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sweet-xoxo-thatcares · 3 years

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(Pt. 2)

She said but you just ate with one hand, just now.

And then something similar to, I could just do it in the morning, its not like he needs the clothes right now.

Then she says don't do that to your father. You promised that man that you would do it.

I reminded her that I told him I would try.

So, now I was pissed off tbh because I didn't see it as a big deal and plus I was tryna be slow downstairs with one hand. I personally don't care for bats in the home. We had tried the night before to get it out, but I'm easily scared to jumpscares in movies. The bat popped out at me and I went back upstairs to the main floor. Me and my little sisters even went down there together and the bat couldn't get caught.

Ok, so after I talked to my mom. I went back to my room to rant a little bit about it and changed into some long pants. I know bats don't bite, but no one wants to get swayed by a bat in undies. I went back downstairs a little heated and with a broom in my hand. I had to walk past my mother, who was in the dining room, to get to the kitchen, which was where the basement door was. I tossed the dustpan (yes I admit in an attitude like fashion) on the floor, and she immediately rushes over and yells behind me "what you got an attitude for?" As I was near the 2nd step of the basement steps. I remember yelling at her to get her hands off of me and to get out of my face. Because at this point I was already coming down here to do my dad's laundry to not piss her off. Had i had stayed in my room and not done the laundry, i probably would have avoided this fight, but she would have still been angry at me for making excuses about not doing it.

So, yea. She pushes me while I'm on the steps and she's still yelling at me for being disrespectful and then I pushed her back because I felt like I was about to fall. And then I'm so caught off guard by her yelling wayyy to close to my face, and almost being pushed off, two of my teenaged sisters had to grab her off of me, they saw me push and yell back at her before, so one of them locks the chain on the door in front of me. Locking me out, while i was still on the basement steps because my mother kept blocking the door. It happened so fast. So me being pissed off and out of breathe from yelling that felt like screaming, I go face the bat and do the damn laundry like I was supposed to. Since I was down there. And yes I was still heated that she even thought that was fair and reasonable to try and push your daughter down the steps over a dustpan. I go back upstairs to the locked door and asked if I could be let out by my sister. Because I wasn't trying to hurt mom. Mom was trying to hurt me. They pulled you off of me. And may I add this was only the 3rd or 4th fight we've had get that physical in the house to where it only got violent when she would put her hands on me or get disrespectfully close to my face. Except this time she was yelling, grabbing, pushing and spitting in my eyes as she yelled. She knew what she was doing.

My sister opens the door, and she's still tryna get into it, getting in my face again. At this point I really didn't feel like talking but something didn't feel like me actually talking. I was holding myself back from not punching her in the face. But I need block my face from her face by putting my hands up, palms side to me, so she wouldn't keep spitting on me. Sorry this is all I can remember, spitting, yelling, those crazy eyes, and me holding my adrenaline back. I was yelling at her at her in a direct tone like my father. In defense mode, while she kept lunging forward yelling over me, "Weren't you being disrespectful? Weren't you being disrespectful? Didn't you have an attitude? Didn't you throw something in my house? You gonna disrespect me in my house?" Meanwhile I'm yelling in a more broader tone than I was earlier, because she's not listening to me. She's just tryna get me to accept her point so there wouldn't be a discussion. I yelled how is it logical for you to push me down the stairs over me throwing a dustpan. She was acting like i threw across the room. I said yea, I threw it, admitting the action, but how is that being disrespectful to you're? She said it was because I had an attitude and that I disrespected her rule, not to throw things in her house. But then I brought up my case, how is me, my feelings towards you, an attitude, justified to be pushed down the stairs She? She wasn't hearing it. Nor did she want to. My sisters tried to back her up by saying mom, she's not listening. There's no point. Like there was no point in arguing. But she just kept yelling that same line "you were being disrespectful, so yes I get to put my hands on you." "By pushing me down the stairs?" "Yes, if you living in my household, and you being disrespectful, yea, I get to beat you down, stomp you, all I want to if you living in my house and being disrespectful" I said that sounds crazy. "She said if you don't like it you can call your grandmother. You can get the fuck out." And I said so if I have an attitude, you gon really do that. That sounds fucking ridiculous. She said call your grandma. And she got closer to my face with her hazel eyed contacts now creating this dazed out look I've never seen before from her upclose. She said "You didn't know you was living with a lunatic? I'm either all right or all left." And I said "oh yea, that sounds bipolar." I felt like I was talking to a Villian. Cruella De Vil. Harley Quinn. All mixed together. That wasn't the mother I knew. She had reached a new level of pissed off.

She laughed and said "Well, if you don't like it, Call your grandma. Leave." And I said bye. She still blocking the walkway. "You act like I wannabe here" I said putting up my dad's front. She said what you still here for? You said bye." I said "Greyhound don't open until the morning, so I'll leave in the morning." She ended it with following me still yelling talking about me wanting to have the last word. I said what you still talking and following me around for. You're the one who's still yelling. Tryna prove your point.

I couldn't believe i held my breath in my chest that long. I hadn't cried until I tried to lay down in my bed. But I couldn't because I was still petrified in the disbelief that my mother would try to go that far to prove to me that I was wrong. Yes, I admit having an attitude and yes I know we not supposed to throw anything in the house. But the dustpan was not directed at her, the attitude was. And she didn't like it. And popped off. But how is my punishment fair, but you still think that you were right to do that to me because you're my mother. I'm 24, and I still lived at home with my mother. My dad didn't get off until 11 that night, he probably would have done what my sisters did, except not lock me in the basement. Encourage us not to fight. But usually if he yells at me for doing something wrong, i cry and just walk away.. Because i hate disappointing my father. I love that man. He said on the phone, what did i do to get her there ever? I said she got mad at me because I threw q dustpan and i had an attitude when i did. And i mentioned the previously discussed argument about his laundry. He said yea, but yall don't be cleaning up the house too good, plus she had a bad day at the store earlier too. I was a little sick from hearing that,, because now I'm hearing what i heard all these years from him, differently this time. He had been enabling her behavior when she pops off like that.

And since I could remember growing up with my mother, she always disliked a sour face, a frown, or even just us crying after they would yell at us or discipline us. Forcing us to change our faces and to fix our attitudes like nothing ever happened. Is emotional manipulation of power. It taught me that I'm not allowed to be mad, sad, or get upset at my mother and father for whatever reason. And its sad to say, to this day I can't talk about how my parents actions towards me made me feel growing up and now as a 24 yr old. I still lived in that trapped, child mentality that those negative feelings were wrong. I was wrong to feel that about anyone and especially my parents because I should have been grateful.

But I never thought those lines they told me in order for me to stop having an emotional tantrum or to stop crying in anger, fear, and punishment; to correct me....ended up affecting my relationships with other people. My friends and significant others, whenever I am mad at you I fear that I will get angry like my mother and lash out at you, I fear that you will turn away and reject me, punish me with neglect of emotional support if I tell you all of what you make me feel. Because I am such an emotional, sensitive person, I know words hurt and I hate being controlled. But I also hate hurting other people. I don't know how to calm down immediately after someone close to me does or says something that I don't like without responding in the way that normal people do. So I either hold it in, runaway, or I cry it out later in a boiling rage in my room or in my journal. Most likely tumblr for people to see.

After that happened with my mom, I called a cousin to ask to come pick me up (because I have yet learned how to drive do my punk ass anxiety that I will definitely get over this year after this scenario) and after she couldn't, I tried to fall asleep. But my body was so in pain, my heart broken, and me in fear kept watching the door in my room. Hoping my mother wouldn't try to do something else to me or make me sleep outside on the dirt. This was when I noticed something had been dripping on my leg, and it was coming from my hand. I had realized my mom must have stratched off the boil of my burned hand because there was a stratch mark down near the side of it towards my wrist. I didn't understand why God wanted me to prepare for being on my own this way, but then I thought maybe this was teaching me a lesson. Don't be like your mother and hold stuff in. Because she probably was holding stuff against me and that dustpan was the cherry on top 🍒.

Because I had recently popped off in a text that I didn't know was gonna be sent to somebody I still cared about, (I blocked her, thinking it blocks both ways) and I sounded just as enraged as her. And somebody else who broke my heart too. These people broke me and wanted to express myself. But there are healthier. And I ain't gon lie, As brave as I felt in my dad's argument voice, standing tall, defending myself; that was the most scariest moment in my life. I could have fell, had I not pushed my mother back. I woke up with my back, my hand, and my chest in pain. Packed up my stuff, said goodbye/I love you to my sisters, my hamster Coco looking waking up early like "bitch what's going on? I heard some crazy shit?" and called a lyft. My mother and father didn't even turn around from the couch to say goodbye to me. No I love you's. like we used to. Nothing. My dad didn't even text me later on that night until I got to Grand Rapids. He said how's it going?

Did he really want an answer? I said peaceful. Safe.

He encouraged me and said that you can do it, the career, the car, the loft (I always talked about getting one) and I just felt heart broken then.

Even on the bus ride there, it felt I had an out of body experience. I watched all of the people I love leave me and who I didn't say goodbye to, because we were no longer talking or just didn't know I was leaving I thought of too. My ex friend Charles felt sorry for me. And I couldn't call Jay, that hope you die message...pretty sure they wouldn't care or thought I deserved it for being cruel. My life flashed away in one night.

And everytime I closed my eyes all I could see was her spitting into my eyes. Her face, so full of hate yelling at me. And my left hand will forever be a message. Like Zuko from Avatar scar on his face. I felt like Anakin from Star Wars. I felt like I had just lost my mother. My whole right side from where my heart used to be. I felt so cold, so numb. And with my scar exposed, people at the bus kept looking at me like she's crying and her hand looks gross. My anxiety, my adrenaline, was in pure shock. Because reality set in on that bus ride. You're on your own.

And real life is a bitch. There are no happy endings. No one to save me. I had to do what I could to protect me. And I'm so glad my dad's energy took over, protecting me from doing any more damage. Cause if I had tried to fight her back with my fists, she probably would have called the cops on me. And my father wouldn't have wanted to speak to me.

I'm grateful for my grandmother giving me a place to lay my head on her couch with her and taking care of my wound on my hand and encouraging me to read the Bible for comfort right now. Cause she knows how homesick I am and how depressed I already was before the fight.

