#crust 4 life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xuchiya · 1 month ago

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accidentally have 8 pets || ateez || chapter 3

| genre: fluff. slice of life. small tinge of angst. kind of supernatural(?) | mentions: doctors. vets. needles. adoption. a bit cruel. magic starts. abuse to animals. laws. douyin saving the day. TAGLIST: CLOSED

back to masterlist || chapter 4

The next morning, I carefully place the final batch of croissants onto a baking tray, ensuring each one is evenly spaced to allow for a perfect rise. The dough, layered with butter and proofed overnight, already carries the promise of a golden, flaky texture. With practiced ease, I brush a thin coat of egg wash over the delicate layers, knowing it will create the crisp, glossy crust that makes each bite irresistible. The scent of warm yeast and butter lingers in the air as I slide the tray into the preheated oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes—just enough for them to reach that perfect balance of crispness and softness.

As I straighten up, I run my hands over my apron, brushing off the fine dusting of flour clinging to my fingertips. The kitchen is quiet except for the steady hum of the oven and the faint sounds of movement from the front of the café. Making my way toward the sink, I let out a soft sigh, feeling the slight ache in my arms from the morning’s work. The cool rush of water soothes my skin as I rinse away the remnants of flour, butter, and dough, watching as the cloudy mixture swirls down the drain. These small moments—cleaning up, resetting before the next task—are just as much a part of baking as the mixing and folding. They give me a chance to pause, to take in the comforting stillness of the kitchen before the day fully begins.

The café has always carried a quiet, almost serene ambiance, with the only consistent sound coming from the gentle hum of the air conditioner. The occasional murmurs of customers blend into the background, their voices never rising above a comfortable lull. Yet, beyond the front counter, the kitchen remains untouched by the world outside—an isolated sanctuary where the rhythmic sounds of baking are the only disruptions to the silence.

It is in this very corner that Hongjoong has found his own place of respite. Whether it’s the warmth of the ovens or the peaceful solitude of the backroom, he often curls up there, lost in thought or drifting off into light naps between breaks. Meanwhile, at the front of the café, Wooyoung upholds his role as manager with an intensity that keeps both the business running and any potential troublemakers at bay.

The thought of the café ever being robbed never truly crosses my mind—not because we are immune to such threats, but because Wooyoung himself serves as an unshakable deterrent. His sharp eyes catch every movement near the counter, and his reflexes are faster than most would expect. Any customer who lingers a little too close to the register is met with a sharp hiss of disapproval, followed by a swift, precise bop to the offending hand. His vigilance has become so notorious that it even caught the attention of the local authorities after a viral clip showcased his aggressive yet oddly effective boundary enforcement. While some argued about his methods, the overwhelming support from customers—and the undeniable proof of his effectiveness—ultimately silenced any critics. If anything, Wooyoung had become something of a legend, his presence alone enough to keep any would-be thieves at bay.

I let out a soft sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to Hongjoong’s head before making my way back to the counter. There, Douyin stood, casually chatting about asynchronous classes as he assisted a customer with their order. His voice was steady, effortlessly switching between casual conversation and professional service.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, had claimed his usual spot at the waiting counter, his presence effortlessly drawing attention. Customers watched him with quiet adoration, their gazes following the slow, rhythmic sway of his tail as it flicked lazily in the air. Completely unfazed by the attention, he remained curled up, indulging in one of his signature midday naps.

As a woman collected her order and turned to leave, I offered her a polite smile. “How’s it going?” I asked, my tone warm as I watched her depart.

Douyin hummed in approval, finishing up a transaction before glancing at me. “It’s going well. Your croissants are still the number one favorite among customers,” he mused, tapping the register lightly. “Not surprising, though. I already knew they were good—I had a taste before you even opened up.” His smirk held no shame, only firm confidence in his judgment. “And trust me, they’re definitely worth the hype.”

I smiled at his words, feeling a sense of pride—until his last remark fully registered. My expression froze before vanishing entirely, my head snapping toward him in disbelief.

“Wh-What?!” I sputtered, my voice rising slightly. Douyin only responded with a sheepish grin before swiftly turning his back to me, pretending to focus on preparing a cup of coffee. My mouth hung open, struggling to process his casual confession.

