly by the two of you to be a castle, and even when the two of you were scolded by his family for getting messy, neither of you cared. It was fun playing with one another, and that was enough for the two of you. When you're five and the only thing on your mind is figuring out how the two of you would navigate his school, that's enough.

"They could be a personal aide." Tim's mother suggests in the study. "The two of them could work together for good. Your child catches onto things fast."

Your mother is much more apprehensive about the idea, but as you steal the last cookie from Tim on the couch and he doesn't complain, she relents. If you did not want it, you could leave whenever. It was as simple as that. The two of you could split up whenever. Your parents didn't know you were soulmates — you two did. It hurt when you spent too long without each other. Neither of you knew why, but you knew to stick close.

In the sticky floors of kindergarten and the wooden blocks of preschool, you had been sent to attend the same school as Tim despite the lower class status. He had kept you close, fingers interlaced with yours, sharing his plate of snacks with you. It was hard to figure out if the two of you had been just friends or if it was a puppy crush. But it didn't matter to anyone — neither did it matter to you. You were happy to be around him.

Tim didn't find it in himself to leave you alone, even when he made new friends and met new people.

At eight years old, the two of you found out you were soulmates during science class.

"When your timer strikes zero upon meeting someone, they are your soulmate." Your teacher had smiled at you all.

You tugged on Tim's sleeve under the table, blinking slowly at him, clicking on the matching date on your wrists. Tim nodded back at you, toothy grin on his face, lips quirked up. He knew. But neither of you knew if it was platonic or romantic, and honestly, it still didn't matter to the two of you. It doesn't matter to the two of you. It felt platonic to the two of you, so there was no need to register it with city hall. It wasn't required for minors.

Even in middle school, your fingers laced with his under the table, cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart racing in your chest, neither of you cared to check whether or not you were romantic soulmates. Even when he ran his thumb over the back of your hand, even when he rested his face in the crook of your neck, even when he stared at your lips too hard while sending you to your room, the two of you had never assumed to be romantic soulmates. Even at middle school graduation, when Tim had his arms around you and cheek pressed to yours, it was never a thought.

There was never a label for your relationship — there was never a need.

Even as Tim blinks at you owlishly under the dim lighting in his Robin suit, letting you peel the mask off his face in high school, he doesn't care what kind of a soulmate the two of you are. Even when you whisper his name in the darkness of his old room, eyes wide, struck with fear, neither of you speaks about it. It's taboo — talking about something that the two of you had known for so long. It didn't matter to the two of you, even when Tim was crashed in your room, bandaged wounds and quiet cuddling, even when you're forced to leave his house, watching as he's legally adopted by Bruce Wayne, left behind in a way. It's taboo to talk about the situation.

You continue in high school for the few years that Tim goes missing in your life, the burning of the date on your skin, a reminder that your soulmate had decided to leave you after revealing one of the biggest secrets in his life. He texts you occasionally, sending you updates on where he was living, but other than that, you see him less and less. The friend group that Tim had for a short while in high school also starts breaking apart, and you find yourself stranded in a sea of students at the end of the semester. You don't know if you want to continue. Graduating early sounds like something on the table for you. You discuss about it. Tim's been changing around schools and never making time for you. It might've been a sign for you to start moving on your own, even if the two of you were soulmates.

But Tim catches you before you can leave, as he does, desperate to keep you.

You sit outside the hall during Prom, undoing your blazer, letting the cold air run on your skin, clicking on your phone while seated on the sidewalk. You've left already, but you aren't ready to drive home yet. You grimace at the thought. Your mother's picked up working for someone else, finally, yet you were left behind in the dust, an empty highway at night, wondering what you were without Tim. You had known him for as long as you could remember. It. It felt wrong to move on on your own even though he had already moved on.

"Alone?" Red Robin swings down next to you, weight resting on the streetlamp as he stares down at you.

"Oh, look who finally showed up." You mumble bitterly. "Got bored in Bludhaven?"

"You know I didn't—"

Tim stops mid-sentence when he notices the way you look at him.

Alone. You looked alone. Lonely. It looked like him when he was staring in the mirror in Bludhaven. You looked miserable, like an abandoned child in the street, like the look on Dick's face when he lost his parents at the circus. You looked like him when he had attended his parents' funeral. He grimaces as he tries to reach for you, only for you to turn away, standing up, blazer in your arm, not turning around for him.

It's taboo to talk about the situation, but you rip the curtain first.

Tim's shoulders sink when you shake.

"Tell me to go." You whisper. "Tell me to leave. You have your life, and clearly we're just platonic soulmates. The news loves showing me about how my soulmate is out with someone that has someone else, because clearly, romantic soulmates would have their hearts crushed at the sight."

The tears in your eyes run hot against your cheeks.

"Don't." Tim whispers, heart sinking in his chest at the idea of you leaving. "Don't go."

"Yet." You turn around to face him, eyes hard, chest tight, cough breaking out of your chest. Tim reaches to help, only for you to hold a hand up to him. "You have gone without me. You don't care about me, Master Drake."

It hurts. Something seems to shatter in Tim's body as you call him that. You never called him that. It was something your mother reserved for his family and him back when he had been upper class. It was something that not even Alfred called him. He runs his hand through his hair, desperate to fix this. How does he even fix it? He doesn't—

"We..." You seem to hesitate. "We can get the dates covered up. I'm sure your adoptive father has enough money for the surgery, so it's clearly—"

"No!" Tim lunges at you this time, grabbing you by the arms, heart racing in his ears, eyes watery. "We. We can't. I won't. I won't let us. I..." Tim's head hangs, his own breath caught in his throat, something threatening to rip out his voice. "I can't. I.. I can't lose you too." He chokes out. "I've lost too many. Just." He falls to his knees, kevlar clanging against the ground, grabbing your hands now, pressing your fingers to his forehead, begging you to stay.

No matter how much you had wanted to leave at first, none of it mattered. You wouldn't have left if Tim hadn't said anything. You would have had a hard time leaving if he had told you to leave anyway.

But he's not yours.

It hangs in the air when Tim offers to drive you home, and it hangs in the air when he sends you back to the apartment, lips pressed to yours in an attempt to make you stay, his own heart in a predicament. He knows what he feels. He just refuses to admit it. He couldn't admit it. You might've ripped the curtain, but you did not step through. The two of you could only see each other now. Staring dead into each other's eyes, wanting more but never making a move. Neither of you could win. There was no winning in a game with no result. There wouldn't be a winner or loser. There would simply be an outcome.

Tim never returns to high school, and you settle with graduating early, applying around to colleges. You still want to leave. Tim was not yours. Tim wouldn't be yours. He couldn't be yours. Even as the two of you are seventeen and the world seems to fall back into place, he isn't yours. You go to the town hall to check your soulmate mark, wondering if they would have an answer for you.

They tell you you need to bring in Tim, so you decide that running away was going to be a recurring theme in your bond.

At sixteen and a half, you leave Gotham for Ivy Town U. You don't tell anyone other than your mom, a scholarship in tow from your writing, money from years of your mother saving up her salary for you. You leave Gotham like a ghost, disappearing out of Tim's life one day, number changed and disappeared like the wind. He tries finding you from the street cameras — no avail. You disappear from him, his own soulmate mark burnt into his skin, some nights worse than others.

Some nights, he's stuck in his bed, gasping, curling into a ball, praying that the stinging pain on his wrist would go away. It hurt worse than all the times when he had left you alone in Gotham. It hurt more than when he had his first girlfriend. But that was what it was. Your soulmate mark was far from platonic. Tim knew it. He had an inkling of a suspicion that you did too, but he couldn't prove anything. Not when you had disappeared on him. He couldn't text you even if he tried. Your number was changed too.

It bothers him to no end, deciding the last relationship he would ever have would be with you, leaving his boyfriend for you.

There was no one in the world that Tim Drake couldn't find — but it seemed that you were dead set on proving him wrong.

You graduate, inviting your mother to your graduation, smile on your face, lips pulled up gently. She coos at you, a support in your life, never questioning why you did specific things and not others. But it didn't matter that much to you. It never mattered to you. You've avoided having people ask you who your soulmate was at the cost of covering it up, and you had changed your appearance — desperate to gain control of your life again after being Tim's for so long.

You graduate early, and for a second, you think to turn down the job offering from Wayne Enterprises.

"Go." Your mother urges you, hand on your bicep, squeezing affectionately. "You know you want to."

And you do.

You miss Tim. You miss holding his hand under the table in middle school, wrapping him up in early high school when he was still Robin, the feeling of his hand in yours in the early days of kindergarten and preschool. You miss the taste of Tim's lips from the only time he had ever crossed the line to kiss you, and you miss the feeling of your wrist at peace. Both of you had been avoiding the conversation for as long as possible.

At twenty years old in the airport in Gotham, you stare at the man sent to pick you up.

At twenty years old, Tim runs into your arms at the airport of Gotham, sobbing into your neck, all thoughts about his public image gone with the wind. He clings onto you like his life depends on it, gasping for air, you finally in his arms. He sobs quietly, his wrist no longer burning, like he had to absorb you into his body so that his heart would calm, racing in his chest as he feels you wrap your arms around him too, giving him a gentle squeeze.

It's taboo to speak about the situation, but Tim finds that a ripped curtain has nothing on him, stepping into your side of the line, desperate to have you in his arms for the rest of his days.

If it would cost his life, then so be it.

He moves his head to your chest next, pressing his ear to your heart, listening to the way your heart beat, making up for all the nights he had stayed in bed knowing you had been out doing the same thing as he. He listens to your heartbeat to make up for all the times he had cheated you, all the nights where he had crashed without explanation, your endless patience for him bleeding through your skin onto your hand, his blood staining your cells. He listens to your heartbeat to remind him of every single moment in his childhood, the two of you glued to each other, enamored with each other as much as children could be. He listens to your heart to learn what you had gone through because of him.

You let him listen, fingers tangled in his hair, lips pressed into a tight smile. You aren't uncomfortable. Despite the assumption that you would be, you aren't. You wonder what kind of reflection ended up with Tim so honest with himself, but you aren't complaining.