I have to heal from this wound on my hand and in my heart. I thank God for me even still being alive. Cause it could have been alot worse. I still need to forgive my mother, Jay, Ayunna, Charles, and all my other exes who disappointed me, let me down, and couldn't care enough about me because they were emotionally unavailable at the time. I need to move on from this fear of abandonment, neglect, and stand up for myself. I need to grow up and be the mother and father to myself that I wished I had. The ones where they emotional support and calm you down when you get angry to talk me through my feelings and pain. Ones that don't encourage me to fight or let somebody walk all over me just to keep peace. I need stability, courage, strength, self-love, and The Love of God to keep my head afloat. To keep moving forward.

#trauma #toxic family #ptsd #bpd #depression sucks #growing up #reality #real life #emotional neglect #heartbreak

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embcrry · 4 years

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ok thisss took wayyy longer than i’d expected . like it’s fucking midnight ? like guys im such a mess omfg . anywaysss * tana mongeau vc “ welcome to my trash bin daught or welcome back to my trash bin daughter ... what ? was ? that ? idfk . if you wanna plot with my overly tired ass give this post a like and i’ll love you down i promise !! also i apologize for how long this intro is going to be in advance !

new york’s very own 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄 " 𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐀 " 𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 was spotted on broadway street in 𝘓𝘖𝘜𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘕 𝘌𝘓𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘌 𝘉𝘖𝘖𝘛𝘚 . your resemblance to barbara palvin is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being guarded , but also dependable . i guess being a 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱, 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘯 + 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 . & ( female & she/her ) + ( faith , 21 , she/her , est . )

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

FULL NAME : emilie sierra berry . NICKNAME : emma , em , emma bear ( by her little sister ) . BIRTH DATE : march 1st , 1998 . AGE : 22 . GENDER : female ( cis ) . PRONOUNS : she + her . ORIENTATION : pansexual ( attractions are equal ) , panromantic ( leans more toward women ) . BIRTH PLACE : brisbane , australia ( see home here ) . the family still owns this house but don’t use it much . HOMETOWN : new york city ( upper west side ) , new york ( see home here ) . her dad + little sister still live here today . CURRENT LOCATION : new york city ( upper east side ) , new york ( see home here ) . moved in one year ago after break up . EDUCATION LEVEL : highschool diploma . OCCUPATION : olympic swimmer ( emulated after katie ledecky ) , socialite , escort ( no one knows ) . NET WORTH : 32million ( every year up until she’s twenty five she receives a percentage of her trust fund ) . FAMILY NET WORTH : 3.1billion ( father ) , 4.8billion ( mother + step - father ) . PARENTS : adrian berry ( father , 51 , hedge fund manager ) , natasha laffont ( mother , 48 , former super model + philanthropist ) , thomas laffont ( step - father , 50 , businessman + art collector ) . SIBLINGS : tatiana berry ( sister , 10 , student + ballet dancer ) , bradley laffont ( step-brother , 24 , new york rangers player ) . PETS : jagger ( ragdoll cat , picture ) , maggie ( pomeranian - husky , picture ) . NATIONALITY : australian - american . ETHNICITY : hungarian . CLOTHING STYLE : expensive yet casual ; alot of black , hoodies , leather is a staple , high end sneakers , boots , colorful suits . JEWELRY : gold ; dangly earring , cartier bracelet , tiffany rings , barbell nipple piercings. DIET : pescitarian , no dairy ( lactose intolerant ) . WORK OUT HABITS : six times a week ( mostly boxing + swimming ) . PERSONALITY : guarded ; there is nothing emma hates more than talking about her feelings or letting anyone know who she’s feeling , she has trouble trusting people for good reason ( the girls trust issues have trust issues yall ) + dependable ; if you need anything in the world go to emma she will move mountains to get shit down for you , she’s very punctual , and super disciplined probably due to being an olympian + goofy ; she doesn’t take much too seriously tbh , ( similar to joey + phoebe from friends ) she can be a bit of a space cadet and that always ends in her making everyone laugh + stubborn ; one thing is for sure about emma she’s extremely hard headed , loves getting her way , and is incredibly unforgiving .

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ( in bullets )

her parents met during college , where they both attended princeton university . natasha , her mom , was in the middle of her modeling career completely blowing up while adrian was already setting the foundation of his investment company . they had a whirlwind romance and were married just a year after adrian graduated from princeton . both coming from old money , emma’s grandparents on both sides are extremely meticulous about the image of their family + so the same mentality was instilled in adrian + natasha .

emma spent the first nine years of her life in brisbane , australia . her parents had moved out to australia just a couple years before she was born for the sake of making her father’s company an international success .

with her parents always off doing something , emma was raised by her nanny + butler . when she was six she expressed her desire to get into swimming after watching michael phelps in the 2004 summer olympics . she was in absolute awe by him + wanted to be just like him . so the next day her nanny spoke to her parents and later that day she was enrolled into a local swimming program .

when she was nine her parents broke the news to her that they were moving to new york . at first she wasn’t all too mad about the move , she didn’t have many friends in school , wasn’t a big fan of her teachers , and knew the one thing she loved she could still do in new york . her outlook on the move changed when she found out that her nanny + butler would not be making the move across the equator with them though . how dare her parents steal the only people who’d ever taken care of her away from her ? she thought . she threw an absolute fit in protest ; completely wrecking the home + locking herself away in the bathroom in her room for nearly 20 hours before her nanny talked her into coming out .

once in new york , emma was miserable . she had tantrums everyday and even stopped swimming for a few months . what inevitably pulled her out of her funk was a trip disneyland paris + her mom bringing her out to buy a whole new wardrobe . yall ever heard of a spoiled brat ?

once she was open to the idea of new york she kind of fell in love with the city , to be honest . she grew close to her new nanny + butler , of course and fell in love with her new swimming coach .

when she was fourteen her parents got a divorce and just six months later her mom was married to a billionaire living in connecticut with a son just two years older than emma . anyone with a brain could put together that her mom had been cheating on her dad , that was except for her dad who’d fallen into denial that his ex - wife would come back .

[ trigger warning : alcoholism , child abuse , violence ] after months of listening to her father , emma broke , the two got in a huge screaming match about how her mom wasn’t coming back saying things like “this is so pathetic, stop graveling over a women who doesn’t want you” + “she doesn’t want you” + “just move on, she’s never coming back, she’s fucking an art collector in connecticut”. mind you she’s fourteen talking to her dad like this , yikes . he started spiraling after that , drinking heavily , doing coke more than just at events , and when emma copped an attitude he’d hit her . it started with just a rough slap , pushing her into the pool or down the stairs , and then it turned into punching her . it got so bad her coach started noticing during swim practices and inevitably threatened her dad , either he let her move in with him or he’d call the police . so , not wanting a tarnished reputation , her dad sent her off to live with her swim coach .

[ trigger warning : grooming ] life with her swim coach was cool , she got to swim alot more plus he was extremely high profile due to sending swimmers to the olympics as well acting in a few movies so she got to go to alot of events with him all across the world . she enjoyed her time with him more than she’d enjoyed the entirety of her life and then he got her to the 2012 olympics in london + her trust and appreciation for him sky rocketed . in her eyes no one int he world could or did love her more .

coming back from the olympics , her had fully sobered up and was ready to bring emma back home . her and her coach weren’t completely gun ho for the move but she inevitably moved back home with her father .

[ trigger warning : statutory rape ] just a month after being back home , her coach started being a little too touchy with her . she felt uncomfortable by his advances but figured her was only taking care of her . then he kissed her and she was pretty creeped out so she asked what he was doing , basically the creep told her he was just missing her alot because she wasn’t living with him and reminded her about how he was really the only person who cared about her . she accepted what he said and soon after they started sleeping together regularly . he didn’t even have to tell her not to tell anyone , she innately knew if she ever told anyone he wouldn’t be her coach anymore and emma just wasn’t willing to lose the best coach she’d ever had . this continued for a little over a year until she went to the doctors and her mom went with her , her mom stayed in the room because the check up wasn’t all that invasive + then when her doctor asked her if she was sexually active her mom answered no but emma , not wanting to lie , stayed silent . she inevitably confessed at the appointment that she was sexually active . her mom freaked out and wanted to know who but of course emma didn’t spill that . she inevitably lied and said some guy she went to school with . within a week her mom found out she lied and refused to let emma go anywhere until she confessed who she was sleeping with . knowing her mom wouldn’t let up she told her it was her coach + that it wasn’t a big deal . but emma knew it was . her mom gave her coach an ultimatum he either quit coaching for good or she’d turn him in . she he quit and emma never heard from him again .

she stopped talking to her more directly after that + stopped going back to connecticut for the weekends like she had been since her parents divorce . she was now sixteen without a swimming coach + completely mad at the world . she’d had a rough few years , to say the least . she turned to partying , HEAVY , to cope with it all . she slept with anyone who so much as gave her a second look she didn’t care if they were older than her , had a girlfriend / boyfriend , if you were into her you could have her . it took her almost five months before she committed to a swim coach + they really whipped her back into shape . no more partying , emma went from school to practice and then home . it was awfully boring for the new party girl but she had one of the best coaches in the world + they promised to stop coaching her had she not listened to their every word . the only thing she cared more about then letting loose was going to another olympics .

she attended a private school in manhattan where she completely smashed each and everyone of the school, districts , and state records in swimming . she was never big into her academics but she upheld a b average for the sake of being able to stay on the schools swimming team . if she received anything less than a b she would guilt her dad into giving her school a donation so they’d give her the grade she felt she deserved .

she graduated from highschool in 2016 and although she was accepted into multiple schools across the nation , with athletic full ride offers from each school , but she inevitably declined each school because she did want to spend another second behind a desk . knowing her dad would never approve of her not going to college , with his ivy league education ass , she lied to him and said she was attending nyu .

she went to the 2016 olympics in rio and completely dominated ( 4 gold medals , 1 silver + breaking five world/olympic/american records in the meets ) .

just months in 2017 her dad started to pick up on her lie about attending college . telling her she needed to enroll immediately or he’d cut her off . calling his bluff she didn’t enroll . she quickly learned that he wasn’t bluffing when he completely cut her off , telling her she had a month to find a place to live and move out .

thanks to her olympics money + her endorsements with tyr sports + adidas she had enough money to get an apartment but her saving would deplete quick so she knew she needed to do something to make alot of money + quick .

desperate and running out of time emma joined seeking arrangements under an alias as sierra meyers . there were a few success and plenty of total blunders on the site but she got lucky with the first women she met with who offered to get her into escorting . emma didn’t even give it a second thought before she said yes , the only thing she asked is that the clientele not want her to attend highly publicized events with her as she's quickly get caught due to her socialite status .

within a year she’d made half of what her entire lifes work had made her , she grew obsessed with escorting and what made it crazy was there were people who would pay her half a million just to have dinner and talk with her . of course , those were the unicorns though because most wanted to sleep with her at the end of the night .

when she turned twenty one her dad gave in and gave her back her blackcard + even offered to move her back into the house , she took the credit card but decided to continue living outside of his walls .

she could’ve quit escorting right then and there , but she’d grown an addiction if you will to her work . there was something about the secrecy of it + her ability to make millions so easily that kept her going .