I distinctly remember warning Wooyoung—repeatedly—not to steal sweets. It wasn’t just about his health; I didn’t want to attract pests that could ruin the integrity of the kitchen. And yet, here I was, about to accuse my cat again for something that wasn’t even his fault.

“Kang Douyin—”

“Hey,” Both of our heads snapped toward the familiar voice. Taehyun stood near the counter, giving us a small wave. At the sound of his voice, Wooyoung’s ears perked up before he bolted toward him, his tail swishing excitedly as he meowed in greeting.

“Hello, Taehyun. The usual?” I asked, already reaching for the ingredients to prepare his drink. He nodded, offering a small smile as Douyin assisted him with the payment. Meanwhile, Taehyun busied himself with Wooyoung, scratching behind his ears as the feline purred in contentment.

A soft, inquisitive meow chimed from below. I glanced down, only to see Hongjoong staring up at me with round, expectant eyes. Chuckling, I bent down and gently picked him up, placing him beside Wooyoung. Taehyun let out a quiet gasp upon noticing the cat’s new look. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Hongjoong’s freshly groomed fur and the tiny bell attached to his pearl collar.

“Hongjoong, hello—how have you been?”

The Persian cat let out a soft meow in response, nudging his nose against Taehyun’s hand. A fond smile graced Taehyun’s lips as he ruffled the fur of both Wooyoung and Hongjoong, his touch gentle and familiar. The moment felt peaceful, a rare kind of serenity in the café’s usual routine.

Of course, peace never lasted long.

“Don’t hold up the line with your sappy little family reunion,” a sharp voice cut through the moment.

The warm atmosphere shattered like glass as our heads turned toward the source of the interruption. The same man from the apartment across our apartment door, stood right behind Taehyun, his impatient scowl evident as he tapped his fingers against the counter. Taehyun instinctively stepped aside, murmuring a quiet apology, but the second he moved, Wooyoung and Hongjoong reacted.

Their relaxed posture stiffened instantly, fur bristling as they arch their backs. A deep, guttural hiss escaped both cats as they fixated their sharp eyes on the man. Their tails flicked aggressively, warning signals flashing through their body language.

The café, which had been filled with soft murmurs and the hum of the air conditioner, grew eerily silent.

Surprisingly, the entire café fell into a tense silence, all eyes subtly shifting toward the man as he clicked his tongue in irritation. A flicker of disgust crossed his face, but I ignored it, choosing instead to prioritize the safety of my cats.

I scooped up Hongjoong while Douyin swiftly grabbed Wooyoung and Hongjoong from my arms, retreating toward the kitchen. The two felines continued to hiss in protest, their ears flattened against their heads. I exhaled through my nose, forcing a tight smile as I turned back to the man, unwillingly preparing myself to take his order—despite every fiber of my being wanting to kick him out.

“Sorry about that, sir. Is there something you’d like?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

The man scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as if personally offended by the minor inconvenience. He was just about to speak when a familiar sound reached my ears—a whining, pitiful cry.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was the same husky from yesterday.

My eyes instinctively darted downward, and sure enough, there it was. But my stomach twisted at the sight. Unlike yesterday, when I had only heard its cries, I could now see the full extent of its suffering.

A thick chain, rusted and heavy, was wrapped tightly around the poor dog's neck instead of a proper collar. The once-beautiful fur was matted, stained with grime, and bearing marks where the chain had rubbed against its skin for too long. To make matters worse, a muzzle was strapped over its snout—too tight, restricting its ability to breathe properly. The dog whimpered again, its dull, exhausted eyes flickering up to meet mine.

I clenched my fists beneath the counter, my nails digging into my palms. A wave of anger and disgust surged through me, stronger than before. A deep frown etched itself onto my face as I looked back at the man, my voice escaping before I could stop myself.

“He’s not aggressive.”

The owner’s expression twisted in irritation, his grip tightening on the chain as he yanked it harshly, causing the husky to whimper. His teeth clenched, his voice low and venomous.

“Shut it, boy!” he snapped at the dog before turning his glare on me. “Listen here, lady, just take the damn order and mind your own fucking business.”

I fought the urge to hurl his drink straight into his face. My fingers twitched, my nails biting into my palm as I forced myself to remain composed.

Douyin returned from the kitchen, his sharp gaze immediately landing on the husky. His brows furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes.