You two are romantic soulmates. It showed in the way Tim had clung to you as a child, it showed in the way that you had wrapped him up in your room in the dead of night, it showed in the way you both had a burning in your wrist when you had picked people that were not each other. It was not taboo to talk about the situation when both of you knew what you were, it wasn't taboo for Tim to press his lips to yours in the airport, the rest of the world lost behind him—

because the world meant nothing when it came to you.

It meant nothing when he could finally hold you in his arms, longing long gone on your side of the curtain, the sun warm on his skin, your forehead pressed on his.

It meant nothing to him if it meant he couldn't have you.

Your side of the curtain is much cozier anyway.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #dc x reader #tim x reader #LITERALLY HOW DO YOU TAG FOR TIM I GIVE UP #also if you notice the banner looking weird it's on photopea for the content aware screwing me up #does anyone know any accs that clean batfam comic panels here #☾.fics

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gumballavocadoharry · 1 month

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Kindergarten crush:

Abby came through the door, eyes glistening, rhythm in her step, hair with extra bounce and lips stick in a shimmery smile. Harry turned from the table, scanning his daughter's face up and down with his own sweet smile. "Hello bunny, how was school?"

"Wonderful! He's amazing!" An arch tore across Harry's eyebrow, "He?" Abby sat closer to her father, "Paul. Paul Haskins. He has the biggest brown eyes ever!" Abby skipped to her bedroom, leaving behind a perplexed Harry at the dining table. Yn shuttled only a few minutes in the door. "So, Paul?" Harry nodded, watching Yn setting her purse down on the couch. Harry took a deep breath, "Paul this and Paul that...what does Abby see in boys anyway?"

Yn allowed a smirk to ring through her cheeks, "Since when do you have a problem with boys?" "Abby is too young to be considering any of that stuff now," Harry waved his hand, completely disparaging the notion. Yn tilted her head a little, "Paul's a nice boy. I met his mother and she's very nice." Harry scoffed, "Well... still."

Dinner time was filled with Abby's giggles and Harry's funny stories. Slurping her spaghetti, Abby's eyes gave way to a twinkle, "Spaghetti is Paul's favorite food. His mommy makes it for him all the time." Harry's grip on his fork tightened. "He gave some to me at school the other day, along with part of his oatmeal raisin cookies."

"What about daddy's grilled cheese sandwiches with extra cheese?" Harry's eyes scanning his little daughter's for maybe even an ounce, of excitement or validation. "It's good too, though." Harry gave his puppy pout like he usually did whenever something upset him. After the dinner dishes were cleared, Harry was parked at the sink scrubbing away at his more than clean plate. "Harry," He turned slightly on his name before turning back to the sink. "Paul, Paul, Paul... that's all she ever thinks about now."

Yn rubbed his back, "She just has a little crush right now, Harry. She still loves you...." Harry dropped the sponge into the sink, "She loves Paul right now, Yn," He unplugged the sink. "Abby was crazy about me before.... Paul came around..." Harry said his name like it was dreadful gulp of saline flavored medicine. "Harry.... Abby is still crazy about you.... she's always going to need you... and Paul's not going to take that away." Harry let a smidge of reassurance creep into him, urging a smile across his face.

That night, Harry peeked into Abby's room where she was sound asleep. He snuck in- hovering over her little limp body, tucking back a stray piece of hair that slinked across face. "My little princess," He whispered to himself, "My forever little princess." Harry bent down and planted a soft kiss to her cheek before tiptoeing out of the room.

The next afternoon, Yn had left to pick Abby up from school. She walked to her classroom where she saw Abby and Paul talking and laughing with each other. They walked out to their cubbies together, before they parted ways with their respective parent. "Is he nice?" Yn asked, "Very! He said he would draw me a picture tomorrow at school!"

"That's great sweetie!" Yn lifted her 5 year into her arms. That night, Abby was so excited, that Yn thought for sure her head would explode. Harry sulked in his chair watching Abby go on and on about Paul. "Maybe we could draw a picture together too baby?" Abby shot her father a smile before turning her attention back to the TV. Harry was quiet the rest of the night. Instead, he made a silent vow to pick Abby up from school the next day, as to point Paul out from the class. But things were different.

Abby ran to Harry as usual but was unusually quiet. "Hey Abby, how was school Pumpkin? Did.... Paul make you the picture he promised?" Abby shook her head. Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "He didn't?" She fell into his arms and cried. "He likes Angie better! He drew her the picture instead!" Harry lifted Abby into his arms. "Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry to hear that!" "I thought he liked me!"

"It'll be okay Abby," Harry cooed, "Daddy likes you..." Abby wiped the tears from her cheeks, "Daddy loves you to be exact." Abby looked down at the pavement of the parking lot. "Why don't me and you go get an afternoon snack? Does Dairy Queen sound good?" A smile grew on Abby's face. "Oh yeah!"

Yn set the Tv remote down upon hearing the front door open. Crinkles of paper bags sounded loudly through the house. "I bought us dinner," Harry said, setting the bag on the kitchen island. "Oh, and Abby and Paul are no longer an item." Yn raised an eyebrow, "You're happy about that, aren't you?" He shrugged, wearing a cheeky dimply ear to ear smile. "Maybe..." He held up her ice cream sundae.

"Hungry?" Yn playfully shook her head before digging into to her frozen treat. "How's Abby doing?"

"Well, she was sad at first- Paul had drew a picture for this girl in her class, Angie, instead- but once I asked if she wanted Dairy Queen, she perked right up." He turned to see Abby eating her chicken tenders and fries while watching TV. "It all worked out for the best it seemed."

Yn let a smile crawl across her face. She had a wonderful husband who was a wonderful father too.

*Sorry if this is cringey, I'm working on A LOT right now. *

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles and yn #harry fanfic #father and daughter #harry styles fanfictions #harry one shot #harry styles imagines #harry x yn #harry ❤️ yn #harry styles blurb

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dragonflavoredcake · 9 months

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Impulse: Hey Hermit Dads, how are we feeling? Hermit Dads: *sad grumbling* Impulse, taking out a walkie-talkie: Agent Gem—send in the Pearl. [One minute later] Pearl: Impulse! Gem said you needed— Hermit Dads, swarming for a group hug: PEEEAAARL! Gem, over the walkie-talkie: Why did you need Pearl specifically? Impulse: She's the youngest on the server so she automatically activates their dad instincts. It's like watching a kindergarten class get a puppy.

#incorrect hermitcraft quotes #hermitcraft incorrect quotes #impulsesv #impulse #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #hermit dads #soup group #shiny duo

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retrodreamgirl · 2 years

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the games that play us | steve harrington x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2

summary: you're a kindergarten teacher at Hawkins Elementary and coincidentally steve harrington's little girl is a student in your class. you're very eager to meet the father of the sweetest little girl you've ever met with her floral dresses and fancy socks and learn about her weekend at the park as well as share the importance of ethics and ponder the suspicious nature of ice cream scoops in the sink [wc: 10k]

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, kids being cruel/bullying, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, single parent!steve, mentions of teen parent!steve, steve being the biggest girldad, uncle eddie (he's so stinkin cute!), dustin being a teenager, mentions of shitty parents (steve's), probably not proofed very well. lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

To be stripped of an innocence blind to the eye, bestowed within a certain uncertainty, is barely manageable with a half printed diploma and matching polos for seven days a week. Seven colors of the rainbow, walls painted pale yellow to ward the scar of ink pink staring back with each blink, ten fingers and ten toes set to cling and slowly release.

Whales like to sing. Their tune travels for miles with the ability to last up to thirty minutes. A fun fact from teens who have nothing better to do than flex quick wit in the face of panic.

Wailing hailing from the monitor for hours at a time, fingers gripping loose ends to halt the movement of limbs driven by eyes made of glass and a heart not meant to last the high pitch before the hitch of first period alarm.

Four square, two bed, one bath. Close quarters, filled to the brim of a pickle jar doubled in size, two weeks notice and an extra shift to light the night and slay beasts of bills and sharp teeth.

Overnight bags paired with the sag of skin purple and stretching pliable with each drip from a youthful fountain fixed on tears of puppy dog fears, kissed away from dough puffed cheeks.

Bare feet shuffling shag carpet, one, two, three hops to the mattress spring, tiny fistfulls tugging the grandma stitched quilt from a body starved of sleep yet carved with the fondness of day one and counting.

Top of the forehead down to the bridge, across the cheek and the tip of the lips, vague traces of tiny digits glide the skin. The peek of a pupil just high enough to spot sleep dazed inquiries and curtains of baby blue hue blocking rays of the sun's morning craze.

“Good morning, daddy.” Delicate lips ghost the skin of Steve’s forehead, altogether removed in favor of a tiny head tucked beneath his chin, pulling tossed blankets to pile on top of him. Like the work of a clock, the mechanical thing with its many cogs rather than the two dimensional screen with an alarm silenced since three, Steve hears the slip of his daughter’s fingers through the opening of her lips, past half gapped teeth responsible for his favorite toothy grin. His hand finds hers without pause, gently guiding it free to instead lift to his own lips, ignoring the glistening coat of saliva.

“Fingers, my little miracle.” He hushes, voice rasped from sleep filled tension. She burrows further, snatching her hand with soft giggles, warm breath pushing against the skin of Steve’s neck. His own ghosted smile traces his cheeks, fatigue draining from him with each shake of her tiny frame. “And what’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Despite her heavy insistence her laughter never ceases, but follows her rolling to the mattress. “I’m hungry.”

“Hi, Hungry, I’m Dad.” It was Steve’s turn to tip over the brink of hilarity. Wren’s groan served as reward enough for his timely humor to pull him from the tangling of his legs in too hot sheets.

Their morning is routine, Steve’s mini double hot on his trail in mimicry of his every move. Before he can grab their toothbrushes Wren’s hands are positioned with the twisted and gnarled mint paste, tongue poked in ready for the perfect dot to damp bristles. He shoves the sleeves of her nightie up to spare the fabric from the stream beneath the faucet.