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

former roommate ; these two moved in together after her dad kicked her out + even though she moved in with someone else months after they signed the lease she payed them for her half of the rent for the rest of the lease , ex ; they dated when she was cut off by her dad + they inevitably moved into together they could of had a rocky or really good relationship by broke up around this time last year , the guy she “ lost “ her virginity to ; he didn’t actually take her virginity , in truth these two could very well have never even slept together but he’s the guy she lied to her about sleeping with to cover up sleeping with her coach he found out about her lie when emma’s mom asked his parents if he was sleeping with emma we can decide where things went from there between these two , suspicious friend ; they’re starting to pick up on her random disappearing + secrecy , maybe they start following her at some point and inevitably confront her about escorting or maybe they think she’s doing something else and accuse her of that ? , first girlfriend , more exes , people she’s slept with , someone who she slept with + they had a significant other , fellow olympians , travel buddy , podcast co-host ; these two came up with an idea recently to start a podcast , they haven't released it just yet but it’d be similar to call her daddy / impulsive !

#wealthyhq:intro #* spongebob narrator vc * 200 yrs laterrr #🧜‍♀️ ⋆ ◜you dont own me / 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸 .

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sadiecwrites · 4 years

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The House on Lake Hill Drive

An original short story by Sadie C.

Summary: A woman’s life is shaken up shortly after she and her husband move into their new home.

Word count: 4,298

I was the last person to see my sister before she went missing.

She snuck out of the house on a Friday night during her senior year of high school to go to a college party with some boy she was seeing. She tried to ask our parents, but they didn’t like that she was seeing a college boy, even though he was barely a year older than her. And they especially didn’t like that he wanted to take her to a frat party.

She begged and pleaded with them to let her go, that she would be back by curfew. She promised she wouldn’t drink or do drugs or do any other stereotypical delinquent activities that happen at college parties. No matter what argument she tried to make, the answer was a hard and firm no.

You would’ve thought she was a three year old rather than a seventeen year old by the way she reacted. She threw a full on temper tantrum, tears and all, before she got grounded for the weekend for having a bad attitude. She stomped up the stairs to her room and slammed the door shut. That earned her another day of punishment.

I saw her later that night. She hadn’t come out of her room all evening. I was up late watching Beetlejuice in the living room because I couldn’t sleep. She came tiptoeing down the stairs and I almost didn’t even notice that she was there, but she bumped into the little table by the front door on her way out.

When we saw each other she froze, hand on the doorknob, getting ready to open the door. I asked her what she was doing and she hissed at me to mind my own business. I just shrugged and turned my attention back to the TV. She stared at me for a minute before she spoke again.

She asked me not to tell mom and dad. I told her I wouldn’t. She said I was the best little sister ever and she told me she loved me. I said she was annoying but I loved her too. Those were the last words we said to each other.

She didn’t come home that night.

Our mom went to wake her up the next morning but she wasn’t there. When I realized that she wasn’t home, I told my mom what happened the night before. She was angry with me, but she was angrier at my sister for sneaking out of the house. She tried calling her but she didn’t answer. So she tried again. And again. And again. By the seventh time my mom had called her and there was no answer, she knew something was wrong.

My mom called her best friend’s house and asked if she was there. She wasn’t and they hadn’t seen her since the last time she’d been to their house two days before.

She had me text my sister’s boyfriend and ask if she was with him. He replied almost immediately, saying that she was supposed to meet him at the party but she never showed up and he couldn’t get a hold of her.

My mom called the police after that.

One day turned into a week, then a month, and then a year had passed and my sister had yet to return. There were no signs of where she went, no clues about what happened, if she had been taken or if she’d run away. She had just… vanished.

Harper was gone and I blamed myself for not stopping her.

I was twenty-five when I got the first letter, almost ten years to the day since Harper went missing. It was addressed to me, my name and address haphazardly scribbled on the envelope. There was no return address.

I’m sorry

Please don’t be mad at me

Please don’t be mad

I’m sorry

I love you

I’m sorry

The words were scribbled on a crumpled piece of notebook paper that was covered in coffee stains. It was written in pencil and it looked like a five year old wrote it. I had no idea who this letter had come from or why it came to me. I stared at it for what felt like hours, just reading it over and over again. I was still reading it when my husband came home from work.

When I heard him come in the house, I quickly shoved the letter back into the envelope and put it in my purse. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want him to see it. When he came into the kitchen, I plastered a happy smile on my face despite the unease I was feeling. I wasn’t going to tell him. I didn’t know if I ever would. I just knew that he didn’t need to know about it then.

The second letter came two months after the first. I stayed home from work that day, a nasty stomach bug rendering me useless. I was able to greet the mailman when he came to drop off my mail into the box.

I flipped through the various pieces of mail, tossing the junk and ads into the recycling bin and setting aside the things addressed to my husband. When I got to the last piece of mail, I felt my stomach drop. It was another letter addressed to me, with no return address, written in the same scratchy handwriting as the first one.

With shaking hands, I slowly opened up the envelope to reveal another hand written letter, on the same kind of notebook paper as before.

Jane i miss you

do you miss me too

I love you

I felt bile rise in my throat as I finished reading the letter. I dropped it to the kitchen floor and quickly ran to the bathroom to throw up the meager contents of my stomach. After a few moments of heaving into the toilet, I wiped my mouth with a piece of toilet paper, throwing it into the bowl before flushing.

As I rinsed my mouth out with water, I thought about the letters. Who was sending them to me? What did they mean? For a moment, I had a fleeting, hopeful thought.

Could it be her?

I went back into the kitchen and picked the letter up from the floor and examined it once again.

No, it can’t be her. It can’t be.

I didn’t get another letter in the mail for almost six months.

In the time since the second letter arrived at my house, I found out that my apparent stomach bug wasn’t actually a stomach bug—it was a baby. My husband and I were ecstatic, of course, as surprising as it was. His parents and brothers were thrilled. Our baby would have been the first for his family. My parents were excited, too, but I could tell the news also made them sad. They wished Harper were here to celebrate, too. Big moments like this would always be tainted by sadness for them. And, I suppose, they would be for me, too.

We decided not to find out the sex of the baby—we wanted it to be a surprise.

The third letter came in a week after my baby shower. My husband had checked the mail that day. He came to me where I sat on the couch, a bowl of fruit resting on my belly while I half-heartedly paid attention to some trashy reality show on the TV. He handed the letter to me with a frown.

“This came in the mail for you,” he’d said, confusion laced in his voice. “There’s no return address so I don’t know who it’s from.”

My face paled as I took the letter from him. I didn’t say anything as I opened it.

Jane you’re having a baby

i can’t believe it

You’re so grown up

I love you Jane

My husband read the letter aloud. Hearing the words spoken brought tears to my eyes. I quickly blinked them away before he could notice them. That sinking suspicion I had gotten when I read the second letter come back to me in full force.

“Do you know who this is from?” he’d asked.

It can’t be her it can’t be her it can’t be her.

I lied. “An old cousin, I think. On my mom’s side of the family. I recognize her handwriting.”

He nodded, seeming to believe me, and turned his attention back to the TV. It was as if he had already forgotten about the letter.

But maybe it is.

The fourth letter came three weeks after I had my baby boy. We named him Benjamin—Benjamin, Jr. to be exact, after his father. He was the sweetest baby boy I had ever seen.

I was home on maternity leave when the mailman came to drop off the mail. With my sleeping baby strapped to my chest, I sorted through the different letters, and when I came across the envelope with my name scribbled on it and no return address, I felt something I hadn’t felt with the previous letters: anger. It could have been hormones from just having my baby or true, genuine anger, but in that moment all I could see was red.

I didn’t know who kept sending me these letters, but they obviously knew me. I felt violated, almost, that this person could invade my life with their letters but I had no way to get into theirs.

I tore open the envelope and pulled the letter out.

you have a baby boy Jane

he’s beautiful

I love you

i am so proud of you

As frustrated as I felt with getting that letter, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I don’t know what prevented me from just tossing it into trash, but I found myself tethered to it.

I do know why I can’t throw it out. Deep down I know why I can’t. But saying it out loud or admitting it could make it not be true. Or it could make it true. And I don’t know which one would be worse.

I never got a fifth letter.

It’d been almost a year since I got the last letter. I didn’t have much time to think about them, given that I was a mother now, but I still thought of them from time to time.

I was grocery shopping with Benny one evening after I got off work and picked him up from daycare. He sat strapped into the cart, playing contentedly with a plush toy as I mindlessly strolled through the aisles. I came prepared with a list, as I always did, but in that moment, I had completely forgotten about all of the things I had needed to get. Instead, I thought about my letters.

They had just… stopped coming. A part of me was relieved—no more personal, mystery letters was definitely something I appreciated. But another, almost bigger, part of me was disappointed I stopped getting them. As much as I tried to stop myself from believing that the letters were from her, I think that as time went on, I couldn’t help but let a small part of me cling to the hope that it might be her.

Lost in my thoughts and oblivious to my surroundings, I hadn’t noticed the other cart coming in the opposite direction until we collided. There was a loud crash and Benny jostled, dropping his toy to the ground and letting out a pitiful wail. I felt mortified; I’d never done something like that before. I quickly picked Benny’s toy up and handed it back to him, and he resumed playing as if nothing had happened.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized to the other shopper. “I was not paying attention at all.”

“It’s quite alright Jane,” he said. “Even though the little guy’s here with you, I understand that this might be your chance at some peace for the day.”

I smiled gratefully at him. Mr. Hendricks was my history teacher in high school and now, as an adult, my neighbor right across the street. He lived there with his wife Amy. They were a lovely couple and Mr. Hendricks was one of the kindest men I’d ever met.

We said our goodbyes and he gave Benny a little pinch on the cheek, which sent him into a fit of giggles. I spent the rest of my shopping trip with a clear head, the letters completely forgotten about.

