#chapter 48: Familiar

[shimmeringdungeon]

Laios said that's Not a Monster that's a Chicken Nugget.

[dungeonmeshititlepages]

[september-leo]

I am really worried that the rumor of Negai no Astro getting axed by Weekly Shonen Jump might be true... IMO it's too soon for them to get assembled just to fight a greedy grandpa. I know he has the daybreak ore, but I mean it in a sense of this almost feels like a final boss fight with most siblings are gathered, especially since some of them came all the way there. Even Kinpa and Ginji got involved. Yes, there are Shio and the rest of the siblings whom we haven't known what they're up to so far though. I just hope we won't immediately face Shio as the last opponent after this because I want the story to be longer and explored more.

I hope Wakui's move in assembling the majority of the siblings in the latest chapter suceeds in grabbing the readers' interest thus avoiding NnA from getting axed. Like Kimetsu no Yaiba. I've heard that Gotouge threw in Muzan, who's the main antagonist and final boss of the series, in its earlier arc because kny was so close to get cancelled by WSJ. The tactic was proven to be successful because the series kept running to the point it got anime adaptation which further explodes the series' popularity.

Negai no Astro's pacing has been enjoyable so far, not rushed nor too slow. So IMO it's evident that the pace feels quicker since the tournament arc. All in all, I hope Wakui can complete the series while sticking to his original plan ー probably with a bit of tweaking here and there, but not to the point of getting stopped abruptly.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (48/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Time to say goodbye.

Warnings: 18+ (fingering, boob sucking, slight anal play, mentions of sex), fluffy fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: thank you all for your patience and kind words. I don't know what I'd do without you. I promise I'll be better in the future. I love you. feedback is appreciated.

The first thing you feel is the warm embrace and warm hands brushing through your hair. Still half asleep, you feel the gentle pressure on your head, and Charles slowly and lovingly scratches your scalp as if he wants to wake you up gently. 

Your eyes open just a crack before you decide to close them again and take a deep breath. Charles' chest is against your back, the heat of his skin burning through the shirt you're wearing. His arm is wrapped tightly around your middle and he's lying so close to you, with his head on your pillow and your legs entwined, that you don't know where your body ends and his begins. 

His touch is so familiar, so gentle and reassuring that you would almost fall asleep again if he didn't whisper in your ear.

“Good morning,” he breathes into your shoulder, his lips brushing your naked skin. His hand, which is not running through your hair, slowly slides under your shirt to press you even closer to him. ”How did you sleep, mon amour?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer to him. “Not long enough,” you reply in a sleepy voice. Tired, you stretch your head in his direction so that he can continue to massage your scalp. “Have you been awake for long?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not too long,” he replies, weaving his fingers through your hair. “But long enough to enjoy your company before I have to get up and pack my bags.” He presses his nose against your cheek before gently kissing your temple. 

You smile sleepily. “How about you? How did you sleep?”

Slowly, his hand moves up from your belly, his thumb gently stroking the curve of your breast, while his fingers linger on your ribs. “I dreamt of you,” he answers softly, his lips on your neck. He presses his hips against your ass so you can feel his erection. 

Oh, boy. 

Your pussy throbs as he nibs at the soft skin of your neck. You gasp silently, arching towards him. “And what exactly did you dream?” You reach out and grab his hair to press his face against you. 

His fingers on your ribs spread and move to your bare chest. “You and me. At training camp,” he begins to describe his dream, while his thumb and index finger gently roll your nipple. 

Slightly confused, you turn your head in his direction, your noses nudging each other. “At training camp? Please don't tell me we actually went through your training schedule there.

His green eyes sparkle in the morning light. His hand moves a little further and turns you completely around to face him, his fingers grasp the flesh of your thigh and pull it over his hip so that he can press his hard-on against your barely-clad heat. “Don't worry, mon amour,” he breathes. “We didn't follow my training schedule. But –”

“But what?” You put your hand on his cheek, the stubble pleasantly scratching the palm of your hand. You curl your leg a little tighter around his waist. 

A grin spreads across his beautiful face. “We were still physically active,” he admits, sliding his hand higher up your leg, under the hem of his boxer briefs, which you are wearing. Charles leans forward a bit and kisses the tip of your nose, your cheek, your neck. His teeth brush against your pulse and goosebumps spread across your body. 

Heat rises to your cheeks as his fingers trail over your ass, as if it were the most natural movement in the world. As if you had been a couple for ages. His touch is so familiar that you practically melt away. 

You can't even imagine what the next few days would be like without him. What you're supposed to do here without him, without your roommate. Without your best friend. Without the man you love. 

As his fingers slide between your thighs and he gently brushes his fingertips against your lips before gently rubbing your bundle of nerves, so making you whimper, the alarm on his cell phone goes off. Grumbling and annoyed, he pulls his hand out of your pants before licking his fingers briefly and rolling onto his back. He reaches back to turn off the alarm. Sighing, he grabs you and pulls you onto him. 

Surprised and aroused, you look down at him. “What –”

“I don't want to get up,” he complains, wrapping his arms around your back so that you couldn't get off him even if you wanted to. Which will never be the case in your life. Hell will freeze over before you voluntarily let go of Charles. ”Can't we just lie here and pretend the alarm never went off?”

Your head is on his neck, where you leave feather-light kisses on his warm skin. “That would be nice,” you agree with him and reach out to run your hand through his hair. 

Charles groans softly. “We can pretend, you know? I just don't go to training camp and we both spend the next few days together here, only leaving the bed when we have to, and we don't have to go without each other for a long, miserable time. And then we can go to Kika's New Year's party together instead of only seeing each other there.”

You giggle. “Sounds like a solid plan,” you reply quietly. “But I'm afraid that at some point you gave Andrea a key to this apartment and he would definitely be standing in front of our bed if you weren't standing downstairs on time with your things, dressed and ready to leave.”

His arms tighten around you. “Our bed?” He asks with a grin and raised eyebrows. 

The heat rises to your cheeks again. “Well, you said that you – that we –” You take a deep breath. “You said that we wouldn't sleep apart anymore. And so I thought –”

“I'm only messing with you,“ he smiles and kisses your forehead. ‘This is our bed. In our bedroom. In our apartment," he assures you and lets his fingers slide under your shirt again. Warm fingertips gently press into your spine, eliciting a soft sigh from you. You feel his hard and demanding bulge twitching against your stomach. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.“ You kiss his neck one last time before sitting up. His arms come off you and fall at his side, while your knees press into the mattress next to his hips as you sit up. ”Come on.” You reach for his hand and pull him into a sitting position as well. ”You have to get up.”

Immediately, his arms wrap around your torso again, pressing you against him and positioning you so that your legs can wrap around his hips. You sit straddling his lap and feel his boner against your pussy as his hands roam over your heated body again. 

“I don't want to get up,” he repeats as he leans forward and begins to nibble on your neck. As his lips reach your pulse and he gently sucks on your skin there, you involuntarily rub against him. 

“Charles,” you breathe, hands on his naked shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as he begins rocking you back and forth. ”You have to.”

His fingers grasp the hem of your shirt and without thinking, you raise your arms so that he can pull it over your head. “Says who?” he asks, raising his eyebrow as he throws the garment on the floor. He pulls you close again, fingers sliding into your briefs and kneading your ass as his lips glide hotly across your front. 

Your fingers dig into his hair as his mouth closes around your nipple and he begins to suck. “Oh fuck,” you moan, pressing his face closer to you as you arch towards him. His hands slide deeper into your boxer shorts, digging into your flesh and spreading you a little further for him. “Charles.”

Your best friend lets go of your nipple, but only to suck a hickey into the soft skin next to it. “I know.” As the spot darkens, his mouth slides further and his lips close around your other tit, coaxing another gasp from your lips. His sucks hard, making your head reel and arousal pool in your boxer briefs. 

One of his hands slides lower, fingertips circling your clit before lazily rubbing. You twitch in his hold, your pussy still sensitive from the orgasms he gave you last night, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You buck your hips into his hand as his fingers close around your nub, toying with it like they did with your nipple a few minutes ago. 

Sparks run through your veins, setting you on fire, burning you to ashes at his touch. 

„My girl“, he moans against your tit, tongue flicking against the bud before sucking again. When you twitch once more, legs trembling slightly, he moves his fingers away from your clit. 

„No, please“, you whine in protest, wanting him closer, wanting more. Wanting him. 

Charles looks up at you, pupils blown and the green almost vanished from his eyes. „Please what? You’re too sensitive, mon amour“, he teases you, fingers sliding further, collecting your juices. When you slightly wince at the overstimulation when he pushes his fingers inside, he kisses your tit, bevore gently biting your neck. „It’s okay. I know what you need.“

He keeps his fingers buried inside you, gently massaging your walls and rubbing against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars, while his other hand catches your slickness thats dribbling out of you. They move up, wedging themselves between your ass cheeks and carefully circling your other hole, wetting it slightly. 

Your brain short-circuits as you realize his intentions. Your head lulls against his shoulder, eyes closed as you huff out hot breaths against his skin. „Charles.“

„Tell me to stop and I will“, he whispers, his clothed erection rubbing against your clit. „I promise.“ 

You weakly shake your head. „Want you“, you whine, moving your hips back slightly against his hand, against his fingers. „Want all of you.“

„You have me“, he promises quietly, almost inaudibly. „You have all of me.“ 

You want to kill somebody when his alarm goes off again. 

With a defeated sigh Charles pulls his hands out of your briefs while you go and grab his phone, turning the alarm off once more. You reluctantly slide off his lap, annoyed that he actually has to get up and ready and pack his bags. 

He looks at you apologetically and kisses your cheek. „I’m sorry, mon amour. Next time“, he smiles slightly before getting up from the bed, sticking his hand in his boxers to squeeze his dick once like it’s normal for you to see that. He then grabs a few things and leaves your shared bedroom while you fall down back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Since when have you been so open to sex that you don't even mind what almost happened? When you were with Raphael, you didn't even change in front of him – not even after you had been together for a while. And now you're lying here in the bed you share with your best friend, letting him touch you and even reaching out to him when he rubbed your  –

Sighing, you grab a pillow and press it to your face.

How pathetic do you want to be? A virgin who is in love with her best friend, who certainly doesn't feel the same way about you, but with whom you still share a bed and even allow him to touch you?

There's no way you would have let Raphael touch you like that. But Charles isn't Raphael, so you push your thoughts aside.

Being with Charles feels natural, as if you were made to be by his side. It's so easy, even though somewhere inside you still have this queasy feeling that if you let it continue, it won't end well.

But how could it not end well if it feels so good?

“What are you doing?” Charles asks when he returns to the bedroom. He grabs the pillow on your face and puts it aside. He smiles down at you. "You're not trying to suffocate yourself, are you? It's just a few days that you have to get along without me," he jokes, grinning, and takes three steps back as you throw the pillow in his direction.

“You're unbelievable, “ you say and roll your eyes, but you can't suppress your own smile. You watch him pack some sports clothes into a large bag. ”Do you really not have much time to talk to me on the phone?”

Charles, who is folding two T-shirts and putting them neatly in the side of the bag, apparently hears the disappointed tone in your voice, which is why he looks at you and tilts his head to the side. “I know it's not ideal. And I wish it was different,” he begins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gently strokes your hair. "I hate leaving you here alone. I hate that my work takes up so much of my free time." He takes a deep breath. ”I hate that you're here waiting for me to come home.”

You take his hand and kiss the back of his hand before interlocking your fingers. The whole thing seems to be weighing on him, which is why you have to be the strong one for both of you at this moment.

You smile at him. “Don't worry. I'll ask Kika if she has time for me over the next few days. After all, I still need a nice dress for New Year's Eve and she sent me a video on Instagram of a shop where you can paint ceramics. And a restaurant where you can have a drink while you're brunching,” you explain. ”I think Pierre is at training too. And then I can help her with the party preparations.”

Your words seem to calm him a little. He presses your hand against his chest. “If you go shopping, take my credit card with you. I don't want you to spend your money when I have so much of it that I don't know what to do with it. You can also go to Maman's. Or Enzo and Charlotte. Or you –” he suggests in quick succession.

You interrupt him. “I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me,” you assure him with a smile. “And in a few days we'll see each other again and then we'll party like there's no tomorrow on New Year's Eve. What do you think?” You waggle your eyebrows a little, which makes him laugh.

He leans down to you so that your noses touch. “What did I do to deserve you?” He asks quietly and kisses your forehead before straightening up and standing up to pack the rest of his things. He squats on the floor in front of the closet, pulling out clothes that he either puts in his bag or puts back on the shelves.

Since you don't want to bother him, you quietly slip out of bed and get ready for the day, before you text Kika and ask if she would like to go dress shopping for her party today, to which she sends you a two-minute voice message telling you which websites she has already scoured and which stores you should both go to so that you definitely find the best dresses for you.

You are sitting at the kitchen counter, all ready and dressed, eating some fruit when Charles joins you. He reaches around you and grabs a piece of apple, which he slides into his mouth without saying a word, before walking around the kitchen island and making himself a cup of coffee.

“When is Andrea coming?“ you ask him, holding out another piece, which he gratefully accepts.

“He should be here any minute now,” he replies, leaning against the worktop in front of you. “By the way, I was serious when I said that you should take my card and buy yourself a nice dress for New Year's Eve.”

You sigh. “Charles, I – you know I don't feel comfortable accepting this.” Hesitantly, you take a bite of your pear.

“That's true, “ he admits and drinks the rest of his coffee before rinsing the cup in the sink. ”But you also know that I like to use my money to buy you nice things. And what better way to start the new year than with a new dress?”

With you. Naked in our bed. On top of me. Inside me. Telling me how much you love me. 

You swallow hard and immediately push the thought aside. “You better be careful, Charlie. If you keep spending so much money on me, people might think you're my sugar daddy,” you joke, but you can't miss the dark flicker in his eyes.

“Don't worry, mon amour,” he smiles, standing next to you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and examining the slight love bite he left on your neck. "You can have my money. I don't need it as long as I have you," he replies quietly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “If you wear a new dress on New Year's Eve but my bank balance hasn't changed by then, we'll spend a lot less time at Kika's party than you'd like,” he warns you. The kiss he gently presses on your temple is soft and loving, in contrast to his tone of voice.

Your breath catches in your throat.

When the doorbell rings, Charles moves away from you. With long strides, he goes to the front door and presses a button so that Andrea can use the elevator. Without saying a word, you follow him into the hallway, where several bags are already waiting to be loaded into a car.

“Good morning,” Andrea greets you both with a smile. He gives you a little kiss on both cheeks before grabbing two bags. "I'm really looking forward to the training camp. This time, I've picked out a few things that are just designed to drive you mad" he grins at the Monegasque, before looking at you. “And don't even think about texting or calling him. Not that your messages would get through somehow, but I think his brain can only focus on one thing at a time and as soon as he thinks of you, I can forget about training.”

“Andrea,” Charles warns his friend sharply, as if he had just revealed one of the biggest secrets in the world.

The trainer laughs. “Don't act like that. I know exactly what's going on here. I'm not blind,” he grins and leans forward to look at you. “Nice hickey, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, turning around and leaving the apartment the way he came in.

And leaving behind two best friends who don't know what to say about it.

Charles is the first to make a sound. He clears his throat. “Um, okay. I have to go, otherwise I'll get in trouble,” he explains and stands in front of you. Hesitantly, he raises his hands and places them on your cheeks to tilt your head back a bit so you can look at him. “I'll miss you.”

You can feel his warm breath on your face, he's that close to you. “I'll miss you too. Send me photos or something when you can. I don't know exactly when you can get on your phone, but when you can – I mean –”

“I promise I'll get in touch with you. Even if it means buying a second cell phone and hiding it from Andrea,” he smiles, stroking your cheekbones with his thumb. ”I don't know how I'll last without you. And especially for several days.”

You shrug helplessly. “I don't know either,” you reply. “But after that, nothing can separate us. Then you won't get rid of me,” you dare to say, your heart beating in your throat. You turn your head and kiss his palm lovingly. “Deal?”

He leans his forehead against yours. ”Deal.”

[isekai-crow]

Sky Fish

So. Haven't posted in a while. But I have knowledge I NEED to share with the world. I can't think of a funny way to portray it so... -serves it up on a platter-

The Sky Fish familiar that Marcille makes in episode 22 / chapter 48.

This is "real".

This is the cryptid or UMA (read: yu-ma or Unidentified Mysterial Animals) known in Japan as the Sky Fish, and in English as a flying rod or rod.

So like, this is actually a thing. Japanese TV loves UFOs and Cryptids (or maybe I'm biased because my Beetle is the one who's obsessed but.) the timing for This Specfic Cryptid's popularity and when Ryoko Kui was writing/starting out with this story, are around the same time. This specific UMA had such an impact on me when i first saw it in TV 10ish years ago, that I was so excited about its appearance, and then confused and amused in equal measure when my Capybara had no idea what I was talking about.

AND THE TV SHOW I WATCHED! the original episode clip is still on youtube, although lacking English subtitles (although you can translate the auto generated subtitles to English if you want to try).

Basically, Jose Escamilla of Roswell, New Mexico (and several other sources around middle and South America) caught this UMA/Cryptid on video in 90s? But the story and other people catching them on video and in pictures still pop up, but with improved phone cameras, the proof that it's likely just bugs flying at just the right frame rate to make a long cat style image is more prevalent lol.

But this was/is a super popular UMA in Japan. Like, there are gacha minis, and figures, cryptid books, and other anime featuring these lil guys.

JoJo's bizarre adventures Stone Ocean's Sky High stand, Skytails from Zelda, and a Kemono Friend are some examples.

I want a lil sky fish figurine now...

But yea...

WOO SKY FISH CRYPTIDS FTW

[imaginespazzi]

Part 13: If You Stay

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 14 - Part 15

And I find it bittersweet (cause you gave me something to lose)

(In which, an all over the place writer, writes an all over the place chapter)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst with some Hurt/Comfort and a little bit of Fluff

Words: 13.1K

TW: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive Content, Mentions of Divorce, Drinking

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 So clearly that 48 to 72 hours deadline completely evaded me but here I am! I've always gotten asks about how many chapters GH will be and normally it's an estimate but I can almost for certain say that after this one, there will be two more chapters. This part is, like I said, a little all over the place as I start to tie in loose ends and bring everything together but it's pretty important as we start our journey to the end. This isn't particularly well-edited because as well know I hate editing but I eventually will go back and edit so any typos/errors you see are much-appreciated. As always, your live reacts give me life, so let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely weekend my loves <3

May 2033

Paige wakes up alone to an empty bed. Her eyes open to the feel of her fingers reaching out and finding nothing but the soft material of her crinkled bedsheets. She stares at the empty space, gaze fixated on the way the sunlight hits the exact spot Azzi had been curled up in and lets her mind wander back to yesterday -god everything had been fine just 24 hours ago- when the rays of sunshine coming through the window had cast lines of gold across the brunette’s face. It wasn’t often that Paige woke up before Azzi, but for some reason she had yesterday. Maybe it was the universe’s way of giving her one last chance to memorize an image that she’s not sure when she’ll be able to see again. Paige traces her hands along the linen, blinking back tears, and she swears she can still feel the heat of Stephie and Azzi’s bodies radiating off of it. It’s unfair, she knows, to expect them to have stayed when it’s the one thing she herself can’t commit to doing but still, that awareness does little to dull the ache reverberating through her chest. 

Sighing to herself, Paige shifts onto her back, turning away from the empty space that almost feels taunting. She gives herself a minute, taking deep breaths to chase away the erraticness in her heartbeat and the moisture in her eyes before finally sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Her eyebrows knit together when she notices the bag in the corner -the pink duffel Azzi had packed for last night- and she almost gasps. It wasn’t like Azzi to forget her stuff, even when escaping. And then she hears it, the familiar giggles of a little girl echoing from her kitchen and Paige feels her heart break and fix itself at the same time. 

They’d stayed. 

Paige flings the covers off of herself, making it from the guest bedroom to the stairs in record time. She almost slips on the fifth step as she races down the stairs, every part of her alight with the need to just see Stephie and Azzi. Her feet skid to a halt before the kitchen doorway and her breath catches in her lungs, hand immediately clutching at her chest as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s the three most important people in her life gathered around the kitchen counter. Azzi’s flipping pancakes, a soft grin on her face as she listens to Drew and Stephie -both of them already with a stack of pancakes on their respective plates- who are animatedly arguing about whether bananas or chocolate chips go better with pancakes. 

“Come on Uncle Drew,” Stephie drawls, “choc-chips are the best-est-est-est and ‘nanas are boooooring.”

“Bananas are not boring,” Drew counters, his voice filled with dramatic offense, “you can mash them in the pancake or eat them on the side or on top of the stack. Bananas are versatile.”

Stephie scrunches her nose and Paige smiles as the little girl gives her brother a pointed look, “I don’t know what vers-a-tile means so that doesn’t even matter to me.”

Azzi snorts, “I don’t think that’s how that works Stephie-bean.”

“Does too,” Stephie pouts and then juts her fork out at Drew, “here Uncle Drew, try it and you’ll see choc-chips are so much better than that,” she looks disdainfully at the young man’s plate. 

Drew dutifully accepts the bite of food, chewing it at an exaggeratedly slow pace as he pretends to contemplate how he feels about it. 

“I mean it’s not bad,” he says finally, before a smirk breaks out on his lips, “but banana’s clear.”

“Nah, I don’t know about that,” Paige says, finally making her presence known as she walks over to Stephie’s side, “You’re both wrong. Blueberries are better with pancakes than both bananas and chocolate chips,” she reaches out to ruffle Stephie’s hair, smile faltering when the little girl dodges her hand, “Steph-”

“Mama,” gone is the happy child that had been casually bantering with Drew; Stephie’s face is ashen with the remnants of her emotions from last night as she shifts herself as far away from Paige as possible, “I wanna go home.”

Her words feel like a needle, pricking against the bubble of delusion Paige had created mere seconds ago; the wishful thought that maybe they could ignore what had happened last night, that they could just close the lid on the jar of darkness they’d opened and pretend the obsidian hadn’t slipped out, clouding the paradise they’d built before. And maybe that’s Paige’s problem. Avoidance. She’d pushed herself towards Stephie and Azzi, acting like there wasn’t a harness -bound together with the ropes of all the grievances, all the fears, that the past had left in her- and now she was stuck. So close to reaching them but unable to finally get there. 

Azzi’s eyes flicker conflictedly between Paige’s ashen face and Stephie’s stormy one, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, “you’ve still got some more left on your plate Stephie-bean,”

“I don’t want the rest,” Stephie says adamantly, pushing the plate away from her, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Stephie we don’t waste food,” Azzi says it like it’s a reprimand but Paige knows it’s for her sake, to give her more time with Stephie, and a mix of guilt and gratefulness pools in her stomach as she fights the urge to pull the younger woman into her arms and kiss away the stress lines that have formed on her forehead in the last 24 hours. 

“Then pack it and we can take it home,” Stephie slides off the counter, tiny arms crossing over her chest as she looks at her mother with pleading eyes, “please Mama, I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“Stephie-” Paige tries to say, reaching out once again for the little girl. 

“Excuse me Coach Bueckers,” Stephie sidesteps the older woman, her voice far colder than a little girl’s voice should be -far colder than anything she’s ever used with her Miss Buecks- and it feels like shards of ice prodding against Paige’s heart. 

“Stephie please-”

The little girl refuses to meet her gaze but Paige notices the way her eyes glance towards her for the briefest moment, like she wants nothing more than to turn around and fling herself at the older woman. But the look is gone as quick as it came and Stephie’s face hardens -and Paige hates herself for being the reason why- as she looks at her mother. 

“Please can we go home now Mama?” 

Azzi sighs, “yeah bean, we can go home. Unless-” she hesitates, eyes locking with Paige’s, “unless- maybe Miss Buecks has a reason we should stay?”

And Paige knows this is Azzi giving her one last chance, one last opportunity to say the right things, to keep Stephie and Azzi with her. It’s why she hadn’t left this morning; she’d been waiting to see if Paige was ready. And all Paige has to do is open her mouth and make the promises that she couldn’t last night; shut the door on her escape plan -to New York and the Liberty- and she can open the one that leads to her perfect dream, that leads to a forever with Stephie and Azzi. But that’s the thing; what if forever doesn’t last? After all, the last time she’d trusted in it -trusted the same woman in front of her to be hers always- forever had turned out to be a myth. Paige isn’t ready. And so she averts Azzi’s gaze, keeps her mouth shut and looks away before she can see the hope disappear from the brunette’s face. 

“Right,” Azzi swallows, “alright then uh -you’re right Stephie- we should- we should go home. You go wash your face and uh- Mama’s gonna go grab our stuff and then- then we can go.”

The last words make an indiscernible noise creak out of Paige’s lips as she watches Stephie make her way towards the bathroom. Azzi carefully flips the final pancake onto a plate -one with a stack of blueberry pancakes- before turning the stove off and beelining for the stairs towards the guest room. But Paige is quicker, curling her fingers around the younger woman’s wrist to keep her in place. 

“Az,” she breathes out, unsure what to say- unsure what she even wants to say.

Azzi doesn’t look at her, “I ordered groceries.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have any food and I- I wanted to make pancakes,” Azzi explains, “but uh- I got more than just pancake stuff. There’s eggs and milk and that stupid cereal that you like and just- just basic groceries you know. And I know you don’t like veggies but I had to get some because they’re good for you Paige okay but don’t- don’t worry- I balanced it out with all those ridiculously unhealthy snacks you like.”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice cracks, “you didn’t have to-”

“I did,” Azzi cuts her off, “you just- you can’t live off of fucking takeout okay,” a lone tear slides down her cheek, “and I got- I got enough groceries to last you two weeks but you- you’ll have to get more eventually if-” she stops herself but they both know where that sentence was going. 

If you’re gonna live here- if you’re gonna live by yourself. 

“I just-” Paige struggles to get the words out, “I need some more time.”

“I know,” Azzi finally looks at her and for a second Paige almost wishes she hadn’t because the hurt -the please just say you’ll stay- swimming in the younger woman’s eyes is almost too much to bear, “I know you need time and you- you can have it,” she brushes her thumb against Paige’s waterline, “but you can’t have both. You can’t have time and us.”

Why not, Paige wants to scream, wants to stomp her feet like a petulant toddler but she knows Azzi’s right, knows that they have to be apart until she figures it out. And so she nods at the brunette’s words as Azzi gently caresses her cheek -fingers lingering just a little longer than they should- before she rushes upstairs to grab her and Stephie’s overnight bag. 

Paige watches her go before she disappears out of sight, and the blonde falls back against the counter. Closing her eyes as she takes in a couple of deep breaths, she swears the air has never felt more acidic. And she he can feel Drew looking at her, can almost see the contemplative -maybe even concerned- look in his eyes without opening her own. 

“What?” she bites out, harsher than intended. 

“Nothing,” Drew hesitates, “I just- I didn’t think Azzi would have stayed last night.”

Paige shrugs, eyes still closed, “I asked her to.”

“I figured but I- I guess I didn’t expect her to agree,” Drew says quietly. 

There’s an undercurrent to her brother’s tone that has Paige finally opening her eyes, fixing him with a stern gaze, “what exactly are you trying to say Drew?”

“Nothing,” Drew repeats but the nervous shuffle of his feet say something entirely different. 

“Drew.”

“She stayed Paige,” his voice breaks unexpectedly, “last night, this morning, she- she stayed.”

There’s a beat of silence as Paige stares at her brothers, absorbing his words when the unexpected flash of anger hits, “seriously?”

“What?” Drew’s taken aback by the fire in his sister's eyes. 

“What do you mean what? One fucking stack of pancakes and suddenly all that shit you said to me last night- you don’t believe it anymore? All of that’s forgotten now?”

“That’s not-”

“Jesus fucking christ Drew,” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose and she’s fully aware her anger is misdirected -that it’s herself, she’s mad at- but she continues ranting at her brother anyways, “you made me overthink everything Drew. I was doing fine, we were doing fine and then- then you said all of that shit last night, reminded me of everything and now here we are the next morning and what? You’re not mad at Azzi anymore? She stays one fucking night and all is forgiven? You’ve changed your whole fucking mind-”

“You can’t blame me-” Drew begins to cut her off loudly but then there’s another voice -soft and small- interrupting both of them. They turn to see Stephie staring at them, her expression almost fearful at the sound of them arguing. And Paige hates herself a little bit for putting all these new expressions on the little girl’s face; she misses when she used to be the reason for her smile. 

“That’s- that’s two bad words Miss-” Stephie stops herself, swallowing away the familiar name, “I mean- Coach Bueckers.”

“Sorry Stephie,” Paige whispers, pausing slightly before she takes a nervous step towards the girl, “so does that- does that mean I owe you two kisses?”

Stephie’s face wobbles, her bottom lip trembling as she nods slowly, “yeah you do.”

Paige breathes shakily as she kneels down in front of the little girl, eyes drinking in the sight of having her this close -like they know they might not get this moment again- as she slowly pulls her into her arms. Stephie is warm and soft and familiar and Paige wishes she would never have to let the little girl go. She squeezes her to her chest as she delicately places her lips against Stephies left cheek. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she whispers against the little girl’s soft skin, hoping the child knows it isn’t just for the swearing before she presses another fluttering kiss against Stephie’s right cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

And then, just as Stephie’s about to pull out of her grasp, Paige stops her, pressing her lips to the little girl’s forehead. When she pulls back, Stephie’s staring at her with a confused look on her face. 

“You only owed me two,” she says matter-of-factly, “what was the last one for?”

Paige gives the little girl a sad smile as she brushes away a strand of curly hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail, “just because you’re my Stephie-bean.”

Stephie stares at her and Paige can see a myriad of emotions flicker behind her tiny eyes. She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something and Paige’s heart thumps in anticipation, but then the sound of Azzi’s footsteps coming down echoes from the stairs and Stephie pushes away from her. And suddenly, Paige feels empty, like the most vital parts of her are missing. 

“You ready to go Stephie-bean?” Azzi asks, mustering on a brave voice for her daughter but Paige can hear the way it’s cracking, can tell from her red-rimmed eyes that she’d taken a little longer than necessary upstairs to fix herself. 

“Yeah Mama,” Stephie takes her mother’s outstretched hand, “let’s go home.”

The walk through the foyer and outside towards Azzi car feels like it takes hours. Drew doesn’t come all the way, stopping at the front door and giving Stephie a quick high-five that draws a brief smile from the little girl. He doesn’t say anything to Azzi but there’s an underlying softness in the way he tips his head towards her as they nod at each other. And then it’s just the three of them and Paige swears they’re all walking just a little bit slower than they normally do, like they’re trying to savor this moment just a little longer and prolong the inevitable. 

She leans against the side of the car as Azzi buckles Stephie into her carseat. The little girl keeps on her brave face, avoiding eye contact with both Paige and her mother as she focuses firmly in front of her. When Azzi closes the backdoor, Stephie’s face disappearing behind the tinted windows, Paige wants to scream. Everything in her feels like it’s burning and freezing at the same time. 

Azzi hesitates as she’s about to get into the driver’s seat, biting her lip as she turns back towards Paige. 

“You should know that I - that Stephie and I- we-” she pauses, like she’s scared to say the rest of it, “we want you- we want you forever Paige,” both of them suck in a deep breath as the confession looms in the air above them, “and I know you need time and you should take it,” Azzi says softly, her hand reaching almost halfway to caress Paige’s cheek before falling forlornly back to her sides, “but we can’t- we won’t wait forever.”

*** 

August 2031 

Paige is normally a big fan of All-Star weekend; she relishes the chaos of the weekend, getting the opportunity to connect with her fellow peers in a way that wasn’t possible during the rest of the season and just didn’t quite happen at this level outside of it.  But she’s definitely not a fan of it this year, considering it’s being held in her team’s city, in Dallas. Six years later and still, something about this city doesn’t quite feel right, doesn’t feel quite like a place she can call home. 

But still, at least it had given her the chance to not have to be in her apartment this weekend. Unlike her teammates who were more than comfortable staying in their respective homes, Paige had taken up the WNBA’s offer to stay where the rest of the non-Wings players were staying. It’s ironic that the sterile walls of an unfamiliar hotel somehow feel more comforting than a home that’s supposed to be hers. Except, the apartment -the one she’d moved into after the divorce after giving Oliva their house in an act of goodwill- feels cold and empty and Paige has done little to rectify it. She pretends it’s because she’s too busy, that she’ll get to hanging up the picture frames and decorating the walls eventually. But there’s a part of her that knows she’s likely just stalling the inevitable, that the apartment is as temporary as it gets until she finally lets herself make the decision to to leave Dallas. 

The quiet ding of the elevator opening has Paige sighing as she shakes her mind of that daunting thought. It’s why she’d rushed out of her room in the first place, not wanting to be trapped with herself for longer than necessary. The silence has become her worst enemy, enhancing the loneliness that she’s felt ever since the divorce- maybe even longer. 

Divorce. 

God she hates that word, has hated it since her parents had sat her down and said they were getting one. She’d always told herself she wouldn’t become another divorce statistic like them but clearly history liked repeating itself. And the worst part of it, Paige thinks, is that she doesn’t regret the divorce -thinks it might be one of the only right decisions she’s made in the last six years- but maybe she regrets that marriage, regrets selling Olivia a dream, she’d subconsciously always known she wouldn’t be able to fulfill. 

Thinking of Olivia makes Paige feel awful. She hadn’t done anything outrightly wrong to the other woman, never raised her voice or said anything untoward and she’d definitely never cheated. Well, not physically at least. But she’d gotten married to the reporter for all the wrong reasons, trying to fit a puzzle piece that had all the wrong edges into the jigsaw of her life even though she’d known the empty space in her heart could only be filled by one person. For her part, Olivia had been just as good at pretending as Paige was, acting like she couldn’t see the cracks in their relationship or the water that was seeping in through them. 

And then something shifted -maybe the water had finally gone over their head- and just like she’d been the one to bring up the idea of getting married, Olivia was the one who had filed for divorce. And Paige thinks maybe the worst thing she ever did to Olivia, is the way she didn’t fight it once. She remembers the hesitation in her ex-wife’s eyes, remembers the slight pleading look on her face as if she wanted Paige to at least resist it a little bit. But she hadn’t; she’d simply nodded and signed. That was the end of the Olivia, Paige knew and from then on the sweet, bubbly, slightly over-enthusiastic reporter who’d stumbled over her question at Paige’s first media availability transformed into a cold ex-wife who could keep up a charade of cordiality for appearances, but never refrained from a cutting jab here and there. 

The elevator dings open and Paige steps into the lobby, straightening her hoodie a little bit as she scans the area for familiar faces. Finding no one she’s particularly interested in talking to, she’d just about to head to the bar when her eyes land on a little girl nervously bouncing on her feet next to a vase of flowers that’s almost double her height. She can’t be older than three years old and Paige can tell from the way her bottom lip is trembling, that the young child is doing her absolute best to hold in tears. Something constricts in her heart -something almost more than just empathy for the little girl- as Paige makes her way over. 

Gently, trying not to scare the girl, Paige kneels in front of her, “hey sweetheart.”

When the little girl turns to look at her, familiar dark brown doey eyes filled with unshed tears, her breath hitches in her throat and Paige suddenly realizes why she’d felt that tug in her heart. This is Azzi’s kid. 

��H-hi,” the little girl manages to splutter, playing with her fingers as she regards Paige with a way expression, clearly trying to discern whether she’s safe or not. 

“Hey,” Paige repeats, smiling reassuringly, “you okay?”

The little girl nods slowly but there must something about the warmth in Paige’s smile that she pauses, rebellious teardrops running down her face as she goes from nodding to shaking her head. 

“I-I-I-I- lost,” she wails. 

“Oh sweetheart it’s okay,” Paige tries to say, hands instinctively reaching out to run up and down the little girl’s shoulders. 

“I was- I was ‘posed to be with Aunty J but she- she was talking and I saw pu-ple flow-es,” she points to the vase through her tears, “so I came to see but then- but then- I look back and Aunty J no there anymore and I want- I want my Mama,” she heaves, fully sobbing now, “I want my Mama.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, shhh,” Paige comforts the little girl as she stands back up, lacing her own fingers through her tinier ones, “how about we go and try to find your Mama?”

She’s about to turn around when feels a tug on her hand and when she looks down, the young child is shaking her head, adamantly planting her feet firmly on the floor. 

“We can’t go,” she says firmly, “Mama says if I get lost, I stay where I am and Mama will find me. And-,” she hesitates as she looks Paige up and down, “Mama says I don’t go anywhere with a st-anger.”

It shouldn’t sting -because that’s what Paige is, a stranger- but it’s an unsettling reminder that this is a world like nothing she’d ever imagined when she was younger, a world where Azzi’s daughter doesn’t know her. 

“So we can’t go. We have to stay here and Mama will find me,” the little girl says again and despite the tears still swimming in her eyes, there’s complete confidence -trust- in her voice that her mother -that Azzi- will find her. 

“Okay,” Paige agrees softly, “but is it okay if I wait with you?”

Azzi’s daughter looks at her with a contemplative look for a couple of seconds before a bright grin explodes on her face and Paige thinks it feels a little bit like a ray of sunshine bombarding into her otherwise cloudy world. 

“Okay,” the little girl grins happily before holding out a tiny hand, “I’m Stephanie Katarina Fudd.”

Paige laughs at the formality as she shakes Stephanie’s hand, “I’m Paige Madison Bueckers.”

“Nice to meet you Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chirps as smiles up at the woman. 