Wren’s arm moves with precision as her pupils inhale Steve where his form lingers in one corner of the mirror, towering the little girl with patient drool hanging from her lip. Her escape is nearly swift with her last spit to the basin, but Steve’s foot claims the edge of the door pushing it back to the frame when she attempts to run from the monster string Steve coins as floss. He wraps the thin twine around his fingers, gently sliding it through her tiny teeth when she refuses the chore on her own.

While he tosses the used thread his pride and joy steps to the stool she readily abandoned previously, her gums pulled back to examine the damage inflicted. “No wonder the holes between my teeth are so big, you floss too hard!”

“My apologies, Miss Harrington, but think of all the food you can fit with the extra space.” His words are carefully considered, Wren’s tongue tracing the expanse of pearly white before she hums in satisfaction.

“Ok, but I think they’re wide enough now so you don’t have to floss me anymore.” She races from the room before being blessed with a reply, Steve’s eyes bugging when the hinge of the door nearly collides with the edge of Wren’s hastily swinging head.

The natural progression of his hand to his chest nearly always catches him off guard, still in awe of his circumstance even five years later. He no longer bothers with the ‘could have been’ and only thanks whoever lies beyond that his senses are common enough to care for a life other than his own.

Care is a statement so under-stated that anyone would laugh if he spoke the words, the girl whose humming permeates the silent space of the apartment more of his world than he believes himself to be. He wasn’t so sure the roll would befall him with such natural grace when she was placed in his arms, eyes shut and face scrunched with soft skin begging for the caress of his finger nearly the length of her head. But from that moment she was all that came to him with such naturalness that to be reminded that she’s his is enough to build the pressure of a dam within the ducts of his eyes.

Now there are traces of her sprinkled in each aspect of his life making her the largest part of the whole, from the drawings strung over every square inch of wall otherwise bare to the toys sticking from every available nook and cranny. He often finds her stuffed into the pockets of his jeans in the form of an expertly drawn portrait or half crumpled polaroid from the camera Jonathan gifted her last year for her birthday.

In other circumstances he would encounter her in the form of a mess scattered to the floor. This time caught too late when his foot lands against the unsavory stick of a bulky car to the base of his heel. He’s strained in pain and an attempt to keep his voice level, never one to yell at the minor inconveniences hoping to build a character of confident morality, “Wren.”

“...yes, daddy?”

“What did we say about putting things back where they belong?” His toes curl inward when they meet the soothing cool of the hardwood, Wren slowly tipping around the corner with her eyes focused on the object of reprimand.

“I didn’t put that there,” She reasons, albeit still picking it up between her tiny fingers.

“Oh? Are you suggesting that I put it there?”

“Well no, but...I mean it was an accident.” She deflates, fingers dancing along the rolling wheels, lip slightly poked. “I was just playing with it earlier but then I got so excited to spend the day with you and I wanted to wake you! I guess I just left it there…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just clean it up next time. Unless you wanna watch me hop around here on one foot.”

“That would be kinda funny.” Her hand lowers teasingly, the car half gliding on the floor.

“And it would be even funnier if I took it away from you,” Steve tuts, only partly joking to elicit the baby eyed pout that could bring even his statuesque stature to its knees.

Wren skips to the toy chest tucked in the far corner and places the car rather gently, peeking over her shoulder to ensure Steve catches wind of her good behavior. He only chuckles when he’s turned away, already almost to the kitchen when she catches him again.

She clutches his hand, fingers flying back to her mouth. Steve leaves her be, reaching to the topmost cabinet where the medicine is stored to retrieve her daily Flintstone vitamins. He can feel the way her hand retracts from his own, can see the cute way her nose scrunches when he makes her do something she doesn’t like. He tries to soften the blow, fishing for a purple Pebbles shaped chew.

“Daddy, I don’t want that.” Wren has already meandered to the fridge, the strength of both her small hands needed to swing the door on its hinges. “It tastes nasty and I think you were wrong, s’not gonna make me smart like Pebbles.”

He drops the shape as soon as he finds it, grabbing the next one that he sees. “Hmm…why don’t we try this one? It’ll make you as rambunctious as Bamm-Bamm!”

“Ram…bunkchus?” She chews the word for a moment, dazedly staring where she hangs from the fridge on her heels. Steve catches himself in his own fondness, smiling at the way her lips mold around the word, the way she silently mouthed it to herself before giving it a try.

A second feeling stabs at his chest, the fear of her head meeting the sharp cabinet should she let go too soon and fall backwards. He’s scooping her into his arms and onto the counter to steady the race of his own heart, holding the green vitamin out to her.

“Rambunctious, it means you’re full of energy. Like you when I take you to play at the park. Which I was thinking of doing today but you look kinda sleepy.” He baits her, thumbs swiping under the lid of her eye like he’s wiping the drowsiness from her skin. She’s smart and he knows that she doesn’t believe him, that she’ll play him like a fiddle.

Her tiny fingers reach up to trace beneath his own eye, face screwing with concentration. “Daddy, I think you should take one too. If you fall asleep at the park someone might take me.”

“You make a good point, but these are for kids.” These are gross and I know it.

“Uncle Eddie says you’re basically a kid.”

“Oh yeah? What else does Uncle Eddie say?” Instead of a response she lifts her hands to her head like horns and pokes her tongue out in a silly face the same way Eddie does when he’s making a point to stake his claim to Hawkins High fame. Steve can’t help his stifled laughter though he decides that maybe he shouldn’t leave her with him so often. “Well, daddy says that his favorite girl should be good and take her vitamins so he can make her breakfast.”

“Waffles?”

“It’s up to you and Bamm-Bamm.” She’s not happy, but Wren parts her lips, eyes scrunched closed as if seeing the small chewable land on her tongue will make it more real. Steve drops it into her mouth, already moving to the cabinet for her sippy cup to fill it with juice and wash the icky taste from her mouth.

The remainder of the morning goes without a hitch, breakfast a little more mess than Steve would have liked when Wren’s arm slips against her plastic butterfly plate and it flips forward covering her with maple syrup. She begins to cry and Steve swoops in to soothe her sorrows before they begin ringing down the hall. He decides a wet wipe will have to do until bath time later this evening and Wren is just fine with that as long as he hurries.

Crisis averted, Steve finds himself standing, hands on his hips, before his daughter’s closet. Wren is having a spritely conversation at the tea table near the window, her various teddy bears participating with rapt attention. Her eyes are puffy from the tears, but she’s otherwise recovered from the earlier mishap, once again excited for her day at the park.

In her lap sits her favorite plushie, a fluffy tan rabbit with a pink nose the same as the inside of its ears and a bow tied around its neck to match. It’s the first thing Steve bought after he found out the news, unsure what he could possibly do as we walked aimlessly through town, spotting the sweet gift through the window of a shop.

Wren’s voice falls to a suspicious mumble as Steve cards through sweaters and cardigans. He glances over his shoulder to find her hunched over, whispering into Floppy’s ear. Floppy is the name she insists she’s been calling the rabbit since she was little though it sounded more like Poppy in Steve’s opinion. Thus Floppy Poppy Harrington came to be scribbled in the cutest handwriting Steve has ever seen on a makeshift birth certificate Wren made him tack on the fridge.

“Fine, I’ll ask but he might say no.” She finally grumbles, like the poor rabbit is forcing her hand, Steve turning his back before she can catch him staring. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, lovebug?”

"Floppy thinks I should wear a dress today, the yellow one with the blue flowers. Can I?” He pulls the dress in question, the blue flower stitching dancing along the front. He considers the option, looking through the half opened curtains at the way the leaves flutter from the trees, swept with wind as crisp as the apples itching to be plucked from the gnarled branches.

Luckily the dress has sleeves that cup at the wrists, enough to keep her warm even if he loses the fight of tucking her into a seasonal windbreaker. He sizes up the hem, noting it’ll cut off at the caps of her knees. He roots through the adjacent dresser, searching for a pair of leggings that would look nice with the ensemble, mostly settling on dark brown because they’re thicker than the rest.

“Yellow dress it is.” He holds the outfit up for her approval, the silent way she replaces Floppy in her seat and sidles over slowly nodding is acceptance enough for Steve. It’s the opposite that has him capturing his lower lip between his teeth these days. The way she’ll just stare at him devoid of any response when she doesn’t agree with what he’s saying to her.

He helps her into her fall fashion, no arguments when she pulls her pretty brown boots from the closet while he procures a pair of wool socks that won’t have her toes freezing on the playset. He almost forgets he has to dress himself until she’s pushing him out of her room and toward his own with an insistence that he hurry.

She closes the door and he can hear her feet scurrying down the short hall, probably to plop herself in front of the tv in hopes of catching the end of the morning cartoon slate.

Steve takes a moment, a deep breath that seems to elude him most times. It’s the guilt of needing these moments away from his favorite person that makes them few and far between, even ten minutes spent getting ready often filled with thoughts of what she’s doing while she waits, if he’s taking too long. The woes of parenthood as Robin calls it. Funny to Steve seeing as she doesn’t have any children, but she’s certainly not wrong.

He’s spritzing cologne over the burgundy crew neck he threw on when he hears the patter of Wren’s feet stopping at the edge of the hall.

“Daddy, there’s someone at the door! Don’t worry, I’ll get it!”

“Wren Elizabeth Harrington, don’t you touch that door!” The fragrance barely lands back on his dresser, his legs striding through his bedroom door and to the living room where he finds Wren stock still just in before the front door with a wide smile talking to whoever’s on the other side.

“Come on, Wrennie, let your favorite uncle in. He brought you some yummy donuts!” Dustin entices her, muffled by the thick wooden barrier.

“What flavor?” She inquires, arms folding over her chest.

“Chocolate!” Wrong answer.

“I’m sorry, daddy says I can't open the door.” She spins on her heel, jumping at the sight of Steve just feet away. “It’s Uncle Dusty, he brought you donuts.”

She skips back to the tv. Tiny Toon Adventures is the newest thing catching her attention these days. Steve opens the door, a half eaten donut in Dustin’s hand only topped by the look of absolute shock coating his features.

“She wouldn’t let me in.”