Benny is almost one and a half now. He’s walking and talking and smiling and laughing. He makes me so happy. My parents are absolutely in love with him. He’s brought a spark back to them that I haven’t seen in years. Seeing them with Benny reminds me of the time before Harper went missing. We all still miss her, of course, how could we not? But having Benny around helps to ease the lingering pain.

It’s an early Saturday morning when we hear the commotion outside. I’m sitting in the living room with Benny, drinking my coffee as he plays with his toys and Benjamin is in the kitchen cooking breakfast. The yelling is faint at first. So faint that I hardly pay it any mind. Gradually, the yelling gets louder and louder, until it sounds like it’s almost right in our front yard. Benjamin comes out of the kitchen with a frown on his face.

I move from the couch to the window, pulling the curtains open to peer outside. There’s a woman on the sidewalk outside of my house, yelling into the early morning air. I can’t make out what she’s saying, but she’s definitely causing a scene. A few of my neighbors have come outside to watch, and one of them is starting to approach the screaming woman. I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but I find myself moving to my front door and opening it. I begin to walk down my front walkway and as I get closer, her voice becomes clearer.

“Stamps!” she’s crying. “I need stamps!”

I freeze when I hear her voice. It is hoarse and weak, even though she is screaming and crying with all her might. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. How could I ever forget it?

“Harper?” I call out, my voice unsure. She doesn’t hear me—she just continues to yell about needing stamps. I steel myself to call for her again.

“Harper!”

The shout of my voice seems to pull the woman out of her reverie. She stops yelling and slowly turns to look at me. Her face is dirty and her hair is matted. There are dark bags under her eyes and her skin is sickly pale. She looks like a ghost, a shell of who she used to be, but it’s her. It’s Harper.

She smiles when she sees me. I don’t know what else to do except smile back. Seeing her, in the flesh, after all these years… I feel overwhelmed and like I might faint. I don’t even register my husband coming up behind me. All I can see and hear and think is Harper.

“Hi, Jane.”

I can’t move. It’s her. It’s really her. As I stare at her, I start to notice black spots surrounding the edges of my vision. It feels overwhelmingly like a python is coiling itself around my body, squeezing me so tight I have no more air in my lungs. The last twelve years of my life flash before my eyes before there’s nothing.

I awake to the feeling of Benjamin lightly tapping my face, frantically murmuring my name. I blink my eyes open and the harsh morning sun momentarily blinds me. I groan, moving to sit up, but Benjamin stops me from moving too fast.

“Just take it easy for a second, honey. Give yourself a minute to wake up,” he says softly.

I feel completely drained of any energy I may have had. It’s as if I was run over by a semi-truck. All I can bring myself to do is nod weakly.

“Jane, are you okay?”

Hearing that voice snaps me out of it fast. I sit up quickly, almost headbutting Benjamin in the process, and I look at Harper. Up close, she doesn’t look as bad, but she still doesn’t look great. She still has the mole above her left eyebrow and the scar on her temple from when she fell off her bike the first time dad took the training wheels off.

If I had any doubts of this being Harper, seeing her this close to me erases them. I launch myself into her arms, squeezing her tighter than humanly possible, and I sob as I hold her. Her small arms hug me back, her grip on my shirt pathetic and her grimy smell permeating the air around us, but I don’t care.

“I’m here,” she whispers into my hair. I feel so many emotions wash over me in this moment—relief, joy, despair, anger. The anger is what pulls me back down to earth as I lean back to look at her.

“Where have you been?” I ask Harper, my voice little more than a shaky whisper. She moves her hands from the back of my shirt to cup the sides of my face and wipe away my tears.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she answers, her voice broken. I just shake my head and pull her back in for another hug. I just want to hold her and never let go.

I hear sirens in the distance, but they don’t register in my mind that they’re for us. When they get closer, however, is when I realize someone must have called them. I pull away from Harper and look to Benjamin where he’s sitting on the front porch swing with Benny in his lap, a small smile on his face.

The next minute, there’s two police cars and an ambulance crowded in front of my house and blocking my street. The EMTs rush to where Harper and I are sitting on the ground, desperately clinging to each other. The first one to reach us offers us a sad smile.

Everything after that is a blur.

I find myself sitting in the waiting room of the hospital with Benny in my lap and Benjamin at my side as we wait for my parents to arrive. Harper was taken for testing and I couldn’t go with her. Sitting here, waiting, is making me anxious. I just got her back after all these years and being away from her, even for a short period of time, is killing me.

I hear my mother before I see her. Her cries are unmistakable; I had listened to those same cries every day for years after Harper went missing. Her sounds are seared into my brain.

She turns the corner of the waiting room, my father in tow, and sobs in relief at the sight of me. I pass Benny off to Benjamin and shoot out of my chair, rushing to my parents and hugging them.

“Where is she? Where is Harper?” my mother asks, her sobs barely dying down enough to get the words out. I didn’t realize that I had started crying again too until I tried talking.

“The doctors need to run some tests on her and they wouldn’t let me go with her. They said they’d come let me know as soon as they were done so we could go see her.”

Waiting takes an eternity. After over an hour, the doctor finally comes out and gives us the okay to see Harper. When we enter the room, we see her hooked up an IV and all sorts of different machines. She looks sickly, but I suppose she is.

My mother bursts into a fresh set of tears when she sees Harper. Harper starts crying when she sees them, too. Even my father begins to cry, but I don’t blame him. He and my mother make their way over to Harper’s bed, where they hug and hold her until she has to shoo them off of her with a laugh so she can breathe.

There is a knock at the door and a man pops his head in. We all turn to look at him and he gives us a sympathetic smile.

“Hello everyone,” he says as he steps into the room. There’s a golden badge attached to his belt. He’s a police officer. “I’m Detective Wyatt and I’m here to speak with Harper. I understand that this is emotional for all of you, so you’re all more than welcome to stay if Harper wants you to.”

Of course, we stay—we need to know what happened to Harper just as much as she needs to tell her story.

The night I was supposed to meet my boyfriend at the party, I ran into Mr. Hendricks. He was out with his wife and they saw me and offered me a ride. I didn’t think anything of it at the time—I had no reason to. Mr. Hendricks was incredibly well-liked and known for doing things like that just because. So, I got into the car with them. They didn’t take me to the party.

For the past twelve years, I was held captive in Don and Amy Hendricks’s house on Lake Hill Drive. At first I was chained to the wall of their basement, beaten and drugged to stay compliant. They never laid a hand on me other than to discipline me when I was out of line—they had no interest in anything beyond just keeping me.

They called me Regina. As time went on, I figured out why they called me that: they had a daughter named Regina before they moved to our town. She was seventeen when she was found dead in a ditch, murdered by a stranger. Her killer was never found, and Don and Amy never recovered.

Slowly, I gained their trust, and eventually, I was given free roam of the house. I had my own bedroom, decorated the way Regina’s room had been in their old house. They treated me just like the daughter they lost, and I knew she had to play along in order to survive.

I began sending Jane the letters when I realized that she had moved in across the street. I was too afraid to try and write for help, but I thought that small, anonymous letters would be enough for the time. So, while Don went to teach at the high school and Amy went to work at the bank, I wrote Jane letters.

I knew I couldn’t send too many all at once, even though I wanted to. I had to space them out so the missing paper, envelopes, and stamps would go unnoticed. I watched Jane’s life happen through tinted windows and white blinds. The only way I could have any part of it was through sending her small letters.

I never sent Jane a fifth letter because the Hendricks’ caught me writing one. When they discovered what I was doing, they went absolutely ballistic on me. I was beaten and starved within an inch of my life. They chained me back up in the basement, said I was ungrateful of everything they’d done for me. For a year and a half, I lived in a dark and dirty basement, treated like a prisoner. Despite how torturous the solitude was, it gave me time to think and formulate a plan.

That morning, when Amy had ventured down into the basement to feed me, and just as I planned, she found me on the ground, appearing to be unconscious. She tried waking me up to no avail. In a panic, Amy had uncuffed me and was about to attempt dragging me out of the basement when I made my move. A surge of adrenaline gave me the strength I needed to knock Amy down. I picked up the discarded wooden tray Amy used to carry my breakfast down to me, flung the food off of it, and whacked Amy in the head. One blow was enough to knock her out cold.

Once I was sure Amy was unconscious, I scrambled out of the basement and into the living room. Just as I had hoped, Don wasn’t awake yet—he was never up before eight on Saturday mornings. All I needed to do was get through the front door and I’d be free.

I unlocked the door and stepped outside for the first time in twelve years. I almost sobbed with relief then and there but I still had work to do. I needed to cause a big enough commotion to lure Jane and the other neighbors outside so that if Don or Amy came to find me, there’d be too many witnesses for them to bring me back in. So that’s what I did.

Once Harper finishes telling her story, I feel like I might vomit. I’m still reeling from hearing the tale of my sister’s abuse when Detective Wyatt says something about going to Don and Amy’s house and keeping us updated, but I only half pay attention. I don’t know what’s going to happen next or what Detective Wyatt is going to find. At this moment, though, I don’t care about any of that stuff. I don’t care about Don and Amy. I don’t care about an investigation or a trial. None of it matters. The only thing that matters to me is that Harper is back. She is alive. She is going to be okay.

Harper is home and I feel whole again.

#creative writing #short story #mystery #fiction #original fiction #original content #short fiction #original work #writing #mystery writing

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codename-bewareofthefangirl · 6 years

Text

Messed Up

Hi!

A few days ago I read these headcanons about the Bakugou Family by the lovely @cutekirikitty and I felt so inspired, enough to beat for a night my writer's block. Sooooo... this is the result. I wanted to write a ff revolving around Mitsuki, that I headcanon as a very complex and beautiful mother figure. I believe she may have had a past similar to his son, especially due to her flaming personality, and I don’t believe that just because she became a mother all her issues have magically disappeared. Parenting is hard and there’s no guide to it. That’s why I love her so much. I hope you enjoy this ff as much as me!

And thank you again Cutekirikitty for reading and betaing and helping me to improve it! You were such a great inspiration and help!

Have a nice day!

Read On AO3

Mitsuki Bakugou, Masaru Bakugou & KiriBaku

Light Angst, Parenting, Anger Issues, Motherhood, Mother-Son Relationship, Fluff, Kiri is a Sunshine, Established Relationship, Official Introduction to the Parents

“I’m home!”