“As much as animals have instincts,” he said coolly, “this looks a lot more like animal abuse.”

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes, before yanking on the chain once more. The husky let out a sharp cry—this time, unmistakably in pain.

Taehyun moved instinctively, stepping forward as if ready to intervene, but the man shot him a warning glare. Taehyun halted, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he leveled the man with a burning glare of his own.

“Animal abuse?” The man barked out a harsh, mocking laugh. “What the hell do you know about abuse?! Are you fucking with me, boy?!”

I stepped between him and Douyin, my own glare unwavering as I met his fury head-on.

“Sir, I strongly suggest you drop that chain. You’re hurting the dog. And keep your voice down—this is a café, not a goddamn alleyway.”

The man scoffed again, but after a tense beat, he let go of the chain. For a split second, I thought he might actually listen.

Then, he did something so vile, so beyond comprehension, that the entire café seemed to freeze in place.

With a cruel sneer, he kicked the husky.

Gasps rang through the café as the poor dog yelped, its body skidding across the floor, colliding with the stools by the barista counter. A pained howl escaped from its muzzle as it curled into itself, shaking violently.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart clenched so tightly it hurt— like hurt hurt— something similar when I first found Wooyoung in that alley with a wound on his paw and then Hongjoong all alone and small. It’s not because I am a pet lover like anyone here— no but because I suddenly felt like there’s a string attach between me and the pets I meet.

My entire body burned with fury, my hands trembling at my sides as my gaze snapped back to the man. He had the audacity—the sheer gall—to smirk as if he found amusement in the suffering he had just caused.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Taehyun shouted, already rushing toward the injured husky. My head snapped towards Taehyun as he held the husky in his arm. My gaze returned to the man, I was about to speak up, my anger bubbling over, when Douyin suddenly stepped in front of me. His posture was rigid, his shoulders squared with quiet authority, and for the first time since I had met him, a severe expression was etched onto his face.

Then, in a firm, unwavering voice, he spoke.

“Republic Act No. 8485, Section 6,” he began, his words sharp as a blade cutting through the tension. “It shall be unlawful for any person to torture any animal, to neglect to provide adequate care, sustenance, or shelter, or to maltreat any animal. It is also illegal to subject any dog or horse to dogfights or horsefights, to kill, cause, or procure to be tortured, deprived of adequate care, sustenance, or shelter, or to maltreat or use the same in research or experiments not expressly authorized by the Committee on Animal Welfare.”

A hushed silence fell over the café. Every customer, every worker—everyone had their eyes locked onto Douyin. His words rang familiar in my ears. I had never heard him speak like this before, reciting laws with such precision, such confidence. It was something I had only ever heard from public servants—police officers, lawyers, advocates.

Unless—My gaze trailed to Douyin, suspicion creeping in. “Do…?”

But before I could even finish my sentence, Douyin cut me off, his voice growing even colder, “Section 7,” he continued, his piercing stare never wavering from the man. “It shall be the duty of every person to protect the natural habitat of wildlife. The destruction of said habitat shall be considered a form of cruelty to animals, and its preservation is a means of protecting them.”

The man’s expression darkened, his mouth twitching as if ready to argue, but Douyin didn’t give him the chance. He took a step forward, his voice lowering into something dangerous—something that sent a chill down even my spine.

“And you, sir,” Douyin seethed, “have not only violated Section 6, but you have also shown a blatant disregard for Section 7. No animal—no living creature—deserves to be under your care.”

The café was deathly silent. And for the first time since he had walked in, the man looked uncertain. The man scoffed, jutting his chin at Douyin with a sneer, his arrogance thick in the air. “You must be good at talking nonsense because all I hear is shit. You just made that up. To what? Scare me?”

Douyin remained still, his expression unreadable, but before he could respond, a shaky voice broke the tense silence, “A-Ah, actually… that’s true.”

The café’s attention shifted toward the source of the voice. A young student, barely out of his teens, stood near one of the corner tables. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched his phone, his face pale but determined. His eyes flickered nervously between Douyin and the man, but he swallowed hard and pressed on.

“H-He’s talking about Republic Act No. 8485… I-It was enacted in February of 1998…” The student gulped, his voice gaining a bit more steadiness. “I-I’d advise you, sir, not to speak to a prosecutor like that.”