“It’s Bueckers,” Paige tries to correct as Stephanie scrunches up her nose. 

“That’s what I said,” she says with a confused look on her face, “Miss Buecks.”

Paige opens her mouth to try and correct her again but stops, deciding she’s not about to argue with the little girl and that she quite likes the incorrect way Stephanie says her name.  Instead she lets herself fall to the ground, leaning against the pillar as she stretches out her legs in front of her. Stephanie raises an eyebrow at the actions but eventually sits down next to her and Paige smiles. They sit in silence for a bit as Paige reaches for her phone, considering texting Azzi for a brief second before she eventually decides to text Jana -who she thinks might just be Stephanie’s Aunty J- instead to let Azzi know Stephanie was with her. 

“I know you,” Stephanie says suddenly and Paige looks away from the phone to see the little girl’s eyes wide with recognition. 

“I thought you said I was a stranger,” Paige cocks a teasing eyebrow. 

“You are,” Stephanie says matter-of-factly, “but I seen you at Mama’s game sometimes.”

“I’ve seen you too,” Paige admits. 

“You’re good at bask-ball,” Stephanie states and the thing is, Paige has heard and read so many people say she’s great at basketball but there’s something about the way Stephanie says it -something about the genuine innocence of it- that makes her beam with pride. 

“I guess I am,” she bumps Stephanie’s shoulder as she winks at her. 

“I love bask-ball,” Stephaniee’s eyes gleam as she says it and Paige knows that expression -knows that slight look of madness that’s just the beginning of falling in love with a sport. 

“Yeah?” she asks casually, “you play ball?”

Stephanie nods enthusiastically, “Mama got me a hoop for Ch-istmas -just like the one she had when she littler- and she p-omised that when I’m bigger, she’s gonna lemme go bask-ball camp.”

It’s hard not to grin along with Stephanie’s ranting, especially not when her determination to play basketball -one that reminds Paige a lot of herself- shines through her words. 

“You any good,” Paige teases, biting back a laugh when the little girl’s face contorts in offense, like she can’t even believe someone would have the audacity to question her basketball skills. 

“Of course I am. I’m Azzi Fudd’s daughter,” Stephanie says proudly, blissfully unaware of the way Paige's smile wobbles for a second at the statement, “but Mama says one day, I’mma be even gooder than her.”

“Can I get your autograph now then?” 

Stephanie scrunches her nose, “what’s an au-to-gra-ph?”

“Wait,” Paige stands up, on a mission to find a pen, but Stephanie immediately grabs her hand. 

The little girl’s eyes are wide with anxiety as she looks up at Paige, “no Miss Buecks don’t leave me.”

“Oh sweetheart I’m not,” Paige crouches back down in front of Stephanie, thumbs reaching out to rub the little girl’s cheeks in reassurance, “I’m gonna go right there to get something,” she points to the the reception desk, “I’ll be back in one minutes. I swear.”

“Pinky p-omise?” Stephanie raises her pinky and Paige diligently intertwines her own around it. 

“Pinky promise,” she says, before practically skipping over to where she’d spotted a cup-holder full of pens. She can feel Stephanie’s anxious eyes piercing into the back of her head and if possible, the smile she’s had on her face since meeting the little girl, somehow deepens. It’s dangerous, she knows, becoming so enamored with Azzi’s daughter but her heart has always moved faster than her head, and Paige still hasn’t quite figured out how to stop that. 

“You’re back,” Stephanie claps happily when Paige comes back to her and the blonde beams at the affection in her voice. 

“Told you I would be,” Paige grins as she plops back down next to the little girl, holding out the pen she’d found. 

“Why you get pen?” Stephanie asks, staring at it like it’s a foreign object. 

“Because you need a pen to give me your autograph,” Paige explains, “an autograph is when someone famous signs their name on something for someone,” she holds out her arm that is currently covered by a grey hoodie, “will you sign my hoodie?”

“Silly Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chides, “You and Mama are famous. I’m not famous.”

“Not yet. But if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, Stephanie Katarina Fudd, you are gonna be so famous. Just like me and your Mama,” Paige taps the little girl’s nose, releasing the giggle it elicits from her and she thinks it might be her new favorite sound, “and I wanna be the first person who gets your autograph.”

“Can I get yours too?” Stephanie asks, her tone a little shy and Paige thinks that forget an autograph, she’d give her the world if she’d asked for it. 

“Of course you can bean,” the nickname slips out before she can catch it and Paige’s mind travels back to her wedding day, back to the phone-call with Azzi. 

“Mama calls me bean too,” Stephanie says, as she begins to messily try and write her name on the sleeve of Paige’s hoodie, “she calls me Stephie-bean.”

As if on cue, Azzi’s voice fills the air, tinged with a slight bit of panic and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat. Six years they’ve been apart, something always thrums in her every time she feels Azzi’s presence near her. But it feels almost electric this time. The memories of the last time they’d seen each other, the night they’d spent together after this year’s National Championship game linger in the air and Paige shivers like she can still feels the softness of Azzi’s skin underneath her fingertips; can still hear the breathlessness of her moans in her hears. 

“Stephie-bean,” Azzi calls out and Stephanie’s eyes dart towards her mother’s voice as she immediately stands up, little feet tripping over each other as she rushes to get to the younger woman. 

“MAMA,” Stephanie yells, flinging herself into her mother’s arms and Paige watches as Azzi cradles the little girl to her chest, kissing all over her face. Something pangs in her chest, and she wishes she were a part of that embrace too. And if all the dreams they’d dreamt together when they were younger had come true, she would’ve been.

“Stephie what have I said about running off,” Azzi scolds as she coaxes the little girl's face out of her neck. 

“I din-t run off,” Stephanie defends petulantly, “I go to look at pu-ple flow-es cause they looked so pretty but then when I turned around, Aunty J gone,’ her face wobbles at the memory, “I was so scay-ed Mama cause I lost and ‘lone but then,” her voice changes immediately as she turns around to point at Paige, who freezes when Azzi’s gaze lands on her, “Miss Buecks find me!”

“Miss Buecks,” Azzi repeats dazedly as Stephanie begins to pull her towards Paige, unaware of the anxious tension between the two adults. 

“This is Miss Buecks,” Stephahnie introduces the two of them, “she find me and she tol’ me she help me find you but I say that Stephie can’t move cause Stephie have to stay right here cause Mama says if Stephie lost, Stephie don’t move,” the little girl says animatedly and both adults laugh at the random switch to third-person, “but Miss Buckes say she’ll stay with me and so I not ‘care anymore cause I have Miss Buecks,” she says casually, naive to the way it makes both Paige and Azzi swallows, “and look Mama,” she eagerly grabs Paige’s sleeve, “I give Miss Buecks my auto-gaph.”

“That’s, that’s lovely sweetheart,” Azzi says softly before she turns to Paige -and Paige wonders if it’ll ever stop, if the way her stomach swoons every time the brunette looks at her will ever go away-, “thank you for texting Jana and thank you- thank you for staying with her.”

Paige shrugs as casually as she can, “don’t gotta thank me,” she nudges Stephanie, “we had a great time together didn’t we Stephanie?” 

The little girl nods enthusiastically, “the great-est-est-est time,” she exclaims to her mother, “Miss Buecks is so cool.”

“Thanks Stephie-” Paige hesitates, unsure if she has the right to use the nickname, “Stephanie. You’re really cool too.”

Stephanie practically glows at the compliment, “Mama, Miss Buecks thinks I’m cool and- and- and- she say that I’m gonna be famous one day. That’s why she wanted my auto-gaph. Cause I’mma be a big bask-ball star just like you two.”

Azzi ruffles the little girl’s hair before looking at Paige with an indiscernible expression, “just like us huh?”

“Maybe even better,” Paige says softly. 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Azzi grins before leaning down to pick her daughter up -the sight of it invoking something warm and fuzzy in Paige’s stomach- “alright Stephie-bean, say bye to Miss Buecks. We gotta go get ready the orange carpet and I gotta go yell at your Aunty J for losing you again,” she winks at Paige who lets out a laugh. 

And she hasn’t laughed like this -laughed as much as she has in these last few minutes with Stephanie- in so long that she’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. 

“Bye Miss Buecks,” Stephanie waves over her mother’s shoulder. 

“Bye Stephanie,” Paige waves before hesitating for a second, and then she calls out, “hey Azzi?”

Azzi turns around slightly, humming in response, “what’s up?”

“I like that you call her Stephie-bean,” Paige admits nervously, hoping Azzi will understand what she means and by the way the brunette’s eyes soften, it’s clear she does. 

“It just felt right,” Azzi says softly; her mouth opens like she wants to say more -something more than what their current colleague-esque relationship allows for- but in the end, she settles on something far more mundane, “see you around Bueckers.”

“See ya,” Paige whispers back and if she stands completely still, watching Stephanie and Azzi walking all the way until they turn a corner and she can’t see them anymore, well that’s nobody’s business but her own. 

That’s the first night Paige lets herself wonder about the possibilities of becoming a Golden State Valkyrie. 

***

June 2033 

Dream 64      Valkyries 87

Paige has never had particularly strong feelings towards the Atlanta Dream. They weren’t a particularly bad team, nor were they a particularly great team and Paige had simply never had an experience with them -whether it was a fan of the league or as a player in it- that was worth remembering for her to feel anything towards them. But tonight, tonight Paige fucking hates the Atlanta Dream. 

Okay maybe she doesn’t hate the team. 

She hates a certain player, a certain #11 wearing French player who’d had the audacity to hold her Stephie, to wrap her arms around her Azzi. Paige had spent the first couple of minutes of warm-ups with a deep scowl on her face as she’d watched Clémence interact with her girls. She’d hated the way Stephie grinned at the French woman, hated the way Azzi had laughed at something she’d said. But most of all Paige hated that she hadn’t been able to do any of that -hadn’t been on the receiving end of Stephie’s giggles or Azzi’s warm smile- for almost three weeks now. God she missed them so fucking much. 

It was until Jana had tapped her on the back -a knowing look in her teammate’s eyes- that Paige had finally turned away from the scene. She’d channeled all her anger and frustration into the game, playing as the most aggressive version of herself. And it had paid off in the form of a 31 points, 7 assists, 4 rebounds and 3 stocks game, another statline cementing her position in the rather early race for MVP. But all of that feels futile now as Paige -signing autographs before she had to head off to media- notices Stephie go racing back into Clémence’s arms, the little girl’s face bright with happiness as the French woman catches her and twirls her around. From the corner of her eyes, she notices Azzi walking towards the two of them and Paige normally loves Azzi’s smile -think’s it’s nothing short of being the prettiest sight in the world- but she thinks she might hate it a little bit right now when it’s directed at Clémence. 

“Aunty Chérie,” Stephie’s squeals echo clearly in Paige’s ears, despite the noise of the crowd surround her, “you played so good today.”

“Merci ma chérie,” Clémence's voice is saccharine sweet, “I’m very happy to see you. I have missed you lots. I was thinking,” Paige continues to sign another jersey but her ears are fully tuned into the conversation happening a couple meters away as Clémence’s attention turns towards Azzi, “we are leaving tomorrow morning so I have some time tonight. So I was thinking maybe I could take you and Stephie out to dinner tonight? Unless-” Paige feels both Clemence’s and Azzi’s eyes flicker to herself and she tries to keep her focus on the fans in front of her, “unless perhaps you are going with someone else?”

Paige waits with bated breath for Azzi’s answer, wishing her telepathic plea for the brunette say no, could somehow reach her but it’s Stephie who answers first. 

“Mama please can we go,” the little girl begs immediately -her tone one that Paige knows to be the one she uses when she’s trying to get her mother to agree, “please, please, please. We haven’t gotten dinner with Aunty Chérie in so long.”

“Stephie-” there’s hesitation in Azzi’s voice but Paige knows that she’s likely to cave into her daughter’s wishes -after all Stephie isn’t asking for anything ridiculous- and she knows she has to get away, not wanting to hear anymore about Clémence’s stupid fucking dinner plans. 

Giving the fans in front of her a tight-lipped smile, Paige slowly backs away from them, eyes searching for Joyce -her companion to face the press tonight- as she heads towards the media-room. She’s so focused on looking for her teammate or perhaps she’s too in her head but she doesn’t spot the assistant carrying water bottles coming. The two of them collide with a large crash that rings around Chase Center as the bottles go flying across the court. Paige’s cheeks turn a deep shade of pink as she feels the eyes of everyone on her -none more piercing than Azzi’s- but she doesn’t dare turn around. Instead she shoots the assistant an apologetic look, gathering as many water bottles as in front of her, before she’s bolting to the press room, wondering what the fuck she's done for the universe to keep testing her like this.

*** 

Paige is the last person left in the locker room. By the time she and Joyce had returned from the press conference, most of the team had fizzled out. And so she’d taken her time -ignoring the weird look Joyce gave her considering normally they were all eager to get home- showering and getting changed. She’d come out of the shower to a desolate locker room and as she’d sat on the bench, drying her damp hair, she’d let herself succumb to all the thoughts she’d been suppressing. 

It’s somehow worse this time; it hurts more in a way that Paige hadn’t known was possible. They hadn’t been together nearly as long as they were back then and their relationship was barely defined. But at least last time, Paige had been able to run to another side of the country where she wasn’t constantly reminded of her ex. Azzi isn’t even technically an ex this time, but there’s no avoiding her. Not when they’re on the same team, not when she’s a coach at her daughter’s camp.  And Paige doesn’t quite know what’s harder, trying to find oxygen in an air devoid of Azzi and Stephie’s presence, or trying to breathe when they’re near her.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so different. Paige has lost Azzi before and even if that doesn’t make the hurt any less, at least she has a blueprint for how to cope with it. But she doesn’t know how to deal with losing Stephie, doesn’t know how to not miss the little girl’s smile and her big doey eyes and the way she’d used to wrap her arms around Paige like she was trying to bind them together forever. 

But more than anything, more than missing Azzi or Stephie, Paige misses the three of them together. She misses Azzi’s exasperated look when she and Stephie would indulge in some sort of ridiculous drama. She misses the little girl’s mischievous look before she’d launch herself into both of their arms. She misses her own soft smile as she’d watch the two of them engage in the most mundane things. She misses the peaceful silence as they’d eat together and the noisy chaos when they’d argue over what movie to watch afterwards. She misses everything. 

And the worst part is that she knows she wouldn’t be missing any of it, if it wasn’t for the barriers she’s put up herself. This is a cage of Paige’s own making and the key to open the lock rests in her own hands. She just needs to be brave enough to use it. Azzi words run amok in her head, the reassurance that Paige could have time clouded by the reluctant warning that eventually that time would run out. 

“Hey,” she snaps herself out of her thoughts to see Azzi cautiously entering the locker room, her playing jersey swapped from a casual green top and cargo pants. 

Paige swallows, “hi.”

“I uh- I was um-” Azzi’s eyes nervously dart around the room as she strides over to her locker, picking up the pink lipgloss -one Paige has the taste of memorized- that’s sitting on the bench under it, “I forgot this so I uh- I came back to grab it.”

“Cool,” Paige replies monotonously but her head’s already racing with thoughts of will you let her kiss it off of you the way you let me? And she knows -she trusts- that Azzi won’t but even the possibility of it lights a small fire within her. 

Azzi chews on her lips as she nods, before starting to walk towards the door but she stops last second, turning around with the starts of a smile on her lips, “you were amazing tonight P. I mean you have been since the season started but tonight especially, you were just- you were you. You were awesome.”

Paige absorbs the compliments, tries to use it to douse the simmering jealousy that’s flaming up within her at the knowledge that once Azzi leaves this locker room, she’s likely going with Clémence. 

“Thanks,” the blonde manages to get out and it’s a little short and rather icy but Paige thinks it’s probably better than saying all the other things that are on the tip of her tongue. 

Azzi’s face dims at the curt reply, smile faltering as she nods, “anytime, P.”

That should be it. Paige should let her go, should be content with this small interaction that’s the most she’s gotten from outside of practice in weeks. But then the bitter words are waterfalling from her lips faster than she can stop them and despite the regret she feels immediately after, there’s a part of her that’s relieved when it makes Azzi come to a halt right in front of the door. 

“Your girl played well too,” she bites out, the acidic words burning her tongue. 

Azzi doesn’t turn around but Paige notices the way her shoulders go rigid, “don’t do this Paige. You know she’s not my girl.”

Paige ignores her, “11 points, 2 rebounds, 1 assist. Not bad numbers. Decent. But not better than yours of course.”

“Paige,” there's a warning note in Azzi’s voice, like she knows exactly where Paige is going with this.

“I’m just saying, “ Paige shrugs with a casualness that’s in stark contrast to the tension lingering in the air, “she’s a decent player. But you’d never be in her shadow. Never be known as just her anything.”

Azzi turns around slowly and Paige feels her anger dissipate as quickly as it had erupted when she takes in the way the brunette’s eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Seriously?” Azzi grits out, “you’re seriously gonna throw that in my face right now?”

“I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m stating a fact-”

“Oh bullshit-”

“It’s not bullshit,” Paige yells before she sucks in a sharp breath, closing her eyes to calm herself down before she continues, “it’s not bullshit,” she repeats, “it is a fact and that fact is the reason why we’re here right now.”

“What do you mean?” Azzi crosses her arms across her body. 

“Nine years ago you said no-”

“Oh my god,” Azzi says exasperatedly, “we can’t keep going over this again.”

“We have to Azzi,” Paige cuts her off, “we have to because you said no. And you broke my heart and you broke my trust. And that’s why we’re here right now. That’s why I made the deal with the Liberty and that’s why I can’t let of my escape plan and that’s why I can’t promise to stay and that’s why we have to keep going over it. Because I’m trying, “her voice cracks as the first tear slides down, “god Azzi- I’m trying so fucking hard baby but how do I know you won’t say no me -to us- again?”

Azzi stares at her with an undecipherable expression, her fists clenching and unclenching by her sides. It feels like an eternity passes in between them as they look at each other, breathing heavily almost in sync, until the brunette finally speaks. 

“Well how do I know you won’t leave again?”

Paige blinks in confusion, “excuse me?”

“You keep accusing me of all of these things Paige but you’re the one that keeps leaving,” Azzi says and they both know she isn’t just talking about nine years ago, “I know- I know I made a mistake. But when I said no all I asked for was a little bit of time. That’s all I asked for Paige. Time. Just like you’re asking for right now. And I know- I know we said a whole lot of shit that night -I said a bunch of fucking things I shouldn’t have- but- god Paige you didn’t even give it a day. I came to find you less than 24 hours later and you were gone,” she chokes on the last word and Paige wants nothing more than to cradle the younger woman in her arms, take away her pain and shield her from ever feeling anything like it again. 

“Az-”

“And if you’d just waited -just given me a little bit of time,” Azzi continues as if she hadn’t even heard the blonde attempt to speak, “then maybe you would have known that I wasn’t saying no forever. Just for a little bit, just for then. But you just- you left.”

“You said a lot more than just no,” Paige says frustratedly. 

It’s Azzi’s turn to look guilty and Paige can almost see the memories of that night flashing in her mind, “I know that but I would’ve taken it all back if you’d just waited.”

“How could I have known that?” Paige whispers and she’s not sure if she’s defending herself from Azzi or from that voice in her head -the one she’d done her best to silence- that’s always wondered if she’d made a mistake immediately leaving for Dallas the morning after. 

“You couldn’t have,” Azzi says softly, sounding almost defeated, “the same way that you don’t know that I won’t say no again. The same way that I don’t know if you’ll leave again,” she sighs as she sits down next to Paige, “but that’s life Paige. We don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future and we can’t- we can’t predict what someone else will do. All we can do is try and trust ourselves and trust each other.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Paige nudges her shoulder and Azzi lets out a short laugh. 

“I know it’s not. Trust me, I know it’s hard. There’s about five hundred different voices in my head saying that I should stop waiting or whatever it is I’m doing right now. That I should let you go for good. That even if you end this whole Liberty bullshit, you’ll still leave me -leave us- eventually.”

“But?” Paige presses and she feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, like the next words out of Azzi’s mouth will determine whether she falls or flies. 

“But,” Azzi breathes out as she turns to look at Paige with a slightly wistful smile, “there’s this one voice in my head, clearer than all the rest that says I should trust you -that I should believe in us- that maybe we just need to get through this one last hurdle to get back to each other,” the younger woman reaches out to squeeze Paige’s hand gently before she stands up, “I think you just need to find that voice too P.”

“I’m scared Az,” Paige says softly. 

“I am too,” Azzi admits as she leans down to brush the blonde’s tears away with her thumb, “trusting is really fucking scary. I get it. but maybe- maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together.”

Paige shudders when Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead, the brunette's lips lingering long after she’s embedded every unspoken thought into it. She pulls away almost reluctantly, patting Paige’s cheeks lightly before starting to walk back towards the door. 

“Azzi,” the blonde calls out, mouth going a little drying when Azzi turns over her shoulder, “don’t go to dinner with Clémence.” 

Go with me. Let me take you and Stephie out to dinner instead. 

“Don’t hold on to the deal with the Liberty,” Azzi says quietly in lieu of an actual answer, “say you’ll stay.”

Paige falters, “Az I-”

“I already told you P,” there’s a sad smile on Azzi’s face before she turns away, “you can have time or you can have us but you can’t have both. Not right now. 

“Azzi-”

“I hope you find that voice soon Paige and I hope it leads you back to me.”

***

August 2032 

Paige is standing in a corner -a dirty Shirley in her hand- cackling at a joke that Cam had just made when she sees her entering and the laughter dies in her throat. Cam notices the change immediately, her eyes tracking Paige’s gaze until they land on the brunette who’s being pulled into a series of congratulatory hugs by players from other countries. 

“So where did y’all go last night?” the LA Sparks center asks casually 

“What?” Paige asks distractedly, her eyes narrowing when she notices a familiar French player inching towards the door for a hug of her own. 

“You and Azzi,” Cam clarifies and Paige swallows at the mention of her name, “y’all disappeared while we were all still celebrating. Lowkey felt like we were back in Belarus all over again when y’all just kept going off somewhere with each other,” the taller woman shoots Paige a teasing grin, “so where’d you go?”

“Just uh- just needed some air,” Paige bites her lip at the lie. 

Because the truth is that once they’d left the hotel bar, and they’d practically pounced on each other -from the elevator till they’d made it to Paige’s hotel room- they’d barely come up for air. The feeling of each other’s lips and bare skin was more intoxicating than any drink they’d consumed -maybe even more intoxicating than the Olympic Gold medal they’d finally won together earlier that day- and neither of them seemed to care about unimportant matters such as breathing. 

Cam quirks an eyebrow as she sips at her drink, “if you say so Bueckers.”

“I do say so,” Paige retorts before dislodging herself from the wall she’d been leaning against, eyes still tracking every moment Azzi made, “we should- we should go say hi.”

“We should, should we?” Cam smirks but the sweet angel she is, she falls into step easily with Paige as they start walking across the room. 

The banquet hall is buzzing with players dancing and drinking and mingling with each other. Now that the basketball portion of the Olympics was over, they’d all returned from being fierce competitors playing for their country, to being the friendly co-players they all were. Laughter and chatter fills the air as teammates and rivals alike, reconnect at the FIBA-sponsored party that had almost all of the women’s basketball players participating in Bris2032 in attendance. 

“Azziiii,” Cam squeals as the two of them finally reach the Valkyries superstar who’d just finished hugging Gabby. 

Azzi grins when she sees Cam but it slips a little when she notices Paige next to her. She’s quick to fix it, eyes going back to Cam as she pulls the taller woman into a hug. Something pinches against Paige’s heart and she forces herself to look away; her gaze landing instead on where Gabby has walked away from the three of them to slip an arm around Marine’s waist. Paige stares wistfully at the scene -at the way Marine relaxes into Gabby’s touch as she continues whatever conversation she’d been involved in. It’s all she wants and instinctively, her eyes wander back to Azzi. 

“Hey,” Paige says slowly as Azzi lets go of Cam, disappointment coursing through her veins when all she gets is a nod of acknowledgement.

“So Azzi I was just asking Paige here, where y’all disappeared to last night?” Cam asks with a teasing tone. 

Azzi blanches as the question, “oh um- I- uh I wanted to go check in on Stephie.”

“And you needed Paige to come with you for that?” 

A distinctly pink hue begins at the base of Azzi’s neck, climbing up until it tints her cheeks, “I was a little tipsy and uh- just wanted the support I guess.”

Paige almost snorts at the response. Azzi had been way beyond tipsy and Paige wouldn’t have been any support, considering she’d been maybe two drinks away from blacking out. But she supposes, Cam probably doesn’t need to know that and she definitely doesn’t need to know what it had led to. 

“Interesting,” the taller blonde looks between the two women as she takes another sip of her drink, “Paige just said y’all needed some air.”

“I mean that- that was definitely a part of it too. The bar was getting pretty hot-” this time Paige does snort at Azzi’s answer which gets her an amused look from Cam and a very unamused look from the brunette herself. 

Cam puts her hands up in surrender, “listen if Paige says y’all needed air and if you say you needed to go see Stephie, I believe you,” she says but that cheeky grin on her face says the exact opposite. 

“Speaking of Stephie. It’s uh- it’s almost her bedtime and I should uh- I should call my Mom so I can say goodnight,” Azzi manages a tightlipped smile towards the two other women before she disappears into the crowd, heading towards the balcony. 

Paige hesitates for a second before she turns to face Cam and that shit-eating, knowing smirk on her friend’s face almost has her giving into her pride and swallowing the words she’s about to say. Almost. 

“I’m uh- I’mma go to,” she stumbles out. 

“Oh of course,” Cam grins sly, “bet Azzi needs some more support huh?”

Paige shakes her head, flashing Cam her middle finger -and rolling her eyes when it causes the taller woman to laugh- as she follows after Azzi. The chill Brisbane air swarms around her as she steps out into the balcony. Azzi’s standing right by the railing, her phone held right above her as she facetimes her daughter. Paige catches on quickly to the conversation, realizing that the little girl is telling her mother about how Tim had let her have ice-cream after dinner. 

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” Paige hears Tim’s voice echo through the phone as Stephanie’s eyes go wide on the screen, “I thought it was gonna be our little secret?”

She holds in a laugh, leaning back against the door, as the little girl splutters trying to justify her tattle-taling, “it’s Mama, Pops. I can’t hide things from my Mama.”

Tim scoffs but there’s no genuine irritation to it, “that’s the last time I give you ice-cream.”

Stephanie shoots him an unimpressed look, “you say that all the time Pops and then you give me ice-cream anyways.”

“She’s got you there,” Katie choruses from the back and Paige watches as she high-five her grand-daughter. 

And she doesn’t quite know what that pang in her chest means, but she’s felt it every time she’s seen Stephani and the Fudds over the course of the Olympics. The Fudds had come to Brisbane -of course they had- and every time Paige caught sight of them in the stands or watched them from the corner of her eyes, it felt like something was stinging against her rib cage. They’d all had custom #35 Azzi jerseys and their cheers were louder than every other voice in the arena any time Team USA did anything and after each win, they’d been the first people down the stairs, ready to hug envelope Azzi in a hug. At the forefront of it was Stephanie, who’d ran into her mother’s arms at lightning quick speed and Paige had watched -hoping she was being at least somewhat conspicuous- as Azzi had spun the little girl around. 

It wasn’t that the Fudds ignored Paige. In fact they’d made it a point to come over to her right after to wrap her up amidst themselves. Stephanie had come over too, her smile shy as she’d congratulated Paige on the wins. The little girl clearly didn’t quite remember their interaction from all-star last year -her eyes regarding Paige almost like a stranger- and the blonde consoles herself with the fact that Stephanie’s only four. Four year olds weren’t known for remembering things that had happened when they were three. Still, it hurt a little bit considering Paige thinks of that interaction more than she probably should.  

But even though she’d still gotten the hugs and the smiles and the congratulations, it wasn’t quite the same, wasn’t anything like she’d picture during the conversations of we’ll get customized 5+35 Bueckers-Fudd jerseys for the Olympics she’d once had with Tim and Katie. 

“Alright Stephie-Bean, Mama’s gonna head back into the party-” Paige refocuses on the conversation just in time to hear Azzi get cut off by her rather dramatic daughter.

“I can’t bel-ieve you went to another party without me Mama,” Stephanie drags out the words, “no Mama-good-night-kisses cause she pick party-time over Stephie time.”

The little girl’s joking but Paige can tell by the way it makes Azzi pause for a second -her shoulder stiffening just a little bit- that it’s hit a nerve. She wants to soothe it away, wants to wrap her arms around her from behind, hitch her chin over her neck and take away all of Azzi’s worries. And that bitter thought -the one that seems to surface every time her heart beats a little faster for the brunette, the one that had filled her head when she’d woken up next to the younger woman earlier this morning- takes birth in her head again. The thought she could have done all of that -would have the right to do it- if only Azzi had just said yes.

“I’ll make it up to you Stephie-bean,” she hears Azzi promise, “tomorrow, just you and me okay sweetheart? All of my time’s gonna be yours.”

Stephanie’s face immediately brightens up, “okay Mama,” she says happily as she blows a kiss to the screen, “love you Mama. Good night.”

“Good night sweet girl. I love you more,” Azzi choruses back, waving at the screen before she cuts the call. 

It takes her a moment to turn around and Paige watches as Azzi takes in a deep breath, a subtle smile on her face as she takes in the Brisbane skyline. When she does finally turn around, surprise filters onto her expression at seeing the blonde standing there. 

“Hey,” Paige whispers nervously, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her pants. 

Azzi looks at her for a moment, “hi.”

They stand there rigidly, letting the tension -a completely different kind than the one that had encompassed them last night- simmer between them. It’s almost like they're daring each other to say something, to address the elephant in the room. 

Azzi breaks first, “something you wanted to say?”

“Just wanted some air,” Paige says, cringing a little bit at the cliché line that she’s now used twice in one night. 

“Right,” Azzi nods, moving towards the door, “guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Her voice is tinged with an iciness that sets Paige on edge. They haven’t been like this in a while and she’d thought they’d let go of the resentful exes gimmick they’d had going on for the first couple of years. But the hardness in Azzi’s tone suggests that it’s back with vengeance tonight. 

“Az-” Paige calls out. 

“What?” Azzi asks loudly, biting her lip when the harshness of it almost makes the blonde stumble back, “sorry I-”

But before she can apologize, Paige finds herself retaliating with the same hardness in her own tone, “what’s your fucking problem?”

“My problem?” Azzi reels back, eyes flashing with anger, “are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes. That’s clearly what I asked,” Paige retorts. 

Azzi laughs devoid of emotion, “I woke up to an empty bed this morning and you’re asking me what my fucking problem is?”

Guilt inches it’s way up Paige’s spine but it pales in comparison to the anger that flickers in the pit of her stomach, “oh that’s rich coming from you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that not exactly what you did last time we fucked,” the profanity tastes acetous as it falls through Paige’s lips because it sounds wrong, like she’s insulting the sanctity of their relationship, no matter how broken it might be. 

“No it’s not,” Azzi nostrils flare, “I told you I was leaving. I had the common fucking decency to let you know. I didn’t just sneak out.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “oh spare me the semantics. It’s all the same shit at the end of the day. We both left.”

“Oh fuck you Paige,” Azzi snarls as she tries to leave but Paige is quicker, fingers wrapping around her wrist to stop her. 

And everything she’d been prepared to say dies in her throat because now they’re too close, chests heaving in harmony as their matching glares turn into something else. Paige’s eyes fall to Azzi’s lips, breath hitching when the brunette’s tongue darts out for a second to wet them. She tugs on Azzi’s wrist experimentally, pleased when there’s little hesitation and the younger woman lets herself be pulled closer. The air is electric with want as they lean in slowly, their noses brushing against each other as they wait for each other to make a move, to close the distance. 

But then there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat,  followed by someone else coughing and the two of them spring apart like they’ve been burned.

“Jesus Az, careful!” Jana’s concerned voice makes Paige’s ears perk up and she follows the Egyptians line of sight to see that Azzi had moved back so fast that she’d  fallen back against the balcony railing. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi says hurriedly but the shake in her voice betrays that she’s anything but. 

“Are you?” Paige turns to find Aaliyah watching them with the wary gaze of someone who’s been around them and their bullshit far too long, “because uh- we can hear y’all yelling from inside.”

Azzi’s eyes shoot up, panic evident on her face, “you heard us? Did you- could you hear what we said?”

Paige scoffs loudly, “oh right yeah because that would be really fucking bad wouldn’t be it Azzi? God forbid anyone found out you fucked me.”

And she doesn’t even know why she’s arguing -honestly she’s just as embarrassed at the idea of their teammates and rivals and everyone else in between actually overhearing their argument- but it pinches a nerve and she pointedly looks away from Azzi’s ashen face. 

“You guys fucked?” Paige flinches at how loud Jana is and Aaliyah lets out a low groan. 

“Jana,” the Canadian warns, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Sorry but like,” Jana looks back and forth between Paige and Azzi, dropping her voice, “y’all fucked?”

Paige sighs, feeling drained as she leans back against a pillar for support, “that’s what I said yes.”

If possible, Jana’s eyes get even wider, “so- so what does that mean for the two of you? Are you- are y’all gonna get back together?”

Azzi looks at Paige. 

Paige looks at Azzi. 

And it’s like they’re both imploring each other to answer Jana’s question and to answer it right. 

“It means nothing,” it’s the wrong answer and Paige knows it even before she says it -can tell by the way Azzi barely reacts that she knows Paige doesn’t even really believe herself- but she thinks maybe they’re not quite ready to get it right. Not yet. 

“Well there you go,” Azzi says quietly, shrugging nonchalantly at Jana, “it means nothing.”

Paige flinches at the repetition of her own words, looking away as Azzi starts walking towards the door again. The brunette’s shoulder brushes against the older woman’s -sparks igniting around them- and she hesitates. 

“It means nothing,” Azzi repeats, her voice a longing whisper only meant for Paige’s ears, “but maybe it could’ve meant something. If you’d stayed.”

***

June 2033

Paige is sulking in her room -watching film to distract herself from the images of Clémence, Azzi and Stephie together from last night that her brain is hellbent on conjuring up- when her pity party is broken up by the sound of her doorbell. She has the urge to ignore it, to stay curled up in the same position she’s been in all day. It’s a rather pathetic way to have spent one of her rare days off but it’s the only thing she’d felt like doing. But then whoever’s outside her door starts to press the bell longer and Paige huffs -irritated by the loudness of it- as she forces herself out of bed. 

She’s not sure who she was expecting. Perhaps Jana, who’d caught on rather quickly to what was happening between her two former teammates and had been making somewhat of an attempt to help fix it. Maybe Colleen, here to knock some sense into her on Azzi’s behalf. Or maybe even Tessa, who Paige had learned in the most awkward way, knew about them when the former Gamecock had made a teasing remark about the two of them the next practice, not knowing what had transpired two nights before. When both Paige and Azzi had immediately tensed, instead of blushing or rolling their eyes, Tessa had been perceptive enough to understand something had gone wrong. She’d been trying to help Jana ever since and Paige half expects it to be her at the door with words of wisdom and comfort alike. 

Who she isn’t expecting is Tim Fudd. 

His wife, she would’ve understood. After all Katie had done exactly that before and it was in the older woman’s nature to meddle just a little bit. Her husband, on the other hand, tended to stay as far out of things as possible. He could be a hovering coach and whenever Azzi’s spirits were low, he’d be there with a ridiculous dad joke and arms outstretched for a big bear hug. But when it came to his daughter’s personal life, Tim Fudd did his best not to interfere. 

Tim smiles at Paige when she opens the door, one hand holding up a bottle of whiskey with a grin on his face while his other hand is hidden behind his back. He rolls his eyes fondly when he notices the skeptical look Paige shoots at his liquor of choice before he reveals the premade bottle of dirty Shirley he’s been hiding behind his back. 

“Tsk tsk,” he grins mockingly, “what would the fans say if they knew their big bad rizzler can’t drink anything but a sweet cocktail?”

Paige shakes her head as she steps aside to let the man inside, “just cause I don’t drink cheap whiskey, doesn’t mean I don’t drink anything other than cocktails.”

“Cheap?!” Tim guffaws as the accusation, “I’ll have you know this is a Macallan.”

“You know that that means nothing to me right,” Paige says as she follows his lead into her kitchen. 

It’s almost foreign having somebody else in her space. Since Drew had left -rather hesitantly after seeing his sister’s condition- the house had been devoid of anyone else but Paige. Jana had tried to invite herself over a couple of times but it had gone in vain when Paige had chosen solitude over any company. It’s not that she particularly wants to be alone, it’s that she thinks -no, she knows- that there’s only two people who can cure this dreadful loneliness that feels like it’s become an innate part of existence. 

“Sit,” Tim says as he rummages through Paige’s cupboards for two glasses. 

Hesitating for a split second, Paige does as she's told, “did Azzi send you?”

“Are you hoping she did?’ Tim asks pointedly as he places two glasses one top of the counter, filling one with whiskey and other with dirty Shirley. 

Paige swallows as she accepts the drink from his hand, “nah,” lies, “ just uh- just feels like something she’d do.”

Tim looks at her for a minute as he takes a sip of his whiskey. 

“She didn’t send me,” he says finally and Paige tries to mask the tinge of disappointment his words send through her by taking a large swig of her shirley. 

“This tastes like shit,” she grimaces, wiping her mouth with the back of hand. 

“That premade stuff usually does. It’s that easy shit you know? The things that just exist without you doing any work. Just doesn’t hit the same as the harder stuff,” Tim says slowly as he leans back against his chair, a clear double meaning in his words. 