“You don’t even have donuts. Good girl,” Steve trails him into the living room where Wren has already forgotten anyone was at the door. He gently tugs her fingers from her mouth once more, settling beside Dustin who’s picking at his donut with disinterest. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I would drop in on my favorite people, clearly that was a mistake!”

“Daddy and I are going to the park. You can play with me on the monkey bars.” Wren hums like it’s a privilege while her large eyes continue following the pink bunny across the screen, making sure Floppy’s ears are up and paying attention.

“Last time I checked you can’t even climb the monkey bars.” Dustin teases her, her head whipping over to regard him with a tense stare. It’s her newest assault, no argument to be had lately, just large pupils of harsh disparity to set on edge whoever lay on the receiving end. Steve’s been there a few times, more willing to compromise than let her cold eyes shift to puddles with her lip quivering between her teeth. “Come on, Wrennie, I’m just kidding.”

“Dude, why are you being mean to my kid?” Steve snags the remote from the edge of the coffee table, watching the end of the show fade to black and flicking the power button. He strolls to where he keeps the jackets, neatly filed in the hall closet, and pulls a pretty blue one and his own gray windbreaker. “Come put your coat on, Wren.”

She skips over, sliding her arms through the sleeves singing the Muppet Babies theme song beneath her breath. The last time Steve tried to turn the show on for her she made a big stink, claiming to be much too old for such childish things. He thinks it’s a side effect of her new class, her first day of kindergarten sending her home with the biggest frown he’s ever seen. It was that weekend that she absolutely refused to dance around the living room with Steve to the song, his horrible Kermit impression doing little to turn the pout nestled on her chubby cheeks.

He tried to coax an explanation from her. He set her up with an array of new crayola crayons, she’d been tirelessly begging him for the sixty-four pack as she was enamored with the idea of a sharpener right in the box, and printer paper at the dining table to occupy her while he made dinner. She wouldn’t budge. Now her nose turns up when the characters flash on the television, but he has a feeling it has nothing to do with the animated puppets and they only serve as an unnecessary casualty to the real issue.

“Whatcha singin’, bug?” He helps her zip before snugging her beanie over her lengthy mane, the ends curling around her shoulders.

“Nothin’.” She chirps, running to the mirror nestled above the table beside the front door. She jumps up and down a few times, trying to catch sight of herself in the round frame to no avail. She huffs but doesn’t relent, climbing the sturdy top to rest on her knees. “Daddy, don’t you think I look pretty today? Floppy was right, the yellow dress is perfect!”

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He agrees, spinning his keys around his finger. “You coming, Henderson?”

“Yeah yeah.”

~*~

Hawkins is somehow exactly what you expected and the exact opposite.

You think it’s the people. The way half of them seem to fit the mold of the whole small town gimmick with their bright smiles and welcome pies while the other half are unapologetically riding the jagged edge of social acceptance. It’s like there’s something lingering just beneath your nose and you had to be there to see it but you’re a lifetime too late.

It’s nice enough without being too overwhelming. Your optimism outweighs the unsavory sounds rattling in the bushes outside of your aunt's one story because any job is a good one for a first time teacher.

It was daunting, walking through the shops and plucking motivational posters and alphabet magnets, wondering what kinds of kids Hawkins has to offer and hoping they’re better than Mrs. Wick’s third grade English class back in Illinois. You spent countless hours sorting markers and glue sticks and making lesson plans for a bunch of kindergarteners like their opinions are the ones that will make or break your career.

Not entirely untrue, but dramatic even for your taste and no more of a confidence booster.

Further, the flickering emergency lights of Hawkins Elementary were less than welcoming when the janitor shoved his custodial cart against the back entrance so you could get in a few days early to set up.

Luckily, your classroom was much more receptive to your eccentric tastes and the room was covered in bright fluorescence rather than the sickly yellow coating the dimly lit hallways. It was with a cautious air that you decided the space was just cute enough to teach a gaggle of five year old's the basics of civility.

Now you lay dormant against the shag carpet of your aunt’s living room, fishing through a bag of goldfish and wondering what the hell is wrong with Jamie Fisher.

Your first week ended approximately twenty two hours ago and you were immediately taken with the students. All were wide eyed and curious because you were certainly not Mrs. Cotsdale, the nice old woman they were introduced to at the end of last year. But as kids do, they adjusted rather quickly, taking a liking to the way you allowed them to pick their seats and the quirky way you introduced yourself.

All but Jamie Fisher who dared not wait until snack time to make it clear that he was certainly not pleased with the arrangements at hand.

While you’re certain his mean streak is nothing personal, you’re forced to gently admonish him as it stands, too skittish to approach his parents a mere week into the quarter. He’s mostly harmless, no hands thrown or words spoken with such severity that any student’s complaints have driven you to a harsher punishment than timeout.

Still, as you sit and pick at the tiny thread fraying at the hem of your top you can’t think of a single reason for his outright rebellion against you specifically.

A home problem is too forward. You’ve known the kid for a mere seven days and aside from his affinity for his Chuck Taylors and the over eager way his mother passed you a tin of cookies on the first day you know nothing about him.

He all but refuses to participate in circle time and the one time you put him in timeout for his lack of participation he deemed you unfair and, his words not yours, the worst teacher to ever step foot in Hawkins.

So how better to celebrate the end of your first week than with an oversized bag of crackers, midway through a screening of The Breakfast Club playing on the television whilst you ponder your befittance as a teacher based on the reactionary contention of a five year old?

“Honey, you can’t lay on the floor all weekend. My bridge club is coming at three.”

“I like bridge.” You mutter, stuffing a half bitten fish through your teeth. Your toes dance between the strings of the rug, contemplating your next move when your aunt makes clear that you are certainly not invited to watch her weekly skirmish with the other middle aged women within walking distance.

You recall one of the teachers mentioning a park not far and it seems as good a plan as any.

You stumble upon the realization as Bender is clapping into his famed monologue, Clair’s hand swiping at the softness of her lips. It’s one you could recite without the prying eyes of misfit teens and certainly without your aunt silently chiding you for flattening her floor.

You manage to scrounge up the crumbs that always seem to materialize when eating something as rudimentary as goldfish and shove your feet into your sneakers, snagging a jacket for good measure.

“I’ll be back later!”

“Take your time. Oh! But do you mind if I serve these cookies to the girls? They’re not very good but good enough to feed those gossips.”

~*~

The day is young and the park is packed, kids of all ages running back and forth, screaming at the top of their lungs. A little boy pushing himself on the swings with the help of his mother.

At first Steve thinks it's his hand that tightens around his daughters, the pressure not quite holding her there but enough to keep them linked together where he allows Dustin to lead them to a picnic table being vacated by another family. It's when they reach the table, his free hand dropping the small bag he’d packed to the tabletop, that he realizes Wren hasn’t taken a running start to the playset.

“Go on and play, bug, we’ll be right here watching.” He gently nudges her backside, the weight of her tiny frame leaning into his palm rather than taking the momentum and blasting off with it. She’s dancing in place, little circles she twirls with her feet, hands catching at the fluttering hem of her dress like the princess Steve and everyone else believes her to be.

“Wanna stay here for a while, with you!” She sings like it’s the most logical next step. Steve doesn’t miss the way her eyes slide to the swings drifting in the slight breeze before she reaches for her bag to pull her sippy cup from the side pocket and settle in the grass.

“I thought you wanted to play on the monkey bars?” Dustin attempts, used to her outrunning them all with her bubbly laughter trailing in her wake. It’s an oddity to the pair of them, Steve’s brows scrunching with a minute concern before he’s lowering himself from the bench to sit with his daughter.

“Maybe later.” She shrugs, eyes following the masses of children running and screaming without any sense of civility amongst them. The enthusiasm she’d awoken him with has dwindled, her lips pulled into a pout where she sits pawing at her cup.

“Are you okay, bug? You were so excited about the park this morning.” He adjusts a stray hair beneath her hat, looking for any sign that she’d become suddenly unwell on the drive over.

“M’fine, I just wanna wait a little while to play.” She sounds solemn but doesn’t say more, pulling herself from the ground to climb the bench beside Dustin. Steve picks absently at the grass, ripping the blades between his fingers with an unfamiliar agitation.

He hasn’t felt so unawares when it came to his own child since she was no more than an infant and he found out he would be caring for her all on his own. She’s always been forthcoming, as talkative as any little kid discovering the world piece by piece with her heart on her sleeve.

She loved to tell him all about her day: the things she did, the things she'd been waiting to do until she got home. Until suddenly one word answers were all she could seem to muster, trying to hide behind the sweet smile on her face.

Things haven’t been altogether different but he’s not been foolish enough to ignore the way her eyes have dimmed just slightly and she’s less eager when it comes to the things she used to love. It’s been hard not to self reflect, Steve invariably questioning his adequacy as a father.

He’s always thought it would be just as easy for him to fall into the same patterns as his own parents, his own father. Constantly taking care to make you feel as loved as possible, to create the kind of bond he always craved. It’s times like now that he thinks he must’ve done something wrong.

“I’m gonna go play, daddy!” He would’ve missed the sudden change were it not for her cup tipping over the edge of the table to tumble into his lap. He watches her scamper to a little girl that looks to be her age, the two catching on quick and ducking into the primary colored playset. The tension in his shoulders hardly diminishes.

“That was weird, right?” Steve needs the affirmation that he’s not overreacting. He flops his chestnut hair to one side, peeking at Dustin through the crest of his arm. He feels nearly foolish looking up at the teen, still perched in the grass like he’s the child here.

“What?”

“Wren, the way she was acting.” Dustin glances where they can see you swerving through a series of metal rings fashioned in red, Steve’s eyes unable to look away until you’ve made it safely without a scratch. “She’s been…different lately.”

“It’s called getting older. You should know it made you lame as hell.”

“You’re such a little shit. Can you be serious for like two seconds? Dude, she won’t even watch Muppet Babies with me anymore.” If he were less distraught the sentence would’ve sent Dustin rolling on the ground, but the way Steve’s soft hazel eyes seemed to double around the pupil had him thinking better of it.

“Maybe she’s just finding new interests. She’s not a baby anymore, Steve, you’re bound to drift apart eventually.”