A cold chill settled in my chest. I snapped my head toward Douyin, my breath catching in my throat. “P-Pr… Prosecutor?” The word echoed through my mind, the realization hitting like a sudden crash of thunder.

The man’s confident demeanor instantly faltered. His smirk wavered, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. His foot slid back instinctively, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the revelation.

“Y-You’re—” he stammered, his voice cracking.

Douyin didn’t move. His shoulders remained squared, his expression calm but unyielding. His voice carried a weight that sent shivers down my spine, “You’ve committed a serious act of animal cruelty.” His words were sharp, like a blade cutting through the tension. “You will face the authorities for what you’ve done.”

The man scoffed, attempting to regain his composure. He straightened up, feigning confidence, but his shifting gaze betrayed him.

“That’s if they can catch me.”

He pivoted sharply, ready to make a run for it. Only to slam straight into an immovable wall of people.

The café patrons had moved—subtly but effectively—forming a human barricade between him and the exit. Their expressions ranged from firm determination to outright disgust. Some had their phones out, already recording the scene, capturing every detail. Others stood with their arms crossed, blocking any possible escape route.

And standing at the very center of the blockade was Taehyun. His arms were folded, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes gleamed with an edge of amusement, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

He tilted his head slightly, voice light but filled with finality, “Welp,” he said, “a little too late for that.”

The flashing blue and red lights painted the street outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the café. The weight in my chest never lifted, even as the officers pushed the man’s head down, forcing him into the back of the police car. His protests were useless, drowned out by the chatter of witnesses and the hum of justice finally being served.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong sat patiently on either side of me, their tails twitching as they silently observed the scene unfolding before them. I let out a slow breath, reaching down to stroke their fur before calling them to follow me back inside.

The café was empty now. The customers had left, but not before giving their statements—each of them eager to ensure that the man would face the consequences of his actions. If a trial happened, there was no doubt he’d lose.

Near the entrance, Douyin stood talking to one of the officers, his usual calm demeanor intact. A few feet away, Taehyun spoke to another officer, hands in his pockets, but his expression was unreadable.

My gaze was drawn to the cage near Taehyun’s legs. Inside, the husky lay curled up, his small body rising and falling with each breath. Wooyoung and Hongjoong climbed up the bars, their noses pressed against the metal as they peered inside. The husky remained still, shivering slightly even in his sleep.

My heart twisted painfully at the sight.

He’s still scared.

Taehyun noticed my expression and spoke gently. “You can visit him, you know.”

I looked up, meeting his soft gaze.

“Douyin found out that this husky’s been in and out of adoption… every time, the owners treated him the same way.” He sighed, shaking his head. “He had a companion before, but they got separated during his second adoption. After that, it was just one bad home after another.”

The more I heard, the tighter my chest felt. I clenched the fabric of my shirt, trying to steady my breathing, but each word made the weight heavier.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

And I—

A sharp inhale.

My lungs refused to expand properly.

My vision wavered as a rush of dizziness clouded my thoughts. My knees buckled before I could stop them, and the floor rushed toward me.

Somewhere in the haze, I felt strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.

Muffled voices—Taehyun’s? Douyin’s?—echoed in my ears, laced with concern. Their faces blurred in my swaying vision, but the last thing I saw before everything faded was the soft glow of the café ceiling above me.

The soft beeping of a nearby machine and the gentle pawing at my arm stirred me from my sleep. My body felt heavy, as if weighed down by exhaustion, but the cold, sterile brightness of the luminescent lights overhead was enough to coax my eyes open. This wasn’t home.

I blinked sluggishly, taking in the unfamiliar setting before my gaze landed on my right side.

Hongjoong was curled up beside me, his small body pressed close, breathing steadily in deep slumber. Wooyoung, on the other hand, was awake, his round eyes filled with concern as he pressed a paw firmly against my arm. The moment he noticed I was conscious, he let out a sharp meow—louder than usual.

The sudden noise startled Hongjoong, causing him to jolt awake. His head snapped up, disoriented, eyes darting wildly before landing on me. My lips parted, but my throat was dry, and the words scratched painfully as I whispered, “Hey, you two…”

Hongjoong let out a small, relieved sound and nuzzled into my neck, his warmth a stark contrast to the sterile coldness of the hospital bed. Wooyoung, still pressed against my arm, looked like he was trying to comfort me in his own way, his soft fur rubbing against my skin as I stroked his head absentmindedly.