“You’re using alcohol as a metaphor? So I guess Katie sent you then?” Paige manages a half-smile but she feels her stomach churn at the implication of what he’d just said. 

Tim laughs, “it was my idea actually.”

“Her meddling rubbing off on you?” Paige quirks an eyebrow. 

Tim shakes his head, “I’m not here to meddle. Just wanted to tell you a story.”

Paige sighs, “so you are here to meddle then.”

Tim ignores her, fiddling with the glass of whiskey in his hands, “did you know Katie and I almost didn’t end up together?”

Paige stares at the older man in shock. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised; relationships were complicated after all. But for all the years she’d known Tim and Katie, they’d always been just that. TimAndKatie. The epitome of stableness that had stood strong amongst all the other relationships Paige had watched break down one by one.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Tim says lightly when he notices how wide Paige’s eyes have gotten, “everyone makes mistakes. We’re all capable of doing dumb shit that almost makes us lose everything we’ve ever loved.”

Paige gulps, “what- what did you do?”

“I left,” Tim says slowly. 

“You left?” the familiar words make Paige nauseous and she wonders if that slightly regretful look on Azzi’s dad’s face is echoed on her own. 

“It was a couple months into our relationship and Katie and I had a huge fight. It was about her not letting me make a decision about Azzi,” Tim explains and the similarity of the situation almost makes Paige want to block her ears. 

“It was something small, something stupid. Probably nothing that even mattered cause I don’t even remember it. But I remember how I felt. I was really fucking mad but more than anything I think- I think I was scared. Because that argument, it was a remind that even though I loved her so fucking much, Azzi wasn’t mine. Not yet. And that if I lost Katie, I’d lose her too. The idea of losing Katie was scary enough but losing both of them? I didn’t know how to deal with that,” Tim's voice shakes, like he’s relieving his biggest fears and Paige feels her own eyes start to water; his words settling salt in her still-raw open wounds. 

“And it got so heated and we were yelling all this bullshit at each other that eventually I just- I didn’t know what else to do and I just- I started to leave. And Azzi- I guess we were so loud we woke her up- she- she saw me leaving,” there’s an unfamiliar grave look on the normally jovial old man’s face as he reminisces that night, “she ran down the stairs and threw herself at my knees begging me not to go but I- I was so mad and so fucking scared that I walked away anyways.”

“How- how did you fix it?” Paige asks, her voice almost pleading as she wipes away the droplets of water running freely down her cheeks. 

“Well not immediately that’s for sure,” Tim cracks a smile, trying to lighten the mood, “took me a little bit of time to pull my head out of my ass and when I finally did, Katie wasn’t so quick to forgive me for it either. And it wasn’t about her or me or us, it was about Azzi. The first time I showed up, she didn’t even let me in. Said she could only let me through that door again if I could promise to stay. Because Azzi had seen me leave once and she wasn’t gonna let her see it again.”

“It must’ve killed you,” Paige whispers, her stomach twisting in knots, “the guilt of hurting her.”

Tim nods, “it did but I think- or at least I hope I’ve made up for it now.”

“You have,” Paige reaches over to squeeze his arm gently, “how did you get her to forgive you?”

“Simple,” Tim places his own hand over hers as he continues, “we talked it out. I explained all my fears to her. How scared I was of losing her, of losing Azzi. And she- she understood because she was scared too, scared of losing me, scared of Azzi losing me. In the end we were both scared of the same thing but all of that got a whole lot less scary when we faced it together.”

Maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together

“How did you get over it,” Paige asks, almost desperately, “the fear of losing them? How did you move past that?”

Tim smiles wistfully, “time. Not time apart but time together. It wasn’t easy taking that first step, facing that fear but I knew if I wanted them, it was what I was gonna have to do. And I had to trust Katie, that if I stayed, she’d stay.”

“And she stayed,” Paige says softly. 

“Yeah she did,” this time, Tim’s grin breaks through his entire, “and the more time she stayed, the more my trust in her grew until one day I just knew. I knew she wasn’t gonna leave ever again. Well, maybe she’s thought about it a couple of times like when I nearly burnt the house down tryna make cookies or when I accidentally tore a hole in our wall tryna hang up a photo frame. 

Paige lets out a watery laugh as Tim winks at her, everything suddenly seeming a lot more simple than it had before the older man had walked through her door. 

“I know it’s not quite the same for you and Azzi,” Tim continues slowly, “you guys have a history that Katie and I didn’t. You both have more reasons to be scared than the two of us did. But Paige, I’ve always thought you were it for my baby girl. From the moment she came back from USA camp and all she could talk about was you, I just knew.”

Paige can’t help the broken sob that escapes her lips and Tim immediately rounds the kitchen counter to wrap an arm around her shoulder. 

“When she was pregnant with Stephie, she kept on asking for mint-choc chip ice cream. Said it was a craving or something. And she decorated everything for her in purple. All the baby clothes she bought were shades of purple,” he doesn’t quite say why Azzi did all of that but there’s a clear implication in his words. 

And Paige thinks that probably,  why she and Stephie are so similar, why they shared so many favorites, why the little girl had always felt like hers. Because Azzi had given a part of Paige to her daughter, even when she hadn’t had Paige herself. 

“Katie and Azzi, they’re mine but I think- I think if maybe someone else had gotten to them first -someone who loved them just as much as I do- maybe there’s a chance things would be different but Paige,” Tim squeezes the younger woman gently, “I think Azzi’s always been waiting for you. Subconsciously at least. There’s never really been anybody elese for her. Her and Stephie, they’ve both always been waiting for you, they’ve both always been yours.”

“You mean that?” Paige asks croakily and she feels like she’s a teenager again, asking Tim to pinky promise that he’d like her box-dyed purple hair no matter what. 

“I do,” Tim smiles as he looks at her, “and I think they’ll be yours forever. I think they want to be. You just have to say you’ll stay.”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[macfrog]

shameless cowboy like me chapter two

what if i told you...joel's a flirty menace in this one? 😈 this is part ii of my new dbf!joel series - you can find part i here 🫶🏼 enjoy babes

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: an innocent slip of the tongue leads to some very interesting preparations for the neighborhood barbecue

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! female masturbation, fingering, praise kink and daddy kink (blink and you'll miss it), age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), mention of alcohol, bit of cursing. all very hot hot hot

word count: 4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Feel good?” Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him. Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded. “Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

You stagger out to the driveway, heaving the bucket full to the brim, rocking side to side with every step you take. Warm water and suds spill over and soak your fingers as you battle with the weight down toward your dad’s car, parked out on the street.

“Aw, what’d I just tell you?” he yells over the hose, cutting the water and letting the nozzle drop as he jogs over to give you a hand. “Don’t fill it all the way!”

You let go of the bucket with a heaving breath, squatting with your palms on your knees. “You told me – gasp – you needed enough – gasp – to do both our cars,” you pant, “there’s – enough.”

“Go on inside and get a glass of water ‘fore you keel over, dumbass,” he says, subsiding a laugh as he turns the hose back on. “And bring out sponges when you come back!”

After a few more deep breaths, you stumble on back up the drive and into the cool house, where you pour a glass of cold water. You’re standing by the window watching your dad soak his SUV when a familiar truck pulls up behind it, gas tank in the bed.

Your cheeks heat just at the sight of him getting out, long legs striding over to meet your dad. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, since he had dinner with you guys. Since he ignited a fire inside you that you’ve done nothing to extinguish.

They exchange a few words, your dad gestures to the bucket at his feet and then gives what you presume is a retelling of your debacle in the drive. Joel’s head falls back in laughter, and you’re not sure whether your heart jumps from embarrassment or something more.

He’s in a washed black tee and jeans. Simple, typical Joel. His toned arms are folded on his chest, shoulders a little hunched as he listens to whatever your dad is probably boring him with.

You check yourself in the mirror, tucking and then untucking your hair behind your ear, and tug the skirt of your yellow dress a little lower.

Lower? What are you doing?

You turn and check yourself out, pulling it up little by little, imagining what Joel might think when he sees you. Where his eyes might fall, the way his breath might catch…

Your dad’s voice calling your name snaps you back to reality. You sigh and give yourself a final once over – adjusting your bra under your dress – and turn on your heel back to the garage door, emerging from the shadows to the red-hot sunshine once again, this time a little more collected.

Joel’s eyes find you the minute the sun does. Still nodding and muttering back to your dad, he tracks you as you stroll down the drive and to your dad’s side.

“Hey,” you chirp.

“Hey, yourself.” Just out of your dad’s view, he eyes you up and down, settling just south of your neck. You feel your stomach fluttering.

Your dad lifts his arms and props them against his hips, glaring at you.

“What?”

“Sponges?”

“Oh…” Fuck. “I…There ain’t no sponges in there.” If you weren’t so busy goggling at Joel and hiking your skirt up, you’d have remembered his request.

Your dad screws his face up. “I have sponges, sweetheart. In one of the boxes on the shelf–”

“I didn’t find any.”

He sighs, frustrated. “The hell’d my sponges go?” he asks, turning to Joel and shaking his head in disbelief.

Joel still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Like he can read your mind, he raises a finger and turns to your dad. “You gave a couple to me, remember? When I had to wash my truck. Few weeks ago, now. Must’a never gave you them back. My bad.”

“You got my sponges?”

“Truck was pretty dirty. Probably threw ‘em out.”

You tut. “Unacceptable. You call this a best friend?” Joel narrows his eyes and mimics you, and you grin back.

Your dad grumbles. “I’ll let you off this time, Miller, seein’ as you brought that tank a’ gas. But how the hell am I meant to wash two cars with a bucket of soap and no sponges?”

“You don’t need to wash them in the first place,” you mumble, looking down to your feet, rubber toe of your sneaker kicking at the road.

“How many times– I am not havin’ half the neighborhood over with two dirty cars in the drive!”

“Alright!” you hiss back, eyes wide. “Look, I’ll run to the store and grab some. We need drinks, anyways.”

“Good idea. And we need some burgers.”

“B– You don’t have burgers?”

“Or steaks. Get a few steaks, too.”

“Dad! The barbecue is in two hours!”

He bends down to pick the hose back up, smile painted on his face. “Better get goin’, then, huh?”

You throw your head back with frustration, marching off to the house to grab your purse. Your dad chuckles behind you, angering you all the more.

When you come back downstairs, Joel’s standing in the hallway waiting, flannel shirt tucked under his arm.

“I’ll come,” he says, “extra set of hands. Plus, you can show me this new ride of yours.”

Thank you, you mouth as you pass him. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder and follows you out the door.

“Steaks, burgers, sponges, soda. Anything else?”

“Crate of beer,” your dad calls over the water spraying over his car.

Joel gives him a thumbs up as the two of you pass by, other hand still locked on your shoulder blade.

When the two of you settle in your car, Joel turns to you, pulling his seatbelt on. “I could see the sponges from where I was standin’.”

“I didn’t even look,” you mutter back, switching the ignition on.

“Just after an excuse for a half hour alone with me, were ya?”

You lean your head in his direction. “Sounds to me like it’s the other way around. You offered to come with me, remember?”

He responds with a look that you read as Touché, and the car pulls off.

----------

The store is freezing thanks to the aircon, and, after ten minutes of wandering up and down the meat aisle, you’re shivering with goosepimples along your arms. Finally, Joel comes back with a few bottles of soda.

“Cold?” he asks, placing them in the cart beside a three-pack of sponges.

“AC.”

“Here.” He pulls his flannel off and drapes it over your shoulders. You smile in thanks.

“I don’t know what meat to get,” you groan, pushing your arms into the sleeves of Joel’s shirt. It’s warm, and smells like him. When he turns to look inside the freezers, you bury your nose in your shoulder and breathe him in.

“These’ll do,” he eventually says, lifting a few packs of frozen burgers and a couple steaks. “Your dad ain’t the most prepared guy I ever knew.”

“Tell me about it.”

Joel takes the cart, pushing it along while you meander by his side, casually looking around the store. After throwing a few packs of candy in, along with a pack of headphones – “My old ones broke,” you protest, in response to Joel’s perplexed glance – you make your way toward the checkout.

“Shoot, forgot the beer. Go grab a case for your dad, would ya?”

You breathe a sigh. “Can’t you?”

“C’mon, kid, I ain’t askin’ twice.”

You hold his stare for a few seconds, a standoff in the idle store. He doesn’t flinch. You try not to, but his gaze is strong, his jaw tight, and your stomach is doing flips. You roll your eyes and make to turn.

“Good girl.”

Fuckin’ asshole.

You keep your back to him, continue walking with your fists balled tight either side of your hips. You know that Joel knows the effect he has on you, and you know he’s got his eyes on you as you round the corner of the aisle, smirk across his lips, but you at least try to hold on to what little pride you have left.

You meet Joel back at the checkout, standing in line. He acknowledges you with a quick nod, eyes settling on the case in your right hand.

“Coors?”

“Uhuh.”

“No Bud?”

“Dad doesn’t drink Bud. Dad drinks Coors.”

He shakes his head, blank expression. “No, he doesn’t. He drinks Bud.”

You start to feel your face warming. “You think I don’t know what beer my dad drinks?”

“You think I don’t know what beer my friend drinks? Go get a crate of Bud.”

“You fuckin’ go,” you hiss, just as the cashier calls you two over.

“Hi, darlin’s!” she sings as you approach the checkout. Her cheeks swell with her sickly-sweet smile, eyes flitting from one of you to the other. “Got everything you’re after today?”

“Close enough,” Joel replies, perfectly friendly to her, but with a sideways glance to you that makes your chest tighten.

“That’ll be $53.94. Cash or card?”

“I’ll get it,” you say, hand burying into your purse for cash.

Joel pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, stepping in front of you to the card reader.

The cashier giggles, looking between the two of you. She scrunches her nose up with a sweet smile, looks back at you, and says, “You let Daddy pay, sweetie.”

You both react at the same time; Joel coughs as if choking on his own tongue, bringing his forearm up to cover his mouth, and you shake your head with a quick gasp, instantly telling her, “No, no, he’s not my dad, he’s a friend– my dad’s f– he’s my dad’s friend. Not my dadd– not–”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she giggles again, totally unaware of what she’s done to the pair of you. “My mistake. Here, sir, your receipt.” She hands it to Joel, who thanks her with a strained smile on his lips, hoists the crate under his arm and makes off with the bag.

You wave as you take off in his wake, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Joel, wait up. What’s the rush, I–”

He throws the beer and bag into the backseat as you climb in the driver’s side, and slams his door closed with a bang.

You watch him for a moment as his head falls back onto the headrest, exhaling slowly.

“Everything al–?”

“Everything’s fine,” he cuts across you sharply, then hears it, and opens his eyes, looking over to you affectionately. “Everything’s fine,” he says again, calmer, quieter. His eyes scan over the sight of you in his shirt.

He shuffles in his seat and your gaze trails down to where he pulls the bottom of his tee over the crotch of his jeans. When he speaks, your eyes snap back up to his face.

“‘Let Daddy pay’? What the hell was that?” he scoffs as casually as he can muster, not noticing you, instead looking out the front window to the parking lot.

You laugh a little, leaning into your seat to look at him softly. “She was just tryna get me some free stuff, I think. She was nice.”

Joel breathes out a laugh. “Here I was thinkin’ you’d paid her to say it.”

“If I wanted to getcha all flustered, I bet I could do it myself. Don’t need nobody to help me.” You give him a toothy grin, and he returns it, placing a hand on your knee and shaking it.

“Let’s go. Your dad will be demented waitin’ on these sponges.”

----------

“Coors?” your dad asks, tilting the case in his hand.

“Sure,” you reply, spirit dying already.

“They run out of Bud?” he screws his face up in confusion.

Your eyes run from his along to Joel’s shoulder, and up to his face, which sits in a look of smug bemusement.

“Hm,” Joel cocks his head, “that’s weird.”

“They were all out,” you mutter tonelessly, turning on your heel back into the kitchen. You grab a cup and fill it with soda.

“Aw, poor baby,” Joel’s voice coos from behind you. You turn to find him leaning against the kitchen island. “Did you get Daddy the wrong beer?”

You place the glass down on the counter with a sharp thump and rub your eyes. What little energy you have left in you, you decide to use it to tease him straight back.

“I dunno. Do you like Coors, Daddy?” you mewl, floating over to him and leaning into his chest.

“Alright, enough,” he grumbles, pushing you off of him with a laugh you’re sure had an echo of nervousness in it. You link your fingers in his hand and he draws you back in to stop you from falling back dramatically.

“I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Truth be told, the last thing you want to be doing is hosting a neighborhood cookout. What with the dry heat now that the rain has passed, and the headache brewing behind your eyes, all you want to do is lie down in a quiet, dark room, and doze in and out of sleep.

“Why don’t you go for a lie down before everyone comes over?” Joel pats your head. “Me and your dad can finish up the cars, get the barbecue goin’. I’ll come wake you once the party’s started.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” You take your soda and make for the stairs, only realizing at the first step that you’re still in Joel’s shirt. “Oh,” you pull it off one shoulder, “here.”

He holds a hand out to reassure you. “Keep it. You suit it.”

Then he pauses. Takes a breath. Turns it over in his head once or twice before he commits to saying it.

“Keep you thinkin’ of me while you sleep, or…whatever you’re headed up there to do, baby.”

He makes for the garage door without another word, without even glancing back to see your speechless expression.

Doesn’t matter. You know he knows the knot he’s just tied in your stomach.

You drag yourself up the stairs to you room, pull the curtains closed and lay back on your bed, kicking your shoes off. You can smell him all over you. You were sleepy, now you’re wide awake. You lie staring at the ceiling for who knows how long; furious, tired, pining.

Through the open window you can hear Joel making casual conversation with your dad as if he hasn’t just turned you the fuck on and left you to deal with it yourself.

You shake your head. You’re mad at him, but when you think it over, the anger turns into pent-up frustration, adding to the pile that’s been slowly growing harder and harder to bear since that night he drove you home.

The way he looked down at you. What was behind his eyes? Dark, brooding. The way he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

Your stomach tightens with excitement, eyes fluttering closed to hear his chuckle, his cool voice as he talks about last week’s baseball game. Your legs seem to fall open on their own, your hips lifting as your hand trails down to meet the lace of your underwear.

Then him calling you trouble. Trouble. Knowing exactly what he really meant, and knowing you knew, too.

Your finger hooks around them and pulls back, other hand lifting your dress to expose yourself to the warm breeze passing through your window. You cup yourself, feeling how wet just the thought of him has you.

The way he looked at you earlier as you walked over. Offering to come to the store with you. Good girl. Let Daddy pay. Good girl.

Your fingers toy with your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from the depths of your throat. You push down, around, adding pressure, taking it away again.

Thinkin’ of me while you do it. Good girl. Nothin’ but trouble.

Your free hand pulls the top of your dress down, cupping around your breast. You lick your fingers and roll your already hard nipple between them, picturing Joel’s lips around it, sucking, licking, kissing…

Let Daddy…Good girl.

“Joel…” you whimper, as you insert a finger inside yourself. It’s the release you’ve been after since that first glance, the first comment that set your stomach ablaze.

You picture his hand in place of yours, rocking back and forth, curling just the way you like, big fingers stretching you out and feeling your walls clamp around him.

You’re a whimpering, whining mess. Covered in your own slick, chasing your high, clit rutting against the palm of your hand.

Feeling a need for more pressure, you bring your other hand down and begin mercilessly rubbing at your clit while your hand pumps in and out, in and out.

You’re close. You have to bury your face in the shoulder of his shirt to stop from screaming. It only drives you crazier. The smell of him, the way his name sounds escaping your lips in breathy moans, the thought of his weight on top of yours, making you feel so good, making you cum over and over…

“Feel good?”

Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded.

“Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you whisper.

He settles back on your dresser, looking over at you with a barely noticeable smirk across his lips.

“Barbecue’s heatin’ up.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” You’re still in a daze, part-embarrassed, part-confused. Joel’s acting so casual that you’re not even entirely sure this is happening right now.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” He cocks his head.

Your eyes screw shut. You swing your legs off the side of your bed and lean forward, your back to him.

“You can tell me if it was me.”

“Wasn’t you, Joel.”

“You know a lot of Joels? You rubbin’ that pretty little pussy to all your other Joel friends?”

Your head finally clears when he starts teasing you. That humming energy picks up again. He’s riling you, maybe not for the same reason as before, but he’s doing it.

You stand from your bed and turn to face him.

“Was thinking…was thinking about being a good girl for you. Letting you put your hands on me.”

You start stepping forward. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Was thinking about you making me cum while everyone’s here, and we gotta be quiet, and you’re all over me…”

Joel’s eyes darken. He straightens up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You reach him, and place both hands on his chest. Did you just feel his heart skip beneath his shirt?

Downstairs the doorbell rings, and you both suddenly hear your next-door neighbor’s voice rattle through the house, remarking how nice the kitchen is, and where can she put this salad?

Joel’s head turns ever so slightly to the door, eyes still locked on yours.

“Party’s started,” he murmurs.

You nod slowly. You’re feeling unusually bold – but this fucker just cut in right ahead of your orgasm, and you want him to pay it back.

You tell him in low voice, “Better hurry up.”

He pushes off the dresser, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backwards. Your eyes never leave his as you stumble across your hardwood floor and the back of your knees hit your bed. Joel pushes you down, shoving your thighs open with one knee, and bends over you.

“This what you want?” he slurs, drunk on the heat radiating off of you and the sight of you in his shirt. “You want your daddy’s best friend all over you?”

“Uhuh,” you moan when he hauls your arms above your head.

Without a word, he hauls your dress up and drags a finger around your underwear, pulling them to the side. You throw your head back, bracing for the moment his hands touch you where you need him most. You could fold right now just at the thought of it.

Joel makes no move for a few seconds, and when you glance back down, he’s hovering, drinking in the sight of you. You smile.

“Aw, baby,” he breathes, noticing you watching him. Then he dips his head and his lips crash against yours roughly, like he might’ve died if he hadn’t kissed you there and then.

Your arms come down and wrap over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair. You feel his weight over you as he kisses you deeper, and then starts rubbing your swollen clit. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips.

Music begins playing from downstairs, your dad obviously having worked out how to use the sound system by himself. Voices from neighbors arriving float in through your open window. Joel tears his shirt off of your shoulders and begins sucking on your neck.

“Joel,” you whimper, “want more.”

He laughs against your skin. “So needy, darlin’.”

His hands pull away from your clit for a few seconds before he inserts a finger, slow, but fucking perfect. Your back arches against him as he pushes in further, going deeper than you ever managed yourself.

“Good?” he’s whispering, and all you can offer as response are your panting breaths.

He pumps slowly a few times, then pulls all the way out and inserts two. Your hands pull his lips against yours again, purely to allow yourself to moan without risk of being heard from the front yard.

Joel’s fingers curl and hit that spot inside you that yours never could. Your mouth agape, you writhe under his touch as his hand fucks you, his palm providing just enough friction on your clit to nudge you closer and closer to your orgasm with each drag of his wrist.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m close,” you whisper.

“Gotta be real quiet, baby, okay? Too many people downstairs.”

Your back arches again as your high approaches.

“Fuck, keep going.”

Joel’s hand pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, fucking you so hard that his palm comes down on your clit harder and harder with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying your best to keep the noise down, but his fingers feel so good, the feeling of him overwhelming, so wrong and yet so fucking right.

You’re sure you’re about to cry out, and Joel notices too, because he instantly pushes himself against your body; lips brushing your ear to coax you through your high, shoulder at the perfect position for you to sob into as you cum all over his fingers.

When your orgasm subsides, aftereffects washing over you like waves, you lay with your eyes closed, letting your shaky breath come back to normal. Your body hums with energy, but you’re so spaced out you feel like you can’t move.

Joel lifts his weight off of you, leaning onto one hip to pull your panties back and your skirt over them. You watch him lazily through your eyelashes. He fixes your hair, and runs his cupped hand down your cheek.

It’s soft, unlike the last ten minutes were. He’s being Joel again, the Joel you’re used to. But you kinda want to get to know this new Joel, all the same.

Then he shows you one last glimpse of him.

He lifts his middle finger, buried deep inside you not even a minute ago, and brings it to his lips. Sucks on it, moaning at the taste of you, before letting it go. He holds out the second digit he fucked you with.

You instinctively part your lips and he pushes it in, letting you taste yourself. He’s watching you with cloudy eyes; you’re not sure what he’s thinking as you suckle on his finger, but you know it’s filthy.

He removes it and then uses his thumb to wipe your lips, before getting up and resuming his position, leaned against your dresser.

You understand it as your cue to get up, too.

You stand, adjusting your dress, and stare at him for a moment.

“This…” He gestures between the two of you. “This is…We’re…We don’t…”

He looks up. Your eyes meet, and there’s an unspoken exchange of words. You understand, so does he.

“Nothing happened,” you breathe.

Joel nods, and leaves the room first.

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia Masterlist

One tragic day changes Dahlia's life forever. Despised by her father and brother, she's spent her entire life trying to be the child and sister she use to be. But nothing she ever does is good enough. She joins the Rider's Quadrant to prove them wrong. Garrick now in his second year has proven he is more than the mark on his skin to his fellow riders, and taken leadership of his own Squad alongside Xaden. Little does he know the girl walking across the parapet is about to send him on a rollercoaster of a year. Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos) WARNING - THIS SERIES NOW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM. I HAVE MARKED THESE PARTS WITH ❗️AS WELL AS LISTING A WARNING AT THE TOP OF THE CHAPTER. IF YOU HAVE NOT READ ONYX STORM, DO NOT READ THESE CHAPTERS.

First Year

No Daughter of Mine

What You Made Me

Bad Idea, Right? - Garrick

Third Squad.

Not A Good Idea - Garrick

Yield

Marked Like You

Prove You Wrong

10 Gold Pieces - Garrick

Keeping Tabs

Glimpse of the Past

Unexpected Feelings - Garrick

I'll Make This Quick

Little Girl Gone

Proven Wrong - Garrick

Mares In His Stable

Jealousy

I'm Trying - Garrick

Manifestation ��️

Painful Touch - Garrick ❗️

Show Me ❗️

Somewhere I Belong

Aetos vs. Aetos

Would It Matter?

Give Them Hell

Stepping Up

Outsmarted

Frustration - Garrick

War Games

The Hostage

The First Betrayal

Reunification Day (Dual POV)

An Unlikely Hero

About Damn Time 🥵😍

Just Sex?

The Only Mare In His Stable

Disappointed - Garrick

Dragged Along

Fourth Wing

39. Familiar Faces 40. Second Squad 41. Assessment Day 42. Without A Doubt 43. A Helping Hand 44. Unexpected Reunion 45. Karma 46. Coffee Talk 47. Family Ties❗️- Garrick 48. Say Thank You 🥵😍 49. Aetos vs Durran 50. Friendly Advice 51. Presentation Day 52. Threshing 53. Let Me Show You 🥵😍 54. Need A Favour 55. The Inntinnsic 56. Violet's Bodyquard 57. Questions 58. Tell Me What You Know 59. Where Is She - Garrick 60. Confessions 61. Not Right 62. Squad vs Squad 63. Separated 64. War Games 65. Victory 66. Protect Me 🥵😍 67. Orders 68. Athebyne 69. Everything Has Changed

Iron Flame.

Coming Soon.

Onyx Storm

Coming Soon.

[thebunnednun]

Toast 5.

Pairing: Aged up!ProHero!Katsuki Bakugou x Ex!Pro hero!Reader

Katsuki talks to the daughter he never knew he had.

Summary:

Why is it that we never expect betrayal from the person closest to us?

Songs:

Like Him Me and your Mama

“Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep—”

Katsuki stirred awake in the dim light of Kirishima’s guest room, his body sinking into the mattress beneath the weight of lingering sleep.

His eyes, half-lidded and drowsy, fixed on the ceiling above, tracing the faint patterns in the plaster. The soft glow from his phone screen had faded hours ago, but the image of your contact picture lingered in his mind like an afterimage burned into his retinas. His fingers twitch slightly, the memory of scrolling through your messages and photos before sleep overtook him still fresh in his consciousness.

He blinked slowly, his lashes brushing against his skin as he wiped away the drool that had pooled at the corner of his mouth and the crust clinging to his eyes. His brain was sluggish, wrapped in a haze of sleep that refused to clear easily. He groaned, the sound low and gravelly in the quiet room, as he considered moving, pushing himself up, starting his day.

But the thought of leaving the cocoon of warmth his bed provided felt insurmountable.

A glance at the digital alarm clock perched on the nightstand told him it was 4:48 AM. Normally, he’d be up by now, heading to the shower before joining Kirishima for their morning training. It was a routine they both adhered to with a near-religious fervor. But today, the idea of dragging himself out of bed felt like a monumental task. He could hear the faint murmur of the television from the living room, the familiar cadence of the weather reporter detailing the muggy, 37-degree morning.

Katsuki exhaled heavily, his breath a soft whisper against the stillness of the room. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the sky remained a dark grey, a sliver of light just beginning to creep along the horizon. The weight of his duty pressed against him, a familiar companion that urged him to rise, to face the day, to protect the citizens of Japan. He had made a promise to meet you, and that promise gnawed at the back of his mind, a persistent reminder of the obligations he could not shirk.

Right now, just for a moment, he allowed himself the indulgence of five more minutes. 

Five minutes to sink back into the warmth of the blankets, to close his eyes and pretend that the world outside didn’t exist. 

Five minutes to gather his strength before he stepped into the cold reality of his life.

Five more minutes to dream about you.

The dim light from your phone screen cast a faint glow across the room as you scrolled through another article, eyes scanning lines of text that felt more like a blur than actual words. You hadn't really slept, the quiet hum of thoughts keeping you awake while Mina's soft snores echoed from the guest room down the hall. The familiar, rhythmic sound was oddly comforting, a reminder that someone was there, even as you delved into the depths of parenting blogs, scientific studies, and posts about co-parenting and therapy for children with quirk-related issues.

Your bedroom was a sanctuary of warmth and personal touches, a blend of cherished memories and subtle holiday cheer. The walls, painted in your favorite soft hue, created a calming backdrop for the life that filled the space. Floating shelves lined one wall, adorned with an array of knick-knacks and framed photographs that captured moments of joy and love. Most prominent among them were pictures of Asuna, her beaming smile frozen in time, radiating happiness. 

A single, weathered photo of Class 1-A was locked  away in your desk drawer, a reminder of a chapter once closed but never forgotten.

On your desk, a hot pink lava lamp, gifted from Asuna, casts a gentle, rhythmic glow, the liquid inside dancing slowly in the dim light. Beside it, a cat-shaped mug from Hitoshi held a few pens and a half-empty cup of tea from the night before. A parenting book from Aizawa lay open, pages marked with notes and highlights from your late-night reading. Eri's growing cactus sat proudly on the windowsill, its tiny spines catching the morning light.

Your bed was a haven of comfort, dominated by a large, knitted blanket from your grandmother Rita, draped over the soft, inviting sheets. The adjacent pillow held a picture of Rita, because you couldn’t go to bed without her yet. A pair of bunny slippers, Mina’s thoughtful gift, rested at the side of the bed, ready to be slipped on when the day began.

Christmas decorations added a festive touch, with a mini tree twinkling in the corner, its tiny ornaments reflecting the soft glow of fairy lights strung across the room. The corkboard above your desk was a collage of memories, snapshots of Asuna and Eri, candid moments with Aizawa and Hitoshi, and little notes that brought warmth to your heart.

A bookshelf, filled with well-loved books and a few new additions, stood tall against one wall, its shelves a mix of fiction, non-fiction, and journals. The walk-in closet was a neat but lived-in space, filled with clothes and a few hidden gifts waiting for the right moment. The private bathroom adjoined to the bedroom was a quiet retreat, its simple design accentuated by the personal touches that made it yours.

But you couldn’t enjoy it.

At least, not right now.

Your mind was restless, bouncing between thoughts of Asuna, your grandmother Rita, and inevitably—

Katsuki. 

You looked at your phone again, your most recent conversation with Hitoshi still echoing in your mind, replaying in fragments. It had started as it always did, a check-in after his patrol, his voice steady as he reassured you of his safety before mentioning he was about to turn in. But then he asked a question that lingered long after the call had ended.

"Have you ever thought about dating again?"

The question had caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. You weren’t a nun; you hadn’t closed yourself off completely. But after everything, after the heartache and the struggle, you hadn’t given it much thought. It felt like opening a door you weren’t sure you wanted to step through again. 

Deep down, a part of you still loved Katsuki. Maybe it was the memory of him, or the aspects of him that lingered in your heart. But loving someone didn’t mean you had to put yourself through the pain of liking them again, of letting them back in.

You sighed, the weight of it all pressing against your chest. Katsuki was still a part of Asuna, even if he didn’t know it. 

And that tether, however frayed, couldn't be severed. 

You couldn’t give Hitoshi a straight answer, and he hadn’t pressed further, leaving the conversation to taper off into a soft ‘see you soon’ before the line went dead.

Rubbing your temples, you tried to shake off the lingering thoughts. The night had been heavy, filled with emotions that bubbled to the surface as your brain kept replaying how you and Katsuki cried together. His presence, even through the tears, had been comforting, a safety you hadn’t felt with anyone else since. It was a harsh reminder of what once was, of what could never be again, and yet… 

It made you feel something you hadn't in a long time.

With a deep breath, you stood and stretched, the soft cotton of your tank top shifting against your skin. You grabbed the cream-colored, kitten-soft sweater draped over the corner of your bed and slipped it on, buttoning it up to ward off the morning chill. The fabric was warm and comforting, a small shield against the emotional whirlwind inside you.

Making your way to the basement, you descended the stairs slowly, each step sobering you a bit more. The workout room was warmer than usual, a subtle, cozy heat that enveloped you as you entered. You set up your routine, focusing on the familiar rhythm of movement. The strain of muscles, the controlled breaths, the focus it required—each brought a semblance of clarity.

As you worked through your routine, your thoughts began to align, forming a plan. You’d talk to Asuna this morning, have a heart-to-heart about whatever was on her mind. Maybe, after meeting with Katsuki, you could take her Christmas shopping. A mom-and-daughter date. The thought brought a small, soft smile to your lips. 

‘Yeah, that would be a good idea.’ 

Something to look forward to, something to lighten the weight in your chest.

Asuna woke up at 5 a.m., her internal clock reliable as ever. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked at the ceiling before reaching for her phone on the nightstand. A soft smile crept onto her face as she read the goodnight message from Eri, who always sent her love before bed, knowing Asuna could never stay awake past 9 p.m. She hearted the message and quickly typed back a loving good morning, the warmth of their friendship lifting her spirits.

She stretched her arms above her head, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the fogged window. The faint sounds of weights clanking and your focused breaths reached her ears from the basement below, a familiar morning symphony. Asuna sighed, her breath fogging up the glass as she leaned against the window for a moment, watching the grey sky slowly lighten. 

Aunty Mina would still be sound asleep in the guest room, snoring softly, until her alarm woke her at 6 a.m. Then, Mina would stumble out in her pink silk robe, bleary-eyed but cheerful, and head to the kitchen to start breakfast, filling the house with the comforting aroma of food.

Asuna's room was a vibrant blend of her eclectic tastes, a space that captured her unique personality. The walls were painted a soft pink, a backdrop that was both soothing and cheerful. Her pink Bayside window, framed with delicate lace curtains, overlooked the quiet mountain below, the glass fogged from the chilly morning air. On her nightstand sat her beloved camera, always ready to capture the world as she saw it, and a butterfly lamp from Eri, its gentle glow casting soft shadows on the walls.

Her bed was a princess dream, draped with a canopy and adorned with a mix of cushions and stuffed animals. The black sheets with strawberries shaped like skulls were a little unique in contrast with the rest of the room. 

When you had asked her why she chose them, she simply said, "They're tough." 

One corner of the room screamed punk goth, with dark posters, edgy decor, and a collection of band memorabilia. The other corner embraced a pink aesthetic, filled with soft plushies, fairy lights, and pastel trinkets. Her large closet was neatly divided: One half for her school and hero training clothes, and the other for her fashion-forward outfits. Each section was neatly organized and readily accessible.

On the hooks along one wall hung her purses, book bag, and gym bag, a tidy lineup that belied the heated debate between Shinsou and Aizawa when trying to install them. Eventually, you and Mina had stepped in, setting up the hooks while the two men argued over placement. 

Shinsou had redeemed himself by successfully installing her floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and gaming monitor, while you and Aizawa had built her bed frame together. Mina had helped with the vanity, changing out the lightbulbs to cast the perfect glow, and Eri had gifted Asuna her first shoujo manga for the bookshelf.

The room was also decked out for Christmas, a full-sized tree in one corner, adorned with ornaments, lights, and featuring her favorite comic book characters. The festive atmosphere blended seamlessly with her everyday decor, creating a space that felt warm, personal, and entirely hers. 

She almost went back to bed before she realized that she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Today would be the final day of school before winter break. And the thought of the half-day at school brought a mix of anticipation and restlessness. 

Asuna loved half-days, especially because it meant spending the afternoon with you at the office. She looked forward to the warm greetings from your colleagues, the familiar bustle of your workspace, and the hours spent in Elle’s office. There, she could immerse herself in video games, 2000’s romantic comedies, or, if fortune favored her, study new fight tapes to hone her skills. The possibility of Eri joining her for a session in your company’s gym added a layer of excitement.