“Shut up, Henderson.”

The thought of his little bundle of joy growing past the peak of his kneecap, no need for him to haul her around in his arms anymore is a thought far too detrimental. He ponders as much with eyes trained on the toes of his sneakers, the feeling of the slightly wet grass seeping into his denim jeans.

Wren’s not much bigger than she was last year and still the size is insurmountable in his eyes, his precious lovebug growing too fast. He’s teased countless times that he’d lock her in a pretty little jar so he can keep her this small forever, though the sentiment rings entirely true. He can’t stomach the thought of Wren going to first grade next year, let alone far enough to be walking the same halls where he was deemed ‘King Steve’ by love drunk teenagers at Hawkins High.

His eventual migration to the picnic table guides him into a conversation about the latest D&D campaign. Not that he knows much about the complicated roleplay but it gives him a sense of peace sitting with the one kid who made him feel wanted even after everyone else deemed him a colossal blunder his senior year.

It was Dustin and his own band of misfits that helped Steve realize there were more important things than popularity and the one that got away. Made him comfortable with the prospect of being a father.

“You call that girl from Family Video yet?” Dustin eases in, poking through Wren’s bag to pull a pack of fruit snacks. Steve glances toward the playset, silently urging his daughter to come running over with some story about the fantastical happenings of the last thirty minutes.

“No, just doesn’t feel right.” A true statement, assessment of his life thus far always drawing him away from the pursuit of romance.

“It’s just a date, not like she’s asking you to get married.” Dustin gets it, they all do, but it feels in poor taste to see his best friend settling into a life of two with the knowledge that one day it’s not just gonna be cartoons Wren isn’t sharing with Steve. He’s not forcing him into forever, but attempting to lure him toward the possibility of trying. “Give her the old drive-in special, girls used to love that. I mean, there was that time you almost got your ass kicked because one of them had a boyfriend but—”

“God, you’re such a teenager.” Steve scoffs, snatching the pack of snacks from his hand to steal the last of them. He won’t say it’s the fear of what Wren will think that’s stopping him, not a non factor but not his biggest concern, but he doesn’t want to dip her into a pool of false hope only to be sent drowning by a false floaty.

He’s built a house. One that’s safe and familiar, filled with the people who’ve proven to be all or nothing. Wren’s aunts and uncles collectively play similar roles in the confidence of her upbringing and Steve isn’t willing to jeopardize the strength of his four walls with an audible.

“A teenager with a girlfriend.” Dustin corrects, goofy grin at the mere mention of his precious Suzie.

“Please don’t start singing.”

“Whatever dude, all I’m saying is—” Steve has no idea what he was saying because ear splitting is the only thing to describe the high pitch ripping into his hollowed canals, pressing like lead against the drums of his ears. Even worse, the sound is as familiar as his own voice to him.

Adrenaline courses through him, dodging between the island of eyes kids and parents alike that stopped to find the wail of anguish. The park is suddenly miles long, and Steve can’t find Wren fast enough. His brain is already flooded with every sickening possibility when he rounds the corner of the playset to find her covered in mulch beside the firepole.

Her cheeks are rosy and she’s still crying, albeit too choked up to keep pace with the octave that drew everyone’s attention. Steve’s eyes do an initial scan, quick to catch onto the redness the length of her forehead though concentrated mostly on the right side beneath her hairline.

Her hands are scratched beneath the dirt caked from the damp mulch and he doesn’t draw her attention but notices the beginnings of dark red seeping through the knee of her leggings. He can guess she fell the distance from the top of the playset, not overwhelming but still a hefty drop for someone her size.

He kneels before her, her body naturally flooding forward to cling to his dear life.

“It’s okay, did you fall, sweet girl?” He pulls away just enough to cup her cheeks, turning her head with enough ease not to jostle her but still get a good look at the harsh redness of her skin. It’s already beginning to swell to a healthy bump and he makes a note to call the doctor just to make sure he doesn’t need to bring her in.

“Pu-pushed!” She manages, burying her head into his sweater to flood more tears than she knows what to do with. Steve glances around then, most of the children either gone back to play or huddled with their parents with large fearful eyes. There’s no one within distance for him to point an accusatory finger and Wren’s in no state to give him a clear answer.

“Okay, let’s go home and we’ll get you cleaned up. We can have a bath and watch a movie, any one you want.” He thinks he hears an ‘okay’ beneath the heaviness of her breathing mixing with the wetness of snot dripping from her nose. He pulls her into his arms and finds Dustin already with Wren’s bag and a solemn expression.

The woes of parenting.

~*~

The weather is chillier than you expected of early fall, a light breeze licking at the browning trees and slipping beneath your loose jacket. The park is only a few blocks but somehow word of mouth has spread that you’re new in town and your aunt is suddenly of small town fame amongst the masses of Hawkin’s lower class suburbia. So, everyone who could’ve stopped you on the way made sure to do just that and suddenly you have a bread baking date with a Ms.Henderson next Friday.

By the time you do make it things seem to be in the midst of dying down. Families slowly making their way out of the park save for the select few who seem to be enjoying the newly deserted playground. You don’t question much, the late afternoon hour seeming a perfectly reasonable time to pack up and head home to ready for supper.

“Miss. Y/l/n, fancy meeting you here!” Mrs. Fisher appears before you, purse slung over her shoulder and an unbothered Jamie clinging to her hand. It’s perhaps the most agreeable you’ve seen him in these short few days, a sucker jammed in his fist, dripping with a fresh coating of saliva.

“Mrs.Fisher, it’s lovely to see you! Hey, Jamie!” It hurts, the way your muscles retract into that faux business smile. The one you always swore you’d never need to use but in this instance it appears without your consent. Jamie mutters a greeting, though his eyes are trained on anything but you, as opposed to his mother who can’t seem to find any concentration aside from your pupils.

“It’s so nice to see you! Are you meeting up with some friends?”

“Oh…no just a walk. It seemed like a nice day.”

“Oh, that’s alright, honey, it’ll take some time for everyone to get used to you but I’m sure you’ll be making friends in no time.” She says it with a hint of accusation, like you aren’t trying hard enough, like you asked for her opinion.

“Are you guys heading home?” You alter the course of conversation, uncomfortable with such scrutiny from the pair. Jamie shifts on his feet, shoving his sucker into the flesh of his cheek and tugging his hand free to chase down a stray stick meant for wielding.

“Oh yeah. Some sweet little girl fell off the playset, says someone pushed her. Poor thing.”

“Oh no, is she okay? Do you know who did it?”

“She seemed fine enough, no hospital visits!” Mrs.Fisher laughed, like hospital visits are something she’s become achingly accustomed to but schools her face rather quickly to continue with her little anecdote. “No one admitted to pushing her so it just seems safer to head home for the day. I just don’t know how kids can be so cruel.”

You’re not in control of the way your eyes drift to Jamie poking at the trunk of a tree, but you’re also not sure Mrs.Fisher catches your drift. The way your eyes zero in begging her to understand that her own kid has the ability to brandish such cruelty with the same nonchalance as the makeshift sword dancing in his grip.

“Yeah, kids can definitely be complicated people.”

~*~

Wren is in good spirits by the time her bath is through. The heaviness nestled against her head still worries Steve but a few Bugs Bunny bandages are enough to soothe the damage of the scrapes and bruises beneath her clothing.

Dustin stayed for around an hour afterward, to make sure Wren was okay and Steve’s head was on straight, no longer a panicked parent with no clue which way was up. The thought of earlier events still sets his pulse on high, even as he stares at the soft smile Wren regards the tv with, the Lollipop Guild tickling her pink.

She’s cuddled beneath her favorite blanket, a surprise gift from his mother when he moved out. It’s ironic, the way the stitching creates the illusion of reaching for the stars over its expanse of deep blue. He thinks it’s the most sentimental thing his parents ever gifted him. Not that his father had anything to do with it.

Floppy is perched beneath the crook of her arm and a cup of warm milk hangs between her fingers. She’s holding it with one hand, the other stuffed into her mouth at the tips but he doesn’t have the heart to tear the small comfort from between her teeth.

He’s been attempting to fold laundry, sorting it into piles to ease the task of putting the clothes away later. It works for a while as a way to settle the discourse in his gut, but suddenly whites and colors are all the same and it doesn’t make any sense to keep going. He tries to think of the next thing, the next task to make him feel useful, a trick to convince himself he’s not still floundering every waking moment.

It’s nearly six and Wren hasn’t had dinner yet.

Steve tosses the rest of the laundry back into the basket, cringing at the thought of the wrinkles he’ll have to iron out later, and stalks to the kitchen after making sure Wren’s content enough not to trail after him or get up to something while he’s gone. It’s not much of a distance, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s rounded the corner to find she’s found something he’d rather she didn’t play with while he’s away.

The cabinets are mostly empty as it were. He’s waiting until Monday to go shopping while Wren’s at school so there’s nothing left but waffle mix, oatmeal, and a box of kraft. He’s learned that if he doesn’t ask Wren what she wants for dinner she’ll pretty much eat whatever he cooks as long as it’s something he knows she likes.

Hopefully of all the changes she seems to be going through this one thing remains constant for the moment at least.

He snatches the mac n cheese and sets the water to boil before rooting around the fridge for something that will suffice as a side or a topping. It feels cheap when he pulls the hot dogs from the bottom drawer but he’s learned he doesn’t have room to be picky, a refusal to accept his mother’s charity, save for emergencies, leaving him with a measly check and a tight budget.

“Daddy.” He glances past the refrigerator door, Wren’s edging around the frame with bruised knees and a curious smile. “What are you making?”

He can tell she doesn’t really care by the way her body tips past the threshold, tugging at the tea towel hanging from the oven. He’s just not sure why she would abandon Dorothy in favor of standing aimlessly in the kitchen.

“Stay away from the oven please, bug. I’m cooking dinner and I don’t want you to get hurt.” More hurt. “Why aren’t you watching your movie?”

“I missed you.” She’s being cute, bare feet pushing to tipped toes when her arms open in a sweeping gesture. Steve is putty in her hands. He hoists her up, planting a wet kiss against her cheek and pushing his nose against her soft skin. “Daddy!”