For a brief moment, I let myself revel in their presence. The weight pressing against my chest was lighter now, though the ache still lingered. Then, the sound of the curtain being pulled aside broke the moment.

Douyin stepped inside, his face etched with concern, followed by a nurse. The second our eyes met, his lips parted in surprise, “Noona! You’re awake!”

His voice was filled with so much relief that it made my chest tighten again—this time, with guilt.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I tried to push myself up. The nurse was quick to assist, adjusting my pillows as she began a routine check-up. Her questions were simple, but I barely processed them, answering on autopilot as my attention remained on my younger brother.

Douyin watched me carefully, his usual playfulness absent.

The nurse soon stepped away, mentioning something about preparing my discharge, but I barely heard her. Instead, I turned to Douyin, my voice still hoarse as I asked, “How long was I out?”

He hesitated.

“A few hours…”

I gave him a pointed look, sensing his reluctance.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before muttering, “Almost twenty-four hours.”

My brows furrowed. “What?” Douyin pulled a chair closer and sat beside my bed, crossing his arms. He looked tired. His usual energetic presence was dampened, replaced with quiet worry.

“They said it was due to stress, overwork, and dehydration. Nothing life-threatening, but… still.” His voice trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line. I exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair, “I’m feeling okay, don’t worry Do.” He nodded yet not convinced. I sigh, that made sense. I had been running on fumes for a while now.

But for it to get this bad…

I glanced down at Hongjoong and Wooyoung, who were still curled up against me, refusing to move from my side. It was clear that they had been worried too.

Douyin sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Taehyun-hyung took care of the husky. He’s being transferred to another facility for proper treatment.” I nodded absentmindedly, but at the mention of the husky, the ache in my chest returned, sharp and unforgiving. For a brief moment, my breath hitched—just for a second—but it was enough to send Hongjoong and Wooyoung into alert.

Before I could react, they immediately perked up, their ears twitching. Then, in an instant, they rushed toward me, their movements frantic. I blinked in surprise, instinctively raising a hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wooyoung, who normally had a more playful nature, pressed himself against my side, his purrs unusually loud, snout near my right wrist. Hongjoong was no different, rubbing his head insistently against my neck yet he moved underneath my right hand. They had never reacted this way before.

Douyin, watching the scene unfold, frowned. “That’s… weird.” I glanced at him. “What do you mean?” He nodded toward my right wrist. “They keep going for the same spot when you are asleep.”

I looked down, confused.

Then, I saw it.

A black ink mark near my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat. I raised my arm, staring at the mark with wide eyes. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a smudge of ink or something that could be wiped away—it looked like…

“A tattoo?” Douyin’s voice was laced with curiosity. I pressed my thumb against it, rubbing at the skin, but it didn’t fade. It wasn’t ink. It was real.

But… I didn’t have any tattoos.

“I—I don’t get it,” I murmured, my pulse quickening. Douyin observed my reaction, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he smirked—his usual teasing self peeking through.

“If you’re afraid of needles, that’s pretty brave of you.”

I scowled, lightly kicking his shin. “I didn’t get a tattoo.”

His smirk softened, and he leaned forward, resting his arms on the bed. His gaze flickered to my wrist again before meeting my eyes. “Then what is it?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”Silence stretched between us, only interrupted by the sound of Wooyoung’s purring.

Douyin sighed, then reached out, placing a hand over mine. His grip was firm, steady, “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on…” His voice was quiet but certain. “I’ll listen. Until you figure it out.”

I met his gaze. The worry was still there, but so was something else—an unspoken promise. And despite the whirlwind of confusion swirling inside me, I managed a small, genuine smile, “Thanks,” I whispered, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

The past two weeks had blurred into a haze of forced rest, reluctant healing, and the ever-watchful eyes of my younger brother and two vigilant felines. I had been advised—no, practically commanded—to stay home and recover before stepping foot back into work. Douyin, usually the more easygoing of us, had turned into a strict enforcer, refusing to let me even lift a pan without supervision.

It had been a battle. A losing one.