Pushing herself off the bed, Asuna padded across the room in her reindeer slippers, her footsteps muffled on the plush carpet. She grabbed her neatly laid-out school uniform from the chair by her desk, folding it over her arm as she headed to the bathroom. Her resolve hardened as she turned on the shower, the rush of water filling the small space. 

Today, she would ask you about her father. 

The thought made her stomach churn, but she felt a determined flame flicker in her chest. It was a conversation she needed to have, and she trusted you to be honest with her. Stepping into the warm cascade of water, Asuna let the heat soothe her nerves, the steam wrapping around her like a cocoon. 

It was going to be a long day, but she had to face it.

Now matter how much she wanted to burn everything down. 

The faint scent of waffles and the distant thump of music filled the house as you set down your weights, catching your breath. Mina’s familiar, upbeat tunes floated from the kitchen, her morning ritual of blasting music while whipping up breakfast in full swing. Smiling, you wiped the sweat from your brow and paused your playlist just as Lil Jon’s "Get Low" reached its final beats.

Hearing soft footsteps on the stairs, you turned, greeted by the sight of Asuna's familiar, mischievous grin. Her bright red eyes sparkled as she bounded towards you, her school outfit a playful rebellion against the standard uniform.

Today, she sported a white skirt paired with an oversized black sweater adorned with yellow diamonds, her half-up, half-down hairstyle framing her face perfectly. The butterfly clip from Eri nestled in her hair caught the light, and her ears sparkled with the stud earrings Mina had given her last birthday. Chains jingled lightly around her neck, completing her effortlessly stylish look. Despite her ensemble's flair, she still had her reindeer slippers on, a cozy touch that made you chuckle.

You waved her over, and she skipped to your side, greeting you with a bright, "Good morning!" As you looked over her outfit, noting the absence of the school-issued blazer and tie, you raised an eyebrow.

"Skipping the uniform again, huh?" you teased, smoothing her hair as she tilted her head innocently.

Asuna grinned. "It’s a half day, so I figured we could hang out afterward. No need for the boring uniform if I'm just coming to your office."

Her words tugged at your heart, but you gently broke the news.

"Actually, I’ve got work, and Rumi will be picking you up from school today."

Her eyes widened slightly, blinking in surprise. Before disappointment could set in, you added quickly, 

"We’ll talk more at breakfast, okay? I promise. I hope you don’t mind waiting a little."

Asuna’s attitude remained upbeat as she nodded, the disappointment fleeting. "No problem. I’ll be fine." She gave you a playful nudge. "Now, go shower before you stink up the kitchen."

You grinned, grabbing your towel and swinging it playfully in her direction. "Oh, you’re going to get it now!"

Laughing, Asuna darted out of the way, her reindeer slippers pattering against the floor as you chased her down the hallway, your shared laughter echoing through the house, a perfect start to the day.

With a burst of speed, Asuna dashed up the stairs, her laughter echoing through the house as she tried to evade your pursuit. You were right behind her, the towel you’d been wielding like a flag of sweaty victory flapping in your hand. Asuna squealed, her feet skidding slightly on the hardwood floor before she made a sharp turn into the kitchen.

"Sanctuary!" she cried out, ducking behind the kitchen island.

Mina, standing at the stove in her pink silk robe, emerged with a spatula raised high like a weapon of authority. Her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she surveyed the scene unfolding before her.

"Hey! What did I say about running in my kitchen?" she ordered, stepping in front of Asuna with the air of a seasoned protector. She pointed the spatula at you, effectively barring your entrance.

"Back off, soldier. You need to take a bath and put on your hero uniform before you stink up the whole house."

Feigning an expression of deep betrayal, you clutched your chest as if struck by an invisible blow.

"Is this how an unloved spouse is treated? I pay the bills, you know!"

Mina’s stern facade cracked just enough for a smirk to tug at her lips. She quickly gathered herself, slipping into a mock housewife role with a haughty tilt of her chin.

"It's your damn job to pay the bills in this house!" she shot back, wagging the spatula in your direction for emphasis. "I don’t care if you want to take a shower in every bathroom in this house, but you will NOT sit at, my table, all sweaty."

You let out an exaggerated huff, crossing your arms in mock defiance. "Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, I’m cutting your allowance. You can only get your nails done twice this week instead of three."

Mina gasped in mock horror, her eyes wide as if you had just declared the most grievous offense. With dramatic flair, she flung the dish towel at you.

"You monster!"

Catching the towel mid-air, you clutched it to your heart, blowing her a kiss as you stepped backward. "Just kidding!~" you called, shooting her a playful wink before making your way to the bathroom.

As you retreated, you caught sight of Asuna behind Mina, her face a masterpiece of exaggerated expressions, tongue stuck out, eyes crossed. She was barely holding back her laughter, her shoulders shaking as she tried to maintain her composure.

Mina turned, narrowing her eyes at Asuna’s antics but with a fond smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Alright, enough goofing around. Let’s get the table set before your parent uses all the hot water."

Asuna straightened, her laughter finally spilling over as she hopped up to the counter. "Can I help set the plates?" she asked, her eyes shining with the kind of enthusiasm that could make even mundane tasks feel special.

"Of course," Mina replied, handing her a stack of plates. "You set the plates, and I’ll finish up the waffles."

Together, they worked in harmony, Asuna carefully placing the plates at each setting while Mina poured the last of the waffle batter onto the griddle. The kitchen smelled of sweet syrup and fresh waffles, a comforting aroma that wrapped around them like a warm hug. Asuna hummed under her breath, the soft melody blending with the faint sizzle from the stove.

She gazed out of the window, noticing how the fog outside blurred the world beyond into soft, indistinct shapes. A sense of calm washed over her, knowing that today would end with warmth and laughter at home.

Hopefully.

Mina glanced over at Asuna, who was now reaching for the silverware. "You excited for your half-day today?" she asked, handing her the napkins.

Asuna nodded eagerly, setting down the silverware with precision. "Yeah! I love going to Mom’s office. Elle always lets me watch rom-coms or play video games. And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get some new fight tapes to review."

Mina chuckled. "Sounds like a blast. Just don’t go easy on your mom about the tapes. She’ll want to sit and watch them with you."

Asuna grinned, the thought of sharing those moments with you making her heart warm. The table was set, and she stepped back to admire their handiwork, her stomach already growling in anticipation of the meal. Mina ruffled her hair affectionately. "Good job, kiddo. Now, let’s get some breakfast in you before your day starts."

Asuna beamed, her mind already spinning with the plans for the day ahead. She loved mornings like this—filled with lighthearted banter, the scent of breakfast in the air, and the comfort of family all around her. She watched Mina carefully, noting the way she hummed softly, her bonnet still snugly in place, protecting her hair as she moved deftly around the kitchen.

The scent of breakfast wafted through the room, but it did little to settle the uneasy feeling brewing in Asuna’s stomach. She swallowed hard, glancing down at her hands before gathering the courage to speak.

“Hey, Minnie?” she called softly, using the nickname that had become their playful norm.

Mina, ever the multitasker, didn’t miss a beat as she filled a bowl with eggs and sausage bits. "Yeah, Mickey?" she replied, a smile tugging at her lips as she focused on plating the food.

There was a pause, one that stretched long enough for Mina to glance up, her brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. Asuna took a deep breath, her fingers curling into the hem of her oversized sweater.

“What do you know about my dad?” she finally asked, her voice just above a whisper.

The clatter of the spatula hitting the floor was lost beneath the sudden, deafening crash. 

The porcelain pancake bowl slipped from Mina’s grasp, shattering against the tiles with a sharp crack that echoed through the kitchen. Mina’s eyes widened, her usual composure faltering as she stared at the fragments scattered across the floor.

"Asuna," Mina stammered, her voice tight with surprise and something else—something deeper. "I-I... I didn’t mean to—”

Asuna was already moving, her heart pounding as she rushed to help. "It's okay, it’s okay," she said hurriedly, crouching down to gather the broken pieces. In her haste, her palm caught a jagged edge of the shattered bowl, slicing through the skin with a sting that made her gasp.

" Shit! " Asuna recoiled, blood welling up from the cut almost immediately.

Mina’s reaction was instant. “Oh no! Come here,” she said urgently, her hands gentle but firm as she guided Asuna to the sink. She turned on the water, letting the cool stream rush over the wound to flush out any debris. Her touch was careful, her concern evident in the tight set of her jaw.

As the water ran pink with diluted blood, Mina kept her focus on Asuna's hand, her voice softening. "Let’s get this cleaned up. We don’t want anything getting infected," she murmured, reaching for a clean towel to press against the wound once it was thoroughly rinsed. Asuna watched her in silence, biting her lip as the initial sting faded into a dull throb. Mina’s hands moved with practiced ease, but Asuna could sense the underlying tension in her movements.

Once the cut was wrapped, Mina turned back to the mess on the floor, sweeping up the shards with careful efficiency before discarding them. The kitchen returned to its usual quiet, save for the faint sound of the water running and the hum of the heater.

Mina finally leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded Asuna with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Why do you want to know about your dad?" she asked gently, the weight of the question hanging in the air between them.

Asuna hesitated, shifting her gaze to the floor. "I just... I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. I don’t know much, and I guess I just want to know more about who he was. What he was like."

Mina’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Asuna’s shoulder. 

“I understand,” she said quietly, her voice steady but laced with a hint of sadness. 

“But, Asuna, some of those answers... they’re not easy to give.”

Asuna nodded slowly, her mind racing with questions she hadn’t dared to ask before. 

“I know. But I’m ready to hear them.”

Mina offered a small, reassuring smile, her thumb brushing lightly against Asuna’s cheek. “We’ll talk, okay? But let’s wait until your mom’s out of the shower. She’ll want to be a part of this too.”

Asuna nodded again, her heart still heavy but comforted by Mina’s presence. 

“Okay,” she whispered.

They stood together in the kitchen, the quiet hum of the household around them better company than the unspoken weight of the conversation yet to come.

Mina moved with her usual grace as she set Asuna’s plate in front of her, the aroma of warm waffles and syrup wafting up to fill the room. The scrambled eggs, sausage bits, and perfectly golden waffles were arranged neatly, a small pool of syrup glistening at the edges. She served your plate next, her movements thoughtful, before setting her own meal at her spot on the counter.

“Eat up, Mickey,” Mina said softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Asuna’s forehead. The gesture was familiar and comforting, followed by a gentle hug that seemed to envelop Asuna in warmth.  “I’m gonna get dressed now,” Mina added, pulling back just enough to look into Asuna’s eyes. 

“Don’t be afraid to ask your mom, okay? She’ll understand.”

Asuna nodded, though the growing pit in her stomach made her feel heavier than she had moments ago. Mina’s reassuring smile lingered as she turned and disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps fading into the distance.

The house fell into a momentary stillness, the only sound the soft hum of the oven and the clinking of cutlery as Asuna absentmindedly picked at her food.

The kitchen felt warmer than usual, a subtle indication of the lava quirks’ effect on the room’s temperature. It made sense; emotions had a way of influencing the environment, and the slight rise in heat wasn’t lost on Asuna. She gazed at the plate before her, but her mind drifted to another time, another place.

She remembered being little, living at Grammie Rita's house before you moved out and got your first apartment together.

Everything in the city had been so different from the quiet, familiar life in the country. She’d been so excited at the prospect of having her own room, decorating it with her favorite colors and toys, imagining all the new adventures she would have.

But that first night, as the shadows stretched long across the unfamiliar walls, her excitement waned, replaced by a sense of overwhelming homesickness. The city sounds were foreign, the constant hum of traffic and the occasional siren a stark contrast to the soothing chirps of crickets back home.

She had cried, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, her small body curled up under the covers. You had come to her then, your face soft with understanding as you knelt beside her bed.

"It’s okay," you had whispered, smoothing her hair back gently. "It’s a big change, but we’ll get through it together."

You’d suggested she sleep in your bed, just for the night, to help with the move. It had been a simple offer, but one that spoke volumes. Now that she was older, Asuna realized it had been one of those parenting tricks you were always reading about.

Even then, though, it hadn’t been enough. Sleep had eluded both of you, and eventually, in the quiet hours before dawn, you had packed a small overnight bag and made the long drive back to Grammie Rita’s house.

That night, she had slept nestled between you and Rita, the familiar scent of lavender and the warmth of home surrounding her. She remembered the comfort of being cocooned between the two of you, the rhythmic sound of your breathing lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. The safety, the warmth, the undeniable sense of belonging—

It had been everything she needed.

Asuna hadn’t thought about that memory in a long time. It came rushing back now, unbidden, stirring a mix of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face. She blinked, her gaze returning to the present, to the plate of breakfast in front of her. The warmth of the kitchen, the comforting scent of food, and the distant sound of your shower running—all of it familiar to her, 

But that pit in her stomach remained.

Asuna sat at the kitchen counter, the warmth from the heating system making the space feel almost too cozy. She took another stab of her waffle, savoring the sweet scent, but her mind wandered. She wanted to feel warm, the kind of warmth that wrapped around her like a familiar blanket on a cold day—not the stifling heat that made her sweat or brought on an asthma attack.

Those moments, rare as they had become, still lingered in the back of her mind like a shadow she couldn’t quite shake.

She glanced toward the hallway where Mina had disappeared, the memory of her words offering a fragile reassurance. The kitchen, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt tinged with the weight of her thoughts.

Asuna shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her plate. She thought about how far she had come, how much she had outgrown that terror of suddenly feeling like an elephant was sitting on her chest, crushing the air out of her lungs.

Those nights had been terrifying—the sensation of not being able to breathe, the frantic gasps for air that wouldn’t come, the rush to the hospital. She remembered the cool plastic of the oxygen mask, the sterile smell of the emergency room, and the reassuring but anxious faces of the doctors and nurses.

Even now, the oxygen tank sat in her closet, its silent presence a reminder of those moments. It was tucked away with its refills, each one a testament to your meticulous care. You never missed a doctor’s appointment, never let her go without her asthma pump. The routine was part of your life, a constant vigil over her health.

But it wasn’t just you.

Shinsou had been there too, from the very beginning.

He was her biggest comfort through those episodes, his calm presence a balm to her anxiety. Whenever you had to leave her side—whether for work or errands—Shinsou was right there, holding her hand, his eyes steady and reassuring.

He’d given her a llama plushie once, a quirky little thing with soft fur and big eyes. “To keep you safe,” he’d said, his voice low but earnest. She had clung to that plushie during those scary moments, its presence a small but significant reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Whenever she was playing and that familiar tightness crept into her chest, Shinsou had always been the first to notice. His calm voice guided her through the breathing exercises, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he helped her calm down. He never panicked, never made her feel like she was a burden. He made her feel safe.

Some nights, she only wanted him.

The tears would come, the fear would grip her, and all she could think about was hearing his voice. You would call him on FaceTime, and no matter where he was or what he was doing, he would stop everything to be there for her. His face on the screen, his voice steady and soothing, always had a way of making the panic subside.

Asuna sighed, her fingers now resting on the countertop, the warmth of the kitchen pressing in on her.

The memories stirred something deep inside, a blend of gratitude for Shinsou’s presence and the persistent ache of unanswered questions. She looked down at her plate, the waffle now cold, and felt that familiar pit in her stomach deepen.

When she was little, she had been confused about the relationship.

She thought he might be your husband at first, the way he was always around, always there when she needed him. But she knew he wasn’t her dad, not her father. That role remained an enigma, a figure that loomed in the distance of her thoughts, faceless and undefined.

Asuna had been younger then, barely understanding the complexities of relationships. She had watched the way Shinsou moved around you, always there, always ready to help.

It was natural for her to assume, in her childlike innocence, that he must be something more than just a friend. The day she gathered the courage to ask, her small voice filled the quiet living room.

"Is Toshi your husband?" she had asked, her wide eyes blinking up at you with all the seriousness her little heart could muster.

Your reaction had been instant. 

Your eyes widened so much she thought they might pop right out of your head, and for a moment, you were utterly speechless. Shinsou, sitting next to you, had let out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his head with a sad grin. The two of you exchanged a glance before you turned your attention back to her, kneeling down to her level.

"No, sweetheart," you had said gently, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Hitoshi isn’t my husband. He’s my best friend, like how Auntie Mina is my best friend."

Asuna had tilted her head, thinking about it. Best friends, she could understand. Eri was her best friend. Auntie Mina was always around, laughing and joking, just like Shinsou. She had nodded slowly, processing the information with the seriousness of a child trying to comprehend the adult world.

"Okay," she had replied thoughtfully. Then, after a pause, she had looked back up at you, her small brows furrowed with curiosity. 

"Then... who’s my dad?"

The room had fallen silent. You had taken a deep breath, trying to find the right words. The weight of the question settled between you like an invisible presence. Finally, you offered her a soft smile, your voice gentle but clear.

"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure," you had said, a small laugh escaping as you reached out to squeeze her hand. 

"It’s not Uncle Toshi."

Asuna had giggled at your playful tone, the tension in the room easing. But even as she laughed, you could see the flicker of curiosity still in her eyes, the unspoken questions she didn’t yet have the words to ask. 

You had known this day would come, and while you had been prepared for many questions, hearing it from her little voice had hit differently.

"Can you tell me more?" she had asked softly, her gaze earnest.

You had exchanged another look with Shinsou, his supportive nod giving you the strength to continue. Gathering her in your arms, you had guided her to the couch, and tried to navigate the delicate path of honesty and protection.

Humming, Asuna flexed her fingers from resting on the countertop, the warmth of the kitchen slightly suffocating her. The memories stirred something deep inside, a blend of gratitude for Shinsou’s presence and the persistent ache of unanswered questions. She looked down at her plate, the stabbed bits of waffle now cold, and felt that familiar pit in her stomach deepen.

The sound of your work bag and boots thudding softly against the floor near the doorway echoed through the house, a familiar and comforting routine signaling your return. Asuna smiled at the sound, a brief moment of peace washing over her. 

It was fleeting.

A sudden, searing pain flared across her left hand, sharp and insistent, sending a shockwave up her arm. 

Her smile vanished, replaced by a grimace as the fork she was holding clattered onto her plate, a muffled cry escaping her lips.

She quickly pressed her hand against her chest, trying to stifle the sting, but her gaze was drawn downward to the crimson vines blooming beneath her skin, vivid and raw against her veins, like fiery tendrils weaving their way down her arm and pooling at her fingertips to where the pain was most intense.

This was familiar, painfully so.

She had seen those molten streaks before—on you. You, Pro Hero Obsidian, who wielded lava with effortless control. Your body could conjure and manipulate molten rock, transform into its various forms, and encase yourself in it as though it were a second skin. Asuna had grown up watching your mastery with this element, your quirk a powerful extension of who you were. 

But this... 

This wasn’t supposed to be her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the angry, red-hot veins, the vivid reminder of her lack of control. She didn’t have your quirk. Her abilities were a strange fusion of energy manipulation, capable of many things. But not lava. 

And certainly not ' that' .

She clenched her hand, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deliberately.

Her mind raced back to the times when these hot explosions had spiraled out of control. The memories were sharp, vivid. The baseball field she had scorched during a heated argument, her first asthma attack in the old apartment that left their surroundings charred, and the terror of that afternoon when a villain had chased her home, leaving her powerless and panicked, the resulting blaze a beacon of her fear and fury.

Asuna hadn’t told you about these red veins, about the heat that now seemed to pulse through her body when she was upset. She had hidden it well, bundling herself in long sleeves and hoodies, pretending it was for the weather or fashion. 

It has worked so far. 

You haven't suspected anything, busy as you were with hero work and managing everything else.

But now, she only had a few minutes before you walked into the kitchen. She could hear the soft thud of your footsteps drawing nearer, the anticipation of your presence making her heart race even more.

With a determined breath, she pushed herself up from the chair, her legs feeling heavier than usual as she made her way to the fridge. She pulled it open, the cool air brushing against her flushed face as she reached for an orange popsicle.

It was a small comfort, a familiar taste that might help ground her. She unwrapped it hastily and sat back down, her posture forced into calmness as she took a bite, the cold sweetness contrasting sharply with the burning heat still simmering beneath her skin.

She glanced at the doorway, waiting, her pulse pounding in her ears. You would be there any second, and she needed to keep everything hidden, for now.

"Hey, pretty girl!" 

Your voice, warm and full of affection, filled the kitchen as you appeared not two seconds later. Asuna's gaze lifted to meet your smiling face, her heart lightening despite the heat pulsing through her hand.

You had changed into your sleek black athletic pants, the fabric hugging your legs comfortably. A tight-fitted cropped jacket adorned your torso, accentuating your form while offering a casual yet put-together look. 

Your hair, freshly redone into softer braids sectioned into fours, framed your face beautifully, adding an extra layer of sophistication to your relaxed demeanor.

Dark, moody lip gloss highlighted your smile, the subtle sheen catching the light as you moved. Your eyeliner was subtle, yet sharp, wings drawn with precision, giving your eyes a striking intensity.

Around your neck, a matching chain to Asuna’s rested, a small but meaningful symbol of the bond you shared. On your wrist, your watch glinted faintly under the kitchen lights, its sleek design complementing the gold anklet that adorned your left ankle, a delicate accessory that added a touch of elegance to your casual ensemble.

You stretched your arms over your head, a soft sigh of relief escaping your lips, the motion causing the gold anklet to shimmer faintly. With a flick of your wrist, you turned on the kitchen fan, the gentle hum filling the space. The cool breeze it provided swept over Asuna, offering a reprieve from the warmth that had begun to suffuse the room. 

‘Thank Kamisama,’ she thought, feeling a bit more at ease as the chill from her popsicle worked to combat the heat radiating from her hand.

Despite her attempts to relax, your keen eyes noticed the new bandage wrapped around her hand. Concern flickered across your features as you tapped the edge of the bandage lightly with the back of a spoon, the gentle tap drawing Asuna’s attention. 

"What's this?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of worry as you handed her a pair of Hello Kitty chopsticks, the familiar pink utensils a small distraction in her hands.

Asuna hesitated, her fingers curling around the chopsticks as she avoided your gaze for a moment, focusing instead on the melting popsicle in her other hand. The cool, sticky sweetness was a welcome distraction, but she knew she couldn’t dodge your question for long.

"Aunty Mina dropped a bowl by accident. She cleaned my hand up," she explained, her voice light, as if it were no big deal. Asuna shifted in her seat, trying to maintain a casual air as she spoke. 

You tilted your head slightly, giving her a thoughtful, " hm, " before nodding.

"Let me see," you asked gently, extending your hand toward her. 

Without much hesitation, Asuna extended her hand, the motion casual and unbothered. Her bandaged palm faced up, the soft cotton wrap obscuring the majority of the red marks that had blossomed there earlier.

You took her hand in yours, your fingers warm and familiar against her skin. Your eyes briefly scanned the bandage, noting its neatness, and a soft smile played at your lips as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to the center of her palm.

"How did you sleep?" you asked, pulling a chair up next to her. Your tone was soft, laced with genuine concern, as you sat down, turning slightly to face her.

Asuna hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying,

"I slept fine." 

The words were smooth, but the underlying truth was evident in the way her eyes shifted briefly, betraying her unease. She returned the question quickly. 

"How about you? How'd you sleep?"

Your smile faltered slightly, though you kept your voice light. 

"Fine," you answered, a mirror of her lie. The reality was far different. Sleep had been elusive, your mind too preoccupied with responsibilities and the day's demands.

Standing, you moved toward the coffee machine, flipping it on with practiced ease. The soft hum of the machine filled the quiet kitchen as you reached into the cabinet above. Your hand hovered briefly over Mina's Celine Dion mug, the familiar design bringing a small smile to your lips as you placed it under the coffee spout.

As the coffee began to drip, you reached for two more mugs, your movements fluid and precise. Eri's mug, a deep red apple design, was next. You placed it beside yours—a gift from Mina—a mug with a volcano that changed color based on the temperature of the drink inside. A small but clever trick that never failed to amuse you.

Your eyes lingered on the shelf as you mentally cataloged the mugs.

Aizawa's black mug with the cat paw print on the bottom came to mind. Shinsou’s Venom mug, tucked away in the very back, was currently on ‘ time out ’. Elle, your manager, had a Cinderella Story mug featuring Hilary Duff. Lastly, there was Grammie Rita’s " #1 Original Gangsta " mug.

You reached for her mug, filling it with coffee as the machine finished its cycle. But as you poured, a sudden realization dawned on you. Your hands stilled, the coffee pot hovering just above the rim. Your gaze drifted out the kitchen window, the view blurring slightly as your thoughts took a sudden turn.

Setting the pot down with deliberate care, you inhaled deeply, the aroma of fresh coffee grounding you momentarily. With a soft sigh, you picked up both mugs and placed them in their designated spots on the counter. Your movements were slower now, more deliberate, as if each action required careful thought.

Asuna watched quietly, noting the subtle shift in your demeanor. 

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

You turned to her, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I will be," you said, your voice calm yet sincere. 

"How’ve you been holding up?"

Asuna shrugged slightly, fiddling with the stick of her popsicle as she considered her answer. "Fine," she said, her tone steady but with an undertone of contemplation. "I miss Grammie Rita… but she was sick for a while. So… her being able to rest now probably gives her peace." Her words were quiet, thoughtful.

Your smile softened, a warmth touching your eyes as you reached out to gently brush a hand over hers. 

"That’s a very mature mindset and attitude about it, Asuna," you said, pride evident in your tone. " But ," you continued, leaning in a little closer, your expression turning serious, "it’s also okay to feel sad about it. Losing someone you love is hard, no matter how much sense it makes."

You held her gaze, ensuring she saw the sincerity in your eyes. 

"I’m here to talk, whenever you need. And if you ever feel like you need someone else to talk to—a therapist, someone who can help you work through your feelings—we can make that happen. Whatever you need or want, I’ll be here to provide it for you. You just have to ask."

Asuna took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the popsicle stick. 

Moments like this—the tenderness, the unwavering support you showed her—played over and over in her mind. They were her anchors during tough training sessions, exams, or even during the quiet moments when she was just living life. You had always been her first best friend, her constant. 

She couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t been there for her. Birthdays, holidays, school events, quiet nights at home—whatever she needed, you provided, often before she even realized she needed it.

Which is why what she was about to ask made her feel sick to her stomach. 

Her chest tightened, a weight settling heavily as her mind raced with the implications of her next words. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to summon the courage to speak. The thought of disappointing you, of disrupting the perfect balance you had created in their world, made her hesitate.

She glanced down at her hand, the red lines barely hidden beneath the bandage. The warmth from earlier lingered faintly, a reminder of her growing inability to control this part of herself. Gathering her resolve, Asuna looked back up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and fear.

"I… need to tell you something," she started, her voice trembling slightly.

You set your fork down gently, the clink of metal on porcelain resonating softly in the quiet kitchen. Turning fully toward Asuna, you rested your elbows on the kitchen island, your gaze steady and open. 

"I'm here, 'S una. Talk to me," you said softly, your voice warm but attentive, carefully observing her every move. You knew Asuna well—too well to miss the subtle shifts in her demeanor. She was always a straightforward child, seeing the world in stark contrasts, much like… well, like her… yeah. 

Some traits are simply passed down, as natural as breathing.

Asuna’s fingers trembled slightly as she placed her popsicle on the edge of her waffles, her focus now solely on you. Her crimson eyes, those precious blood diamonds you cherished so deeply, met yours. You’d memorized every starburst and flicker in them over the years, each gaze a reminder of your bond. 

"I have something I need to ask," she said, her voice wavering, betraying her internal conflict. Her hands twitched, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from her, a familiar sensation when her emotions surged.

"Go ahead, shoot for the moon even if you're gazing at stars," you encouraged gently. It was your way of telling her that, despite the distraction evident in her expression, you wanted her to be upfront, honest, unburdened. You watched as a bead of sweat formed on her brow, her skin flushed, her breaths shallow. 

The room seemed to grow warmer, almost stifling. Your brows knitted in concern, and you reached out, taking her hands into yours, feeling the warmth emanating from her palms.

"Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" Your tone shifted, the warmth now edged with a protective sternness, memories flashing back to the terrifying moment with that villain. 

The explosion, the flames licking the sky—you and Shinsou had barely arrived home in time to witness the chaos. Your gut had clenched with fear, knowing it was Asuna caught in the midst of it all.

Asuna shook her head quickly, blinking hard as if trying to clear the haze. 

"No, no, Mom, I’m fine," she started, her words rushed and defensive. But then, she paused, her body tensing as if realizing the weight of what she was trying to convey. "Actually, no," she corrected, her voice quieter but firm. 

"I'm not fine."

Her admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. You squeezed her hands gently, grounding her, silently urging her to continue, to let it all out.

"I need to ask you about my father." 

Her voice is steady, direct. It was such a quintessentially Asuna moment—honest and to the point, without a hint of hesitation. That was your Asuna.

Your Asuna.

You didn’t blink. You didn’t breathe. 

The words hung in the air like an unspoken storm, one you had always known would come, yet had never truly prepared for. The girl sitting across from you now, with her determined gaze and the weight of years of questions in her eyes, didn’t look like the fierce, 16 year old hero in training she had become. 

No, as you looked at her, time rewound itself in the corners of your mind.

In an instant, she was three years old again. Her hair was pulled into space buns, adorned with those little flower clips and beads she had been so fond of. You could almost hear the soft click-clack of the beads as she ran, her small feet padding across the floor. She was at the dining table, making hand turkeys with the same focused determination she now channeled into her training. The memory of her laughter echoed faintly as she asked for, " pasgetti ," chasing after Grammie Rita’s long braids as they nearly skimmed the floor, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp what felt like magic to her young heart.

Then, she was five, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her small brow furrowed as she sternly corrected Shinsou on how to play dolls properly. You could still see the exaggerated expression on Shinsou’s face, hear the high-pitched, falsetto voice he put on, following Asuna's instructions with a smirk. The memories tumbled forward, flashing like scenes in an old film reel.

She was ten, sitting across from Aizawa, confidently debating quirk theories as though she were his equal. She had always been so perceptive, so bold, even back then, telling him that if he didn’t take better care of himself, his body was going to give out. Her arms crossed, the same determined stance she had now, softened only by her concern for him.

At fourteen, she had been ecstatic to ride in her first limo, sitting beside you and Elle, her excitement infectious. It had been late, after a hero event, but you had wanted her company, needing her warmth to combat the long hours. At fifteen, she had her first set of nails done with Mina, the two of them matching charms and colors, giggling like the teenagers they were.

And now, she was sixteen. Training relentlessly with Eri, pushing herself beyond limits. You recalled the evenings spent with flashcards in hand, reading out questions as she dodged oncoming attacks, trying to train her mind as much as her body, always striving to be better.

She was your Asuna. 

Soft and lovely, fierce and brilliant. 

Every version of her etched deeply into your heart, forming a mosaic of who she had been and who she was becoming. But now, those precious eyes—eyes you had traced a thousand times—held something else. They held the question you had known would come but had always hoped to postpone. 

The question of her father.

Your hands, still holding hers, tightened ever so slightly. You felt the tremble in your fingers, the memories and emotions swirling together in a chaotic dance. This day was inevitable. You had always known that. 

Only, you thought you had more time. 

Time to find the right words, time to craft the perfect explanation. But after yesterday, the weight of everything crashing down, you realized how foolish that hope had been. Of course, she would ask now. Of course, she would seek the answers she was owed.

Asuna watched you closely, her eyes scanning every flicker of emotion across your face. 

She was patient, waiting, not with the impatience of a child but with the resolve of someone who understood the gravity of what she was asking. She had every right to know, every right to ask. And you, her constant, her anchor, owed her the truth.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself. Your voice, when you finally spoke, was soft but unwavering. 

"Asuna, there’s so much I want to say, but more than anything, I want you to know that I’m here. Whatever you need to know, I’ll tell you. I won’t hide anything from you." You paused, squeezing her hands gently, grounding both of you. "You’ve always been brave, always faced things head-on, and I’m so proud of you for that. I’m proud of you for asking."

Asuna’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes locked on yours as she inhaled deeply. 

The kitchen around you seemed to hold its breath, the morning light filtering through the windows casting a soft glow over the space, highlighting the quiet tension in the air. The hum of the coffee machine was the only sound, a subtle reminder of the mundane amidst the profound.

Her hands, clasped tightly in yours, were warm, slightly damp from sweat, but you didn’t let go. You held on, anchoring her to the moment, grounding her in the reassurance that you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

"What does he like?"

 Asuna asked, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability. 

"What does he dislike? Is the story about how you two met real?"

You nodded, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a soothing motion. "Yes, the story I told you is real. We met during school—he was smart, and had a strong sense of justice. He loved books. He has a quiet demeanor but a sharp wit, always keeping people on their toes. He hates dishonesty, more than anything, and he has a soft spot for sharks."

Asuna absorbed your words, her eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined before lifting again, her gaze searching. 

"Is he Japanese? American? A foreigner?"

"He’s Japanese," you answered softly. "Born and raised here, though his work sometimes takes him overseas. He was always curious about the world, eager to understand different perspectives."

Her brow furrowed slightly, her fingers tightening around yours. 

"Does everyone else know him? I mean, do... do they know about him? Why didn't your classmates know about me?"

You took a moment before answering, wanting to choose your words carefully. 

"A few people know him, yes. But he’s very private, always has been. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe from the dangers that came with my work. So, not many people know the full story."

Asuna nodded slowly, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and questions. 

Her eyes glistened, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to process the onslaught of information. She took a shaky breath, her gaze drifting momentarily to the kitchen around her. 

The familiar setting felt strange now, as if it had shifted just slightly in light of everything she was learning. The coffee mugs on the counter, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint scent of waffles in the air—all these everyday details seemed to take on a different significance. 

Asuna’s next question came with a slight tremor in her voice, her eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. 

"Does he... does he know about me?"

The room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of her question settling over you both. You could see her throat working, her breath shallow as she waited, hope and fear mingling in her expression. You squeezed her hands gently, leaning in slightly.

"Asuna, listen to me. He—"

Before you could answer Asuna’s pressing question, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the tension. Mina burst into the kitchen, her vibrant energy filling the space. "We're late!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of urgency and her usual upbeat tone. "With traffic, it’s gonna take almost forty minutes to get to school and work on time!"

You and Asuna both jumped at her sudden entrance, the heavy atmosphere disrupted in an instant. Mina, mid-rush, froze as she took in the scene before her—Asuna with her hands resting on the counter, your fingers still lightly wrapped around hers, both of you looking a bit shell-shocked. She blinked, her eyes flicking between you two.

"Am I intruding?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but Asuna beat you to it. Her voice was even, but there was a subtle edge to it, a deliberate choice to maintain the moment’s privacy.

"Nope. Let's take the food to go." She grabbed her plate, turning toward the cabinet where you kept the Tupperware.

Recognizing her desire to put a pause on the conversation, you nodded slightly and turned to Mina with a small smile. "Looks like it’s breakfast on the road today," you said, slipping back into a more casual tone. Together, you and Mina began cleaning up the plates. The rhythmic clink of dishes and the hum of the coffee machine became the backdrop to your resumed lighthearted banter.

"You’d think with all your hero training, you’d master the art of punctuality," you teased, giving Mina a playful nudge as you rinsed off a plate.

"Hey, I run on Mina time," she grinned, taking a swig of her coffee. "Which is way more fun and adventurous!"

Asuna returned, handing a Tupperware to Mina for her own breakfast. "Here, take this. I know you’ll just end up snacking on something unhealthy otherwise."

"Aw, thanks, 'Suna!" Mina accepted it gratefully, then glanced at her mug. "I’ll bring this back later, promise," she said, raising the mug in a mock toast before adding it to her haul.

Meanwhile, you grabbed your own coffee, sipping quickly, knowing you wouldn’t have time to fully enjoy it. Mornings had never been your strong suit, especially since your pregnancy with Asuna. Eating early in the day always felt like a chore, your appetite preferring a hearty lunch and an even bigger dinner to compensate. It had just become routine.

With breakfast packed, the three of you shifted into the familiar flurry of getting ready. Asuna tugged on her sneakers, her expression focused as she adjusted her laces, while Mina hopped around, wrestling with her boots. You grabbed your purse, work bag, and the distinct red book bag that Asuna never left behind. Your fingers instinctively reached for the keys tucked securely in your bra, a habit born out of convenience.

"Everyone ready?" you called, herding the group toward the door.

"Ready as we’ll ever be!" Mina chimed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Asuna, already at the door, held it open, her earlier intensity softened but still present in her posture. You ushered them both out, locking the door behind you, the morning sun shining down as you all piled into the car, the day's routine pulling you back into its familiar rhythm.

The ride to U.A. was unusually quiet. 

Asuna sat in the back of Mina's bright pink Jeep, her breakfast in her lap, her movements stiff and deliberate. Each bite she took seemed more out of frustration than hunger. She chewed aggressively, her thoughts swirling around the conversation that had been interrupted earlier. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn't asked the right questions—at least not the ones she truly needed answers to about her father. Her grip on the fork tightened as her mind raced, her gaze fixed out the window at the blur of city streets.

Her hand, wrapped in a bandage, caught her attention. Slowly, she peeled it back, revealing the angry red scab beneath. It itched like hell. She pressed a finger gently against the edges, wincing slightly. 

" Great ," she muttered under her breath. The sight of it only added to her simmering annoyance, but she didn’t want to dwell on it.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone, scrolling mindlessly through her feed, hoping for a distraction. But nothing seemed to hold her attention. After a few minutes, she gave up, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes, and let the sound of your conversation with Mina fill the car. The cheerful chatter mixed with the low hum of the engine and the upbeat energy of Present Mic’s radio show playing softly in the background. 