Masaru’s voice echoed through the rooms of the Bakugou’s household.

As he tiredly took off his shoes, no answer was screamed back at him. He frowned, then let out a little sigh.

Looking around as he straightened, he realized that all the lights were off; he couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen nor any other room.

Oh.

So, that was it?

He silently padded down the corridor, up the stairs and then to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Finding the door closed, he decided to knock before entering. When nobody answered, he turned the knob and quietly stepped into the dark room.

His lips stretched in a bitter-sweet smile.

There she was, Mitsuki, curled in the middle of their bed, with photos scattered around her as the light of the dying sun dyed her in red. He could only see her back but knew by heart all the telltale signs of when his wife was upset.

“I’m home…” he repeated in a murmur.

A flinch.

“…welcome back.”

“Can I sit?”

A shrug.

Satisfied with the reaction, he seated on the corner of the bed. Close enough to reach out to her in case of need, but not to suffocate her.

Mitsuki was staring at a crumpled photo in her hands, chin resting on the knees.

It brought Masaru back in times, to when they were younger. When Mitsuki was fighting with herself day by day, when she would suddenly get silent and mad and flee away from him for no apparent reason. When Masaru would wait for hours under her window to know if she was alright, when he would let her cry into his arms. When life was less complicated, and they were the only ones they had to take care of.

Masaru leaned to look at which one she was looking, even though he could sort of tell by all the wrinkles. A photo she had the habit to pick when she was angry at herself.

A young Katsuki flashed a blinding smile to the camera, holding triumphantly some flowers in his hands. There were two or three bruises on his skin.

They had gone hiking for the first time ever; well, more a walk than anything. Katsuki had been so excited about the smallest things, running wild into the woods. The scars were a badge of honor for having tripped down a slide as he tried to pick some flowers for Mitsuki. His mother hadn’t had the heart to scold him, too moved by the innocent gift.

“…wasn’t he happy?” she whispered, voice scratchy.

He could see how puffy her eyes were but made no comment.

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite photos.”

She nodded in agreement.

“It was one of the last times I genuinely complimented him wasn’t it?”

Masaru didn’t reply.

They both knew the answer.

Mitsuki was an overly proud mom.

Who could blame her?

She had a caring, honest husband she loved to death and a strong, shiny son who deserved the world. She still couldn’t believe she had been blessed with them, especially thinking of all the flaws and issues she had always harbored inside.

She had managed to do something good in the end, hadn’t she?

That’s why she had always showered Katsuki with compliments, love, and affection. Well, partially it was also to compensate for when she would lose control and let her anger burn, but she was working on it; she had already improved in comparison as to how she was during high school. But, most of all, it was because she genuinely believed Katsuki was the best child ever.

Strong, beautiful, capable, smart, confident… And with a strong quirk to match! She couldn’t count how many people had complimented her, saying her Katsuki was born to be a hero.

How could have a mother not let it go to her head? She had always been bad at control herself, at doing things with measure.

She had let it blind her.

Stupid of her, right?

Then small things had started to pile up… a harsh comment, a sentence that had made her nearly snapped, bruises on his skin, stubborn replies, an annoyed click of the tongue... Small things that should have told her what was happening, that should have made her understand. But… she didn’t want to see. Katsuki was probably the best thing it had ever happened to her and she didn’t want to accept she may have… ruined it. She wasn’t ready. She was scared. She wanted to believe they were just tantrums, that they would pass soon.

Until the truth smacked her in the face and she was left with no choice.

She truly realized how things had escalated only during a quiet afternoon after she had picked up Katsuki and Midoriya from the kindergarten. Usually, all the boys would go play at the park in front of the house, but that day… ah, that day Mitsuki had asked Midoriya and Katsuki to play in the garden. Even though Katsuki had seemed annoyed by something and the other boy more nervous than usual, she had brushed it off. The house was empty, she had the laundry to do but didn’t want to feel lonely, and, most of all, she was curious about what they would play. It had passed some time since she had seen them enjoying themselves, hadn’t it? They were already growing.

At first, the afternoon had passed smoothly.

Mitsuki had finished her laundry and then moved to vacuum the bedrooms on the second floor. The kids were playing some adventures in the garden when she heard a pained gasp.

Dropping everything, she rushed down the stairs with the heart in her throat.

“Katsuki! Midoriya!” She called, stumbling out in the garden.

“What?” Bakugou replied, his tone clearly annoyed.

Mitsuki froze.

Her son was standing on the grass with a stick into his hands, while Midoriya had fallen to the ground. He was wearing some strange rags and had written on his forehead “Bad”; his knees were scratched, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he trembled like a leaf.

“W-what’s going on?” Mitsuki asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“We are playing at the hero and the monster. Deku is being weak.”

“Deku?” Her eyes grew wide, but the boy didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, I chose it. We were playing, I was defeating him when he fell and said he didn’t want to play anymore.”

Mitsuki looked at the small boy, who tried hurriedly to hide the tears.

“Are you alright, Midoriya?”

The boy nodded and stifled a smile.

“I-I am!”

“It doesn’t seem so.”

The boy threw a scared glance at Katsuki, who clicked his tongue, and nodded again.

“I am! I’m fine!”

Mitsuki frowned, stepping closer.

“Why don’t you change the game? You could be both heroes and I can play the monster!” she suggested as she helped him stand. A strange uneasiness was creeping into her heart.

Midoriya seemed to light up, but Katsuki immediately protested.

“No.”

Mitsuki glared at him.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s weak.”

His mother blinked, shocked.

“What?”

“Deku is weak. He can’t be a hero, he doesn’t even have a quirk yet!” Bakugou was clenching his fists, explosions echoing against his palms. “Tsk, I didn’t even want to play with him but you just brought him home…”

“Sure he can! What are you saying about your friend! Obviously Midoriya can be a hero! And stop calling him Deku, it’s not nice!” she snapped angrily, her tone sharper than what she intended.

Bakugou took a step back, shocked, but immediately glared back even more fiercely.

“He’s not my friend! And he can’t! You said it! Only strong kids can become heroes! He’s not!” he yelled, stomping a foot on the ground.

“He can be strong too!” Mitsuki should have remembered she was talking to a kid, but something in Bakugou’s attitude was making her brain shortcut. Was the look in his eyes? Or the conviction in his tone?

“He’s not! Everybody knows he’s weak! I am strong! I will be the hero!” She didn’t see the fear behind her son’s eyes, “I am the best! You said it, dad said it, the teachers said it!”

“This doesn’t mean that Midoriya is-”

“HE’S NOT! I’M THE ONLY HERO!” Bakugou roared, explosions going wild as he turned and pushed Midoriya to the ground once again, “HE’S NOTHING!”

Mitsuki’s heart stopped.

Her hand moved before she could think.

The slap echoed in the garden.

Bakugou stared at her with the mouth open.

Soon, his eyes filled with tears.

“W-why?” he whined, confused, angry and scared at the same time.

Mitsuki glanced at her own hand, fear strangling her from the inside.

She had never, never hit her son before. Never.

Midoriya started crying too.

She felt the panic rising, lost as what to do.

“K-Katsuki! Go to your bedroom! Now!” she ordered, trying to hide her insecurities behind a mask of anger.

“But I didn’t-”

“Now!”

The boy clenched his jaw.

“I hate you! Liar!” he seethed before running away.

Mitsuki watched him disappear inside the house, heart heavy and mind blank.

“Bakugou-san?” Midoriya was tugging at her sleeve, desperate.

She blinked at him and bent to pick him up, moving more on instinct than anything. She felt like an empty doll.

All she could think was that she had messed up.

She had messed up.

Mitsuki replayed what had just happened over and over again, in a state of horror, as she carried Midoriya home.

All those praises, the compliments, her stupid pride… she had messed up.

And only as she bowed deeply to Iinko, apologizing with all her heart for the behavior of her son, she realized what she had done to Katsuki.

It was her fault.

She had messed up. Once again.

Now she had to fix it.

From that day, Mitsuki gradually stopped complimenting Bakugou. She now saw how much they had inflated his pride and blinded his sight, and wanted to do something to fix, but didn’t know what. She hid her fear and regrets behind her short temper; she started making harsh remarks as soon as he misbehaved, faking not to see how good he was at everything he did and how much he put his efforts into it, finding flaws to mine his growing ego. No matter how much it hurt, how quickly the arguments between them increased, how similar their explosive personalities became and how bitter the resentment in Katsuki’s eyes grew, she shut her heart off.

She genuinely thought that would have been the right solution, believing the rare and awkward moments of shared affection would be enough to keep their relationship working.

Mitsuki only wanted him to realize his limits and flaws, to humbly accept that others could be great too.

She just wanted to be a great mother to a great son.

But when she realized that her attempts had only had the opposite effect, it was again too late. She had forgotten how to love Katsuki without hiding, how to show her love without shouting and being brusque, and Katsuki had grown distant and resentful, had seen through the mask all her flaws and pathetic attempts at parenting.

“What happened today?” Masaru asked gently, pulling her back to the present.

She didn’t say a word but took her phone and threw it into his lap. As soon as the screen lightened up, he realized it was already open on a message. By Katsuki.

“Tomorrow I’ll come for lunch with my boyfriend. I don’t want to, but he’s being a pain in the ass because he wants to meet you.

Don’t mess up, old hag.”

A gasp of surprise left his mouth.

Katsuki had a boyfriend?

He took the time to let it sink, then gave her back the phone.

“I doubt this is due to the fact it’s a boy and not a girl.”

“Who fucking cares!” she snapped, “It’s already a miracle he found someone with the horrible personality he-” She bit her own tongue, grimacing.

Ah, she was doing it again.

Her husband slowly rubbed circles on her back.

“Then?”

“The last sentence. It’s a fucking warning.”

“He must really care about him…” Masaru couldn’t help but smile fondly. The only thought that Katsuki had found someone special warmed him up.

“Obviously!” she scoffed, “As he could do something half-assed!”

Masaru chuckled, “You’re right.”

But that didn’t explain why Mitsuki was torturing herself again.

However, he let her be with her thoughts, just pulling her slowly closer.

After what seemed an infinite amount of time, she gently pushed him back.

“I have to prepare dinner…” She uncurled, stretching, and climbed out of the bed.

Her husband frowned a little, but his hand stopped in midair.

Should have he grabbed her? Insisted?