“Wrennie!” He mirrors in tone, spinning her in his arms much to her unbridled amusement. Her laughter is like music and his feet catch onto the rhythm quite quickly in the small space of the kitchen. Her legs wrap around him to stop from swinging wildly against his front, her arms caged between their chests where she clutches at his t-shirt.

“Put me down!”

“I will…for a kiss.” He reasons, touched with warmth when her hands cradle his cheeks and press the sweetest kiss against his lips.

When he settles her back on her feet she’s still swaying with amusement, her shirt having ridden up her tummy just a tad. He reaches to pull it down, noting the steam rising from his water on the stove. Wren watches him with an adolescent awe, tearing the box of noodles and dumping it into the small pot. Steve grabs the abandoned pack of hot dogs and waves it in her direction.

“You want ‘em in the mac?” She ponders, stroking her chin like it’s the hardest decision she’s made in her five years.

“On the side…with ketchup!” She has a bit of a lisp, the middle of the word sounds more like a ‘sh’ when she says it. He’s in no position to argue, ripping the package to begin slicing the meat into tinier pieces so she can fork them.

He learned very early on that she absolutely despises having to eat with her fingers. It was around two, the same time that she made known her discomfort with a mess at the dinner table, always picking at the crumbs that fell from her fork until Steve swiped them away with a napkin.

“Go wash your hands please, bug.” She skips away and Steve takes the opportunity to quickly finish the mac and avoid working his way around a hungry kid with a hot pot. He plates a healthy portion to her plate and squirts the ketchup next to the pile of hot dogs, extremely careful not to let the dishes mix. He’s managed to sneak into the living room and pause the movie as well as fetch her cup and refill it by the time Wren is climbing into her seat.

“Thank you, daddy!” She has the good grace to manage the words, her fork already halfway to her mouth and dripping with ketchup. It’s only then that Steve realizes how hungry he is, eating what’s left of the mac n cheese straight from the pot. “Hey, how come I can’t do that?”

“You’re not tall enough.” Steve shrugs, always easy going when it comes to his dimwitted explanations. He’s sure it’ll come back around sooner or later, either when she is tall enough or when Nancy chides him for telling her something so ridiculous. “Have to be able to reach those cabinets way up there without any help first.”

“I hate that!”

“Don’t say hate.”

“I’m sorry, I just think it’s really dumb and not fair at all.” She amends, shoving a fork full of noodles into her cheeks.

“Well I guess someone should get a lot more excited about her vitamins.”

~*~

“Little bird!” You glance toward the door from where you’re busy stacking leftover construction paper, confused until you see Wren Harrington sprinting with her backpack bouncing loftily behind her. It’s a wonder it doesn’t send her tumbling over the way it rivals her weight.

She throws herself into the arms of the man whose presence looms in the doorway, bent at the knees with open arms. He lifts her to his height and places a kiss on her cheek before wrangling her to his shoulders with an amusing series of theatrics.

You always seem to miss the moments Wren is picked up, too preoccupied with other children leaving you to catch the tail end of her pastel pink backpack exiting the room. This time you hail her captor down, eager to meet the father of one of the sweetest little girls you’ve ever met.

“Mr.Harrington!” It takes another flag to stop him in his tracks, like he didn’t think you were talking to him at all. Up close he’s not what you expected, certainly not paired with Wren and her pretty dresses and fanciful socks poking out of her shoes to swallow her ankles. No, he’s the opposite of what you expected, riding that jagged edge.

His jeans are torn and kissing the tops of his white converse, barely white beneath the dust coating the fabric. He’s wearing a Metallica t-shirt that’s certainly seen better days and his arms are wrapped in worn leather but if you’re not mistaken the crest of a tattoo peeks from his collar in jet black.

His hair is another story entirely, long and frizzy, curled at his scalp and springing just past his shoulders.

Despite his rough exterior you wouldn’t deny that he is pretty. Big brown eyes and a killer smile, he’s definitely pretty. And he definitely carries a hint of weed beneath the thick layer of coriander and pine you assume he spritzed on in the parking lot.

Wren giggles and you realize you’ve just been staring, though abashed as you are, burning from the inside out, you step forward with an extension of your hand.

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, Mr.Harrington.” He looks at your hand then at you, brow arching in absurdity as he takes half a step forward and accepts the gesture in kind. Wren is playing in his hair all the while, pulling up various strands and tugging lightly when her human doll seems to have forgotten his speech.

“Call me, Eddie, I insist.” His hands slip past the stitching of his pockets, befitting the role of the perfect parent, very attentive in the awareness of his child’s education. It looks unnatural on his person and Wren doesn’t seem to disagree, her laughter bubbling over.

“Well, Eddie, I just wanted to let you know that your daughter is a delight to have in the classroom. Always very attentive and willing to participate. She’s very smart.” And you mean every word, easily getting to know the little girl who could go on and on about how much she loves her family and especially her dad. Her excitement appears more standoffish lately, but you imagine it’s just a natural way of settling into the school year.

“Is that right, little bird? You’re a smarty pants?” His tone is light with a hint of disbelief. Wren ducks her head over his own, angling toward him sporting a toothy grin.

“The smartest pants in town!” She exclaims, pushing at Eddie’s bangs to clear his line of sight enough to see her without obstruction. It’s then, while they’re in their own little world, that you catch sight of the adhesive clinging to her knee where her dress rides up, the day warm enough to forgo the extra bottoms.

“Hey, what happened there?” You inquire, poking at the carrot protruding from Bug’s mouth as gently as possible. Wren is sheepish to respond, looking around the room conspiratorially before leaning toward you.

“I fell on the playground.”

“Oh no!”

“It’s okay, my daddy helped me feel better.” She mumbles, reaching to pick at the edge of the bandage but thinking better of it. “My head was hurt too, but s’not so bad now. Just a bump.”

“Well thank goodness for your daddy, huh?” You shoot Eddie a smile, one he returns with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You gotta be more careful, don’t want you getting hurt again. I need my favorite student around to keep me company.”

“I was being careful but then Ja—I wasn’t paying attention I guess.” You ignore her little slip but not without committing it to memory. “I’m your favorite student?”

“Don’t tell anyone, it’s our little secret.” You kiss your pointer, and hold your pinky toward the girl eyeing you like you’ve just told her something astronomical.

“Our secret.”

“Picking favorites, teach? Doesn’t sound very ethical, might have to call a meeting with the PTA, I’m up for president I’ll have you know.” You can tell he’s joking and something about it catches you off guard, only used to most of the parents being altogether uninterested or much too invested in being passive aggressive with you.

“Ethical?” Wren whispers to herself but loud enough for you and Eddie to catch. “What’s ethical?”

“It means you do the right thing and you know the difference between the right thing and the wrong thing.” You make it as clear as possible without adding any sense of confusion. Wren’s head tilts at an angle, her lip tugging between her teeth.

“Ease up, birdie.” Eddie winces where Wren’s small fists tug at his scalp in time with whatever thoughts she’s having.

“So it’s like when my daddy tells me that I can’t have ice cream after dinner but the next morning when I come in the kitchen I know he had ice cream after I went to sleep because I see the scoop in the sink?”

“Well!” Eddie starts, hands fastening at Wren’s calves. “Now that we’ve got that all straightened out, I‘ve gotta get you home.”

“It was really nice to meet you M-Eddie.”

“Oh trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

“ A pro-tip, it’s always better to clean up the night before. They’re always more observant than you think. See you tomorrow, Wren!”

“Bye!” She sings, wrapping herself around Eddie’s head when he ducks beneath the door. Something draws you to the threshold, watching the two of them make their way animatedly toward the exit. Curiosity strikes you in the excitement that paints them for more chaotic than a father daughter duo.

~*~

“How’s the kindergarten life treating you?” It’s a routine, these Monday shopping trips. It’s the only time Steve can focus enough to get the bulk of his list without Wren getting either bored or highly amused by everything on the shelves. She’s a great shopping companion but when they get home and Steve realizes he’s grabbed two packs of oreos instead of green beans it’s glaringly apparent she’s done well distracting him.

So he’s taken to braving the monotonous task every Monday when she’s gone off to school, lamely pushing the cart down the aisle with his list in one hand, debating which tv dinner is cheaper, but also which one Wren will eat without much fuss.

Currently he’s taking a breather at the general store, picking up band-aids after using the last of them over the weekend. Joyce is on shift and she always makes sure to check in on him, make sure he and Wren are doing okay. It fills him with a warmth he’s unaccustomed to, creating a comfortable atmosphere for him to let loose the weight he’s been carrying in his shoulders down to his chest.

“Uh…I think Wren really likes it.” He shrugs, tossing colorful band-aids onto the counter, plucking candy from the impulse buy section for after dinner. Wren loves Cow Tales so he makes sure to grab two because she has a doctor’s appointment later in the week and it’s never easy on either of them, and a Hershey bar for himself.

“That’s good. But what about you? I know it’s probably a lot different than last year.”

“A lot different. I can’t decide if it’s good or bad yet. I guess I’m still adjusting to the whole thing.” He wonders if Joyce will send him off with the same lens as Dustin if he shares his concerns about Wren’s behavior and quickly decides a mother of three children has a lot more experience than a teenager with none. “Wren’s been acting a little different recently and I can’t tell if I should be worried or not.”

“Different how?” Steve could cry when Joyce leans against the counter, finding his eye with her own. She’s listening.

It’s a small thing, but one that Steve has always clung to with an absolute absurdity. It’s not often that he finds people so invested in what he has to say, not anyone of age at least. He’s accustomed to being tuned out or made to feel like that shallow kid who used an unkindness to his advantage because it was the only way he could seem to claw his way out of the empty nest he’d been dropped into at such a young age.

“Not as talkative, uninterested in her favorite things, she gets really quiet sometimes and then suddenly she’s my happy little girl again. I know kids grow up and they change but this doesn’t feel like that.”