Asuna used to hate that station, the relentless enthusiasm grating on her nerves. She even told Present Mic as much during her first orientation at U.A., much to the pro-hero’s amused surprise.

Time seemed to warp as she drifted between half-consciousness and thought, the familiar rhythm of the morning commute lulling her into a semblance of calm. Before she knew it, the Jeep slowed to a stop in front of U.A.'s imposing gates.

You turned in your seat to look at her, your eyes filled with concern. 

"Asuna," you said softly, handing her a red coat. "Here, put this on. It’s freezing out." You watched as she slipped it on, pulling the collar up against the chill in the air. Stepping out, you came around to her side, straightening the coat and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. 

"Are you sure you’re up for today? You can skip if you want. I won’t tell anyone," you offered, your voice gentle, a hint of worry seeping through your usual firmness.

Asuna hesitated for a moment, her fingers fiddling with the zipper of her coat. The thought of skipping was tempting, especially with everything weighing on her mind, but her sense of responsibility won out. She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

"Nah, I’ll be fine. Don’t go getting all soft on me, old lady," she teased, leaning in as you kissed her cheek.

You chuckled, watching her as she adjusted her bag and waved. "Bye for now," she said, her voice carrying a note of resolve as she trudged toward the school. The cold seemed to bite at her, the temperature hovering at a frigid 28 degrees. The clouds overhead were thick and heavy, threatening snow that just wouldn’t fall.

You stood there, watching her all the way to the gates, a proud smile on your face despite the ache in your chest. As you turned to head back to the Jeep, the sound of quick, heavy footsteps made you pause. 

Before you could react, you were wrapped in a tight hug from behind, strong arms circling your middle. Your hands instinctively rested over them, the warmth of the embrace chasing away the cold for a brief moment.

"Talk to you later, Mom!" Asuna’s voice was bright, and before you could respond, she had already dashed off, her figure disappearing into the school grounds.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you climbed back into Mina’s Jeep. She glanced at you, her curiosity evident. 

"So... was that the 'Katsuki talk'?"

You sighed, the weight of the morning settling on your shoulders. 

" Kinda ," you admitted, your eyes lingering on the school as Mina pulled away. The world outside blurred past, but your thoughts remained anchored to Asuna, replaying every word and glance, each moment etched into your heart.

—

Katsuki and Kirishima made their way through the busy city center, their patrol a familiar routine amidst the city's controlled chaos. The morning buzz filtered through the buildings, store staff setting up Christmas displays, long strings of lights danced along the pavement. Despite the noise of the city, their walk was a comfortable silence.

The pair turned a corner, the scent of freshly brewed coffee pulling them towards a quaint café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. It was a cozy spot, a recommendation from Todoroki and Momo, who apparently frequented it enough to have a photo mounted on the wall. The picture of the two heroes eating in their uniforms, both sporting startled expressions, was labeled, ‘ Best Customers .’

An accolade that Katsuki found mildly amusing.

Katsuki hummed to himself, pulling out his phone to check a notification. Your response to his earlier voicemail—a simple thumbs-up emoji—had his stomach flipping in a way he found irritatingly distracting. He slid the phone back into his pocket, trying to suppress the grin threatening to surface.

"You want anything else, man?" Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts as they reached the counter.

"No," Katsuki replied, reaching for his wallet. Before he could even open it, Kirishima had already thrown his card into the slot, grinning widely.

"My treat," Kirishima said, turning to the barista with a friendly smile. He tipped her twenty dollars, waving off her surprised gratitude with a casual "Keep it. Thanks for the great service."

The barista, a young woman with bright eyes and a cheerful demeanor, thanked them profusely and gestured toward the seating area. "Feel free to sit while we finish brewing your order."

Kirishima nodded, following Katsuki to a corner table near the window. The café was warm and inviting, the soft hum of conversation and gentle clinking of cups creating a serene ambiance. The decor was a mix of rustic charm and modern aesthetics—wooden beams, exposed brick walls, and sleek furniture. Potted plants were scattered throughout, adding a touch of greenery to the space.

Katsuki settled into a chair, his eyes scanning the room as he drummed his fingers on the table. "You didn’t have to pay, you know," he muttered, still a little put off by the gesture. Kirishima shrugged, his easygoing smile never wavering. "I wanted to. Besides, you always get me back later."

A comfortable silence fell between them until Kirishima leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, how’s everything with her? You know, after ‘Hit ‘em up’ ?" He chuckled, referring to Asuna’s fiendish display of giving them both the middle finger. Katsuki scowled, his face contorting in irritation. "What about it?"

Kirishima’s laughter grew louder, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It just reminded me of you back in high school. The way she did it, with that same fiery attitude—it’s totally you." Katsuki’s frown deepened, his voice rising in protest.

"What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t like that!"

Kirishima leaned back, his hands raised in mock surrender, trying to calm his friend. "Shush, man. You're gonna scare the other customers." His grin softened. "I mean it in a good way. She's got your spirit, you know?"

Katsuki’s scowl softened marginally, though he still looked unconvinced. 

"Tch. Whatever."

Before they could delve further into the topic, the soft chime of the café’s doorbell drew their attention. Katsuki glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as a familiar figure with violet hair stepped inside. The newcomer’s gaze swept the room before landing on them, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

It was none other than Hitoshi Shinsou.

Katsuki’s eyes met Shinsou’s, and for a moment, the world outside the café seemed to fade away. Shinsou made his way toward them, his casual stride and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension Katsuki suddenly felt creeping up his spine.

"Mind if I join?" Shinsou asked, his voice low and smooth as he reached their table.

Kirishima grinned, gesturing to the empty seat. 

"Sure thing, man! Grab a chair."

As Shinso settled in, Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his mind already spinning with questions about why Shinso was here. The café, once a peaceful retreat, now felt like the stage for an impending confrontation, the undercurrents of past interactions simmering just below the surface.

Kirishima remained blissfully unaware of the tension simmering beneath the surface, his usual bright demeanor shining as he glanced between Katsuki and Shinso. The redhead’s easy smile faltered slightly as he took in Katsuki’s stiff posture, the way his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. Kirishima wasn’t sure what had Katsuki so worked up, but it was clear that Shinso’s presence was far from welcome.

Shinso, for his part, seemed unfazed. Dressed casually in a dark hoodie and jeans, he exuded a calm confidence as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes flicked from Kirishima to Katsuki, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he broke the silence. "Just picking up a few orders of red bean paste buns and some bagels," he said casually. "Figured I'd grab them before the place gets too crowded."

Kirishima nodded, his gaze shifting between the two men. He could feel the unease in the air, though he couldn't pinpoint its source. "Sounds good, man. How’s your morning been?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Not bad," Shinso replied, his tone easy. "Just a quiet start before my next shift. Planning to catch up on some sleep after this, then switching to day shifts until Christmas break."

Kirishima’s eyes lit up at the mention of the holidays. "Christmas break, huh? That sounds nice. I'm looking forward to it, too. Got some whale blubber for my mom to cook up—can’t wait to be home and relax a bit." Shinso chuckled softly, nodding.

"Yeah, it'll be good to spend some time with family." His words were casual, but there was a glint in his eye that Katsuki didn’t miss.

Kirishima’s enthusiasm didn’t waver as he kept the conversation going. "You got any big plans for the break?"

Shinso shook his head. "Just the usual family stuff. Nothing too crazy."

As the conversation continued, Kirishima noticed the way Katsuki’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table, his eyes locked on Shinso with a steely intensity. It was as if Katsuki was holding himself back, his muscles taut beneath his hero jacket. The café's warm, welcoming atmosphere felt incongruent with the silent storm brewing at their table.

Trying to diffuse the tension, Kirishima turned to Katsuki with a cheerful grin. "What about you, bro? Got any plans for the break?"

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held Shinso’s gaze, the silence stretching uncomfortably as he seemed to weigh his response. Finally, his voice came out low, measured, and full of unspoken warning. 

"No plans worth mentioning, ta you."

Kirishima blinked, taken aback by the curt response. He wasn’t used to seeing Katsuki this wound up unless something serious was going on. Glancing at Shinso, he noted how the man seemed utterly at ease, sipping on a cup of tea that the barista had just placed in front of him.

He leaned back slightly, his mind working to piece together the puzzle. Kirishima sensed there was more to this interaction than met the eye, but for now, he let it be, focusing instead on the comfort of the café. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, the soft murmur of other patrons providing a backdrop to the tense scene unfolding at their table.

The barista called out Shinso’s order, and he stood, casting one last glance at Katsuki. 

"Well, guess that’s my cue. See you around."

Katsuki didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he watched Shinso leave. Kirishima waited until the door chimed shut behind him before turning to Katsuki, his concern evident. 

"You good, man? You seem... tense."

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’m fine," he muttered, though the rigidity in his posture suggested otherwise. Kirishima didn’t press further, instead offering a reassuring smile. 

"Alright, if you say so. Let’s finish up here and get back to patrol. Maybe some action will take your mind off whatever’s bugging you."

Katsuki nodded, though his eyes lingered on the door, his thoughts far from the cozy confines of the café.

—

Asuna sat cross-legged on the edge of Aizawa’s desk, her lunch tray balanced precariously as she poked at the contents. The chicken salad and bright red and yellow bell peppers glistened under the soft overhead lights of the classroom. She twirled a piece of lettuce around her fork absentmindedly before letting it drop back onto the plate, her appetite waning. Across from her, Aizawa sat in his chair, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest. His head tilted back, eyes closed, the usual stern lines of his face softened in repose. Despite his relaxed demeanor, his voice still carried a hint of dry amusement as he commented,

“It’s a miracle your stomach hasn’t given out yet with the way you eat.”

Asuna smirked, picking up a slice of pepper and crunching down on it noisily. “My stomach’s made of steel, Gramps. I could eat nails for breakfast.”

Aizawa’s eyes opened just a sliver, one brow arching before he closed them again, mumbling,

“Please.. don't.”

The classroom was quiet save for the distant hum of students in the hallways. Posters of pro heroes adorned the walls, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the subdued tones of the wooden desks arranged in neat rows. The windows along the far wall let in the muted gray light of the overcast day, casting long shadows across the room.

Asuna’s fingers tapped rhythmically on her phone screen, her attention divided between her lunch and the small blinking dot on her location service app. She felt the slight weight of guilt press down as she watched the dot move steadily through the city center. Slipping the tracking bracelet into your jacket pocket during the morning hug had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. 

Was it wrong? 

Absolutely. 

But Asuna had convinced herself it was a necessary measure.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, the plan forming in her mind. She knew you were meeting Katsuni—“Kat-sui” or something, around noon. The prospect of seeing this encounter unfold tugged at her curiosity. If she could just convince Rumi to take her to the city center park, she could “ accidentally ” get lost in the crowd and stumble upon the meeting.

The thought made her stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She bit her lip, eyes darting to Aizawa, who was now humming softly, his foot tapping lightly against the floor. His calm presence was both a comfort and a challenge. Asuna knew he had an uncanny ability to sense when something was up, but he seemed content for the moment, resting in the calm between lessons.

“Gramps?” she ventured, her voice light, testing the waters.

“Hmm?” Aizawa turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open to look at her.

“What’s your stance on spontaneous adventures?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as she twirled her fork in the air.

Aizawa’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his posture remained relaxed. 

“Depends on the adventure. Why? Are you planning something?”

Asuna shrugged, setting her fork down and leaning back on her hands. “Just thinking about the weekend. Might ask Rumi to take me to the city center. You know, fresh air, some exercise. Maybe get a little lost.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. 

“Getting lost doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

“Not really lost,” Asuna amended quickly, waving a hand. 

“Just... exploring .”

He hummed again, a knowing look in his eyes as he studied her. 

“Exploring, huh? Just don’t get into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble? Never .” Asuna grinned, picking up another pepper slice and popping it into her mouth.

Aizawa sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes once more. 

“Whatever you’re planning, keep it safe.”

Asuna nodded, more to herself than to him, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone. The plan was set. Now, all she had to do was convince Rumi.

Finally, after more boring hours of sitting and being bored, the final bell of the day rang out, its resonant chime echoing through the hallways as students flooded out of their classrooms, eager for the freedom of winter break. In Aizawa’s dimly lit room, the atmosphere was more subdued. 

The faint clatter of chairs being pushed back and the hum of conversation faded as the last student left, leaving Asuna and Aizawa in a pocket of calm amidst the departing chaos.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes following Asuna as she methodically gathered her things. He cleared his throat, causing her to glance up from where she had been stuffing her lunch container back into her bag.

"Heading home with me and Eri?" he asked, his tone even but expectant.

Asuna shook her head, offering a small smile. "Rumi’s picking me up today," she replied, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Aizawa nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. He motioned toward the desks, silently asking for her help. Asuna set her bag down and began tidying up, stacking chairs onto desks and erasing the lingering notes on the whiteboard. The familiar routine brought a sense of normalcy, the quiet rhythm of their work a balm to the nerves that buzzed just beneath her skin.

"How’s your quirk been?" Aizawa asked casually as he wiped down his desk. His tone was light, but there was an edge of concern in his voice, a careful probing.

Asuna paused, her fingers trailing over a stray piece of paper. 

"It’s been fine," she said, her voice soft. 

"No major issues."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he pivoted to a different question, one that made Asuna stiffen slightly. 

"Have you told her about the most recent incident?"

The weight of his gaze settled heavily on her, and she fidgeted with her sleeves, the fabric crumpling under her fingers. She didn’t meet his eyes immediately, focusing instead on straightening a pile of textbooks.

"I’m getting around to it," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aizawa’s brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his chest as he regarded her with a mixture of patience and concern. 

"It’s important she knows, Asuna."

Asuna nodded, her mind drifting back to the incident. 

Her day had begun like any other, filled with the usual bustle of school life. She’d been tasked with delivering some papers to the office, a simple enough chore that offered a brief reprieve from the suffocation of her classmates. She was lost in her thoughts, her fingers brushing lightly against the folded papers in her hands as she walked the quiet halls. However, the tranquility was short-lived.

In the office, as she handed the papers over, a boy from her class, whom she barely noticed until then, caught sight of the forms she carried. His eyes quickly scanned over the lines, lingering on the space labeled "Second Parent." 

There, the field was blank. Usually, Asuna would fill in "Grammie Rita" or occasionally mention Aizawa, Mina, or even Shinsou, and recently, Rumi. 

But this time, there was only one name: yours.

Curiosity flickered in his eyes as he asked, his tone neutral enough, "Why's that blank? You usually fill it in." Asuna, feeling no need to hide her intentions, replied with a small shrug, "I meant to put only my mom’s name this time."

At first, his response seemed fine. He nodded, and they went about their day. 

It wasn’t until training later that his true colors emerged.

The gym buzzed with the usual energy of students ready to test their limits. Asuna stood at the edge, her hair neatly pulled into a bun, eyes focused on the task at hand. She was bracing herself for the physical demands ahead when she felt a sharp tug at her hair. She turned just in time to hear the boy sneer, his voice laced with venom, 

"Fatherless bitch."

For a moment, everything stood still. 

The words hung heavy in the air, sinking into her chest. The snickers from a few nearby students echoed in her ears, but her mind honed in on the insult, each syllable striking a nerve she didn’t know was so exposed.

Her breath hitched, a fiery rage bubbling up from within. Asuna was no stranger to insults, but this—this was different. Her fist clenched at her side, trembling with barely contained fury. Without a second thought, she spun around and punched him square in the face, her knuckles connecting with a satisfying crack. He stumbled back, clutching his nose, a look of shock and pain spreading across his features.

But Asuna wasn’t done. 

At least, her quirk wasn’t.

The energy that simmered beneath her skin now surged forward, a potent mix of her power and unbridled emotion. Her palms opened, fingers splayed as a scorching heat radiated from her. Her breath was ragged, her body vibrating with raw power.

With a guttural scream, she released it all. Flames and light burst from her hands, feet, and even her mouth. The blast was a brilliant, chaotic explosion, swallowing everything in its path. The force sent students sprawling, the shockwave reverberating through the gym.

When the dust settled, the gym was in ruins. 

The once pristine training grounds were scorched, debris scattered across what remained. Part of the walls had collapsed, and the floor bore the marks of her unleashed fury.

Asuna stood in the center, her chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow. The boy lay sprawled a few meters away, groaning as he tried to remain concious, his face bloodied and bruised.

Silence hung thick in the air, the aftermath of destruction as stark as the echo of her outburst. 

She didn’t flinch when the others stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. 

Instead, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze unwavering as she looked down at the boy who dared to mock her.

The doors to the gym burst open, teachers and pro heroes rushing in, their expressions a mix of shock and concern. Aizawa was the first to reach her, his capture weapon poised but hesitant. His eyes, always so calm and calculating, now brimmed with worry.

"Asuna," he said softly, stepping closer, "What happened?"

Her gaze flicked to him, her posture tense. She opened her mouth to explain, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she just shook her head, the adrenaline fading and leaving behind a hollow ache.

Nezu had tried to contact you, but with Elle blocking non-essential calls, the message hadn’t gotten through.

Yet.

Aizawa had handled it swiftly, expelling the boy without hesitation. 

The boy’s parents had demanded a conference to appeal the decision, a meeting for which you would be summoned. The weight of it all pressed down on Asuna’s chest as she stood there, her fingers tightening around the edge of a desk. Aizawa’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, grounding her.

"You’ll tell her," he said, his voice softer now, more reassuring. "And I’ll handle the rest."

Asuna exhaled slowly, nodding. She trusted Aizawa, but the thought of confronting the incident with you still made her stomach twist. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering uncertainty.

"Thanks, Gramps," she said quietly, returning to the task of cleaning up, the familiar motions providing a small measure of comfort in the midst of the storm brewing inside her.

Asuna’s thoughts lingered on the fear that gripped her when her quirk spiraled out of control. 

It wasn’t just the overwhelming heat or the force of the blast—it was the suffocating sensation that followed, a panic that clenched her chest and stole her breath. It wasn’t like her asthma, where she knew what to expect and how to manage it. This was a chaotic storm inside her, unpredictable and terrifying.

Aizawa had been patient, working with her to find ways to train around her asthma. Like a seasoned coach, he had guided her through breathing exercises and techniques used by pro athletes, ensuring she could push her limits without compromising her health. But lately, the energy blast incidents had become more frequent, the fear creeping in that she was losing control. 

Some days, it felt like her very bones were itching, a discomfort so intense she wanted to peel her skin off and dunk herself into a cool bowl of water. Other days, the chill seeped into her core, leaving her shivering and longing for the warmth that you reveled in.

The sound of footsteps brought her back to the present. 

She looked up to see Rumi and Eri standing at the door, bundled up in sporty winter gear. Rumi wore a sleek, white puffer jacket that hugged her athletic frame, paired with black leggings and fur-lined boots. Her usual confidence radiated through the casual outfit, the jacket's high collar brushing against her chin as she smiled warmly. 

Eri was a bundle of pastel fluff, her lavender coat oversized and adorned with little bunny ear accents on the hood. She had on mittens that matched, a splash of pink peeking out from the cuffs of her coat, and her boots were dusted with snow, giving her a cozy, doll-like appearance.

" Asuna !" Eri chirped, her face lighting up as she ran toward her. Asuna ran forward, arms opening just in time to catch the small girl in a warm embrace. The two hugged tightly, and Rumi soon joined, enveloping them both in a strong, comforting squeeze. The shared warmth between them melted some of the tension from Asuna’s shoulders.

Eri, with a mischievous grin, tugged at Aizawa’s scarf, pulling him into the group hug. He resisted briefly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips before he relented, leaning down just enough for Eri to wrap her small arms around his neck. Rumi chuckled at the sight, exchanging a knowing glance with Asuna.

While Eri busied herself with Aizawa’s scarf, Rumi turned to Aizawa, her tone shifting to a more serious note. "How’s she been holding up?" she asked quietly, her eyes flicking to Asuna.

Aizawa’s gaze softened as he glanced at the girl, who was now holding Eri’s hand. "She’s been doing well, considering," he replied. "We’ve had a few hiccups, but she’s resilient."

Rumi nodded thoughtfully, her hands slipping into her jacket pockets. "Good. Let me know if you need anything. You know we’ve got her back."

Asuna, catching the end of their conversation, gave Rumi a grateful smile before squeezing Eri’s hand. 

"Hey, Eri," she said, her voice light. 

"Let’s go take a walk. I need to freshen up a bit."

Eri nodded enthusiastically, and the two girls headed toward the bathroom, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty hallway. Asuna glanced back at Rumi and Aizawa, who continued their conversation in hushed tones, the weight of responsibility evident in their postures.

Once inside the bathroom, Asuna leaned against the sink, exhaling slowly. Eri, ever observant, stood by her side, her eyes wide with curiosity and concern. 

"Asuna, are you okay?" she asked, her voice small.

Asuna smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Eri’s ear. "I’m okay, Eri. Just... a lot on my mind," she admitted. The cool tiles under her hands grounded her, a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

In the quiet of the bathroom, Asuna turned to Eri, her hands twisting nervously. "Eri, I have a plan," she began, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. "I want to follow mom before noon in the city central park. But I don’t want her or anyone else to notice me."

Eri tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity. "How are you going to do that?" she asked.

Asuna bit her lip, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "I was thinking... we could switch coats and accessories. That way, I’ll blend in, and you can cover for me if anyone asks."

Eri frowned slightly, the weight of the request sinking in. "Are you sure about this?" she asked softly. "What if something goes wrong?"

"I know it’s a risk," Asuna admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "But this is really important to me. I need to see him, to... sort things out. Please, Eri."

The younger girl looked at Asuna for a long moment, the conflict evident in her eyes. She didn’t fully agree with the plan, but she also knew how much this meant to Asuna. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Okay. But you have to be ready to accept whatever happens."

Asuna's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, Eri. I promise, I’ll be careful."

They began the process of swapping clothes. Asuna slipped out of her red coat, the fabric rustling as she handed it to Eri. Eri shrugged it on, the bright color contrasting wonderfully with her pale complexion. In return, Eri handed over her lavender coat, its softness a comfort as Asuna pulled it on. The coat was a little snug, but it fit well enough to pass.

Next, they exchanged accessories. Asuna pulled out a set of black scarf, gloves, and a hat that matched the coat’s style but in a darker shade. She wrapped the scarf around Eri’s neck, the knitted fabric warm against her skin, and tugged the hat over her hair, tucking in any loose strands. Eri handed over her earmuffs, gloves, and scarf, the pastel colors a stark contrast against Asuna’s darker attire.

Asuna pulled on a pair of leg warmers, the soft material snug around her calves, completing the transformation. She turned to Eri, a nervous smile on her face. 

"How do I look?"

Eri stepped back, her gaze sweeping over Asuna’s disguised form. After a moment, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Asuna in a tight hug. "You look great," she whispered.

"But please, be careful."

Asuna hugged her back, the warmth of Eri’s embrace filling her with a sense of reassurance. "I will, I promise," she murmured.

They pulled back, and Eri gave her a small, encouraging smile. "You’ll be okay. Just don’t do anything too crazy." Asuna chuckled softly, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "No promises," she teased lightly. She turned to the door before feeling a hard tug on her sleeve. 

“Wait.”

In the dimly lit bathroom, the air was thick with the quiet tension between Asuna and Eri. Asuna stepped back from the door, one arm crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and uncertainty. Eri, standing behind her, mirrored the same seriousness, her usual gentle demeanor replaced with a deep concern for her friend.

"You’re really trying to meet with Bakugou, aren’t you?" Eri began, her voice soft but carrying a weight of concern that made Asuna pause. The gentle cadence of her friend's words was like a soft nudge against the rising tide of uncertainty within her. Asuna's brows furrowed as she processed the statement, her fingers curling slightly against the cool surface of the sink. The name lingered in the air between them, heavy with implications. 

"Bakugou ? ..." she repeated, her tone careful, as though saying it aloud might shatter the fragile hope she held onto.

She let the name roll around in her mind, tasting the weight and texture of it until it settled with a sense of finality. ‘Bakugou ,’ she confirmed silently, her head dipping in a slow nod. Her heart thudded in her chest as she gripped the edge of the coat tighter, the porcelain pressing into her palms like a lifeline.

"I know we got lucky last night with the tracker," Asuna began, her voice trembling slightly but gaining strength with each word. "But I have to know. I need to know if he’s my dad or not. I can't keep living like this, not knowing the truth." 

The words spilled out in a rush, a confession that had been clawing its way to the surface for far too long.

Eri stepped closer, the soft rustle of her movement breaking the silence. Her hand reached out, fingers curling gently around Asuna's arm, grounding her in the present. 

"I get it," Eri whispered, her thumb brushing over the fabric of Asuna's sleeve in a soothing motion. The warmth of her touch was a stark contrast to the cold knot of anxiety tightening in Asuna's chest. 

"But what if there’s a good reason your mom hasn’t told you? What if she’s protecting you from something?"

Asuna's gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening as she struggled to keep her emotions at bay. The weight of unspoken fears pressed down on her, but she forced herself to confront them. "I’ll understand if he’s not my dad," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. The vulnerability in her tone was palpable, a stark contrast to the determination shining in her eyes.

"But if he is," she continued, a fierce resolve hardening her words, "or if it’s that Kirishima guy instead, I need to know. I’ve been left in the dark for too long, Eri. It's eating me alive ." 

Eri watched her friend, the weight of Asuna's words pressing down on her heart. The silence between them was heavy.

"What if he finds out and doesn’t want to be your dad?" she asked cautiously. 

"Or worse, what if he already knew and didn’t want to be part of your life?"

Asuna's eyes flicked back up, her expression hardening with a steely resolve. "If he doesn’t want to be my dad, that’s his loss," she said firmly. "I’ll move on and become a success without him. But I have to know, Eri. I can’t keep looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back at me."

Eri considered this for a moment, the silence stretching between them. Then, she took a deep breath and stepped forward, pulling Asuna into a tight hug. 

"Okay," she whispered. "I’ll help you. But you have to keep me posted. Don’t do anything crazy without telling me, got it?"

Asuna hugged her back, the warmth of Eri’s embrace soothing some of the tension in her body. "Thank you," she murmured. "I promise I’ll keep you in the loop." They pulled apart, Eri's hands resting on Asuna's shoulders as she gave her a reassuring smile. 

"Just... be careful, okay? This isn’t something you can take back once it’s out there."

"I know," Asuna replied, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and gratitude. "But I have to do this. For me."

Eri nodded, squeezing her shoulders one last time before stepping back. "Alright. Let’s go back."

Asuna's lips curved into a small, hesitant smile, the kind that wavered at the edges but grew steadier as she held onto it. Her heart beat a little faster, each thump echoing with a growing resolve. She didn’t feel entirely ready—how could she be? But she knew she couldn’t keep running from the truth. 

Whatever was waiting for her, no matter how painful or complicated, she had to face it.

She could only hope you’d forgive her. 

—

The winter afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the bustling city streets, where the festive spirit was palpable. Decorations adorned every lamppost, and shop windows glittered with holiday displays, enticing last-minute shoppers and families enjoying their day off. The hum of conversations and laughter mixed with the occasional jingle of bells, creating a vibrant backdrop to the scene unfolding.

Rumi, Eri, and Asuna stood at the school’s entrance, their breath visible in the crisp air as they bundled up against the chill. Asuna adjusted the scarf around her neck, its fabric soft and comforting as it shielded her from the cold. Eri’s cheeks were flushed, her smile gentle as she pulled her hat snugly over her ears. Rumi, never one to be cold but built like a furnace, wrapped an arm around both girls, her energy radiating warmth despite the frosty weather.

"Alright, girls," Rumi said, her voice cheerful as she leaned in to squeeze them both. "We’ve got a big day ahead, and I expect to see some serious skating skills from you, Asuna!"

Aizawa watched the exchange from a few steps away, his usual stoic expression softened by the sight of the girls’ friendship. He assumed the switch of outfits was just a playful fashion choice, his brow lifting slightly as he took in their matching smiles.

"Don’t keep Rumi out too late," he said, addressing both Asuna and Eri with a small smirk. "She has to keep up with you two, after all."

Rumi chuckled, giving Aizawa a playful nudge. "Don’t worry, Aizawa. I’ll have them back in one piece. We’re just hitting the park for some climbing and skating."

Asuna waved a final goodbye, following Rumi down the steps as Eri lingered behind, watching them with a mix of anticipation and concern. She knew this was important to Asuna, and she could only hope everything would turn out okay.

—

Meanwhile, across the city, you walked through the crowded streets, your presence commanding attention without effort. Dressed in a stylish coat that flattered your figure, you moved with purpose, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces as you smiled and waved at the dozens of civilians who recognized you. Some approached shyly for an autograph, which you graciously provided, your marker gliding smoothly over pieces of paper and the occasional piece of merchandise.

The city center was alive with activity. 

Children tugged on their parents’ hands, pointing excitedly at window displays, while couples strolled arm in arm, their breath mingling in the cold air. The festive ambiance was contagious, and though you smiled and engaged with those around you, your mind was elsewhere.

Asuna’s hug that morning lingered in your thoughts, a bittersweet reminder of the weight she carried and the secrets she sought to uncover. Your heart twisted with the familiar ache of uncertainty, the question of responsibility looming over you like a storm cloud.

In your ear, Elle’s voice brought you back to the present. 

"We’ve got the latest data from your most recent fight," she informed you, her tone brisk as she managed her team with efficiency. "Tributes are still pouring in for your grandma, Rita. The public’s been incredibly supportive, and the office is practically overflowing with gifts. It’s heartwarming, really."

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. "That’s good to hear," you replied softly, your voice tinged with gratitude. "She meant a lot to them."

Rita was a public figure ever since the 80's in Japan for her protests of human rights violations and openly questioning the government. She helped organize for better workers rights, women's and child's rights, and started several charities for those left without housing after villain attacks. A true badass until the end. 

"And to you," Elle added gently, her tone softening for a moment before shifting back to business. "The lawyers your cousin hired are circling like vultures, but don’t worry. I’ve been keeping them at bay. No one’s getting to you without going through me first."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Thanks, Elle. I appreciate that."

"Of course," she said, her voice firm. "But we should start thinking about a contingency plan. In case Katsuki figures it out about Asuna. We need to be prepared."

You hesitated, your steps slowing as you considered her words. "I know," you admitted, your voice thoughtful. "But right now, I’m not sure if that’s the right move. I need to figure out the best way to handle this, for Asuna’s sake."

Elle didn’t push, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. "Alright. Just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk it through."

"Thanks, Elle," you said again, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. She hung up and you resumed the quiet in your earpiece. You didn’t mention the half-started conversation with Asuna that morning, choosing to keep that moment private. Not everything had to be shared, especially when it came to your daughter’s journey to uncover the truth.

As you navigated the crowded streets, your thoughts drifted back to Katsuki. 

You’d made it a rule not to dwell on him—years of discipline in compartmentalizing your thoughts had taught you that. But lately, the rules had bent, cracks forming in the walls you’d carefully constructed. Mina's mention of him being in a slump gnawed at the edges of your curiosity. ‘

What kind of slump could someone like Katsuki Bakugou be in?’

He wasn’t one to give in to negativity, not the Katsuki you knew.

You’d heard the accolades, the honors he’d collected over the years, often standing on the same stages during awards shows. The memories of past comedians cracking jokes about the infamous Class 1-A breakup were vivid.  “Can’t sit them together anymore!” They'd quip, until Katsuki’s public statement silenced the chatter.

The internet had taken over where comedians left off, but even then, mentions of your shared past dwindled.

Reports showed you and Katsuki still ranked high in popularity polls, fan favorites even after all this time. It was the kind of fame that lingered, much like the ghosts of old memories you tried not to resurrect. The winter wind tugged at your scarf as you exhaled deeply, the steam from your breath swirling like thoughts you couldn’t quite shake.

The brisk wind carried the familiar scents of winter—crisp air tinged with hints of pine and the subtle sweetness of roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Your coat billowed slightly as you walked through the crowded city center, the festive decorations glittering in the golden afternoon light. The streets were alive with holiday cheer, families bustling about with shopping bags, couples huddled close, and children darting between legs, their laughter mingling with the carols playing over the city’s loudspeakers.

A small girl tripped in front of you, her mittened hands clutching a fallen toy. You knelt swiftly, offering a hand and a reassuring smile as you helped her to her feet. "Here you go," you said, brushing the snow off her coat and handing her the toy. She beamed up at you, her mother offering a grateful nod before taking her hand and leading her away.

Continuing down the sidewalk, you noticed a group gathered around a lamppost where a kitten was precariously perched. Its tiny paws clung to the icy metal, mewling pitifully. Without hesitation, you stepped in, gently coaxing the kitten down into your arms. The crowd murmured their thanks as you handed the rescued animal to a young woman who promised to take it home.

The chill air bit at your skin as you paused to take a deep breath, exhaling a plume of steam that curled upward. Your gaze drifted toward the towering Christmas tree in the center of the square, its lights twinkling against the dusky grey sky. 

Someone approached with a bouquet of flowers—roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums arranged in a delicate tribute. "For Rita," the elderly man said softly, placing the bouquet in your hands. You thanked him, the weight of his gesture warming your heart even as the cold pressed in.

As you moved on, children tugged at their parents’ coats, pointing at you with wide eyes. One boy approached shyly, a small notebook clutched in his hands. "Can I have your autograph?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crouched to his level, pulling out a pen. "Of course," you said warmly, signing his book before handing him a sticker from your pocket. His face lit up as he ran back to his parents, showing off his prize.

The city center’s window displays caught your eye, each one a carefully crafted scene of holiday whimsy. One showcased a family gathered around a fireplace, another a bustling toy workshop. The scenes stirred something within you, a reminder of the family moments you’d missed, the connections that had frayed.

Across the street, the park beckoned. Its bare trees stretched skeletal branches against the pale sky, but the skating rink was alive with laughter and the rhythmic scrape of blades on ice. You made your way over, crossing at the light as cars idled, their headlights casting long beams over the wet pavement.

The cold bite of the winter air seemed almost fitting as you watched the mothers in the park, their laughter mingling with the joyful cries of their children. Each child bundled in colorful scarves and coats, chasing one another through the frost-dusted grass, their mothers nearby with warm smiles and gentle calls to be careful. You sighed, your breath forming a cloud that dissolved into the wind, your eyes drifting to a mother helping her child up after a tumble. The way she knelt, brushing dirt from the little one’s knees, made your chest ache with a longing you rarely let surface.

'Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't— '

Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a bustling park, letting your mind drift to the guilt that had nestled in your heart for years—the guilt of not telling him about Asuna. High school memories flooded back, unbidden but vivid. 

Katsuki, stubborn and fierce, had always been adamant about wanting to do things right. He’d talked about marrying you like it was an unshakable goal, something as concrete as his dreams of becoming a top hero. The thought of his determined expression, the way his eyes would light up with passion when he spoke about the future, brought a bittersweet smile to your lips. 

But then the memories darkened, bringing you back to that Christmas Eve at the hero’s gala, sixteen years ago. 

The argument had been like a storm, violent and consuming, words hurled back and forth with a force that left both of you wounded. You could barely recall the specifics now—the exact words that once cut so deep had faded over time. But the pain? 

That remained, an ever-present echo in your heart.

After that fight, you had left. Packed your things in a whirlwind of emotion and left a letter behind, one you were sure he had read but never responded to. When the days turned into weeks and still no word came from him, you forced yourself to close that chapter. You had moved on, or at least tried to, until you discovered you were pregnant. 

How had you managed to keep Asuna a secret from the public all these years? 

It was a question you often asked yourself, marveling at the delicate balance you maintained. Asuna was your world, and protecting her had become your life’s mission. Katsuki had a right to know, that much you admitted to yourself in the quiet of the night when Asuna was asleep and the house was silent. But Katsuki was unpredictable, his temper legendary. The idea of splitting custody, of disrupting Asuna’s life with court battles and media frenzy, was a nightmare you couldn’t bear to entertain.

‘Fuck that shit.’

You shifted your weight, your hands buried deep in your coat pockets as you watched a child on a tricycle wobble past, his parents walking behind him, their hands entwined. 

‘What would it be like,’ you wondered, to have that kind of family life? To share the joys and burdens with someone you trusted, someone who loved both you and Asuna unconditionally? The thought brought a sting to your eyes, but you blinked it away, straightening your spine against the cold.

Mitsuki and Masaru often crept into your thoughts as well. Would they want to know their grandchild? The image of Mitsuki’s face, filled with the warmth and fierceness you remembered, surfaced in your mind. She had always been supportive, even when things between you and Katsuki had been tumultuous. 

But you knew, deep down, that if you had told them about Asuna, they would have told Katsuki. And that was a storm you weren’t ready to weather. The idea of Katsuki turning your life upside down, adding more chaos to an already delicate balance, kept you silent.

You recalled the night you moved out, the cold winter air biting at your skin as you loaded boxes into Shinsou’s car. Your awards, your clothes, your life—all packed away in the dead of night. 

The letter you left behind felt like a betrayal to yourself by morning, a shred of vulnerability you vowed never to show again. 

Standing in front of the mirror, you made a promise: 

Never again would you allow yourself to be hurt like that. 

Never again would you give someone that power.

“No,” you decide firmly, shaking the thoughts away as if dispelling a lingering cloud.

That marriage wouldn't have been better. The what-ifs painted a picture that seemed idyllic on the surface, but reality would have likely been far different. A marriage built on unresolved hurt and bitterness would have crumbled, leaving Asuna to grow up in a home filled with tension and resentment. She deserved better than that—a peaceful, nurturing environment free from the toxicity that could have taken root. 