Ah, he had never been good at insisting, not even when it mattered the most. Not even when he should have. That’s why he had always ended up looking at the two people he loved the most in his life tearing each other apart, without being able to help. Tired and out of the loop after a day at work, too mellow and soft to contrast their anger or stop their aggressive arguments. Oh, he was good at comforting them afterward, when they were locked in their rooms berating themselves and the other at once, but it was too late. That was damage control, not a useful help.

But his wife knew him.

“It’s a threat, Masaru,” she said, stilling on the door without turning, “A warning for me. Don’t fuck up this time or it’s the end. And we all know how good I am at messing up.”

When they had told her Katsuki had been kidnapped, her world had shattered.

Katsuki? Her son? Kidnapped?

Before she could make up, before they could fix their relationship, he had been taken away. And what if that was the end?

She could remember rushing to the tv and stilling in shock as the new reported the incident, the world around becoming a buzzing blur. She had come back from the abyss of regrets and anger only as Eraserhead defended Katsuki, the only one who had seen the truth people always ignored about him, and she had never felt more grateful Katsuki had found teachers like him. The tears had streamed down her face without stopping until she had seen him being saved by his friends.

But what had she done when Katsuki had finally returned home?

Ah, just a hug. A hug was all that she had managed before her anger and issues had exploded.

She had screamed at him.

Because she had felt like dying while he was in danger. Because she was angry at Katsuki for letting them kidnap him and at herself for being angry for such a stupid reason. Because she felt so relieved, broken and frail she didn’t know how to hide it.

Because, simply, Mitsuki didn’t how to deal with the turmoil in her heart and always messed up everything, letting anger take the wheel as she tried to push back the rest.

They had ended up locked into their rooms once again, in a never-ending déjà vu, until Masaru had put her pieces back together and helped her going to Katsuki’s room without chickening back. It had taken all her courage and strength to knock and enter; she didn’t even have had the heart to switch on the light.

Since Katsuki hadn’t screamed to go away, she crawled into his bed and hugged him to the chest; feeling his arms circling her was such a relief. She let silent tears fell onto his blond hair, holding onto him as he buried the face into her chest. Outside the room, they both knew Masaru was sitting on the floor, waiting.

“…I’m- glad…” she managed to whisper.

Katsuki raised his head to meet her gaze.

“…me too…” he replied all too softly.

But she saw the disappointment in his eyes, the question screaming.

Why? Why couldn’t they be better than this? Why they always had to hurt each other? Why?

The next day, Mitsuki had let his son into the hands of the U.A teachers.

She had felt so disgusted by herself: for a second, she had felt glad they were taking him. She had been glad he would go and live at the dorm because she didn’t know how to answer that “Why?”; because she knew that those teachers were helping him grow and mature far better than she had ever done. Because every time she looked at him she remembered what a shitty mother she was, and it hurt.

And the worst was that Katsuki knew, she was sure he knew, and what could he ever feel for her, a mother messed up and scared to raise her own son, more than disappointment?

As the fated hour approached, Mitsuki grew nervous and nervous.

She was helping her husband in the kitchen with the lunch, but her hands trembled so badly she was murdering that poor potato.

“Why don’t you set the table?” Masaru gently took the knife away from her hands.

She sighed.

“I already did. Three times.”

“Three?”

“The second because I was agitated. The third because I snapped and hit a glass by accident. It shattered,” she grumbled begrudgingly.

“Are you okay?” Masaru took a look at her hand.

She rolled her eyes.

“Except for the fact that I’m a 38 years old grown ass woman but I’m panicking like a middle schooler because I have the short temper of a ticking bomb and I’m on the verge of ruining my son’s happiness once again? Fucking peachy.”

Masaru couldn’t help but burst into an amused laughter.

“You’ll be fine, Mitsuki. Katsuki wouldn’t have accepted to bring him home if he really thought you could mess up, would have he?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

Mitsuki knew as well as she knew that she was the adult there and had to pull herself together instead of going crazy. But she just… cared so much. It was scary. She was tired of making mistakes.

Sixteen years and she still didn’t know how to be a good mother.

Pathetic.

Masaru flicked her forehead, before returning to the curry.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Overthinking. And berating yourself.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were!”

“I wasn’t!”

A ring cut their banter.

The potato fell from Mitsuki’s hands.

“You go, I’ll finish here.” Masaru gave her a small push, and she slowly made her way to the door.

She turned the knob holding her breath.

Red eyes.

Spiky blond hair, sharp jaws, always present pout and smell of nitroglycerin.

“And here I thought I would die before seeing you again,” she couldn’t help but smirk. Ah, Katsuki was dressed well today.

“Shut up, old hag!” he growled back, averting his eyes.

“Dude!” the gasp reminded them they weren’t alone.

Mitsuki’s eyes immediately ran to the boy who was waiting a step behind Katsuki and narrowed as she scrutinized him.

There was something familiar in him… Red spiky hair, scarlet eyes, well-built physique, nervous smile and…the joined hands.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, startling him, “You’re the boy who saved my dumb son!”

He seemed to be surprised about being recognized, but quickly brushed it off as a “Bakugou’s smart thing.”

“Yes, ma’am! Well, not exactly, I just helped out saving him- I just- well-”

“Yes, he fucking saved me! Stop mumbling idiot!”

Both the boy and Mitsuki almost gaped at Bakugou’s admission of having been saved, but if the first just smiled and squeezed his hand, the woman had to restrain herself from cursing.

“A-anyway… I’m Kirishima Eijirou, Ka-Bakugou’s best friend. I’m glad to finally meet you!” The boy bowed respectfully, with an adorable smile.

Oh, Katsuki had found a nice boy?

“Boyfriend!” the blond growled, “He’s my stupid boyfriend!” he repeated making Kirishima blush, but his glare was trained on her. As to dare her to say anything.

Mitsuki carefully smiled to Kirishima. He had never seen her son warier and more protective at the same time, she didn’t want to let him misunderstand not even for a second. Not this time.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kirishima-kun. I don’t know how this brute won you over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come, Masaru had just finished preparing lunch. Do you like curry?”

She led the way as Kirishima chirped how he loved it, but she glanced at the way Bakugou seemed to relax a little and sighed in relief.

They entered in the kitchen as Masaru was washing his hands. He quickly dried them with the apron and smiled gently to Kirishima, who looked almost surprised at the man’s appearance; Mitsuki had to hide a smirk: she loved how people thought Bakugou had taken his horrible personality from his father and then remained shocked to discover it was quite the opposite.

“I’m Masaru, Bakugou’s father. It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima-kun.”

“The pleasure is mine!”

The boy bowed once again, but now his smile was even more relaxed. Poor thing, he must have been so anxious. Mitsuki could remember how nerve-wracking she’d felt when meeting Masaru’s family, and she was nowhere near as nice as Kirishima.

“Let’s seat! It’s still warm!”

“Thank you!”

Bakugou quickly sat by Kirishima’ side and his parents in front of them; Mitsuki caught sight of his hand giving a last squeeze before letting Kirishima go.

The lunch went on smoothly.

The usual banter between Bakugou and Mitsuki never escalated, Kirishima was more than happy to talk for everyone and keep the mood light, and Masaru was ready to fill the awkward silences or cut the occasional tensions.

“…and so, as soon as I suggested Momo would be better than him at tutoring me, Ka-Bakugou immediately offered. Well, more threatened me than anything.” Kirishima finished his story, making the couple laugh wholeheartedly as Bakugou muttered curses against the palm of the hand.

“You fucking asked for it, Shitty-hair!” Bakugou bit back, with a smirk.

Even though she could say there was not an ounce of malice in his tone, her heart almost stopped at the nickname. Memory from the past flashed in front of her eyes. Her shoulders tensed.

“Brat!” she almost growled, slamming the hand down, “What are you calling your boyfriend? Haven’t you learned how to respect other people? It’s already a miracle he’s bearing you and you call him like-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki yelled back, explosions crackling from his palms; the red eyes were already burning with flames, “Shut your mouth, old hag! You don’t fucking know anything about me and Ei-”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima interrupted them even quicker than Masaru. He elbowed gently his boyfriend’ side, “She’s still your mother. Not cool.”

Bakugou snapped his head towards him, ready to chew him up too, but as soon as he met Kirishima’s stern and clear eyes he stilled. Under the couple’s flabbergasted stare, his rage slowly…dimmed. His features softened, the coldness melted.

“She-”

“Still not cool,” Kirishima rebutted with a grin, stretching a hand to catch Bakugou’s, “And I’m fine. Don’t worry!”

They held the gaze for few more heartbeats before Bakugou sagged into the chair.

“Whatever…” he grunted in the end, turning his head to the wall.

Whatever.

To anyone else that could have seemed nothing, if not annoying, but Mitsuki knew what it means: Katsuki was surrendering, he was willingly letting an argument go in favor of someone’s else. And he wasn’t even pissed about it, just as if Kirishima had been right about he said… Mitsuki had always counted every “whatever” said in that sighing tone as a personal victory.

She couldn’t believe someone else knew that too, but there he was that red-head boy, barely hiding a soft smile as he gazed at the blond.

Kirishima turned to Mitsuki.

“Ah, please don’t worry Bakugou-san. I can tell when Bakugou’s words have no bite, nor real mean intentions. It’s just his way of addressing people, me and the whole class are used to it. We don’t care, nor we are hurt. He has also improved a lot since our first year.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Besides,” Kirishima’s tone was now teasing, and he winked at the woman, “He’s using those names because he’s too embarrassed to call me anything else. When we are alone he calls me Sun-”

“EIJIROU!” Bakugou slapped a hand over Kirishima’s mouth, horrified, “Don’t you dare, asshole!”

The other laughed amused, not even remotely scared of having an explosive hand pressed to the face.

“Sorry, sorry…” But he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Mitsuki started giggling without realizing, and it almost startled the boys.

Kirishima seemed content to hear her chuckle, while Bakugou simply stared at her with an unreadable expression.

“Kirishima-kun, you’re an incredible boy. I’m really happy to have you here.” Her heart hadn’t felt so light in days. Masaru squeezed her hand as she smiled earnestly at Kirishima.

He gaped.

“…you have the same smile,” he blurted, turning to Bakugou.

He frowned, annoyed.

“We don’t.”

“You do. But it’s okay, I find yours cuter.”

“Do you want to die, Shitty-hair?”

The rest of the lunch ended peacefully.

When Mitsuki stood to clear the table, Kirishima hurried up and stopped her.