It’s the best way he can verbalize the changes without someone seeing them first hand and he hopes it doesn’t sound as unimportant to Joyce’s ears as it does to his own. Like they’re just scraps from a bad day and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“That certainly doesn’t sound like Wren…” Joyce considers the evidence for a moment, slowly ringing up the few things on the counter. “Can you think of any reason that she might be acting differently? Has anything happened leading up to this sudden change?”

“Just the start of the school year. She didn’t seem incredibly happy after the first day but she seems okay now. She really likes her teacher.”

“Have you met her teacher? When Will started having trouble around middle school talking with Mr.Clarke, he was Will’s science teacher and he ran the AV Club so he helped to sort of paint a picture of who Will was away from home.”

Steve hasn’t had the chance to meet Wren’s teacher yet. He’s always either working or she’s nowhere to be found when he does have the day off to pick Wren up himself. He’s thought about calling to set up a meeting but he’s not altogether sure what he would say. Nice to meet you, I’m Steve Harrington and I’m wondering what’s wrong with my daughter Wren?

It’s a tad accusatory and he certainly doesn’t want to make things harder for any of you.

“Steve?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” He fishes his wallet out and hands over exact change. He grimaces at the dwindling thickness of the binding leather.

“I really think it’ll help if you have a talk with her teacher. Even if she can’t tell you exactly what’s going on I can promise it’ll help to have another perspective.”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Joyce, for everything.”

“You’re a good dad, Steve. You’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”

Her words carry him home, eager to see his daughter after a long day behind a shopping cart. It still strikes him how many of his friends' parents remember who he is, not like he spent much time making himself available to anyone he wasn’t interested in sleeping with. He certainly wasn’t making plans for game nights at Tommy H’s or team bonding with the jocks.

Yet somehow, he’s always roped into a conversation about Wren and the harrowing task of holding his tongue when he assures them that she’s anything but a mistake and she surely hasn’t ruined the future he didn’t have. He has no doubt his father still finds it in him to knock Steve down whenever the moment calls for it so it’s no surprise that even years later it's something people attempt to hold over his head.

His arms are full when he slips his key into the lock, surprised to find it already open. He panics slightly but it’s immediately diminished when he hears Wren’s laughter and Eddie’s voice singing some silly song on your behalf. Steve can barely see over the bags stuffed in his arms when he enters the kitchen.

“Ever heard of a locked door, Munson?” He grunts, unloading the increasingly unbearable weight and sighing beneath Wren’s giggles when one of the bags tips on its side and the jar of Jiffy nearly falls to the floor until Eddie’s reflexes catch it just as it readies to splat.

“Uncle Eddie saved the peanut butter!” Wren chants and Steve frowns in Eddie’s direction when he catches sight of the cone nearly depleted in her sticky fingers.

Eddie is already pulling a wet wipe from the stash on the far end of the counter, expert in the way he avoids Steve’s heavy hazels. “Relax, Steve. I think the most threatening thing I’ve seen in this building is that freaky looking dog in four-C.

“Eddie, Keno is nice!” Wren insists, licking at her cone and scrunching her face when Eddie wipes at the vanilla cream painting her cheeks. The drippings from the cone have left four adjacent dots in the collar of her dress, darkening the pink fabric and yellowing the daisies patterned throughout.

“You won’t be saying that when Keno eats your leg, little bird.”

“Eddie!” Steve rests his hands against his hip and addresses the man with the same tone he uses on Wren when she’s doing something particularly unsavory. The difference is the smile tugging at Eddie’s lips and the way he places his own hands on his hips as well. “Did you at least feed her actual food before you just shoved an ice cream cone in her face.”

“Four chicken mcnuggets with fries and milk. No soda here, daddy-o!”

“Yeah, daddy-o!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Munson, but get out of my house.” Steve’s finger juts toward the front door, less than enthused about his daughter's penchant to mimic the metalhead no matter how cute it may seem in hindsight.

“Whoa whoa, is that any way to talk to the ideal babysitter for our little princess?” Eddie feigns offense, both men aware that his band is meeting for practice soon anyways. Like the perfect babysitter, Eddie steals the rest of Wren’s cone and shoves it in his mouth when he realizes she’s no longer interested in eating but sticking her fingers in the melty puddle inside the shallow wafer.

“You’re right. Thank you for filling my daughter up with junk food, now get out.” Steve turns to Wren, taking the wipe Eddie threw on the table and wiping the remainder of the mess from Wren’s skin. He kisses her nose when she begins to whine behind the damp cloth. “How was school, bug?”

“It was good! Eddie met my teacher!”

“Oh yeah?” The words are directed at Eddie who’s begun sifting through grocery bags like it’s the lost and found. “He was on his best behavior I assume.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really nice!” Wren fills in, clueless to subtextual diligence shared between two men with brains barely sidled past the stage of boyhood.

“Yeah, that too. She’s really eager to meet ya, big boy.”

“Well that’s good news, because I thought that I’d pick you up from school tomorrow and have a little chat with her. Does that sound okay with you?” He asks Wren her hands twisting in the skirt of her dress with big eyes like Steve’s own looking back at him.

“Yeah! Daddy, you have to!” She jumps off of her chair, nearly headbutting Steve in her overwhelming excitement. It’s the most in character he’s seen her in a while. “I’m gonna go pick out my best outfit with Floppy!”

“See you later, little bird!”

“Bye, Uncle Eddie, thank you for the junk food!” She’s bouncing off the walls and Steve can already hear the tedious argument he’s gonna have with her at bedtime.

Something along the lines of letting her stay up because it doesn’t make sense to go to sleep if she's not tired. She’ll follow up with a vaguely scientific observation about there being enough light filtering through her windows that she couldn’t possibly sleep. He’ll end up crawling into bed with her and letting her talk them both to sleep in which case his back will be killing him in the morning and they’ll be running late because he’s forgotten to set the alarm.

“Yeah, Uncle Eddie. Thank you for the junk food.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #singledad!steve harrington #singeldad!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things au #steve harrington au #steve harrington

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itsnotgray · 5 months

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all three of the brothers have their own nicknames for phoebe:

luke called her “phee” for the longest time, until he got to the age of 14 or so and thought he was too big to be calling her “phee”. but sometimes, when he’s having a rough time, he still comes up to his sister and lays his head in her lap. she always gives him a look, before a plea of “please phee?” leave his lips and she folds, hands gravitating to his hair- because she’ll always give in to her baby brother.

quinn started calling her “bee” when he was really young. like his friends (kindergarten-1st grade friends) thought her name was bee. to this day, he still calls her bee, although not as often. it’s a bit more of a “special occasion” nickname now.

like quinn, jack also called phoebe “bee”. however he has one name that he calls her above all else- “jen”. jack calls her jen because when he was about 6 years old, he was making a family tree for class and the teacher pulled up phoebes name to spell it for him. he saw her middle name, imogen, and when he tried to ask her about it after school, the only part he could remember is “jen”.

so when her and mat start dating, she kinda forewarns that her brothers are protective over their respective nicknames- so mat takes a different route. he takes her middle name- which he knows she gets shy about, claiming it to be the “name of a grandma”.

however, mat instantly grins at her and is like, “that’s it!” and phoebe is confused. “what’s it?” phoebe asks. “your nickname, i thought of it!” he enthusiastically replies. “…dare i ask?” phoebe questions while giggling, coming to stand in front of mat, her hands cupping his cheeks gently. “how about immy?” mat questions, head tilting like a confused puppy in the soft grasp of her hands. phoebe stands stunned for a moment- because did he just make her like her middle name? and once she comes back to reality, she shoots him a grin while saying an, “i love it matty,” before dipping down to meet his lips in a soft kiss, both parties grinning in to the lip-lock.

#elusive lovers au #mat x phoebe #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #hockey oneshot #nhl fic

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starseungs · 2 years

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➳ invisible ties. ksm

ೃ࿔₊• pairing | kim seungmin x gn!reader

not all childhood friends are known as such. those with invisible ties also exist, a bittersweet reminder of such friendship.

ೃ࿔₊• genre | hurt-comfort, sprinkle of angst, fluff(?), childhood friends to lovers, highschool au, popular!seungmin — 2.6k words

ೃ࿔₊• warnings | self doubt, a whole lot of doubts in general, misunderstandings (with a happy ending)

ೃ࿔₊• note | this is #1 on my skz as types of childhood friends to lovers series! tbh i didn't think i was going to like how i wrote this as much as i actually do but its one of my favorites now-

Seungmin had always been a talented guy. He had a knack for being good at whatever you would throw at him, proving to you that he could, in fact, probably do anything. But if there was one thing Seungmin was a total master at, it would be getting on people's good sides—heck, even just the bare minimum of gaining their attention. He was a shining star in everyone's eyes. That was the kind of guy Seungmin was.

So it was to absolutely no one's surprise that he was always considered popular, even as a kid in kindergarten.

That small neighborhood kindergarten was also where you met Seungmin. At the age of five, your little brain had already decided that making friends was a social construct, stubbornly refusing to interact with the other kids for more than three minutes. You were quite an interesting child, to say the least. And maybe that was why five-year-old Seungmin quickly took an interest in you—making it his life's goal to befriend the "shy kid" in class. The teachers would actually beg to differ with that title. You weren't shy, they said. Just "troubled."

As if that changed anything (and it really didn't.)

Yet, Seungmin did what no other kid would have dreamed of attempting, aka, interacting with you. And boy, did he do it with the passion of an Olympic athlete desperate for a medal. The five-year-old was determined to make you his friend—which, now that you think about it, maybe could have just been his pride; not wanting to accept that he couldn't charm someone. Kim Seungmin was the center of attention; that was just his natural role in life. But he stuck to his goal anyway, so you applaud him for his determination on that one. There were a lot of things to describe Seungmin, and being persistent was certainly on the list.

From sitting with you during activities to following you around on the playground, Seungmin would not leave you alone at all. He would trail behind you like a lost puppy (to be fair, he does resemble one) throughout most of the day, even though you barely looked back and acknowledged him. The only time you ever did so was when you got annoyed and told him to go away. And he did.

For about six minutes, before you had someone tailing you again.