The last thing you wanted was for her to become another child navigating the fallout of a broken relationship.

You sigh, rubbing your hands together to ward off the chill as you make your way to a nearby bench by the flower field. It’s one of your favorite spots, a place you often found solace during breaks or late nights. The vibrant blooms, even in the cold, seemed to radiate a quiet peace, a reminder of the beauty and resilience in the world. Sitting here always helped you reconnect with your purpose, to remember why you put in the hard work and long hours—to give people, including Asuna, a safer world to live in.

As you settle onto the bench, the cold wood pressing against your legs through your coat, you pull out your phone and absently thumb through it. Your finger hovers over Asuna's contact for a moment. The temptation to call her is strong, but you hesitate. She deserved some time to herself, to enjoy her day with Rumi without the weight of your worries pressing down on her. Besides, she’d pick up on your mood immediately. She always did. The last thing you wanted was to dampen her day with your thoughts and anxieties.

Instead, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and take a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs and bringing a brief clarity to your mind. Maybe it was time to consider talking to someone—a therapist, perhaps. The idea had crossed your mind before, but you’d always pushed it aside, too caught up in the whirlwind of daily life and responsibilities. But sitting here now, the quiet enveloping you, it seemed like the most reasonable step forward.

You glance at the flowers, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, and allow yourself a moment of peace. 

One last time. 

You’ll meet Katsuki one last time.

For yourself, and for Rita.

—

Kirishima clapped Katsuki on the shoulder with a wide grin. 

"Good luck, man. You’ve got this!" His voice was reassuring, the warmth in his tone cutting through the chill of the day. "Just keep it simple, yeah? Hand her the stuff, say what you need to say, and then let her take it from there. You don’t need to overthink it."

Katsuki grunted in response, nodding curtly. 

His work bag hung heavily from his shoulder, weighed down by the binder containing Rita’s will and the old photographs he’d dug out early that morning, at Kirishima’s insistence. His mind was a jumbled mess, yesterday feeling both distant and painfully close. The weight of the past was heavy on his chest, constricting his breathing as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, burying his face in its warmth. The cold ugly weather seeped through his jacket, a stark reminder of the winter’s chill that had taken over the city.

Even Kirishima had bundled up, his jacket emblazoned with his hero logo, reflecting the heat from his body as he headed off to patrol the city center. Katsuki watched him wave before disappearing into the crowd, leaving him alone at the park's entrance. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. He could do this. He just had to give you the pictures and the will. That was it. And then, perhaps, he could walk away and never have to deal with this again.

At least, that’s what Katsuki told himself. 

But his stomach churned, and his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, betraying his supposed resolve.

He stepped into the park, the crunch of his boots against the gravel path muffled by the buzz of activity around him. The air was filled with the hum of holiday preparations; Workers were stringing up Christmas lights and adding festive decorations to the trees and lampposts. Children darted between the pathways, their laughter ringing out as they played, their breath visible in the chilly air. Couples posing for pictures, bundled in scarves and coats, while families gathered by the skating rink, watching their little ones wobble on the ice.

‘Fucking annoying.’

Katsuki’s gaze swept over the scene, searching for you, though part of him was hesitant to find you. His mind kept drifting back to the question that had gnawed at him since yesterday. Who was the father of your daughter? Asuna, you’d said her name was. She bore your grandmother’s maiden name, but something about her eyes, the way they stared at him with a mix of familiarity and accusation, unsettled him.

He found himself looking at the fathers in the park, watching as they interacted with their children. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have a family of his own. 

What if he had married you, settled into a life of domesticity? Would he have had a brat of his own—a kid with a stubborn streak, maybe a little explosion quirk, someone to raise and guide through life’s chaos

The thought made his chest tighten, a mixture of longing and regret bubbling up. 

His gaze drifted to the skating rink, where children and parents alike were gliding on the ice. Some were beginners, clutching onto the railing for dear life, while others moved gracefully, weaving in and out of the crowd. The rink was a hub of joy and laughter, a snapshot of the kind of life he often kept at arm’s length.

Katsuki shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his fingers brushing against the edge of the photographs inside his bag. His thoughts spiraled back to Asuna. What were you like as a mother? She seemed well-adjusted, confident, and full of life—qualities that spoke volumes about the environment you’d created for her. 

But those eyes, her eyes, haunted him. 

Every time he blinked, he saw her glare, a silent accusation for something he hadn’t even begun to understand.

He stood there, watching the scene unfold before him, the cold biting at his cheeks, as he wrestled with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Katsuki’s eyes scanned the park restlessly, taking in every detail but finding no sign of you. His gaze lingered on the parents, the kids playing, the groups of friends laughing together. But his mind kept circling back to the encounter from last night and the unexpected twist of seeing Shinsou. 

Why had that bothered him so much?  

He knew you two were friends—always had been. 

But seeing Shinsou there, at your side, made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling. 

What did it even matter? 

You were never his to begin with. 

Hell, you’d made that clear enough when you left. Yet, here he was, sitting on the edge of frustration, like some possessive idiot. He made his way to a park bench near the skating rink, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. The crisp air nipped at his face, his breath forming little puffs in front of him. Katsuki ran a hand through his spiky hair, the familiar sensation grounding him momentarily before he crossed his arms and huffed, staring at the rink.

The skating rink was bustling with life, a contrast to the grey sky hanging overhead. Twinkling Christmas lights bordered the walls, casting a warm glow that softened the cold atmosphere. Holiday music played through speakers, the cheerful tunes creating an ambiance of joy and festivity. Families circled the ice, their laughter ringing out as some stumbled, others spun gracefully, and a few, like Rumi, showcased more advanced moves with ease.

Eri giggled as she skated alongside Asuna and Rumi. The girl’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder as she tried to mimic the spins and twirls that Rumi effortlessly executed. Rumi grinned, her energy infectious as she encouraged the girls to push themselves further, teaching them how to spin on the ice and attempt simple tricks.

Asuna, however, was distracted. 

She knew she needed to find you. Her phone’s GPS had shown you were already in the park, but so far, she hadn’t had a chance to sneak away. Eri was having too much fun, and Asuna didn’t want to spoil the moment. Still, the anxiety was starting to bubble up. She needed to make her exit soon.

Noticing the tension in Asuna’s face, Eri tugged on her sleeve, a thoughtful look crossing her features. “I’m thirsty,” Eri said, her voice soft but clear. “But…I don’t want to stop skating yet. Could you get me an orange soda?”

(C0ugh, go on your special mission, c0ougH)

Asuna blinked, surprised for a moment, before the realization settled in. “Sure, Eri. I’ll get it for you.” She smiled, giving the older girl a quick nod. Rumi skated over, her breath visible in the chilly air as she reached into her pocket. 

“Here, take some cash,” she offered, holding out a few bills.

Asuna waved her off with a laugh. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow, her expression playful but firm. “Just drop your location, okay? And don’t wander off.”

“I won’t,” Asuna assured her, giving a thumbs-up before awkwardly clomping off the ice and onto the pavement. Her skates clicked against the ground, and she quickly swapped them for her shoes, slipping her phone into her hand as she made her way toward the main park paths.

The chill in the air was biting, but the park’s festive decorations and bustling energy offered a strange warmth. Asuna’s heart pounded as she navigated through the crowd, her thoughts focused on finding you. The sound of holiday music and the distant laughter of skaters faded into the background as she made her way toward the flower fields, where she knew you liked to sit.

Asuna adjusted the strap of her skates slung over her shoulder, the blades clinking softly as they tapped against each other with each step. But as she rounded the corner near the park’s central path, her feet slowed, and her heart gave a startled lurch. Sitting on a weathered bench, unmistakably tense and deep in thought, 

Was Katsuki Bakugou.

Their eyes met across the open space, and time seemed to pause. 

The usual hustle of the park—the chatter of children, the rhythmic sound of skates slicing through the ice, and the soft strains of holiday music—faded into the background. For a few beats, it was just the two of them, locked in an unspoken dialogue. Their faces, though carefully blank, couldn’t entirely hide the flicker of surprise and something….. unresolved, that passed between them.

‘Fucking hell, I thought she was you.’

Katsuki’s sharp red eyes scrutinized Asuna, taking in the familiar features that mirrored yours. The resemblance was undeniable, and it stirred a disquieting mix of emotions within him. He hadn’t expected to see her here, not without you. A question gnawed at the edge of his mind: If Asuna was here, where were you? His heart clenched at the thought that he might have already missed you, that maybe you had come and gone before he even realized.

Asuna, equally surprised, felt her pulse quicken. 

She hadn’t anticipated running into Katsuki so suddenly, especially not in such a sad, public display. Seeing him there, alone, sent a ripple of anxiety through her. She knew about the history between you and Katsuki, the lingering tension and the unspoken words that still hung in the air. 

Her mind raced—were you with him earlier? Had she miscalculated the time? No, it was just past noon; you were likely still finishing your patrol. But the sight of Katsuki waiting, looking almost pathetic in his solitude, unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Neither moved nor spoke, both caught in the throes of internal debates. Katsuki was the first to react, giving Asuna a slow, deliberate nod, acknowledging her presence with a flicker of recognition. Asuna mirrored his gesture, equally tentative, her eyes never leaving his. The moment stretched out, filled with the weight of things unsaid, before Katsuki leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

The wind picked up, rustling the skeletal branches above and tugging at their clothes. It was a cold, grey day, the kind that hinted at snow but held back, leaving the air crisp and biting. Asuna felt the chill but didn’t move, her gaze locked on Katsuki’s, both of them trying to decipher what the other was thinking.

Katsuki shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence with a sharp inhale. 

His mind was a tangle of frustration and confusion. He hated this—this inability to express what was swirling inside him, the words that felt stuck behind a barrier he couldn’t breach. 

He didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to care so much about what you were doing, who you were with. 

Yet here he was, sitting on a bench in the park, waiting for a meeting he wasn’t even sure would happen.

“You gonna say somethin’, or just keep starin’?” 

Katsuki’s voice was low, rough around the edges, but there was a hint of vulnerability beneath the usual gruffness. His gaze didn’t waver, watching Asuna with an intensity that made her shift her weight from one foot to the other.

Asuna blinked, the bluntness of his question catching her off guard. She had expected silence, or maybe a curt dismissal, but not this direct challenge. “I…” She faltered, her voice softer than she intended. SHe had to play this right. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Katsuki huffed, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes on her. 

“Yeah, well, same here. Thought you’d be with your mother.”

“I was supposed to meet her,” Asuna admitted, glancing down at the skates dangling from her shoulder before returning her gaze to him. “I was just… getting something for Eri.”

The mention of your name seemed to soften something in Katsuki’s expression, though his features remained guarded. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as if considering a response but deciding against it. 

“She with you?”

Asuna nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah. Rumi too. We’ve been at the rink.”

Katsuki processed this in silence, his mind darting back to memories of you—how you always seemed to be surrounded by people who cared for you, who wanted to protect you. It was something he admired and envied in equal measure. The thought of you out there, with them, made his chest tighten with a mix of relief and longing.

“You should get back to them,” Katsuki said after a moment, his voice quieter, lacking its usual edge. “Don’t wanna leave ‘em waitin’.”

Asuna hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. There was something in his tone that gave her pause, a subtle hint of resignation that made her heart ache. She didn’t know him well, but she could sense the turmoil beneath his tough exterior. 

“Are you…waiting for my mom?” she asked carefully, her eyes searching his face for any clue to his thoughts.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. 

“Yeah.”

A silence settled over them again, but this time it felt different—less tense, more contemplative. Asuna watched him for a moment longer before offering a small, tentative smile. 

“She’ll be here. She wouldn’t leave you waiting.”

Katsuki scoffed softly, but there was a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. 

“I know she wouldn’t.”

With that, Asuna gave a final nod, turning back toward the skating rink. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if she was reluctant to leave but knew she had to. Katsuki watched her go, the clinking of her skates fading into the distance, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. As the wind swirled around him, Katsuki leaned back against the bench, exhaling a long breath. The encounter had left him feeling more unsettled than before, yet there was a strange comfort in it too. 

The anticipation of seeing you again, the hope that maybe things could be different—it was enough to keep him there, waiting.

Asuna clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she took a deep, steadying breath. Her mind screamed at her to keep walking, to head back to the rink where Eri and Rumi were waiting. 

But her feet refused to move.

She had come this far—turned back once, and now standing there in the cold with the biting wind swirling around her, she realized this was her chance. She couldn’t back out now. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she turned on her heel and marched back towards Katsuki. Her steps were quick, deliberate, every ounce of her determination pushing her forward despite the fluttering nerves in her stomach. 

Katsuki, still seated on the bench, noticed her approach and sat up straighter, his sharp red eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity and caution.

Asuna came to a halt just a few feet away, inhaling deeply before speaking, her voice clear but slightly tremulous. 

“Can I sit with you?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows shot up, his face a mix of surprise and skepticism. “Why?” His tone was gruff, almost defensive, as if unsure of her intentions.

Asuna swallowed hard, her gaze unwavering. 

“I want to.”

For a moment, he said nothing, just staring at her with those intense eyes that seemed to strip away any pretense. Finally, he shifted to the side, creating enough space for her to sit, though he maintained a respectful distance. Asuna eased onto the bench, facing him, her posture tense but resolute.

Katsuki watched her warily, his arms crossed over his chest as if shielding himself from whatever was about to come. He didn’t do well with unplanned encounters, especially ones that carried the weight of potential confrontation. 

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly, cutting through the thick silence between them.

Asuna bit her lip, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench. She knew she had to tread carefully, but she couldn’t ignore the questions burning inside her. 

“How do you know my mom?” she asked, her voice steady, though her heart raced.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly, the question catching him off guard. He felt a spark of annoyance at the directness, but something about the determined glint in Asuna’s eyes stopped him from snapping. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her. 

“What’s it to you?”

Asuna leaned forward slightly, her gaze unwavering. “I just…want to know what you’re doing here. Why you’re waiting for her.”

The tension between them thickened, neither willing to back down. Katsuki let out a low huff, his jaw clenching. “She’s a friend,” he said finally, the word feeling both accurate and inadequate.

“I came to see her.”

Asuna didn’t flinch, her expression unreadable. “Why?”

Katsuki’s patience thinned at the grilling, the familiarity of being questioned like this stirring memories of his mother’s sharp tongue and piercing gaze. His voice sharpened, matching her intensity. “Why does it matter?”

“Because she matters,” Asuna shot back, her eyes flashing. “And I want to know what you want from her.”

Katsuki’s temper flared at the insinuation, the heat rising in his chest. 

“You think I’m here to mess with her or somethin’?”

Asuna’s silence was answer enough, her lips pressed into a thin line. The sharpness in her gaze reminded Katsuki of the same fire he’d seen in you, in himself, and in his mother. It was a look that demanded answers, no matter how uncomfortable.

“You don’t get it,” Katsuki said, his voice low but intense. 

“I’m not here to mess with her. I’m here because…” He paused, the words catching in his throat. He hated talking about his feelings, hated how vulnerable it made him feel. But he pressed on, the need to clarify outweighing his discomfort. 

“I’m here because she’s important to me.”

Asuna’s expression softened slightly, though she didn’t let her guard down entirely. “Important how?”

Katsuki’s hands flexed, the tension in his body evident. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the frustration clear in his voice. 

“I just…care about her. More than I should, probably.”

Asuna absorbed his words, the weight of them settling into her chest. She didn’t know what she had expected him to say, but the honesty in his admission caught her off guard. There was a vulnerability in his tone that she hadn’t anticipated, and it made her rethink her initial assumptions.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” Katsuki added, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. 

“That’s why I’m here.”

Asuna nodded slowly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. “I get that,” she said softly. “I guess I’m just…protective of her.”

Katsuki smirked faintly, the edge of his temper dulling. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the wind swirling around them, carrying the distant sounds of laughter and music from the skating rink. The tension that had been so palpable before began to dissipate, replaced by a tentative understanding. Asuna exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki’s eyes softened, the fierce scrutiny in his gaze mellowing. 

“Neither do I,” he replied, his words carrying a weight of sincerity that hung in the cold air between them.

Asuna leaned back slightly, her fingers drumming on the bench as she mulled over his words. 

Something about his bluntness pulled her back into her defensive shell. His manner of speaking was so different—gruff, devoid of the social politeness she was used to. There was an accent too, something sharp and clipped, that hinted at a different upbringing. 

It reminded her of the way you used to gently correct her speech before school, smoothing out her rough edges. She still didn’t fully understand why you had been so insistent about it, but she had complied nonetheless.

Katsuki, on the other hand, noticed everything about Asuna—the way her eyes flicked around, taking in their surroundings, and the way her fingers fidgeted slightly. His gaze dropped to her hands, and he caught sight of a scab on her palm, raw and slightly pink.

“What happened to yer hand?” he asked, nodding toward the mark.

Asuna glanced down at it, flexing her fingers absentmindedly. “Oh, that. Aunty Mina dropped something this morning, and I was helping her clean it up. It’s fine now, just itchy.”

Katsuki’s brows furrowed instantly. 

‘MINA?’

He hadn’t known she was over at your house last night.

He didn't know that the two of you still hung out like that.

At All.

The information lodged itself in his brain, a small flag for later. He filed it away, unsure if it was significant, but unwilling to overlook anything related to you.

“How’d you get that?” Asuna asked, motioning toward the faint scar on his cheek.

“Fight,” Katsuki answered tersely, his fingers brushing over the mark as if he could still feel the sting.

“You always getting into fights?” she pressed, her tone a mix of curiosity and mild judgment.

Katsuki shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Depends.”

Asuna tilted her head, considering his response. 

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“School let out early for the holiday,” she explained. Katsuki scoffed, a sharp exhale through his nose. 

“Figures.”

Asuna’s eyes narrowed, a spark of irritation flaring. “You’ve got a shitty attitude, you know that? You’re an asshole.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Really? You can tell all that from one conversation?” Asuna nodded confidently. 

“Yeah. You don’t hide it.”

“Don’t make it a point to,” Katsuki replied, his gaze steady, almost challenging. “But, if we’re being honest, you’ve got asshole tendencies too.” He sneered at her, expecting the girl to run off back to wherever she came from, not for her eyes to be lighting up!

A slow smile spread across Asuna’s face, her mask lowering just a fraction. 

“I know.”

Katsuki chuckled, a low, genuine sound that surprised even him.

There was something refreshing about her straightforwardness. It reminded him of himself, the way she didn’t shy away from confrontation or honesty. It was rare to meet someone who didn’t dance around the truth or put on a facade. Asuna leaned in slightly, her curiosity piqued.

“So, why do you care about my mom?”

Katsuki’s expression shifted, the humor fading into something more serious.

“Because I do.”

Asuna nodded, her expression softening. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine care that went beyond words. It was strange, but she found herself trusting him, at least a little. The tension between them eased, replaced by a tentative understanding.

“So, you gonna keep staring or ya got more questions?” Katsuki teased, his tone light but with an edge of challenge.

Asuna leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied Katsuki with a thoughtful tilt of her head. The wind played with her hair, brushing it across her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you feed Big Red to keep him going?” she asked suddenly.

Katsuki blinked, momentarily thrown. “Big Red?”

“Yeah, Kirishima,” Asuna clarified, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Realization dawned on Katsuki, and he smirked, leaning back against the bench. “Ah, him. He eats everything. Meat mostly. Guy’s a walking protein factory. Eggs, chicken, steak... whatever has enough protein to fuel that hard ass head of his.”

Asuna laughed softly, the sound light and airy. “Sounds about right.”

Katsuki’s gaze flicked to her, a subtle curiosity lingering in his eyes. 

“Why are you so small?”

The question caught Asuna off guard, and she arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m taller than Mom,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “And I’m not done growing yet. One day, I’ll probably be taller than you.”

Katsuki scoffed, a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “Not much of an accomplishment. Being the tallest dwarf isn’t exactly a flex. And your mom? She’s short.”

Asuna’s lips quirked into a challenging grin. “At least I’m not a insecure loudmouth with a height complex.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. “When are you and your mom heading to the North Pole?”

Asuna frowned, clearly puzzled. 

“Why would we go to the North Pole?”

“Santa needs all his elves back,” Katsuki said with a smirk, watching for her reaction.

It took a moment for the jab to sink in, but when it did, Asuna’s smile turned sharp and dangerous. 

“Keep it up, and I’ll kick your balls in.”

Katsuki raised his hands in mock surrender. “Chill out, short stack. I’m not afraid to fight a kid.” Asuna’s eyes sparkled with defiance.

“Not surprised. It’s a miracle your crybaby ass hasn’t been sued yet.”

The playful atmosphere shifted as Katsuki straightened, his expression darkening. 

“Crybaby? Who the hell are you calling a crybaby?!”

“You,” Asuna shot back without hesitation. “Last night, on the sidewalk, crying like someone died.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “No one died. But someone might very soon.”

A certain purple haired person came to mind. 

Asuna leaned back, undeterred by his simmering anger. “Why didn’t Mom ever bring me around your gang before?” Katsuki’s expression softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Dunno. Probably because of hero work.”

Asuna shrugged. “Makes sense. She’s always busy.” Katsuki hummed in agreement. “Same here.” Asuna tilted her head, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re in the business too?”

Katsuki nodded, his eyes steady on hers.

“You don’t look like a hero,” Asuna remarked, her tone skeptical. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation flashing in them.

“I am a hero.”

Asuna squinted, leaning in as if to inspect him more closely. 

“Nahhh.”

With an irritated huff, Katsuki reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet (lots of bills!) with his hero badge, holding it up for her to see.

“Believe it now?”

Asuna’s eyes widened, the sight of the badge silencing her for a moment. She looked between the badge and Katsuki, connecting the dots. “Wait... you’re Pro Hero Dynamight?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki confirmed, his tone tinged with pride.

Asuna blinked, her mind racing. “And Kirishima is... Red Riot?”

Katsuki’s smirk returned, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. “ ‘S right.”

Katsuki leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he exuded an air of cocky indifference. His eyes glinted with self-assured confidence, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He might’ve been trying to play it cool, but Asuna wasn’t buying it for a second.

“You’re still lame,” she said with a shrug, her voice laced with nonchalance.

Katsuki’s smirk faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Asuna confirmed, leaning forward slightly as if to drive the point home. “All tough and cool one minute, and then, bam, still lame.” Katsuki opened his mouth to retort, but Asuna pressed on, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

“Do you have a family?”

His brows furrowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Why?”

“Well,” Asuna continued, resting her chin on her hand. “Why don’t you have one? Are you dating?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened, and he sputtered. “What the hell kind of questions are those?” Park onlookers be dammed with these two.

“Just curious,” Asuna said innocently, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Katsuki snapped, his face flushing slightly.

“Why not?” Asuna asked, tilting her head, genuinely intrigued.

Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, his irritation mounting. 

“None of your business.”

“Is it because of your attitude?” Asuna pressed, leaning closer.

“Or do they all run when they realize the truth about you?”

That... hit harder than Katsuki expected. 

His jaw clenched as he sat back, her questions needling into thoughts he hadn’t fully faced. His usual bravado faltered, the weight of her words striking a nerve, particularly with everything happening between him and you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she had a point—had his personality, his inability to open up, been a barrier?

‘Yes.’

Noticing his silence, Asuna smirked.

“Gone soft on me now, have you?”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped to hers, his frown deepening. “Why are you so damn nosey? Just like your mom.”

Asuna blinked, taken aback. “Mom’s not nosey.”

“Yeah, right,” Katsuki scoffed. Asuna rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Is Shinsou your mom’s boyfriend?”

“Uncle Hitoshi? Ew,” Asuna grimaced, the sheer disbelief evident in her expression. “No way.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, really,” Asuna admitted with a shrug. “I mean, I wouldn’t call him handsome to his face or anything. It’s just... he’s always sleep-deprived and has that low-key creepy smile.”

'And because it's too complicated to think of him like a dad.'

Katsuki smirked, leaning back. “So, bag check is still single?”

“Why do you care so much if he’s dating my mom?” Asuna shot back, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

Katsuki’s expression shifted, and he averted his gaze, clearly embarrassed. “None of yer damn business,” he huffed. Asuna grinned, sensing an opportunity to press further.

“Where is my mom, anyway?”

“Hell if I know,” Katsuki grumbled. “Why don’t you just call her or somethin'?”

“Why don’t you?” Asuna shot back, crossing her arms.

Katsuki pulled out his phone with a grunt, clearly ready to end this conversation. But as he was about to dial, Asuna dropped the next question like a bombshell.

“Do you have any kids?”

Katsuki froze, his phone slipping from his hand and landing on the ground with a tasty CRACK! He stared at her, eyes wide in shock. 

“What the fuck, kid?”

Asuna shrugged, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m just curious.”

He leaned down to retrieve his phone, his hands slightly trembling. His mind raced, thoughts spiraling as he tried to comprehend the unexpected question. He wasn’t sure if it was her nonchalant delivery or the sheer audacity of the question, but it left him deeply rattled.

“No,” he finally managed to say, his voice quieter than usual. 

“I don’t have any kids.”

Asuna watched him carefully, noting the shift in his demeanor. For the first time since their conversation started, she saw a crack in his tough exterior, a vulnerability he rarely showed. She didn’t push further, sensing that she had hit a sensitive spot.

Katsuki picked up his phone from the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the lingering tension from Asuna’s question. He glanced at her, watching as she casually leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he debated whether to continue their conversation or just sit in silence. 

But curiosity got the better of him.

“You got any siblings?” he asked, his tone attempting to be nonchalant.

Asuna shook her head. “Nope. Just me.”

Katsuki hummed, leaning back on the bench, one boot tapping restlessly against the concrete. He wanted to ask about her dad, but your voice echoed in his mind—a warning, a sharp reminder of what you had told him once before. 

‘He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve to know.’ 

Katsuki clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside, but the weight of it lingered.

He looked at Asuna again, his gaze drawn to her eyes, those bright red starbeds so much like his own. The resemblance was uncanny, and it stirred something deep within him, something he couldn’t quite handle.

He stood abruptly, his restlessness getting the better of him.

“Come on,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“My ass is falling asleep. Might as well walk around 'til we find your mama.”

Asuna nodded, slipping off her seat. She pulled out her phone and dropped a quick location pin to Eri, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent a copy to Shinsou as well. Once done, she glanced at Katsuki with a smirk. “Ready when you are.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Just letting Eri know where I am,” she lied smoothly. “You know, in case you decide to kidnap me or something.”

Katsuki snorted, shaking his head as they headed out of the skating area.

“I'd return you.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the sound of their footsteps echoing down the pathway.

The air around them was filled with the sounds of laughter and carolers, the scent of roasted chestnuts and hot cocoa mingling in the crisp winter air. Christmas lights twinkled on every tree, casting a warm glow over the bustling park. Families wandered between decorated stalls, and children giggled as they chased each other around the towering Christmas tree in the center. 

Asuna glanced at Katsuki out of the corner of her eye, watching the way he carried himself—shoulders squared, eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharpness that belied his seemingly laid-back demeanor.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence, “What made you become a hero?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Always wanted to be the best hero.”

“Typical,” Asuna teased, her lips quirking into a grin. “Always about being the best.”

She could relate.

“Damn right,” Katsuki shot back, his tone laced with pride. “What about you? Got any plans for the future?”

Asuna thought for a moment, her brows furrowing. “Pro hero with a degree in engineering. I like figuring out how things work.”

“Good choice,” Katsuki said, nodding approvingly. “Smart kid.”

They continued walking, the conversation ebbing and flowing, each question peeling back a layer of the other. Katsuki found himself intrigued by Asuna’s quick wit and sharp tongue, traits that reminded him of himself in a way. He admired her confidence, even as it annoyed him at times. They turned a corner, the conversation turning light again, until eventually, Katsuki couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

“What about your dad?” he asked carefully, his voice quieter than before.

Asuna’s steps faltered slightly, and she cast a glance up at him, her eyes dimming for a moment. 

“... I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki’s heart clenched at her response, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between them. He wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but the sadness in her voice held him back. Instead, he walked in silence beside her, his mind churning with thoughts and emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with.

Asuna, sensing his internal struggle, offered a small, reassuring smile. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got Mom, and that’s enough.”

'Liar.'

Katsuki nodded, though the unease in his chest remained. The two continued their walk, the unspoken words between them solidifying in the quiet. They walked in step, the quiet between them stretching comfortably as they toured around the park.

The soft glow of Christmas lights illuminated their path, casting a festive yet serene atmosphere. Food stalls lined the walkways, the smell of roasted nuts and sweet treats wafting through the cool afternoon air. Katsuki’s gaze flicked over to a stall selling hot peanuts.

“Ya want some?” he asked, tilting his head towards the stand.

Asuna wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Nah, almonds are better.”

Katsuki gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. They continued strolling, their eyes absorbing the kaleidoscope of colors from the light displays. The air was filled with the murmur of families and couples, laughter and chatter blending with the soft hum of holiday music.

This was… really nice, actually. 

It was different from the walks she took with Aizawa or Shinsou. One whose arm she would hold onto as she dragged him around and the other she would throw pinecones at and race around the park. She wondered if you ever took walks like this with Katsuki before. She didn’t really take you for the flirty type. 

Her mind wandered back to Eri and Rumi. She could say that she needed to use the can at her favorite department store and that she got distracted by the lights on the way back. What she really wanted to do was just enjoy this moment, but she didn’t know why. 

It wasn’t like Katsuki was prominent in her life or anything. Like, she literally just met the guy. 

So… why did he make her feel happy?

As they passed a particularly vibrant display, Asuna accidentally bumped into a large man who had stepped into her path. The man turned around, his face twisted in irritation, clearly ready to give her trouble. Asuna squared her shoulders, her red eyes narrowing, prepared to give him hell right back. Before she could speak, Katsuki stepped between them, his stance solid and intimidating. 

“Fuck off.”

The man’s eyes darted between Katsuki and Asuna, his glare sharp and filled with disdain. His gaze settled on Katsuki with a sneer. "Control your damn kid, " he spat, his words dripping with contempt before he turned away, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the festive crowd.

Neither of them corrected him.

Katsuki’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body palpable. His jaw tightened as he drew in a slow breath, barely restraining himself from responding. But before he could react, Asuna grabbed his arm, her fingers curling firmly around his bicep.

"Come on," she urged softly, tugging him away from the confrontation. Her grip was steady, guiding him down the festive path lined with wreaths and garlands. They walked in silence now, the crunch of gravel underfoot punctuating the stillness between them.

Asuna stared straight ahead, her expression carefully composed, the flickering lights reflecting in her eyes. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

Katsuki glanced at her, his usual fiery demeanor subdued. 

"No problem," he replied, his voice low, almost uncharacteristically gentle. The protective instinct that surged within him was unexpected, a foreign sensation that settled heavily in his chest.

They continued down the path, weaving through the throng of holiday revelers until Asuna’s eyes caught sight of a vending machine near the playground. 

"Wait a sec," she said, breaking away from Katsuki and making her way to the machine. The faint hum of the vending machine mingled with the festive sounds around her as she selected a can of orange soda.

Returning to Katsuki, she found him waiting, the bustling park now a blur of twinkling lights and cheerful voices. He held out a small package toward her, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the holiday lights.

“What’s this?” Asuna asked, her fingers brushing against the warmth of the package as she took it from him, curiosity piquing in her gaze.

“Open it,” Katsuki replied nonchalantly, popping a few almonds into his mouth from his own bag, the faint crunch breaking the quiet of the evening.

Asuna carefully peeled back the paper, revealing a small bundle of hot almonds dusted with sugar. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced up at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and gratitude. 

“You got these?”

Katsuki shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on his own handful. “Yeah. Don’t get how you like ‘em, though.”

Asuna chuckled, a light, genuine sound that warmed the chilly evening air. “Are pro heroes even allowed to eat sugar?” Katsuki smirked, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief as he raised an eyebrow. “Your mom doesn’t?”

“She likes sweets,” Asuna admitted, taking a bite of one of the almonds. The sweet warmth of it settled on her tongue, comforting in its simplicity. “But she doesn’t cook with a spicy flavor palette much.”

Katsuki nodded, tossing a handful of almonds into his mouth, his gaze momentarily distant. 

“Yeah, Rita needed a special diet. Your mom learned how to re-cook everything for her. ‘S probably why.”

Asuna froze mid-step, her body going still as the words settled over her like a cold wave. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and her mind raced to process what he'd just said. She stepped off the path, her boots crunching in the snow as she stood near the fence by the playground, the sounds of children’s laughter fading into the background. Her eyes were wide, the shock clear in her expression as she turned to face him. 

“How do you know that?” she asked, her voice low but sharp, like a thread stretched taut.

Katsuki's throat tightened, and he choked on the almonds in his mouth. He scrambled, his face reddening as he coughed violently, struggling to find an answer.

“ASUNA!”

‘Shit! Busted’

“ASUNA!”

Feel free to ask questions or throw what you think is going to happen in the comments!

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I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

[unabashegirl]

Enticing 49 — ceo hs

Harry, a private billionaire and devoted father, hires Y/N as his son's nanny. Her kindness stirs unexpected feelings. Will love overcome his guarded life, a jealous girlfriend, and the mystery of Oliver's mother?

Author's note: Yesterday, I thought I hadn't posted chapter 48, but I noticed I had posted the same chapter twice after a fellow follower pointed it out. Thank you for letting me know.

⭐️ I'm still trying to gather $1600 to pay for my medical school. Please consider donating it. I'm desperate. I would really appreciate it. --> Ko-Fi ☕️

⭐️ I’ve created a Patreon collection with ALL the chapters of Enticing available for $15 (54 posts). This is an option for those who are tired of waiting and want instant access. Otherwise, the usual $3 subscription is still available with access to the other one shots.😊 ----> Patreon

⭐️ --> enticing masterlist <---

It was a damp and chilly day in the heart of New York City, a late November afternoon pregnant with the promise of impending festivities. Christmas lurked just around the corner, casting its enchanting glow over the city that never sleeps. Harry, having just ventured home from the office, found himself stepping into an apartment that echoed with the quiet hum of transition.

The majority of their possessions lay encased in cardboard, snugly packed away, anticipating the journey to a new residence. Y/N's apartment, a temporary sanctuary, had been earmarked for a new role as a vacation rental property. The couple was poised to relocate to their new abode before the advent of Christmas, and certainly before the arrival of their imminent bundle of joy.

Harry, as he traversed the threshold, observed the in-between state of their living space—a tableau caught between the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future. The walls, witnesses to laughter and shared secrets, seemed to murmur tales of times gone by.

The living room, bereft of its usual assortment of trinkets, projected a curious amalgamation of unfamiliarity and warmth. A solitary chair, adorned with a throw that had borne witness to countless movie nights and stolen kisses, beckoned in solitude. The room, now devoid of life's chaos, stood as an expectant canvas, yearning for the brushstrokes of a new chapter.

In the kitchen, once alive with the aroma of shared meals, the dance of packing materials and neatly folded dishcloths unfolded. The refrigerator, once a tapestry of joyous memories held in place by magnets, now stood bare. Yet, within this emptiness lay the promise of a blank canvas, ready to be adorned with fresh memories.

Harry, feeling a sudden yearning for connection, reached for his phone, dialing the first contact in his favorites. A single ring later, her melodic voice spilled through the receiver.

"Hi honey," she sang, her words a comforting melody.

"Hey. Where are you?" Harry inquired, his eyes wandering to the cityscape outside.

"We're out for a stroll in the park," she replied. "Thought it'd be nice to enjoy the crisp air. And, uh, we might've stopped for some hot chocolate. Oliver insisted.”

"Oliver insisted, huh?" Harry playfully retorted, a smile gracing his lips. The sound of their voices, a lifeline in the midst of change, offered him solace. "I had no idea that Oliver could form full sentences.”

"Alright. It might have to do something with me and his sisters' cravings," she explained, laughter lacing her words.

“How come I wasn’t invited?” Harry asked as he began wrapping a scarf around his neck.

“I thought you would be coming from work late,” she replied. "We're still at the park, wandering around. Would you like to join us?”

“Already on my way.” Harry ended the call, donned his coat, and embarked on a journey to join the two most important people in his life.

As he navigated through the park, the cold air nipping at his cheeks, Harry scanned the surroundings, searching for the familiar figures of his girlfriend and son. The chill seemed to fade in significance against the warmth that swelled within him at the prospect of joining their spontaneous escapade.

Finally, he spotted them near a quaint Christmas market, Y/N cradling Oliver in her arms as they admired the festive decorations. Harry approached with a grin.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, Oliver reaching out towards him with a delighted grin. Harry scooped him up, planting a tender kiss on his rosy cheek. "Hey, little man. How was the hot chocolate?” he inquired after a quick peck on Y/N's lips.

“Yummy. Even though I slightly burned my tongue.” Harry chuckled and reached for the stroller. “How was the office?” Y/N initiated small talk as they navigated the bustling streets.

“Good. I finally had the chance to set up a visit to the office in London, but after our trip to Anguilla.” Harry had orchestrated a week away from the New York hustle before the impending move and the holiday season. Work had taken a toll on him, and he needed a brief respite. “Did you pack already?”

“I did. I even checked that you had packed everything too. You hadn’t packed a swimsuit.”

“That’s insignificant. Could have skinny-dipped,” he quipped, winking at her as she took charge of the stroller. “You ruined the fun.”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Let’s stop at the deli. I want to get some things for my mom."