“P-please let me do it! I already intruded you and with such a short notice!”

She flicked his forehead.

“It’s fine, my husband cooked, not me. I can-”

“I insist!” Kirishima repeated, biting his bottom lip. He seemed to be debating if it would have been ruder to let it go or insist more.

Katsuki decided for everyone.

“Let him do, old hag. He won’t stop feeling bad for it, otherwise.”

“Hey!”

“And you?” Mitsuki couldn’t help but ask.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, “I’ll avoid he destroys our kitchen,” he mumbled, before nudging the other boy, “Come on, I don’t want to spend the afternoon washing the dishes.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Please don’t get me started, Hair-for-Brain!”

Without anything to do, Mitsuki walked to the living room almost in a daze. Masaru was seated on the couch, reading one of his favorite books, and she plopped down next to him.

He glanced at her, amused.

“What?”

“He…” Mitsuki said quietly, “…is different.”

Instead of prodding, Masaru realized his wife was lost in thinking and let her be with her mind until she was ready to elaborate. However, after ten minutes, she stood up again and silently walked to the door kitchen.

She had left it ajar and couldn’t stop herself from peeking it.

Mitsuki felt so… curious.

She didn’t exactly know that Katsuki. A protective, wary Katsuki who also wore a soft expression. A Katsuki whose lips were always pulled in a faint, almost invisible grin when nobody looked. A Katsuki who wasn’t watching only at himself anymore.

She wanted to see him more. It was fascinating. It filled her heart with… joy? And pride?

Inside, Kirishima and Bakugou were standing near the sink.

The red-head was vigorously washing the dishes that then passed to the blond, who dried and put them away; they seemed to be talking animatedly, or at least Kirishima was, Bakugou mostly nodded and listened, making small comments from time to time. But Mitsuki could tell he was attentively listening.

At some point, Kirishima must have said something funny or stupid, because Bakugou scoffed and tried to hide his laughter behind the hand, but it didn’t work well. His usual stern or scowling expression was nowhere to be seen as he clutched his stomach and let his voice booming freely, cheeks slightly red and eyes tingling with amusement.

Whatever he may have said, Kirishima seemed deeply embarrassed and his face was completely red. He tried to make Bakugou stop by smacking weakly his shoulder, but the other boy was laughing too much, so he decided to sport a cute pout.

When the blonde realized, a lazy, teasing grin replaced the laughter as he leaned against the counter. Kirishima made an attempt at averting his eyes, but it was clear how pulled by his boyfriend he felt. Bakugou grabbed his t-shirt and made him stumble closer, before placing his hand behind Kirishima’s neck and bringing him down for a heated kiss.

Ah, too much.

Mitsuki retread few steps, guilty as if she had just pried into a secret, private moment. Her back collided with something and she jumped, caught by surprise.

“They make a good couple,” Masaru murmured, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. She relaxed against his chest.

“Uhm,” she agreed with a small nod, “He’s changed.”

“For better?”

“For better. Don’t you see it?” she scrunched her nose, making him chuckle.

“I do see it, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Mitsuki glance at him, confused.

“Do you know why he has changed?”

“…because he has met great kids and teachers who have been able to help him mature.”

“Exactly, so it has been a good idea, hasn’t it? Sending him to the dorms, no matter how much it hurt and made you feel like you were running away from your problems. You took the right choice. Nothing to regret or torture yourself with anymore.”

Oh.

Mitsuki blinked.

Oh.

“I… took the right choice.”

“Yes, I’m glad you did.”

“I-I’m glad too.”

Something in her heart was melting, she felt as if a weight was falling from her shoulders.

She had taken the right choice for her child, she had done something good. Even though she wasn’t the main reason for his changes, even if she hadn’t done anything more than saying “yes”, even if all she had managed had been recognizing she couldn’t do nothing for him and trust someone else, it was something. A small step.

“You can be proud of it,” Masaru said, reading her thoughts.

“Oh, shut it!” She wiped away the small tears who had escaped her control.

He chuckled and left a kiss on her forehead.

“We can be proud of him.”

“…’ve always been,” she muffled begrudgingly, much to his amusement.

“Yeah, but you had never let yourself say it aloud. Don’t you feel better?”

She just shrugged and turned to hug him as she hadn’t done in a long time. Those stupid teenagers in love were making feel her young and in love once again, how annoying.

Her romantic moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s outraged scream.

“ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!”

Instinctively, Mitsuki slammed the door open. Mom’s instinct.

“What happened?”

Bakugou didn’t even notice her, focused on examining the hand of his boyfriend between his, while the red-head seemed so embarrassed he could die.

“You can fucking harden! How the hell did you manage to cut yourself?”

“You were distracting me!”

“Than fucking put the knife down!”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima whined, but Bakugou smacked lightly his head, “I’m fine!”

“You’re bleeding!” he growled, before turning to Mitsuki, “Old hag, help him wash the cut while I go to search for the band-aids! Dad, are they still in the same place?”

The blond stomped out of the kitchen like a hurricane.

“Ah, no…” Masaru stuttered, “We moved them…” he added, tailing his son.

Mitsuki, still perplexed, reached Kirishima and stretched a hand.

“Can I?”

The boy groaned but let her look.

Mitsuki snorted, “It’s such a small cut.”

“I know!” Kirishima sighed, a palm over his eyes, “But he says I’m irresponsible because of my quirk and always gets stressed when I’m hurt. I’m sorry for the fuss.” He seemed genuinely troubled.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she waved it off. Mitsuki still couldn’t believe it was her son had just got so worried for someone else.

“I should have paid attention, but we were joking around…” he explained with a faint blush. And even though he seemed embarrassed, his eyes shined with fondness at the thought.

“…you really love him.”

“What?”

Ah. The words had slipped from Mitsuki’s mouth.

“I… said you really love him.”

Now, Kirishima’s face was the same color as his hair. But his gaze didn’t waver.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I-I really love Katsuki.”

“Why?” That was what worried Mitsuki, the real question.

Kirishima seemed taken aback and frowned.

“Why?”

“My son is… difficult. He has issues. And treats most people like dirt,” she explained, crossing her arms as to defend herself from those red eyes that seemed to bare her.

Mitsuki didn’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes, nor the way his jaw clenched, so similar to how protective Katsuki had seemed during the introductions, but he soon softened again.

“Katsuki is… complex, I know that. He’s foul-mouthed, has one of the biggest egos ever and doesn’t know how to interact with people other than competing,” he agreed with a bitter-sweet smile, “But there’s much more to him, isn’t it? The strength and passion that drive him, his pride as a man, all his vulnerable fear and insecurities that he tries to face alone, his will to become a hero…ah!” he chuckled, “That’s what made me fall in love. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to become a hero more than him, no matter how flawed he knows he is, no matter how hard it feels or what the world says. He’s willing to face all his demons if it means he can improve, and he’s ready to change. Katsuki is burning with passion, he just needs to find his way to convey it… properly. This hit me so hard. Only by being next to him I feel braver and stronger as if nothing could defeat us. Being worthy of his respect and love for me is… amazing. Even if I know he’s not perfect and even if I’ve seen all his ugly sides… I just love him. He makes me a better person.”

Mitsuki didn’t have words to reply, she stared silently at Kirishima, who grew more and more fidgety as the seconds dragged by.

“…glad.”

“What?” he stuttered, panicking.

“I’m glad you are the one he loves. And I’m glad you love him back. You see the best in him… thank you.” Mitsuki’s voice was so quiet as she spoke, looking at the ground.

Kirishima felt the urge to hug her but had already learned how to deal with a Bakugou and stopped himself.

“You don’t have to worry, ma’am. A lot people are beginning to see it too. Bakugou is not alone anymore, you know? We’ve made a lot of friends! I’ll bring them to you if you want to know them! But don’t worry, he’ll be fine!” Kirishima reassured her with a toothy-smiled

She had to force herself not to cry.

What a special boy her son had found. He had completely seen right through her, hadn’t he? Better than what she had ever admitted to herself.

“I’d love to, Kirishima-kun.”

Bakugou chose that moment to barge back in the kitchen, armed with a first-aid kit, Masaru behind him.

“I found it! Uh? What’s this?” he asked suspiciously as he moved the gaze between the two of them.

Mitsuki and Kirishima exchanged a glance, before chuckling.

“Gossiping,” the woman replied with a teasing smirk.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes.

“She had promised to show me your childhood photos!” Kirishima added with a bright smile.

“What? No fucking way!” Bakugou protested marching to him with the disinfectant already in hand.

“Please, Katsuki!” Kirishima begged with his best puppy-eyes.

“I’ll go searching for the albums!” Mitsuki left the kitchen with a laughter.

“I think I have some videos…” Masaru mumbled quietly.

“Dad don’t you dare!”

When the time to go came, Kirishima had nearly been adopted by Masaru and Mitsuki. Not that Bakugou would have ever doubted his boyfriend’ scary ability to befriend even inanimate objects, but it was still a relief.

And… his mother seemed happy. Genuinely happy. He hadn’t seen her like that in a long time, right?

“Thank you again for the hospitality!” Kirishima bowed for the umpteenth time before Mitsuki pulled him into a crushing hug.

“I’m the one who’s happy, Kirishima-kun! You’re really a wonderful boy, feel free to hang here whenever you want.”

“Alright, alright!” Bakugou was losing his patience and roughly dragged his boyfriend away from his mother’s arms, “You have said it already ten times! We’re going to UA, not the fucking north pole! Stop being so dramatic!”

Kirishima laughed, letting the blond manhandle him.

“Goodbye again! I look forward to the next lunch together!” He yelled cheerfully as the other pushed him out of the door.

“Fucking move, Shitty-Hair!”

Once he had finally sent him away, Bakugou turned to his parents.

“I’ll be going…” he said awkwardly.

“Stay safe, and call more often,” Masaru patted his head with a sigh. He really would have liked to stay with them a little longer.

Bakugou shrugged but didn’t protest.

He moved as to open the door and leave but stilled.

He turned to his mother instead.

“Thank you,” he murmured so quietly Mitsuki almost feared to have imagined it, “Eijirou really cared about this, but I too am happy you met him. I’m glad you like him.”

Katsuki was meeting her eyes, and there was no hidden disappointment. No anger. No fear.

He was there honestly revealing his thoughts to her.

Almost vulnerable.

For a heartbeat, it almost sent her mind in a frenzy. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t used to it.