One day, you'd just had enough of his antics, already planning to blow up without a single remorse on the poor guy to stop all this nonsense—up until he suddenly presented you with a pen with your favorite cartoon character on it, saying it was a gift he got you. Apparently, he begged his mom to buy it as a gift for you because you were the first thing he thought of the moment he saw the pen's design. Young you immediately felt so bad for plotting war on him only a few minutes back, your resolve folding only seconds later.

Seungmin wasn't that bad, you remember convincing yourself.

Your view of Seungmin turned a complete one-eighty after that event. It was then that you finally accepted his advances and allowed the friendship to start. Surprisingly, it survived past kindergarten all the way to elementary—something you probably should have expected since you even ended up in the same grade school (courtesy of your dear mother, who—like everyone else—took a liking to Seungmin and wanted you to keep being friends with him.)

Seungmin was as popular as ever, earning countless recognitions left and right for anything and everything under the sun. The complete opposite of you, who your classmates often forget was even there in the first place. You didn't mind, of course—still bearing the same mindset you had in kindergarten. As long as you had Seungmin, everything was fine. You didn't need anyone else; you'd already made it through life without your only friend before he even remembered your name. It's not like they were really needed.

Right?

That's what you originally thought, anyway. Yet, there was something you failed to notice up until the two of you reached middle school. And boy, were you in for a rude awakening. One that was worse than hearing your father turn the TV on at the break of dawn, with a volume louder than you flushing the toilet at midnight.

The first seed of doubt was planted during ninth grade, when you overheard a group of girls from your class talking about Seungmin. It wasn't long 'til you understood that they were his admirers, seeing as they were blatantly conversing about how Seungmin looked very attractive during baseball practice yesterday. How they could find him handsome in all his sweaty glory is beyond you. He honestly just looked like a whole bucket of water was dumped on him. But you guess there was always something for everyone, and continued to listen in. After all, even you knew that the Kim Seungmin of your school was pretty well-known as the "campus crush."

So when one of the girls mentioned wanting to give him a drink during today's practice break, you decided to give them money-worthy information—revealing your best friend's favorite drink. You knew that Seungmin wasn't very vocal about his own preferences, very much aware of how that would only cause more problems for him—his words, not yours. If his middle school fan club heard him complaining about them at the kitchen counter, shuddering over the sheer thought of what they could and are capable of doing, they'd be floored.

It was merely a short comment. "Seungmin likes coffee beverages," was all you inserted into their (rather loud) conversation. You had no particular expectation of the response you were going to get, but the one you actually got caught you off guard. That was because instead of focusing on the detail you had just dropped, they were more dumbfounded by the fact that you even knew that at all. What, did they think you were a stalker or something? Seungmin's fangirl deep inside? You knew what drinks he liked because he was your best friend—oh.

That was the exact moment you realized: in the eyes of almost everyone else, you and Seungmin had no connection other than being schoolmates in the same batch.

All your interactions with Seungmin were after school: you would go to school and home together, as well as hang out on free days. But you had little to no contact once you entered the school gates, which was where Seungmin normally bid you farewell to head straight towards his other friends. And that was fine with you. Not everything has to be shoved in people's faces.

You could survive even without your and Seungmin's friendship being public knowledge.

Except you soon come to the conclusion that you actually do—because that ugly green and sticky feeling in your stomach (which you later recognized as envy) was loudly screaming every time you heard one of his friends get addressed as "Seungmin's friend." Now, getting your identity watered down to being classified as merely a friend of another person is something that would greatly piss other people off, but you could care less. Your brain was experiencing tunnel vision on the fact that these people could be seen as Seungmin's friends by everyone else while you were stuck hiding in the shadows. It was eating you alive at that point; you wanted to stand right beside him too, like the "best friend" you claimed you were.

The ache grew even more during high school, when you found out you had formed romantic feelings towards Seungmin. It was sudden—or maybe not. Who knows? All you did know was that the realization crashed into you like a speeding bullet train. Seungmin wasn't even doing anything noteworthy—simply on the verge of dozing off during one of your many study sessions. But you found yourself focusing on little intricate details, such as the way he held the pen in a way that made him look like he was ready to write anytime in the next second despite his eyelids drooping oh-so-endearingly to the point that it warmed your heart (and face.)

Something about him that day was making you feel things you knew you shouldn't be feeling. And the mere knowledge of this terrified you, because how could you? If you couldn't even be known as his friend, how could you ever become his lover? And so you chose the most rational course of action.

To distance yourself from him.

Fine, maybe that wasn't the best decision you ever made. Especially not when the Kim Seungmin himself starts chasing you around school just to get you to talk to him. The whole deal greatly reminded you of your younger years, when it all started. And maybe that was why you folded once again, exactly like you did back then.

"Y/N, just talk to me," you remember his exhausted plea along the school's covered pathway, the one connected to the gym where the rest of your classmates were. Why was he even here? His class didn't have the same PE schedule as yours—if anything, you remember from the short conversation you had with Seungmin back at the start of the school year that they had math during this time (a detail you scolded yourself over, because why did you know that?)

His softening grip on your arm brought you back to reality, effectively making you turn and finally look at him. What you saw broke your heart entirely. Seungmin, the Kim Seungmin, campus crush, the main character of everyone's lives, was barely holding back his tears from escaping his glistening eyes, swirling with anxiousness and fear. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked in a fragile tone, his voice so small and soft it was practically a whisper—almost as if he were any louder, you'd fade away into the wind and leave him. "If I did, please tell me. I—I don't want to lose you," Seungmin choked out, the words feeling so heavy on his mouth. The same words he spent days dreading the implications of, nights he lost sleep over from the overwhelming emotion.

To you and everyone else who knew him, Kim Seungmin was a bright light. Yet, right now, only for your eyes—he was the dimmest he had ever been.

"No. There's nothing wrong," you lied through your teeth, tearing yourself apart inside for subjecting him to another kind of pain; one that he wasn't even aware of yet. All you had to do was cover it up with a white lie, "I was just—I was just being stupid. This thing... It was bothering me so much. So, I just wanted to be alone. That's all."

"I'm sorry," were the final words of your guilt-laced excuse. You didn't know how you even got through the whole thing. At this point, you don't even think you deserved to be called Seungmin's friend anymore. He trusted you, but you betrayed him with lies. Maybe the shadows really were the right place for you. A place where you could enjoy everything you desired, even in the midst of complete darkness.

These thoughts stayed as you relayed every single detail of your fully made-up concern to Seungmin after school.

Both of your lives returned to normal after that. Or at least, how normal it would be for you after the shocking revelation. You often found yourself worrying over almost everything, overthinking even the smallest of details. It certainly didn't help that Seungmin had been acting all weird lately—unconsciously avoiding your eyes when you spoke to him, and getting all fidgety when you two were alone. Maybe it was the weeks of silently doubting the validity of your friendship, or the dismay of feeling like he wanted to be anywhere else other than with you during your hangouts, that you finally burst out crying in front of him one day.

Seungmin was completely rattled, not expecting you to suddenly break down in his room while you two were watching a comedy movie. One would think that you were supposed to be laughing; that's because you actually should have been—not full on sobbing. Yet when he eventually got you to pour out everything you've been holding back, his mind went into static.

All he could say was that his thoughts greatly differed from yours.

This whole time, he believed that just like in kindergarten, you would have preferred him to stay away from you in school—wanting to attract as little attention as possible; something that was unavoidable if you were to be known as someone connected to him. So, for that reason, he kept his distance, opting to make up for the time you spent practically ignoring each other by walking you to and from school, treating you to small meals and snacks along the way, and hanging out whenever you both were free.

Don't get him wrong, though; his actions weren't just purely platonic. Seungmin had actually liked you since elementary school but decided to keep it to himself until you showed any signs of returning the sentiment. Admittedly, he first approached you with the aim of being friends for a petty reason. "Y/N doesn't seem to like you, Seungmin," he recalls as clearly as a bright day. The observation came from one of his classmates back in kindergarten, and as a child used to receiving only love, Seungmin was not about to accept not earning yours.

Yet, as time went on, he soon realized that you were the only one who actually stuck by him (aside from his family, of course.) Seungmin never wanted to admit it, but he grew quite attached to you—to the point that if someone asked him if he saw you in his future, he would one-hundred percent say yes without any hesitation at all.

You were a very precious person to him, and there was no denying it.

During elementary years, Seungmin's fondness turned into something more. He wasn't ignorant, even as a child; he knew well what crushes were and had no issue classifying you as his. At that time, though, just like any other kid, he didn't dwell too much on it—opting to enjoy growing up with you rather than bother himself with feelings that he believed didn't need to be complicated.

Seungmin's not-so-platonic emotions directed towards you were placed to the side, unmoving and silenced. It stayed there until high school—when they pushed their way back to the forefront of his mind, where there was no escaping it. The reason? Your decision to distance yourself from him.

In school was one thing, but for you to avoid him outside of it? Unheard of. There was only one time you two were separated for this long, and that was back before you even became friends. Seungmin was definitely suffering with each passing day, but he still chased you. Giving up was not a choice when you were probably hurting too. The thought pained him more than he wanted it to be.

Though the memory of him revealing his raw emotions to you in such a manner was sort of humiliating (but because it was you, he felt less judged); Seungmin didn't regret it one bit. Still, he found it hard to act normally after all that. Having his romantic feelings out in a place where he could barely contain them was more difficult than he thought. Every moment with you just felt so overwhelming—he had to restrain himself from smothering you in a tight hug and never letting you go.

But he didn't need to hide it anymore.

"You're worth more to me than you'll ever know," he says, cupping your face gently as you hiccup through muffled apologies, unable to stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks like waves. Seungmin placed a feathery kiss on your forehead, the unexpected feeling taking you out of your own spiraling thoughts of negativity to notice that his hands were trembling—along with his wavering voice. "I'm sorry too," he swallowed, sensing his emotions rising as a result of your sniffling. "I'll do my best to never let you feel that way again."

"So give us another chance, please."

mastertag 🏷️ :

@h0neydewmoon @starzzns @lhskokoro @bookishcalls

— let me know if you want to be added or removed^^

#starseungs-library #🗃️ — skzatchftl #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #seungmin angst

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