"What time is your mother getting here?" Harry inquired, trailing behind her as she led the way into their local grocery store. Y/N’s mom was set to stay for a week, graciously offering to look after Oliver during their travels. Harry welcomed the gesture with open arms, recognizing it as a chance for Mrs. Johnson to indulge in a well-deserved vacation.

"In about two hours or so. I just want to fully stock the fridge, so she doesn’t have to venture out or do any unnecessary walking," Y/N explained, pulling a shopping cart into position.

With their shopping complete, they made their way to the checkout counter. The cashier greeted them with a friendly smile, scanning each item before placing them in bags. Harry paid for the groceries, and they exited the store, the bell chiming softly once more.

The night air was crisper now, and they huddled together, the warmth of their shared breath creating a cocoon against the cold. Bags in hand, they started the short journey back to their apartment.

As they walked, the city sounds surrounded them—the distant honking of a taxi, the muffled conversations of pedestrians, and the occasional rustling of leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The weight of the bags added a comforting sense of purpose to their steps.

Reaching the apartment building, they rode the elevador, the bags swaying with each movement. Unlocking the door, they stepped into the warmth of their home, the scent of groceries mingling with the familiar fragrance of the apartment.

"Mission accomplished," Harry declared, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. As they unpacked the groceries, the quiet simplicity of the moment settled over them—a shared task, a cozy home, and the promise of moments yet to unfold.

The clock was ticking towards nine in the evening when the security intercom buzzed, signaling the arrival of Elizabeth and Delilah, Y/N's younger sister. Elizabeth had chosen to take the latest train, and a mix of excitement and nerves accompanied her journey. Bringing her daughters together was an endeavor that had tugged at her emotions.

The elevator doors chimed, signaling their arrival on the top floor.

"Y/N?" Elizabeth's voice echoed through the foyer. Y/N swiftly untangled herself from Harry and Oliver, walking briskly to her mother. "Look at you!" Elizabeth exclaimed, enveloping her oldest daughter in a warm embrace. "You are absolutely glowing!"

“I’ve missed you!” Y/N said as she pulled away and then turned to look at her sister.

"Delilah, it's been too long. How have you been?" Y/N's voice carried a genuine sweetness, As Y/N greeted Delilah at the door, there was an undeniable warmth in her eyes, a genuine attempt to bridge the gap that time had created between them.

"Busy, you know how it is," Delilah replied vaguely, avoiding eye contact. The air in the room hung heavy with unspoken tensions, as if the weight of their past differences loomed large. Y/N tried to steer the conversation toward more neutral ground

"Well, we're so glad you could make it. How's school?”

“Fine” Y/N struggled with the tangible discomfort of trying to reconnect with a sister determined to keep an emotional distance. "Is this your house?" Delilah inquired.

"My boyfriend's," Y/N replied.

"I've told you it's just as much yours as it is mine," Harry chimed in, approaching with a drowsy Oliver cradled in his arms. "I am very pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N."

"Please call me Elizabeth, Harry."

"I would shake your hand, but I'm a bit tied up with this one," he said, motioning to the almost one-year-old sleeping in his arms. “Thank you for coming. I am sure it’s not easy to drop work and school for a favor. I’m very grateful”. Elizabeth smiled, “You must be Delilah. It’s nice to meet you too”.

“Thanks” Delilah couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise as her eyes inadvertently lingered on Harry's features. His natural beauty struck her, catching her off guard. The way his curls fell effortlessly, the strong jawline, and the warmth in his eyes all seemed almost too perfect. She had seen her sister with attractive partners before, but there was something distinctly captivating about Harry. It left Delilah momentarily stunned, her initial coldness thawing as she found herself acknowledging the genuine charm of Y/N's boyfriend.

"Come in, please. Dinner is served in the dining room," Harry welcomed them into the living room. "I'm just going to put him to bed, and I'll be back."

"Mom, please leave that there. Harry and I will take it upstairs," Y/N said, observing her mom struggling with her purse, a carry-on, and a duffle bag that appeared to belong to her younger sister.

"Harry and I? You better not be carrying heavy things, Y/N," Elizabeth warned as she placed all the bags beside the staircase.

"I am not," Y/N smiled, gently grabbing her mother's hand, a reminiscent gesture from her childhood. Elizabeth's face lit up with memories as she marveled at her oldest daughter. "I promise," Y/N added, reassuring her mother.

"Pregnancy is really suiting you, honey," Elizabeth commented.

"Are you excited to be a grandma?" Y/N asked, throwing an arm over her mother's shoulders as she guided her towards the dining room.

"I can't wait. Have you guys set a name?"

"Isn't it too soon?"

"You look big enough to have her tomorrow," Delilah remarked under her breath, intentionally hurting Y/N's feelings and confidence. Elizabeth glanced at Delilah with a disapproving look, silently urging her to be more considerate. Y/N, though hurt by the remark, maintained her composure as they all gathered at the dining table. The room was filled with a warm glow from the flickering candles, creating a serene ambiance.

As they settled into their seats, Harry reappeared, having successfully put Oliver to bed. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Y/N and her family. He was at peace that it had finally happened and that he had been given a second chance, but more importantly that he got the change to finally meet her family.

Dinner was a mix of casual conversation and catching up on the time they had spent apart. Elizabeth, despite her initial reservations, couldn't help but be drawn to Harry's genuine charm and warm hospitality. Delilah, on the other hand, seemed to have a small crush on her sister’s boyfriend.

"So, where are you guys off to?" Elizabeth inquired, savoring a bite of the dark chocolate pie that Y/N had expertly prepared.

"Anguilla. Eastern Caribbean," Harry replied, a warm smile accompanying his words. "Thought it'd be nice to take a little break before the hectic months ahead."

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled with delight. "That's a wonderful idea”.

"We leave tomorrow, but don't worry, the fridge is fully stocked, and I made sure to buy all your favorites," Y/N chimed in, casting a reassuring glance at her mother. Elizabeth chuckled, appreciating the thoughtful gesture.

As the evening progressed, everyone ascended the stairs to the apartment. Harry, gracious and understanding, bid his goodbyes, excusing himself to provide Y/N with a private moment to reconnect with her family.

Y/N, her heart filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation, led her mother, Elizabeth, to the guest bedroom overlooking Central Park. "This will be your room, Mom," she announced warmly, pushing the door open to reveal a freshly cleaned space with a picturesque view. "This is the room with the best view. You just wait and see tomorrow." Harry had efficiently brought up the luggage Elizabeth arrived with, and Y/N continued her considerate tour. "There are fresh towels in the bathroom and a robe in case you want to get cozy," she shared, patting down the feather duvet. "Your room is right across, Delilah."

The room Y/N had selected for her sister held a special significance, as it was the very room she once occupied during her time as a nanny. Every detail had been meticulously arranged, with freshly cleaned linens and neatly folded blankets. Elizabeth followed behind, observing her eldest daughter as she removed the numerous decorative pillows from the bed.

"I picked this room for you because the sunrise is from the back, you won't be disturbed by the early sunlight. And, of course, the blackout curtains make it even more comfortable." Y/N explained, gesturing to the window that framed a peaceful view.

However, as the atmosphere settled into a semblance of peace, Delilah seized a moment alone with Y/N to express her disdain. "You seem to be enjoying this domestic scene quite a lot, playing house with your rich boyfriend," she sneered, her tone cutting through the otherwise serene atmosphere. Caught off guard by the sudden hostility, Y/N took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before responding to her sister's unexpected critique.

As Delilah's sharp words lingered in the air, Y/N felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. Despite the celebratory occasion of her family's visit, Delilah seemed determined to cast a shadow over the reunion. Y/N tried to keep her composure, offering a soft smile and attempting to steer the conversation toward a more positive direction.

"Well, it's not about playing house or being rich," Y/N responded, her voice steady. "Harry and I are building a life together, and we're excited about the future." She chose her words carefully, hoping to diffuse the tension that hung in the room.

Delilah, however, remained unyielding. "Building a life or being carried away in someone else's?" she retorted, her skepticism apparent. Y/N could sense an underlying resentment, a sentiment she hadn't anticipated. The transition from their childhood dynamics to this newfound reality appeared to be a source of contention for Delilah.

“Carried away? I have a job and a career. Sure, Harry probably makes more than me, but that doesn’t mean that I am just a trophy wife or girlfriend in this case”

Delilah's expression remained skeptical, a visible furrow on her brow. "Career or convenience?" she challenged, her tone biting. Y/N took a moment to collect her thoughts, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

"I'm not sure why I'm bothering to explain this to you. It's clear you're too immature to understand or be happy for me. I thought after all this time, you might have changed a bit," Y/N shook her head, frustration evident in her tone. "It's obvious this isn't about me and Harry. This is about what happened a few years ago. It's time to grow up and move on.”

---> Chapter 50

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 48 Chapter 48 | first mate lady⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The next morning came quickly.

Too quickly.

The sky was barely awake, just beginning to blush with early light. A soft fog clung to the edges of the port, curling around ropes and crates and the low murmur of crew voices.

You stood on the stone pier, breathing in the sharp scent of salt and damp wood and tide—sea air heavy with gull cries and possibility. The ocean stretched out ahead of you, slow and endless, the waves lapping against the hull of the small ship like a quiet promise.

Lady sat pressed to your side, her body warm against your calf, tail flicking idly as her nose twitched at every smell. She sneezed once, snorting, then settled again—watchful and quiet.

Your sack was slung over one shoulder, heavy with only what mattered.

A clean set of clothes. Rations. Small, necessary tools. The wrap of your dagger belt, tucked just beneath your coat. And at the very top—cradled in fabric as soft as you could find—your divine lyre, sealed in its case, humming faintly like it knew it was going somewhere important.

You shifted the strap on your shoulder and exhaled slowly, watching your breath fog out in front of you.

Then—footsteps behind you.

Heavy. Steady. Familiar.

You didn't even need to turn before you felt Diomedes stop just beside you.

He didn't say anything for a long moment.

Just looked out at the sea with you.

Then he spoke, voice low and clear, the kind of voice that never needed to be raised to be heard.

"You know," he said, "when Odysseus left for war, he didn't say goodbye to anyone but Penelope. Left in the dark. No speech. No fuss."

You glanced at him, brows raised. "That a recommendation?"

He huffed. "Not at all. I've always found a good send-off matters. Makes the silence after feel less... empty."

You went quiet.

His arms crossed.

He nodded once toward the ship. "This isn't war. But you treat it like a mission anyway."

You opened your mouth to reply, but he kept going, eyes still forward.

"I've trained you to react. To hold your ground. To see what others don't. You know how to move now. How to listen. How to survive."

He turned his head and finally looked at you.

"But remember this: You're not a soldier. And you don't need to be."

The wind picked up, tugging lightly at your hair, fluttering the hem of your cloak.

"You just need to live."

You swallowed.

Then nodded. Softly.

"Yes, sir."

His mouth twitched—just barely.

He reached out, resting one massive hand briefly against your shoulder. His grip was steady. Strong. And in its own quiet way, it said more than anything else had.

"Have fun, little blade."

You blinked. The words caught you by surprise. Warmed your chest in a way the morning chill couldn't touch.

Your lips curled. Just a little.

You nodded again.

Then felt another presence beside you.

Odysseus.

He stepped forward with a softer weight than usual. Not as a king. Not as a commander. But as something... quieter. Older.

He didn't say much—he rarely did—but when he looked at you, it was different than before.

Proud. Protective. And something else, too. Something that tugged at the space where a father should've stood throughout your growing years.

"Be safe," he said simply.

Then his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, rough but warm, pulling you in without asking.

You let him.

His chin touched the top of your head for just a breath, and it was all you needed.

A goodbye without ceremony. A blessing without words.

When he let you go, you blinked against the sting in your eyes.

Then Penelope stepped forward.

Her composure cracked the second she reached for you.

"Oh, my heart," she whispered, pulling you in before you could brace. She held you so tightly you thought your ribs might bend, her cheek pressing to yours, one hand smoothing over your back like she was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Then her hands cupped your face.

She kissed your forehead, gently, the way you imagined she once did to Telemachus when he was small and brave and didn't yet understand what leaving meant.

"You come back to us," she said, her voice shaking.

"I will," you promised.

She touched your cheek once more, then stepped back—only far enough to let you go.

Callias was next.

He didn't say anything right away. Just gave you a long, up-and-down look, then sighed dramatically.

"You're going to come back cooler," he muttered. "I hate that."

You laughed.

He stepped in anyway and hugged you hard—muttering something under his breath about how he was keeping your room exactly the same, just in case you forgot what real friendship felt like while surrounded by mysterious sea captains and poetic goats.

Asta saluted with two fingers, her other arm thrown around Lysandra's shoulders, who simply said, "Bring back stories."

Even Kieran—cherry as ever—gave a quiet nod of his head and murmured, "We'll be here when you're back."

The pier behind you was full now—bustling with life and goodbyes.

Sailors moved about loading cargo. Children clung to their parents' waists. Lovers whispered soft promises near the ropes. The air was a tangle of salt and excitement and farewells, wind brushing past your ankles like it, too, was trying to hurry you along.

The ship rocked gently, moored and waiting.

With one last deep breath, you turned toward it.

Lady padded at your heel, her tail swaying back and forth—not fast, not frantic. Just... steady.

Like she knew.

Like she understood that this wasn't just travel.

It was the start of something.

It was time.

Time to go.

Time to see.

Time to begin.

☆

☆

The first three days at sea passed more gently than you expected.

You and Lady shared a small, tucked-away room below deck—not far from the captain's cabin. It wasn't lavish, but it was yours: a narrow cot, a bolt of rolled blankets, a single porthole that opened just enough to let in the sound of waves.

Every night, you slept with the divine lyre wrapped carefully in cloth at your side, and Lady curled at your feet, snoring louder than some of the crew.

It was peaceful in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. No palace routine. No watchful eyes. Just the sea, the sky, and the creaking lull of wood beneath your bones.

By the second day, you'd already made a friend.

His name was Eben—a small cabin boy with salt-stained sleeves, hair that refused to stay combed, and a missing front tooth that made his grin impossibly wide. He couldn't have been older than ten winters, and the moment he laid eyes on Lady, you were forgotten entirely.

"She's massive," he whispered the first morning, crouched near your door with a handful of jerky. "Can I pet her?"

Lady, of course, gave him one sniff, decided he was a reliable treat source, and promptly sat on his feet like they belonged to her.

After that, Eben followed you both everywhere.

He helped show you around the ship, explained the name of every single knot and sail (even the ones you didn't ask about), and would sometimes sneak you sweet biscuits when the cook wasn't looking.

In return, you helped him with chores when you could—peeling vegetables, folding cloths, even sweeping the main deck when his arms got tired.

Lady seemed to thrive on the attention. She let Eben braid little ribbons into the fur behind her ears, accepted kisses to the snout, and growled protectively if anyone teased him too loudly.

By day three, half the crew referred to her as "First Mate Lady."

And you? You were slowly becoming something familiar again.

But the sky was changing.

You first noticed it late in the morning, when the air began to smell heavier. The wind curled tighter, sharper, the way it always did before storms. That's when you remembered what you'd heard the day before—quietly, as you passed near the captain's quarters.

The captain had been speaking low to one of his more experienced men, glancing at a spread map.

"Keep us clear of the slab near Graydeep," he'd said. "Old sailor said it eats hulls clean. Stone's too smooth to climb once you've struck. Ghost current drags the rest under. I'm not testing legends today."

You hadn't thought much of it then.

Until now.

It was nearing lunch, and you were crouched near a crate on the deck with Eben, helping peel a bucket of stubborn potatoes—your sleeves rolled up, your hair tied back, your fingers stained faintly with salt and starch.

Lady sat beside you, tongue lolling lazily in the warm wind.

That's when it happened.

A voice from the crow's nest cut sharply through the air.

"There! Off the port bow!"

The crew froze.

You looked up.

And saw it.

A shape on the horizon—dark, massive, unnatural. Not moving. Not bobbing with the waves like driftwood should. Just there, cutting through the ocean like a jagged tooth.

Storm clouds were beginning to gather behind it, curling in fast, dark and thick.

The sun slipped behind the cover—and the temperature dropped with it.

You stood slowly, potato forgotten in your hand.

Beside you, Lady's ears lifted. She growled—low and uncertain.

Something in the air changed.

Something old.

Something heavy.

It settled over the deck like a dropped curtain.

And then, in a blink—

The sky broke open.

Rain slammed down in sheets, so fast and loud it swallowed the sound of the ocean. The wind howled, sharp and angry, slapping against the sails so hard one of them snapped, tearing down with a spray of salt and canvas.

Crew shouted over one another, rushing to secure ropes, sliding across the slick deck as the ship tilted hard to one side. You grabbed Eben without thinking, tucking him behind you as water lashed your face, your cloak plastering to your skin.

"Gods—what is this?" someone screamed from the upper deck. "Did no one bless the damn ship?!"

There was a long pause.

A chilling kind of pause.

Then came the realization.

"...No one did," a sailor choked out, horrified.

"WHAT?"

It spiraled instantly.

Another sailor stumbled toward the helm, shouting over the roar. "We need a sacrifice!"

"No—we need to pray, offer something now!"

"Something living!"

Voices rose, panicked and rapid, until one voice sliced clean through the rest.

"What about the beast?"

You snapped around. "What. Did. You. Say?"

It was a younger sailor—barely older than you, wild-eyed and soaked through. He pointed at Lady with a trembling hand. "She's not a person. She's not crew. She's just—she's just an animal."

Your blood turned to fire.

"She's mine," you snapped, stepping between them. "I swear to every god listening, I will throw myself overboard before I let you lay a hand on her."

But he didn't back down.

He then looked at you—dripping, furious, a girl clutching a mutt—and suddenly something behind his eyes clicked.

"Wait... You're the divine liaison."

Voices shifted.

They looked at you now—not as a crewmate. Not as a girl helping peel potatoes.

But as something else.

Someone else.

"That's it!" the same man cried. "She counts. The gods already touched her—she's the closest thing we've got to an offering!"

"You lay a hand on her, and the royal family will string you up for treason!" someone else shouted from the mast, slipping as the boat lurched again.

"And if we die now," the man screamed back, "then what kingdom? What rules? We'll be bones at the bottom of the sea, with no one left to care!"

Another crash of thunder split the air.

Lady barked once, low and sharp—body tense, ears back, pressing against your leg like she already knew something was wrong.

You didn't speak.

Not at first.

Because for just one second—you looked at the storm.

Felt it.

The rage of it. The presence of it.

And you knew.

You weren't just in a storm.

You were seen.

Watched.

Tested.

And the sickest part?

You might actually have to do it.

You might have to offer something. Or someone.

And you didn't know if the sea would be kind enough to let you pick which.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke. "...Alright."

Silence. Not from the storm, but from everyone else. The crew froze—lightning still flashing behind them, wind shrieking around the sails—but your voice carried anyway.

"If it's me or her..." You swallowed hard, feeling your throat shake. "Then let it be me."

"No!" Eben's voice cracked.

You looked up just in time to see him push forward, tears already clinging to his cheeks. "No! You can't—you can't—!"

Two sailors tried to hold him back, arms around his chest as he kicked and squirmed and screamed. "You can't let her! She's not—she's not just anyone!"

One man reached toward Lady's scruff—and she snapped. Hard.

Her jaws caught his wrist and clamped, dragging him down with a furious snarl. She was wild, unhinged, fighting the hands that dared try to pull her away from you.

Then Eben broke free.

He threw himself forward—right over Lady's back, arms flung wide as he covered her with his body, shaking with sobs before any of the men could retaliate. "Don't hurt her," he choked. "Don't hurt her, please!"

The sight broke something in you.

But you kept moving.

Your limbs felt numb as the crew parted for you—silent, grim-faced, like watching someone walk toward the gallows.

The rain blurred your vision, ran down your chin, soaked the ends of your sleeves. Your knees trembled with every step as you walked toward the end of the plank, each footfall sounding too loud in your ears.

Behind you, Lady's howls tore through the storm.

She shrieked like her chest was splitting, like she could feel the ocean about to take you. Eben was the only one brave enough to hold her down now—curled around her, sobbing into her fur as she thrashed and whined and bucked.

You didn't look back.

Couldn't.

You stood at the end.

Shivering.

Shaking.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, head bowed, the storm still screaming overhead. You could barely breathe.

Your voice—barely a thread—slipped from your lips.

You were singing.

Softly.

Old words. Broken melody. A lullaby you couldn't place, but your lips remembered it anyway.

Just something to hold you steady.

Just something to hold you.

You shut your eyes.

And stepped forward.

The sea met you with open arms.

Cold. Crushing. Swallowing.

The world went silent in an instant—like the ocean had clapped her hands over your ears. The water folded around you, weightless and heavy all at once. You kicked once, twice, but your cloak dragged. You sank. Light above you blurred, then vanished.

But on the surface?

The storm broke.

Not gradually.

Immediately.

The wind fell flat. The waves stilled. The rain thinned into mist. The ship stopped rocking as if the sea had been caught mid-breath—and let it out in surrender.

Silence rolled over the deck.

Because the storm was never just weather.

And it had taken what it came for.

☆

☆

The first thing you felt was weight.

Not the sea. Not the cold.

But gravity—pulling you sideways, dragging you out of some deep, drowning place.

Then came the voices.

Faint at first, then louder—blurred and frantic.

"—there she is! Gods—get her up!"

"Careful—don't let her slip again—!"

Hands gripped your arms, under your back, under your knees. Someone cursed as you were hauled from the water, clothes clinging like second skin. You gagged, sputtered, coughing up sea brine, your lungs burning raw as air clawed its way back in.

Everything was too loud and too far away.

You felt yourself hit the deck—lightly, but it still jarred your bones. Wood under your cheek. Rain-slicked and warm from the sun again.

Wait—sun?

The sky above was clear now.

Blindingly so.

"Move!" someone shouted. "Give her air—"

"Is she breathing—?!"

And then—Lady.

You didn't see her first. You heard her.

The bark that tore through the air like it had been waiting to escape her ribs. Nails skittering across the planks. Then fur, tongue, weight—her paws scrambled over your arm, her wet nose shoved hard against your temple like she could force you awake.

"Lady—Lady, off—off her, gods, you'll drown her yourself—!"

Eben's voice.

Cracking.

Panicked.

"She's breathing, she's breathing," he said again, over and over, like a spell.

You blinked, vision swimming, lashes sticking together.

Eben was right above you. Pale-faced. Tear-streaked. His small hands hovered just over your shoulders like he was too scared to touch you but couldn't look away.

"Don't do that again," he whispered. "Don't ever do that again."

The captain's boots stomped into your view, kneeling beside you with practiced steadiness.

"Turn her," he said. "On her side—slowly—there."

They shifted you carefully. The deck tilted slightly under you as your body adjusted.

You coughed again, harder this time, voice barely a rasp. "How long...?"

The captain's weathered face squinted at you. "Say again?"

Your throat scraped dry as you tried again. "How long... was I under?"

He didn't answer right away.

Just looked at you.

Then ran a hand down his beard.

"...Three days."

Your heart skipped. "What?"

"You were gone," someone muttered nearby. "Vanished. Lost at sea. We searched. Nothing. The storm passed, and you were just... gone."

Another voice—sailor, hoarse. "We thought you were dead. We held service. We—" he swallowed. "We buried you. In the books."

You stared at them.

Heart still. Chest tight.

Three days?

Not unconscious. Not drifting.

Gone.

The world tilted again—this time inside you.

The captain's hand came to your shoulder—gentler now.

"You're back," he said. "That's what matters."

But your vision was already blurring.

Lady whined and curled tighter at your hip, like she could pin you in place. Like if she touched you, the ocean wouldn't take you again.

Eben clutched your sleeve, his tiny hand shaking.

You didn't mean to close your eyes.

But you did.

And this time—you didn't drown.

You just let the world go quiet.

And slipped softly into the dark.

A/N: happy easter🖤 (read: me lookign for an excuse to update lol) 

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | DILF!Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer.

◂ previous ▸ chapter two

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: modern!au, undisclosed age gap, SMUT [use of toys (dildo and fleshlight), mutual masturbation, squirting, watching of pornography]

After midnight is Anakin’s favorite time of the day. His kids have been asleep since 8:30 pm— their weekday curfew— and he’s finally stopped working on the project he brought home from work. It kept him from watching 101 Dalmatians with Luke and Leia but “it needed to be done.” 

He completed it well after the twins went to sleep, his neck was aching, and he needed to unwind. Now, he’s settled on the left side of his king bed, back propped against the headboard and his tablet waiting for him on the nightstand. He’s been thinking about this all day. Ever since he got the notification at 1:48 p.m. that HoneySuckle uploaded a new video. 

While he was at work. On a very busy day, he might add. As much as he wanted to get away to watch it immediately, he couldn’t. But now he has uninterrupted time to enjoy himself and the woman he’s about to watch. 

Anakin watches HoneySuckle exclusively. For over three years now, he has been subscribed to her page for $7.99 a month, which is an absolute disgrace to the quality of content she puts out. That’s why he tips her at least $200 for each video. It’s a number that hardly means a thing to Anakin. But to HoneySuckle, it is everything. It’s a cushion for incidentals. For the flat tire on her Mini Cooper. The vet bill for her orange tabby, Panini. She has expressed her thanks to him in their private messages, but it never seems to be enough. 

Their casual conversations are never enough. 

It comes as a great surprise to Anakin to see that her newest video is dedicated to him. Him— Anakin Skywalker AKA skyguy81. AKA HoneySuckle’s biggest fan and number one supporter. 

Squirting for Sky 🖤

He’s never clicked on anything faster in his life. The edges of his brain are beginning to fog. The mere thought of Honey getting off to the thought of him makes goosebumps prickle along his skin and his cock begin to swell. But then he sees what she’s wearing. Or, not wearing for that matter. Usually, she’ll begin videos with a full set on. Whether it’s a lacy bra and panties, a teddy, or a babydoll, teasingly taking off her lingerie is part of her brand. 

Not in this video, though. In this new 23 minute video, she is wearing a black garter and thong with roses embroidered in the mesh along her hip bones. Sheer black stockings are pulled up to her thighs and as she spreads her legs— dear God— Anakin sees that her panties are crotchless. 

Every video is expertly angled so only the bottom half of her face is on camera. She’s mentioned to Anakin in the past that this is not her full time job and therefore some anonymity is important. He doesn’t need to see her whole face to know she is beautiful. 

“I bought this just for you,” Honey says directly to Anakin. “You said you liked black. I hope you like this.”  She goes to grab the vibrator next to the pink dildo on her bed. 

“I love it,” Anakin mumbles. Running her hand over one of her bare breasts, she turns on the vibrator. The familiar hum of the toy reminds Anakin to put on his headphones. Just in case. 

Now with that taken care of, Anakin can begin taking care of himself. It doesn’t take long for the guy to get hard when he’s watching Honey. Hell, he can just think about her and he’ll be horny. The melodic cadence to her voice, the angelic sounds she makes when she cums, the lustful desire to bury himself in her cunt. She is the only woman he has desired since his wife and he doesn’t even know her name. But he knows the curves of her body as if he’s felt them with his own two hands. God, how he wishes he could touch her, kiss her, pleasure her. 

It’s pathetic. He is pathetic for wanting the impossible. Anakin Skywalker is a smart man. A genius in many regards. Yet he’s delusional enough to think her messages might mean something. That this video dedicated to him means something.

Of course, it doesn’t. Everything about his conversations with Honey is transactional. It’s part of her job. That’s it. Nothing more. You’re not special. 

But fuck, does it make his cock hard thinking this is all for him. Well, this is for him. The title of the video says so. With her legs spread nice and wide, Anakin can see how wet she has become from the vibrator on her clit. 

Stiff and dribbling precum on his belly, Anakin wraps his long fingers around his equally long shaft. He swipes his palm over the tip to lubricate the rest of his dick. Honey has now turned off the vibrator and grabs the dildo. Despite its playful color, it’s a formidable size. A similar 7 inches to Anakin’s cock, she opens her mouth and the tip disappears. Then a little bit more… and a little more… until she’s gagging. She pulls it out of her mouth with a loud gasp. Messy strings of saliva fall on her chin and chest. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “I love choking on your cock. Feeling it so deep in my throat until I can’t breathe.” 

This sends a jolt through Anakin’s whole body. His cock lurches in his hand and he knows all too well that his hand will simply not suffice tonight. He pauses Honey’s video and reluctantly gets off of bed to retrieve his Fleshlight from his hidden stash in the closet. Usually, his hand does just fine. He’s used to it by now. Being a single dad in his early forties and the CEO of his own company, he doesn’t have time to go on dates. He has one woman on his rolodex of hookup numbers and even then, he doesn’t contact her often. Usually it’s her who needs him. He prefers it that way, anyway. 

Anakin returns to his bed with the barely used Fleshlight in hand and immediately resumes the video. Honey continues to give the dildo a blowjob, making Anakin ache for it to be his cock in her mouth. He can only imagine how warm it is. How he’d make her relax so he can shove his entire length down her throat. How she’d sound choking on his dick and not some pink toy. 

Again, she holds it in her mouth until her lungs are screaming for air. Anakin ruts his hips up into his fist. He’s waiting to use the Fleshlight until she puts the toy in her cunt. 

Which is right now. She lines the tip of it to her opening, pushing the head in teasingly before removing it and dragging it along her folds. 

“Have you been good today? Do you deserve to fuck me?” The seductive nature of Honey’s voice is so familiar to Anakin, yet every time dirty talk drips from her lips, his spine tingles. 

“Please, Honey,” Anakin whispers, hovering the opening of the Fleshlight over his cock. “Put it in, baby.”

As if obeying his command, Honey pushes the toy into her hole. At the same time, Anakin lowers his own toy onto himself. The tight Fleshlight sucks in his dick and it damn near has Anakin’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’d forgotten what it feels like… how similar yet different it is to real pussy. Fuck, what he would do to have his cock in Honey’s actual cunt. The best he can do is use his overactive imagination. 

Honey is thrusting the dildo in and out of her and soft moans fill Anakin’s ears. He yanks the Fleshlight up and down—a lazy way of using it, he knows— but it does the job. “That’s it…” he breathes. His heartbeat is racing impossibly fast, chasing down an orgasm that is going to arrive far too soon. “I fuck you so well, don’t I, Honey?” 

“Mm…” she whimpers, pushing the toy deeper and further into her.  “Your cock’s so big… fills me up so well. Feels so good!” 

“You have no idea how good I could make you feel,” Anakin growls. In his mind she’s on her back, just as she is now. Her knees are pushed up to her ears and Anakin is thrusting into her tight hole to no end. He’s so deep, he can see himself in her stomach. He kisses her, finally tasting her on his own lips. Their tongues are doing a dance, his fingers are on her clit for maximum pleasure. And she’s screaming his name. She can’t believe how good he fucks. How he, at 42 years old, can last as long as he has. “I’m not fucking geriatric,” he’d say. He’d make her cum at least twice before he does, just to prove a point. 

Honey then takes the dildo out of her cunt and brings it back up to her mouth. Anakin removes the Fleshlight. She hollows her cheeks around it whilst reaching for the vibrator. She turns it back on and returns it to her clit. Her toes curl at the sensation and a moan is muffled by the cock in her mouth. 

“Let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, no matter how silly and pointless it is to do so. “Please, Honey. I love hearing you moan.” 

She takes the dildo out of her mouth to announce that she’s going to cum. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” 

She’s squirming on the bed, mouth shaped in that glorious ‘O’. As her orgasm rattles through her body, she keeps the vibrator on her swollen nub and returns the dildo to her pussy. Anakin follows suit and sheathes his cock once again, thrusting his hips up to the speed Honey is fucking herself. 

“I hope you…fuck, that feels good,” she is interrupted by her own pleasure. It’s her authenticity that Anakin adores and enjoys the most. It never feels like she’s performing. “I hope you’re making yourself feel as good as I feel. Are you fucking your hand? Your mattress? A pillow? I bet you wish you were in my tight cunt. Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Anakin breathes. He is on fire now. He’s not sure the coil in his belly could get any tighter. He’s going to cum soon and Honey hasn’t even squirted yet. There’s five minutes left of the video. “You wouldn’t believe—ah, fucking hell— wouldn’t believe how badly I want to fuck you.” 

“I’m gonna squirt! Oh my God…please cum for me. Cum while I squirt for you!” Honey removes the dildo as the clear liquid sprays from her cunt. Anakin abandons the Fleshlight and takes over with his tried and true hand. He’s pumping quickly, he’s mesmerized by Honey and how she squirts a little more each time she puts the dildo back inside of her and pulls it back out. Her back is arching off of the bed as she drops both toys and cums one last time. 

Anakin is cumming now, too. His sack twitches up toward him while he releases his load on his belly. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to silence his moan. He bites down on his own hand with fervor, and it hurts. He isn’t completely finished when he hears her utter the words ‘last video.’ 

Wait, what? 

He needs to go back. Surely, he didn’t hear her correctly. 

“I hope you all enjoyed yourselves while watching. I know I did. This is a bit of a last hurrah for me. I’m starting a new job next week and I just don’t think I’ll have the time to upload, so this might be my last video. Thank you for all of the support over the last three years. I had a great time. Kisses, HoneySuckle.” 

And that’s the end of it. Anakin is stunned. He watches her video again. And then once more. There's a lilt to her voice that makes Anakin think she is happy to be done with this. He should be happy for her. But he hangs onto the word ‘might’.  

Honey said this might be her last video. Anakin shouldn’t feel so fucking relieved that his favorite OnlyFans performer might still upload videos. What is wrong with him? He has no real connection to her whatsoever yet he feels disappointed by the idea of not having her videos in his life anymore. 

Fuck it. He sends her a $500 tip, a little message and goes to wash up. 

.

.

.

Panini is pressed against your side, purring contentedly while you stroke his back absently. You’re wrapped in a sherpa cozy in bed while watching The Great British Bake Off. It’s your bedtime show. You’ve probably seen every series at least 3 times, simply because it’s the show you put on to go to sleep. But most of the time, you end up staying up to watch it as if you’ve never seen it before. 

Your phone lights up with a notification. You glance at it but immediately do a double take. You grab your phone off of your nightstand and stare at the screen with your jaw dropped. 

Skyguy81 sent you a tip!

$500

You pause in the middle of Prue Leith giving her thoughts on someone’s Showstopper. You swipe right to open the message.

That was spectacular, Honey. From the lingerie to the beautiful way you cum. You certainly know how to put on a show. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed to hear that it might be your last video. You are the only performer I watch. I will miss you. I wish you the best of luck with your new endeavor. 

And I know what you are going to say. “It’s too much.” It is not. Please accept the tip as a token of my appreciation. You helped me feel less lonely on the days I needed someone the most. - Sky 

Why do you feel like you’re about to cry? Sky has been your top supporter since you began uploading videos during COVID. It was just supposed to be a way to make ends meet. To pay off the student loans and any other financials that came up. The tips started off relatively small. $50 here, $75 there. He was the first to give you a $100 tip. 

Then, after about a year, he upped it to $200 after each video. Your thank you messages to him turned into conversations. Short ones, never deep or personal, yet you feel like you know him. You feel like…no, it’s silly. You feel like he could be a friend. If you both weren’t hiding behind a screen and fake names, maybe you actually could be. 

You begin typing a response. 

Sky- I am going to say it anyway. THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH!!! You have been far too generous to me over the years. I don’t deserve it. 

 He replies in a matter of seconds. 

I have to disagree, Honey. I wish I could do more for you. 

Like what? 

I would take you out to a nice dinner. Perhaps share a bottle of wine while we get to know each other. 

Would you take me home after?

Whose home? 

Whichever you’d like. 

I’d take you back to your house and leave you with a goodnight kiss.

That’s all? 

You would like more? 

What the hell are you doing? Are you actually flirting with this man? He could be 60 years old and bald! Not that there’s anything wrong with being 60 or bald, but come on. You’re in your 20s. You have to have some limit. You stare at his username. Skyguy81. Maybe 81 is his birth year? So, that would put him at 42. 42 isn’t too bad… 

Oh, what the hell. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet this guy, right? 

Well, I might wear something special underneath my dress. Something that I paid for with the money you’ve given me. Wouldn’t you want to see it? 

Yes. I would. 

What would you do if you took me home? 

When you don’t hear back from Sky after thirty minutes, you assume he fell asleep. It is nearly 1 a.m. on a Thursday night. Or is it early Friday morning? Regardless, he probably has work in the morning. 

With a rather loud yawn, you decide it’s time for you to go to sleep, too. 

.

.

.

Luke and Leia barge into Anakin’s room at 7:30, dressed and ready to go to school while their dad is still fast asleep. He must have slept through his alarm. Luke is poking him in the side and urging him to wake up. 

“Alright, I’m up,” he grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Have you two eaten?” 

Leia nods. “Eggos and orange juice.” 

“I wanted a Toaster Strudel,” Luke says. 

“And I told him we don’t have any Toaster Strudels,” replies his twin sister. 

“Yes we do! You just didn’t look hard enough.” 

Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache coming on. He didn’t drink last night, so why does he feel hungover? “Ahsoka ate the last one when she was here on Tuesday, remember?” 

“Oh yeah,” Luke recalls. 

“Dad, we’re gonna be late for school if you don’t get out of bed,” Leia says. 

Anakin checks the time on his phone. Your message from last night is at the bottom of his notifications. He already has five work emails to answer. His calendar pings with reminders about meetings and his assistant’s retirement party. “Bring your things to the front door. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

In the rush of getting himself dressed, not only does he put on two different pairs of socks but two different pairs of shoes, too. He doesn’t realize this until after he enters the office and Dorothy, attentive as ever, points it out as he’s walking past her desk and into his office. 