Her brain was already pushing out an automatic, snarky reply as always when she felt vulnerable or lost, but she bit her tongue.

Katsuki had improved. He had done his best to grow.

Mitsuki had to be worthy of all his efforts.

“You really don’t deserve someone as good as him, try not to scare him off.”

“Of course we like him. He’s the best boy you could have ever met,” Mitsuki replied with the same quiet honesty.

Katsuki showed a small smile, biting the inside of his cheek.

“I know,” he scoffed, “That’s why I chose him.”

“Maybe I could adopt him instead of you, brat.”

“I would have never expected less. Look at you, Katsuki, all proud of your boyfriend! I can’t wait to call him my son-in-law,” she teased, making him blush.

“MOM!” he burst.

She laughed hard, happy and so relieved at hearing him calling her mom.

“I hope to see you soon! Kick some ass and show the world your resolve, brat!” She threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, ruffling his head.

“That’s what I always do, old hag! And we’ll come back, stop nagging and let go!” But he made no real attempt at shoving her away, letting her enjoy the moment.

When she finally stepped back, he simply nodded and walked out of the door. Kirishima was waiting on the walkway and started waving enthusiastically as soon as he saw them.

“Goodbye!” he yelled to them as the couple waved back.

Bakugou muttered something under his breath and grabbed him by the hand, quickly pulling him away. Soon, Masaru and Mitsuki remained alone, looking at the sunset.

“See? You didn’t mess up.”

She turned to him with burning eyes.

“I didn’t mess up!” Mitsuki cheered, and, seeing her shining, proud smile, Masaru remembered why he had fallen in love with her in the first place.

“You two are really similar,” Kirishima mused as he and Bakugou walked toward the dorms, hand in hand.

The blond scoffed yet didn’t deny it.

“Horrible personality. Messed up.”

Kirishima rolled his eyes. Those two were really similar.

“Complex. Fierce. Scared to love and yet so full of passion. You have your issues, but both of you are fighting, right? I really admire that. You make me want to give my best too!”

Bakugou halted and turned to stare at him, eyes wide open.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Sure!”

“…How can you say things like this without getting embarrassed?” he growled, blush creeping to his cheeks.

Kirishima chuckled sheepishly, scratching his nape.

“I just say what I see…”

Bakugou gazed his face, almost tempted to search for a lie even though he knew there wasn’t one, before sighing.

“’Guess you really see it.”

“One day you’ll see yourself like that too, I’m here for this.”

“Fucking annoying.”

“But you love me!”

Bakugou chuckled, but leaned closer, “Yeah, I fucking love you.”

And shut his boyfriend with a kiss before he could blurt more embarrassing truths

405 notes · View notes

rejectedbyeharmony · 5 years

Text

The Last Time I Dated A Friend’s Brother

Growing up, I had this best friend named Haley, and I spent a lot of time at her house. Haley, Sarah, and I were like the three amigos. We did everything together. I smoked weed for the first time in a tent in her backyard. She had an older sister who was away at college, and a little brother who always seemed to be around. It was like this kid had no friends, he was always bothering us. He was super annoying, and I vividly remember actually punching him one time because he wouldn’t leave us alone. I heard a few years after high school he had been dating a mutual friend, Amelia, and that they had a baby together. I was happy for them, and that was probably the only time I ever thought about him as an adult.

After my breakup with John, I decided to get on Tinder. I was having a hard time getting over him, and the idea of getting into a new relationship was not even on my radar. Instead, I was pursuing a casual dating situation. This was my first foray with this dating app and I met a few fun guys, and had some good dates, but nothing serious. I was traveling for work one week, and it occurred to me that Tinder matched based on location. So, while I was in North Carolina, I deleted the app to avoid matching with someone great that would be too far away. On the way back, sitting in the back of my coworker’s car while everyone was sleeping, I was bored so I downloaded the app, to check my messages, and started to swipe again as we got closer to home.

I saw a very familiar face, so I swiped right to dig a little deeper. Immediately, I got a match notification. I cracked up when I realized he was Haley‘s little brother, Matt. When we were kids he seemed so much younger than us, but in truth it was only four years age difference. But he had grown up a lot and got pretty cute over the years. He messaged me first, “If you promise not to hit me again, I would love to see you!” I responded with about four lines of HAHAHA, followed by “holy shit, how are you?” We chatted for a couple days and found that we had a lot more in common than we ever knew before. We were quickly bonded, and our conversations turned a little flirty. Eventually, we decided to hang out, and he came to my apartment with his son.

Now, I know that seems weird, and even now writing it if feels weird because… can you imagine meeting somebody’s kid on the first date? But I’ve known this guy like my whole life I just felt like he was a longtime friend introducing me to his kid! We hung out and played cars on my living room floor, while Matt and I caught up. His son was funny, adorable, and bad! Like, Dennis the Menace bad. Matt told me a little bit about his relationship with his ex, Amelia. It sounded a little difficult, but I had no idea how toxic it really was. In the beginning, I didn’t even weigh this into my decision to date Matt.

My bigger concern was Haley. We hadn’t spoken for years. The summer after Senior Year, I got the opportunity to travel abroad with some fellow students. This was a very eye-opening experience, and I was exposed to a lot of things in Europe that I hadn’t encountered in the US. When I got home, I told Haley that I kissed a girl. I hadn’t really worked through my feelings about it, but it wasn’t any kind of declaration of sexual identity… it was just confiding in a friend that I had a new experience. Haley told our friend Sarah that I was a lesbian. Sarah worked with my sister, and told her… and then my sister told my mom. So, here I thought I was just sharing a secret with a friend, and I ended up having to explain to my mom that I wasn’t lesbian. The truth is, I don’t know what I am, even now at almost 36 years old I don’t know. I have never had nor pursued a romantic relationship with a woman, but I’ve definitely been attracted to them. I don’t know if that needs defining either, because I don’t believe that sexuality is binary. Anyway... what I didn’t know, was that she didn’t think that was a big deal. She hadn’t spoken to me because I didn’t invite her to my very small wedding. I barely invited any friends, it was mostly family there. We had approximately 50 guests, there was one friend from high school (who knew my husband well) and a handful of friends from work (who were also friends with Joe). I hadn’t spent any amount of time with Haley since she told my secret.

But, Matt assured me that Haley still loved me and his family would accept me with open arms, and he was totally right. Being with his family again was like being in high school. But I dont want to mislead you, Haley and I didn’t pick up where we left off. She had new best friends, and so did I. But it was still cool, and we were cool. Once I had his family’s blessing, it didn’t take long for us to start dating, and for me to start coparenting his child. His ex-girlfriend, Amelia was a former friend of mine, but now treated me like I was a stranger. I don’t know with what went on in her life in the 10 years since we last hung out, but she was not the most mentally stable person. It affected the kid and deeply affected Matt.

He was very much a pacifist and never stood up for himself in their relationship. His vain attempts at trying to coparent were constantly thwarted by her miserable attitude and unreasonable, aggressive communication style. She had a horrible time keeping a job, and it seemed like our custody schedule would change as frequently as week to week. I encouraged Matt to get an official custody agreement with the courts, but he was honestly afraid of her taking the kid away from him completely, so he would lay down to her demands all the time. It was infinitely frustrating to stand by and watch her make him feel like less of a man. And honestly, sometimes it made me see him as less of a man, too.

I tried to create some stability at home by moving us in together. I bought a house out of necessity, because a 2-or-3 bedroom apartment would cost much more than buying a home in Northern Virginia. Our first couple months in the house were met with tons of problems. We moved in at the end of December. By the time we got everything unpacked and settled, we discovered bed bugs. It was hard to discern whether they had been transferred from the moving van, or the house Matt lived in before, or if they had always been in the house I purchased. Ultimately the source didn’t matter as much as the remediation, so we asked Amelia to help us out and take her son when it wasn’t “her week”. She completely blew the situation out of proportion and called CPS on us for endangering their son, when we were really trying to protect him. We had pets we had to move to his sister’s house, and we slept in her basement while our house was being treated. If you’ve never had bedbugs, let me explain what a complete mindfuck they are. I was not getting bitten, Matt was. Every morning he would wake up with welts all over his body that he couldn’t explain. But we worked different schedules, so we weren’t waking up together to see if we both had welts. He didn’t tell me about them until the third morning, asking if I also was experiencing this. That’s when we discovered the little splatters of blood on our mattress and walls from the bugs after they bit Matt. Even after the bedbug dog sniffed our entire home and the bug company assured us we were safe, we felt like victims in our own home. Every tiny tickle on our skin would send us reeling. It was psychological warfare.

Once we safely moved his son back into the house, I decorated his room first. We painted the walls, we made him a little toy/art workstation, and hung a huge light-up Bumble Bee, his favorite transformer, on the wall above his bed. Matt invited Amelia to come see our house when we were all settled. It wasn’t breaktakingly beautiful, like some of the homes I’ve designed in my career. It’s kind of like the housekeeper who doesn’t clean her own house, our house was cozy and humble. But we were proud of what we built together. This was the one and only time we had a amicable meeting with Amelia, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. She brought her son to us for our custody week, and walked him inside. We showed her around the main floor, and the kid noticed some candy on the kitchen counter. He asked me for some, and I said no, and he threw himself into a rage fit. He was jumping up and down, stomping his feet, screaming about wanting that candy. I stood back and waited for either Matt or Amelia to react. And they both just stood there staring at him in horror, like most people stare at other people’s kids when they are having a tantrum in public. I got down on one knee, at his eye level, and said “it’s not time for candy bud. It’s time for bed. We can have candy tomorrow. Ok? Now why don’t you go show your mom your new bedroom?”

His tears dried, and his face lit up. He turned, grabbed his mom’s hand and ran toward the stairs. I heard Amelia say, on her way up the stairs “you are so lucky you have three parents.” And I looked at Matt and said “he has one parent. It’s me.”

Now any parents reading this might be pissed at that statement, but trust me when I say, I believed it was true. I was the only one parenting him. When he was with his mom, there were no rules and no boundaries. And Matt had the typical single dad attitude of never wanting to be the bad guy, so he also had very few rules. But when he was with me, there were rules. We sat at the dinner table to eat. We used our forks and spoons. We didn’t act like a fucking lunatic in public, and we said please and thank you. It was like trying to train a puppy, because he was constantly unlearning these behaviors with his parents. I was the only one who cared about him being a decent human being some day. Fuck me, right?

This is the part where I’m too mad to finish the story today. To be continued.

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