Dorothy is 74 years old, a widow, and owl fanatic. She has been Anakin’s assistant since he started the company 20 years ago. “Did you get dressed in the dark, Mr. Skywalker?” 

Even after two decades of Anakin’s insistence on calling him by his first name, Dorothy continues to defy him. “I overslept,” Anakin answers. “I was rushing to get ready because you know how Leia gets when she’s late to anything.” 

Dorothy nods. “Yes, she is the most punctual 9 year old I know. I presume you did not eat breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anakin opens his emails. 

“Why don’t I get you an egg sandwich from Dexter’s after I retrieve a matching pair to one of your shoes.” 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.” 

Anakin cracks a smile. Dorothy has always been two steps ahead of Anakin. She’s been somewhat of a mother figure to him over the years. She believed in him when no one else did. How many people are going to put their faith in a cocky 22 year old with wild engineering innovations? Dorothy was there when his wife passed away and nannied the twins off and on for a few years while Anakin regained his bearings. His heart contracts. He is truly going to miss her. “Do you have to retire, Dorothy?” 

“I’m afraid so,” Dorothy replies with a bittersweet smile. “You will be just fine. And I trust my successor will attend to your needs just as well as I have. I picked her myself. I know exactly what you need in an assistant, Mr. Skywalker.” 

Did Dorothy just wink at Anakin before leaving his office? What the hell does she have up her sleeve? 

.

.

.

Gold and brown leaves dance across the concrete in the courtyard of Skywalker Enterprises. The autumn air bites at your cheeks and you’re thankful you decided to wear a beanie along with your plaid pea coat. 

You notice Dorothy’s silver hair before the rest of her as she walks toward you with two cups of something hot in her hands. “Good morning, Y/N.” she hands you the cup. 

“Good morning, Dorothy,” you reply with a smile. You lift off the lid to smell the contents. The steam tickles your nose before recognizing the warm spices of Chai. “You remembered my drink order?” 

“Of course.” Dorothy sits across from you. “I trust you went over the files I sent you regarding Mr. Skywalker? How are you feeling about the job?” 

You take a meager sip of your Chai latte. It’s still too hot to drink. “I read all of them at least three times. He doesn’t seem too high maintenance.”

“Far from it,” Dorothy replies. 

“But…” you begin, wondering if you should even mention it. 

“What is it, dear?” 

“I just find it a little strange that I haven’t met him. I would’ve assumed he’d be part of the hiring process. Isn’t it important we get along?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anakin gets along with everyone! He’s a charmer,” Dorothy sips on her drink. “He entrusted me with finding a replacement for myself because I know him better than anyone. I know his needs better than he knows them. And you, my dear, have shown you are more than capable to take over. Your references spoke very highly of you.” 

Right. Your references— one of which was your best friend who pretended to be a famous influencer who you “assisted” for 2 years after college. The other was a family you nannied for for only 2 weeks while the wife was out of town and the dad thought he could pull off some fantasy of fucking the nanny. The only good thing that came out of it was him telling you he’d give you a stellar reference for your next job. Turns out he wasn’t lying. 

“So, I’ll start on Monday? By myself? No shadowing or anything?” 

Dorothy nods. “I will officially be retired by 5 p.m. today. After which, Mr. Skywalker is yours.”

Don’t you wish. You’ve seen photos of him in Forbes. It’s an understatement to say he’s handsome. And it would be a lie to say you didn’t apply for the job because of his looks. By some miracle you were chosen out of hundreds of applicants and hired. You’ve signed the papers already. You’re officially on the Skywalker Enterprises payroll. Of course, you’ll be on probation for 90 days but Dorothy seems confident you’ll be a good fit. 

Hopefully you will live up to Anakin Skywalker’s expectations.

remember to reblog and leave comments to support authors!

◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter two

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XLVIII)

Chapter 48 : ‘It’s love almost too fierce to endure, the bee nuzzling like that into the blouse of the rose’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! We’re near the end guys, I’m not okay…

Also, the book thing is inspired by a certain section of the bookshop I work in that I had to take care of for a few weeks as my colleague was on holiday, and I just imagined this scene and couldn’t stop laughing at work!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3789

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Hum

What is this dark hum among the roses? The bees have gone simple, sipping, that’s all. What did you expect? Sophistication? They’re small creatures and they are filling their bodies with sweetness, how could they not moan in happiness? The little worker bee lives, I have read, about three weeks. Is that long? Long enough, I suppose, to understand that life is a blessing. I have found them – haven’t you? – stopped in the very cups of the flowers, their wings a little tattered – so much flying about, to the hive, then out into the world, then back, and perhaps dancing, should the task be to be a scout – sweet, dancing bee I think there isn’t anything in this world I don’t admire. If there is, I don’t know what it is. I haven’t met it yet. Nor expect to. The bee is small, and since I wear glasses, so I can see the traffic and read books, I have to take them off and bend close to study and understand what is happening. It’s not hard, it’s in fact as instructive as anything I have ever studied. Plus, too, it’s love almost too fierce to endure, the bee nuzzling like that into the blouse of the rose. And the fragrance, and the honey, and of course the sun, the purely pure sun, shining, all the while, over all of us.

Mary Oliver

Andrew was bored out of his mind.

He loved his family, and dearly so. That was never the point. But his aunt could be so… chatty. Chatty and indecently curious about rumours and everybody’s life.

“You know, your uncle Charles’s neighbours are adding a new room to their house! It’s taking forever, and it makes so much noise!”

“I can imagine, aunty…”

“Yes! And apparently the workers…”

Christ, Andrew had stopped listening. It was impolite but he couldn’t take it anymore.

This yearly gathering was a tradition he loved and hated. It was so nice to have everyone gathered in the same house but it was also dreadfully tiring to be surrounded by so many people, to have to listen to uncle Charles’s neighbours’ adventures with choosing a colour for their new room…

And you had avoided it. You should have come, the way you had attended this traditional gathering for the past two years, but you were off to Scotland for a conference, gone for the entire week. Brilliant… he couldn’t even make you suffer with him through this dreadful conversation…

He drank up a swing of whiskey, tried to distract himself with the old tapestry that covered his grand-parents’ living room, but the sight was too familiar to help with boredom.

And he missed you. Now more than ever, he missed you. So fucking much…

As if on cue, his phone vibrated, and he hurried to grab it when he read your name on the screen. He excused himself, left the conversation with his aunt to walk a few steps away, closer to the cluster his parents and brother were gravitating in.

It was a text, no, a series of texts…

“Oh, let me guess… Y/N is calling?”

Andrew turned to his teasing brother, nudged him playfully on the shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Where is she again?”

“Scotland.”

“Lucky girl… she should be here…”

“Yeah… she’ll come next year. She’s a main speaker on that conference, she couldn’t come.”

“Of course, of course. But next year we’ll make sure to sit her next to Finn.”

“You’re so cruel! Finn is the most boring of the lot…”

“Are you opposed to the idea?”

“Absolutely not, I would pay to see that.”

Their mother called for Jon, and Andrew seized the opportunity to finally read your texts.

Baby! I’m in a bookshop rn. And I’ve just found a gift for you <3

He tenderly smiled as he kept on reading.

It’s perfect.

It fits your needs perfectly.

It’ll make you greatly improve your skills, and God knows you, of all people, need help in this field.

He frowned a little, wondering what you could be talking about.

He was drinking as he tapped on the picture you were sending to take a better look at the cover, so he could read the title.

How to pleasure a woman: 25 ways to make sure your partner is fully satisfied

He choked on his drink, sending himself in a coughing fit that was sure to catch everybody’s attention.

“You’re alright, honey?” his mother asked, clearly worried.

He hid his phone when she came closer, not wanting her to see the explicit drawing on the cover.

“Good… I’m good. Just…”

He coughed a little more, but was soon back to normal.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, yeah… all good…”

She finally noticed that he was holding his phone.

“Oh, is it Y/N? How is she?”

“She’s fine,” he nodded, clearing his throat in an attempt to bring back his voice. “She’s good.”

“I hope she’ll come next year.”

“Of course! It was just bad luck that her conference was this week, but she wanted to come.”

“I don’t doubt it. Say hello for me, would you?”

“’Course, mom.”

Once Raine had joined back her own conversation, he looked down at his phone again.

His reply was short.

I hate you.

I choked on my drink.

You sent him a series of laughing emoji, and he tried to be annoyed, but he was too amused and too happy to talk to you for that.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to kill you with that one.

He narrowed his eyes.

I only half-believe you.

I think this was an attempt on my life.

Very funny though.

Indeed, he was struggling not to laugh too loudly.

Knew it would break you. Although, the offer to buy it for you still stands.

A cheeky smile appeared on his lips as he answered.

You didn’t seem to think I needed any advice to ‘pleasure a woman’ the night before you left.

He could picture your face right now, as you read his response, he knew exactly how you would look.

Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?

His grin didn’t falter.

Do you?

He laughed at your answer.

Maybe not…

Your next text made his smile grow more tender though.

I miss you a lot, by the way. Can I call you tonight?

Someone called for Andrew, he wasn’t sure who, but he hurried to tap an answer.

Of course. I miss you too. A lot. Got to go now, but I’ll call you tonight, alright? I love you xx

He waited for your answer to put his phone back in his pocket, just to read the words he knew would form your answer.

I love you too baby xx

“I can’t believe you almost killed me with that dirty joke in front of my entire family…”

Andrew was lying in his bed, in his pyjamas, feeling the empty space you had left in the bed you shared.

It was late already, almost midnight, and he was tired, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep for another few hours. His habit of being a night owl was turning into full on insomnia while you were away.

Your laugh didn’t sound quite the same through the phone, but his heart still grew warm thanks to it.

“I was trying to entertain you, and I think I’ve succeeded.”

“Oh, you did, you certainly did,” he laughed, slipping a little further down his pillow, his free hand on his forehead.

You looked so fucking beautiful, it was painful at this point. And so adorable. You were in your pyjamas, lying in bed too, you had prompted the phone on the other pillow, lying on your side to face him, as if you were lying in bed together.

And he wanted to reach out and hold you, and kiss you until his lips felt numb, and prove to you once more that he definitely did not need this book of yours.

“How was your family?”

“Good… everybody’s good. My parents and Jon say hello. They miss you.”

“I miss them too.”

God, he was so happy you got along so well with his family, with the people he loved most…

“I miss you more, though. Like… really, a lot.”

Your voice was weaker now, fragile. He offered you a sad smile, the only gesture he could muster.

“I miss you too.”

“You look tired. You need to rest. We should go to bed.”

“Don’t hang up!”

You seemed surprised by his rushed response, by how gingerly desperate he sounded. Why were you? Didn’t you know already he couldn’t fucking breathe without thinking of you?

“Let’s just… if you want us to be quiet, we can just fall asleep on the phone. I… I want to look at you a little longer.”

Your eyes seemed to water at his words.

“I love you so much, you know?”

“I love you too. More than anything in this world.”

You seemed vulnerable now; and he was patient with you, waiting for you to speak again.

“I… I really think you’re the one for me, you know? Like… you’re the love of my life, honey.”

He smiled at your confession, feeling tears gather in his eyes.

When did he get so lucky?

“I feel the same about you.”

You blinked, then bit on your lip while you hesitated. And then you asked the question that seemed to rest on the tip of your tongue.

“Andy… baby, would you? I… Have you ever thought about… us getting married, one day?”

He glanced over at the drawer where he had hidden the ring he had bought for you a few weeks ago. He cleared his throat.

“Erm… yeah… yeah, I have, actually.”

You seemed hesitant, afraid even. And he knew why. Just like he had been terrified of you refusing to move in with him because Sam had rejected him, you were afraid Andrew would reject you now, the way Frank had.

“And? What do you think? Would you? Marry me?”

He chuckled.

“Are you proposing or something?” he joked, but you didn’t laugh, and his smile faltered.

“Yeah, I think I kind of am,” you answered, completely serious, and Andrew’s breath caught in his throat.

And then the panic hit you.

“God… I’ve fucked this up… Christ! I can’t ask you to marry me over the phone! What am I doing?! I don’t even have a ring!”

But Andrew started laughing.

“Darling, please, calm down… I love you.”

“I love you, but I’ve fucked up everything… I should have asked you properly!”

He shook his head, grinning.

“Are you going to say no?” you asked, voice unbearably fragile.

But the tenderness in his gaze and smile didn’t falter.

“I have a whole thing planned. I won’t let you mess up with my plans to propose,” was his answer, and your eyes grew a little round while you started properly crying.

Andrew was laughing, and crying at the same time too.

“You wanted to propose already? Or is it because I’m asking first?” you went on, drying your cheeks on your sleeve.

“I’ve already bought the ring. Weeks ago, in fact.”

“God, Andy… yes…”

“You can’t say yes, yet! I haven’t asked!”

“You didn’t even say yes to me!”

“Well then… yes, Y/N. I want to marry you. But I’m still going to propose to you properly.”

“Okay,” you nodded, crying and laughing and you were so utterly beautiful and perfect like this.

And Andrew’s heart was beating a thousand miles a minute at the thought that you wanted to marry him. You had asked him. And when he would properly propose, you would say yes, he had no doubt about it now.

“If we’re getting married soon, then… we should buy a house together,” you went on after a long, tender silence.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper, unwilling to disturb the warm quiet of the moment.

“Yes… Yes, I want that. Do you?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’d really like that.”

“We should start looking for a house, then. In the countryside, in Wicklow.”

“We would have to drive everyday to Dublin for work.”

“I don’t mind the driving. I want the house in Wicklow you were dreaming of.”

His heart was so full of love, it should have exploded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s try to find a place like that.”

“I’d really love that, honey.”

“I’d love that too, baby.”

You fell silent together, and then asleep, while still on the phone. Sleeping together despite the many miles that separated you.

It took you a while to find the perfect house.

Not too far from the sea, on the northern part of Wicklow, in a tiny village. A garden for Elwood and for plants to grow, enough room for a pair of offices, and an extra one, that could become either an extra-bedroom for friends and family to visit, or a nursery; none of you had decided yet whether or not you would have children in the future. You added so many bookshelves, and filled them up in no time. His collection and yours mingled and became one.

You painted the walls the colours you liked, and it was warm and comfortable and filled with love. You added pictures on the fridge and in wooden frames, you placed plants in the sunbeams that you watered a couple of times a week. You bought the largest bathtub you could find, and Andrew was so damn grateful for it when he stretched out his long legs under the water.

After a couple of months, the house was fully yours, decorated and organised to your tastes and needs.

Only one thing was missing, still. Or well, two, as a matter of fact.

Andrew was playing with Elwood in the garden that morning when you walked out, hurrying towards him.

“Honey!”

He looked up, attentive.

“I need you to do me a huge favour.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow but didn’t interrupt you. You tried not to be distracted by the thought that came to your mind as you looked at him, at the tenderness that grew within your heart because of his outfit. An old hoodie, some simple jeans and a low bun. He looked so casual, so comfy. You wanted to burry your face in that hoodie of his and never leave his arms…

“I need you to go for a long walk with Elwood and not come back before two.”

He frowned hard, narrowing his eyes.

“Why?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

His expression changed from sceptical to excited in the blink of an eye.

“But it’s a surprise, and I need to prepare a few things… and I need you out of the house.”

“Is it for my birthday?”

“You’re getting your gift a week early,” you nodded, knowing that you couldn’t have his gift delivered on his birthday, as it was a national holiday.

“Okay, I’ll leave. Goodbye. God… can I have a clue? What is it? Is it…”

He bent down to cover Elwood’s ears.

“… lingerie? Something sexy?”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“It isn’t, I’m afraid.”

He pouted.

“Can we still have a lot of sex for my birthday?”

“Yes!” you laughed, feeling your skin warm up at the mere thought. “But not today. Today is your actual gift.”

Andrew raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Having mind-blowing orgasms with you is most definitely a gift, darling.”

You cleared your throat, trying not to yield and get aroused by him now… now he needed to leave, because the gifts would arrive any minute now…

“But it’s not your birthday now, is it? Off with both of you, boys! I have evil plans to prepare!”

Andrew left then, but not before stealing several kisses, planting a brown cap on his head before going to the beach with Elwood.

Meanwhile, the two hives you had bought for him as a birthday present were on their way, and they were delivered and set up in your garden while Andrew was away, just as planned. Once everything was ready, you texted Andrew for him to come home. He must have driven too fast, because he was back in no time, excited like a little boy in a candystore.

“Alright, it’s in the garden,” you told him.

“In the garden?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a plant?”

“No… you can go see what it is. Happy birthday, baby.”

“God, what is it?” he asked, kissing you again and again and again instead of simply going to take a look in the garden. “It is a comfortable chair? Is it a tree?”

“Love! Go see what it is!” you laughed at him, pecking his lips one last time before leading the way to the garden.

You stared at him as he stepped outside, noticed the new wooden boxes in an instant. You didn’t want to miss any of this…

He walked closer, his mouth slightly agape, frowning. And for a moment you were worried. You let him walk closer, look at the hives for a long minute in silence.

“You… you’re not happy with it?” you asked, your voice shy now instead of excited.

“Are these… are these hives?”

“Yeah! We have an appointment with a local beekeeper right after your birthday to get swarms. He’ll tell us all we have to know, and he said he would train us and help us take care of the hives for a while. And then, when we’re comfortable enough, we’ll take care of the bees on our own. He even said that we could ask him to borrow his stuff to make our honey!”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

But when he turned to you, Andrew was crying.

“I’ve always wanted to have hives.”

“I know.”

“I love bees.”

“I know, baby.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say, so he merely cursed at himself for ‘being such a sap’ and dried his cheeks before taking you into his arms, holding you tight.

“I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you for everything,” he whispered into your ear.

You fought against your own tears.

“This is perfect. Thank you.”

“Are you happy?”

He laughed, as if there wasn’t a more ridiculous question in the world.

“Christ, yes! I’m so fucking happy, Y/N. You make me so happy…”

You knew Andy was about to propose.

He was taking you on a date, and he had told you to dress up for it. A special occasion, he had said.

You were so fucking nervous, wondering what he had planned. You had been together for  three years, tonight was your anniversary. Was it too soon to sign up for life? You didn’t think so. You knew Andrew was the one. You loved him more than you had ever loved before, and if you fought sometimes, or were annoyed or even angry at each other, you had no doubt that you would never be as happy as you were with him with someone else. Despite the bumps and unhappy moments that life was doomed to be plagued with, Andrew was the ray of sunshine that made you happy to get up in the morning.

You took one last look at your reflection in the mirror. You had opted for a green dress, Andrew loved that colour on you. You were ready. Christ, you were so nervous, but you were also so excited at the thought that Andrew was going to propose, that he wanted to spend his life with you…

A little voice at the back of your head kept on reminding you that Frank had disappointed you, that he must have proposed because he felt obligated to do so, somehow, that maybe Andrew would back down tonight as well… but you didn’t want to listen to it. You loved him, so much.

You walked down the stairs to find Andrew looking like pure sin. Dark pants and your favourite brown shirt, his hair only half-tied up in a bun, the rest falling on his shoulders in pretty curls. His glasses perched on his nose while he petted Elwood and got ready to leave. You felt weak on your knees at the mere sight of him.

He heard you walking down the hallway and you noticed how his lips parted at your sight, heard the sharp intake of breath he took. It was still hard to think that he had such a reaction for you.

“Hey,” you smiled shyly at him.

He struggled to swallow, you saw his Adam’s apple jump.

“Hey. You… wow, babe… you’re so beautiful.”

You grinned.

“Thank you. You look so handsome too.”

He chuckled, blushing.

“Thanks. Erm… are you ready to go?”

You nodded, eager to discover his plans.

You left Elwood in your home while Andrew was driving you out of Dublin, somewhere in the country side.

“Where are we going?” you asked, but Andrew shook his head.

“It’s a surprise.”

“So mysterious.”

“Trust me.”

You smiled tenderly as you rested your hand on his leg.

“You know I do.”

You chatted casually for the rest of the ride, but then you came to a stop near a field, with a wood on the edge of the tall barley. You were certain that you recognised this place, and you looked at Andrew with a silent question in your eyes. But he didn’t say anything, merely smiled, and walked out of the car before opening the door for you.

“Close your eyes.”

You obeyed, and he guided you further down a tiny path. A couple of minutes later, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in an embrace, your back pressed against his torso.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You started crying as you took in the sight in front of you. A picnic, in the same clearing, with the same lights hanging from branches, with that same movie projected on a large white sheet…

Exactly like your first date. Precisely the date you had always dreamt of.

“Andy…”

“Are you happy?”

You nodded, unable to summon words.

He kissed the space between your shoulder and neck. The night had started darkening the sky with shades of purple, golden hues slowly sinking with the sun. And the leaves were bathed in this strange light, the sunset making the scene even more magical. You tried not to cry, but you didn’t stand a chance.

“This was our first date, do you remember?” he asked against the shell of your ear. “I was so nervous that night. I was so scared you wouldn’t love me…”

“I already did…”

He pulled away, letting you turn around to face him.

He let out a breathy, nervous chuckle, running his fingers through his hair.

“I should wait for the end of the evening for this, but I don’t think I’ll have the nerves for it…”

He took a small, velvety box out of his pocket, you covered your mouth with your hand as you started crying.

“Yes…” you answered already, making him laugh, although his eyes were reddening with tears as well.

“Love, I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“Sorry,” you breathed.

“I… I wrote you something, but I… I feel too embarrassed to read it out loud in front of you. So, I’ll just… I’ll just let you read it.”

He took a piece of paper out of his pocket too, handed it to you. You unfolded the paper, read the title of the poem he had written for you.

First Light.

You were crying so hard at that point, it was hard to read the end of the poem, but you couldn’t help it.

When you looked at Andrew again, he was down on one knee, brushing tears away.

“Y/N, my darling… I love you so much… Would you marry me?”

“YES!”

You let yourself fall into his arms, both of you kneeling on the ground, crying in your shared embrace, grinning like lovesick fools, like stupidly happy idiots…

When he slipped that ring on your finger, you realised that you had never been as happy as you were in that moment.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

MASTER LIST

1. AVENGERS: THE CREATOR

Summery: What if there was a seventh avenger? It’s no ordinary person but the creator of the infinity stones. Y/n is the universes most powerful being who created those stones to protect the universe and the multiverse. She is then recruited to join the Avengers initiative. Does she accept or reject the offer? What happens when her past enemy appears and destroy what she has created?

Characters: Avengers x f! Reader

Chapter 1: The Loki problem

Chapter 2: The woman behind the stones

Chapter 3: Unveiling the past

Chapter 4: The weight of the tesseract

Chapter 5: Into the heart of SHIELD

Chapter 6: Curiosity

Chapter 7: Unraveling the past

Chapter 8: The Battle of New York

Chapter 9: The road not taken

Chapter 10: The path chosen

Chapter 11: The past unfolded

Chapter 12: The price of power

Chapter 13: Welcome to Wakanda

Chapter 14: A war that never ended

Chapter 15: A birthday interrupted

Chapter 16: Bloodline’s last keeper

Chapter 17: The lost chamber

Chapter 18: The truth beneath the ruins

Chapter 19:The crimson sky

Chapter 20: The truth in ashes

Chapter 21: A fractured bond

Chapter 22: A house without a home

Chapter 23: Why come for me?

Status: Completed

2. Promises we didn’t expect

Summery: Y/n is the head of surgery and Sebastian is the chairman of the hospital. Y/n is in desperate need of money to repay the dept her parents had taken from gangsters before they had died. On the other hand Sebastian is being forced to get married to Katherine Light who is a very successful business woman. To avoid it, he is in need to find a fake wife. What happens when Y/n and Sebastian get into a marriage of convenience? Will this fake relationship ignite to a real one?

Characters: Chairman!Sebastian Stan x f!Surgeon! Reader

Chapter 1: Y/n L/n

Chapter 2: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 3: Y/n L/n

Chapter 4: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 5: Y/n L/n

Chapter 6: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 7: Y/n L/n

Chapter 8: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 9: Y/n L/n

Chapter 10: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 11: Y/n L/n

Chapter 12: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 13: Y/n L/n

Chapter 14: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 15: Y/n L/n

Chapter 16: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 17: Y/n L/n

Chapter 18: Sebastian Stan

Chapter 19: Y/n L/n

Epilogue

Status: Completed

3. The forever you forgot

Summery: A six year old girl named Nadia Barnes born with a condition called 65 roses uncovers the story on how her dad-Bucky Barnes met her missing mother by narrating her the story and nothing remains the same after Nadia finds out the truth about her mother.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Note:This story is based on the movie ‘Hi papa’. This story is like what if Bucky Barnes was in this situation that the male and female lead faced in the movie ‘Hi papa’. To be honest I am absolutely obsessed with this movie and I could help but write a Bucky Barnes version of it. I would totally recommend everyone to watch this movie and get some tissues with you before you start watching.

Chapter 1: Late Nights and Fairy tales

Chapter 2: You Promised Me

Chapter 3: We Met again

Chapter 4: Love, Lies and Truth

Chapter 5: Trust me, love

Chapter 6: A Daughter Born, A Dream Broken

Chapter 7: Unspoken Grief

Chapter 8: A Familiar Knock

Chapter 9: The Waves Of Life

Chapter 10: Drunken Confessions

Chapter 11: Fragments Of Memories

Chapter 12: A Heart’s Resolve

Status: Completed

3. Love, Lies And Loki

Summery: Some short fics in a day in a life of Loki and his precious girlfriend Y/n.

Characters: Loki x girlfriend!reader

Note: All characters except Loki are mine!

1.Coffee, Chaos and a God in Pyjamas 🔹 Loki has been living on Earth for a year now, quietly enjoying life with a mortal partner who loves him just as he is. The story is filled with lazy mornings, shared coffee, Loki learning how to cook (and failing hilariously) 🔹

2. A Tail of Misfortune 🔹 A spell gone wrong turns Loki into a cat for 48 hours. 🔹

3.The Cold Never Bothered Him Anyway 🔹Loki was rarely bothered by the winter cold, but Y/n, it bothers her.🔹

4. Stargazing With A God 🔹 Loki creates an illusion of the Asgardian night sky on the rooftop of their apartment building. They lay together, pointing out constellations and sharing stories. 🔹

5. The Trickster’s Love Language 🔹Loki doesn’t say “I love you” easily, but he shows it in illusions, mischief, fierce protectiveness, and quiet gestures. One cozy weekend, Y/n begins to decode his love language piece by piece.🔹

6. The Trickster vs The Twins 🔹Twins Maya and Miles are baby sat by their auntie Y/n and uncle Loki while their parents are on a 2 day trip🔹

7. Turkey, Tension and Truth Bombs 🔹Y/n’s parents invite Y/n and her boyfriend Loki to thanksgiving dinner at their place.🔹

8. The Thunder Between Us 🔹Thor and Y/n become close when he comes to stay with them for a few days making Loki jealous🔹

9. The Enchanted Gift (Part 2 of ‘A Tail Of Misfortune’) 🔹Loki gifts Y/n a kitten that looked exactly like him when he turned into a cat. And that cat is just as magical as Loki🔹

10. In A Blink Of A Star 🔹Loki takes care of Y/n after she gets into a car accident🔹

11. Of Mead, Magic And Meeting Royalty 🔹Loki takes Y/n to New Asgard and meets Thor and Brunnhilde🔹

12. Four Years Of Forever 🔹Loki proposes to Y/n on their anniversary.🔹

13. Union Of Realms And Heart (Part 2 of Four Years of Forever) 🔹Loki and Y/n���s wedding day is here!🔹

14. Even Gods Catch Colds 🔹Loki catches a Midgardian cold🔹

15. Mirror, Mirror 🔹Y/N tries on a new outfit designed by herself for an event where Loki is also attending, but doesn’t feel confident in it. She tries to hide her insecurity, but Loki notices immediately. He takes her aside, sits her down, and gently unpacks what’s bothering his wife.🔹 (requested!)

16. Doppelgänger 🔹Y/N and Loki meet Loki’s Doppelgänger, Jonathan Pine (From ‘The Night Manager’) during their vacation in Italy. Y/N tells Loki how much Jonathan looks like him. Loki denies it. The couple goes on an adventure to help Jonathan defeat a villain.🔹 (requested!)

17. Domestic(ish) Bliss 🔹Grocery, IKEA furniture and laundry mess🔹

18. Across the Veil: A Tale of Mischief and Trust 🔹 A temporal rift causes two Lokis and two Y/Ns from separate multiverses to accidentally switch places. Earth-616 Loki lands in Earth-314 and meets a regal, ethereal goddess of trust—Y/N. Meanwhile, Earth-314 Loki lands in the chaotic, contemporary Earth-616 and meets the more human, sarcastic, fashion-savvy Y/N. 🔹(requested!)

19.Drunken Mischief and Divine Patience 🔹Y/n takes Loki to the club and ends up getting drunk.🔹

Status: Ongoing! (Never ending…)

4.The Roommate Rulebook

Summery: When a campus housing glitch sticks you with Peter Parker as your roommate, things start rocky—he’s always disappearing, hogs the shower, and leaves weird bruises and tech parts around. But as late-night ramen turns into real conversations and comfort, you slowly start to fall for him… only to discover he’s hiding a much bigger secret than you imagined.

Characters: College!Peter Parker (T.H.) x College!F!Reader

Note: All characters except Peter Parker, Ned, MJ and Dr. Ock are mine!

Chapter 1: The Glich

Chapter 2: Late Night Secrets

Chapter 3: Ceiling Secrets

Chapter 4: The Fever Reveal

Chapter 5: Webs And Whispers

Chapter 6: The Dress, The Threat, The Truth

Chapter 7: The Night The Music Stopped

Chapter 8: The Price of Being Spider-Man

Chapter 9: While You Were Sleeping

Chapter 10: Back To Us

Status: Completed

5. Oneshots

▫️Beneath His Smile

Summery: Y/n Rogers a detective in the NYPD and also the wife of one and only Steve Rogers investigates the brutal murder of her ex and colleague, her world begins to unravel as she investigates alongside her partner Vincent Calloway. She stumbles upon chilling evidence that points to an unthinkable suspect-her own husband.

Characters: Yandere!Steve Rogers x Detective!female reader

Note: All the characters except Steve Rogers are mine.

▫️The Black Viper’s Heart

Summery: A mafia gang called The Phantom Vipers attack Tony Stark and his wife-Y/n on their third wedding anniversary Gala. What happens when Tony finds out that Y/n is not only a software engineer but also an ex-assassin called The Black Viper….

Characters: Husband!Tony Stark x ex-assassin!wife! Female reader

Note: All characters except The Avengers are mine!

▫️One Letter At A Time

Summery: Sam reads the letters you wrote for him before your death.

Characters: Sam Wilson x dead!Female reader

Note: All characters except Sam Wilson are mine

▫️Fifth Time’s The Charm~

Summery: Every date gets interrupted before they can steal the deal. By the fifth one, they’re both so wounded up, it turns explosive-in the best way

Characters: Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Vibes/warning: Sexual tension, mutual pining, flirty banter, interrupted make out sessions, smut, tension building.

Note: All characters except y/n are not mine

▫️Beneath The Parisian Sky

Summery: Bucky and Y/n celebrate their honeymoon in Paris.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warning: Smut.

Note: All characters except Bucky are mine! Another attempt of writing smut

▫️The Girl Who Looked Like Home

<Couldn’t add a GIF because I reached the limit>

Summery: After Steve Rogers disappears in the 1940s, his fiancée Y/n L/n writes him a heartfelt letter every year from 1945 to 1990, refusing to accept his death. Decades later, her niece Venus discovers the letters and delivers them to Steve, who survived frozen in time. As Steve reads Y/n’s final words, he visits her grave — only to encounter a young woman who looks exactly like the love he lost.

Characters: Steve Rogers x f!reader

Note: All characters except Steve and Natasha are mine!

▫️Sanctum Shenanigans

<Couldn’t add a GIF because I reached the limit>

Summery: After accidentally lighting your previous magical mentor’s library on fire (it was only a small inferno, thank you), you’re sent to train under the reluctant Doctor Stephen Strange at the Sanctum Sanctorum. What starts as a clash of egos turns into a chaotic, hilarious, and oddly heartwarming partnership… especially when the Cloak of Levitation takes a shine to you.

Characters: Dr. Stephan Strange x f!Reader

Note: All Characters except y/n are not mine!

Part 2/Epilogue: The Sketchbook: “In Another Life I Knew You”

▫️Family: Assembled

❝❣︎ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴋ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ sɪᴛᴄᴏᴍ❣︎❞

Summery: When Iron Man hangs up the suit, he trades battles for bedtime stories. Join Tony Stark, his brilliant wife Y/n, their web-slinging son Peter, and chaos queen Liliana as they navigate high-tech parenting, sibling shenanigans, and family life—with love, laughter, and the occasional glitter explosion

Characters: Tony Stark x f!Reader

Note: All Characters except Lilliana and Y/n are not mine

[dunmeshistash]

Dungeon Meshi - "Dungeon Meals" from volumes 5 to 8

More info under the cut

These are from chapter 29 to 56 (Volumes 5 to 8)

1 to 4

There were a total of 24 'Meals' this time in 28 chapters, for more info on the counting check the first post

Here's the meals of each chapter and who made them.

Chapter 29 - Red Dragon VII Meal: Boneless Dragon Ham Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 30 - Good Medicine Meal: Orcish Decoction Cooked by: Leed

Chapter 31 - Dryad Meal: Jack-O-Lantern Potage & Sauteed Dryad Buds with Cheese Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 33 - Sea Serpent, part 2 Meal: Portable Meal Set For Adventurers Cooked by: ? (ready made rations)

Chapter 34 - Cockatrice Meal: Eisbein-Style Cockatrice & Dyad Bud Sauerkraut With a Side of Grilled Anti-Petrify Herb Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 35 - Cleaners Meal 1: Cockatrice & Egg Ankake Cooked by: Senshi Meal 2: Stone Dish Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 36 - Dried with Sweet Sake (Mirinboshi) Meal: Eastern Style Cuisine Cooked by: Maizuru, Senshi and Chilchuck (Benichidori, Hien and Tade helped with prepping)

Chapter 38 - Chimera Meal: Omelette Made With a Harpy Egg Cooked by: Laios with Senshi's help

Chapter 40 - Shapeshifter 2 Meal: Memories of the 5th Floor Pilaf, Sweet Dyad and Whole 5th Floor Piccata Cooked by: Shapeshifters, Senshi, Marcille and Chilchuck

Chapter 41 - Hag Meal: Risotto Made From Mushrooms Collected at the Graveyard & Cheese from the Orcs Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 42 - Nightmare Meal: Nightmare Steamed in Alcohol Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 43- Ice Golem Meal: Ice Golem Chawan-Mushi & Cooked Fish that was Inside the Ice Golem Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 44 - Barometz Meal: Barometz Balut (Alternative Name: Barometz Chops) Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 45 - Egg Meal: Souful Eggs Benedict Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 46 - The Golden Country Meal: Vegetables in Jellied Slime, Rack of Beef Ribs, Bladefish Loaf, Potato and Rabbit Soup Cooked by: Golden Country Citizens

Chapter 47 - Griffin Meal: The Breakfast Senshi Made (Pancakes, Sausage, Pumpkin Soup, Scrambled Eggs) Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 48 - Familiars Meal: Skyfish and Chips Cooked by: Laios

Chapter 49 - Griffin Soup Meal 1: Griffin Soup (Upper Body), Griffin Soup (Lower Body) Cooked by: Senshi Meal 2: Hippogriff Soup Cooked by: Laios

Chapter 50 - Dumplings 1 Meal: Hippogriff Dumplings Cooked by: Senshi, Laios, Marcille, Chilchuck and Izutsumi (everyone)

Chapter 51 - Dumplings 2 Meal: Changeling-Dumplings via Fairy Ring Cooked by: Senshi

Chapter 55 - On Floor One 3 Meal: Hamburger Steak with Changeling sauce Cooked by: Senshi and Marcille

Chapter 56 - Bicorn Meal: Crispy Crunchy Mushroom Sandwich Cooked by: Senshi?

The chapters that had no "meal is done" panel were:

32 - Sea Serpent Part 1

37 - Harpy

39 - Shapeshifter 1

52 - Bacon and Eggs

53 - On Floor One 1

54 - On Floor One 2

Again most of them are the multi parts. chapter 47 originally didn't have the title and stats but the panel looked just like a food is done panel so I went to check on the official release and they added it so it's here. Chapter 37 I think its so far the only non multi part chapter where no food is prepped or eaten, in chapter 52 they make and drink tea even tho there's no special panel.

Now for stats.

Senshi made/worked on 17, 18 if you count the Crispy Crunchy Mushroom Sandwich and 19 if you count the small help with the omelet, I'll count the sandwich so 18.

Chilchuck worked on 3 meals

Marcille worked on 3 meals, one of them she was making a potion but it got used in a sauce

Laios made/worked on 4 meals, 2 of them by himself! And one of them with minimal Senshi help.

Izutsumi helped with the dumplings, you go izutsumi.

Out of the 24 meals in these 4 volumes, 22 were food and 1 was medicine and 1 was a goopy brick

Out of the 22 foods Senshi worked on 17 of them (1 of his was the brick), 3 of them were Laios, 1 of them was ready made food and 1 was the golden kingdom citizens

The eastern style meal was mostly made by Maizuru but Senshi helped.

There was a few panels that were small/had dialog in them but I counted cause they had the meal title, dragon ham title appears twice but I only counted as one meal.

Once again, I'm bad with numbers if I got anything wrong feel free to correct me!