The moment I even thought of getting up to cook, Wooyoung would arch his back, tail fluffed like a bristling duster, while Hongjoong sat near my feet, unwavering in his silent judgment. If Douyin wasn’t scolding me, my feline companions took turns ensuring I stayed put.

I sighed, shaking my head at the memory as I placed my things inside my locker, finally back in the comforting space of the café. I ran my fingers over the cool metal, a sense of normalcy washing over me. No more bed rest. No more guilt-ridden stares from my brother. No more being treated like fragile glass.

It was good to be back.

Grabbing my apron, I tied it around my waist with a practiced motion, making sure my hair was tucked neatly under a net. The moment I turned around, two familiar figures hopped up onto the counter.

I chuckled, already knowing what they wanted.

Reaching back into my locker, I pulled out Wooyoung’s tiny necktie and ID, fastening them around his collar. He let out a small, satisfied trill, his tail flicking in delight. Then, I retrieved the small apron I had specially made for Hongjoong, draping it over him.

“There. Are we all clocked in?”

Wooyoung meowed in response before hopping off, squeezing through his designated door to reach the cashier’s counter. From there, he settled himself on his usual perch, surveying the café like a miniature manager.

I chuckled, glancing at Hongjoong, who had already curled up on the counter where I had set out today’s pastries. His fur blended seamlessly against the soft linens, his tail flicking lazily as he made himself comfortable.

“Will you be giving me a hand today?” I asked, amusement lacing my tone.

Hongjoong blinked at me slowly before resting his chin against his paws. A nap, it seemed, was more important than assisting me. I let out a mock sigh, shaking my head with a smile. “Well, thanks, Hongjoong.”

Despite his lack of assistance, their presence made the café feel even more like home. After everything that had happened, after the worry, the stress, and the lingering confusion about the strange tattoo on my wrist…

This moment—this small, simple routine—was enough to ground me again.

The rhythmic pressing of my palms into the dough, the soft give of the flour-dusted surface beneath my fingertips—it was supposed to be comforting. The repetition, the familiar motion, the scent of fresh yeast in the air. And yet, my mind betrayed me.

A sudden shift, like a thread pulling too tightly in my chest, made me pause. My breath caught, my hands frozen mid-knead as a memory—no, a vision—flashed through my mind.

The husky. Alone.

Curled inside his kennel, his body trembling—not from the cold but from something far worse. The kind of anxiety that sat heavy in the ribs, that clawed at the heart with an invisible force, making every breath feel shallow, every moment feel uncertain. His blue eyes, usually so piercing, looked dulled by fear, by confusion.

A gasp slipped past my lips. My fingers twitched over the dough, but the warmth of something soft brought me back.

A paw.

I blinked, vision clearing as I looked down. Hongjoong.

He was awake now, his large, doe-like eyes peering at me with quiet understanding. His paw rested gently over my hand, grounding me, tethering me back to reality.

I swallowed, exhaling shakily before looking back down at the dough. It felt lifeless under my touch. The energy I once had, the flow of creation that usually ran through my hands—it had dulled. Even as I finished shaping the first batch, sliding the tray into the oven, there was no satisfaction. No warmth of accomplishment.

Just emptiness.

With a quiet sigh, I sank to the floor, watching the oven’s glow flicker against the steel tray, illuminating the soft rise of the pastries as they baked. The warmth should’ve been comforting, but my mind was still elsewhere—trapped in the unsettling connection I couldn't quite explain.

Hongjoong settled beside me, pressing his body against my arm. Then, a nudge. His nose brushed against my wrist. My right wrist.

Frowning, I raised my arm slightly, tilting it towards the light. My heart stuttered.

The tattoo.

Or what should have been a tattoo.

I had already come to terms with its mysterious appearance—an incomplete mark of black ink, etched onto my skin like a secret I wasn’t meant to uncover yet. But now, I watched, breath hitching, as it moved.

Before my eyes, new strokes appeared, forming intricate patterns like ink seeping into parchment, slow and deliberate. Not a hallucination. Not a trick of the mind. The lines curled and extended, shifting into something more defined yet still unfinished. Like a puzzle slowly revealing its image.

Revealing something like a sign. A symbol. Something I didn’t remember choosing… but was undeniably becoming a part of me.

Minutes passed as I continued to stare at the tattoo that had just… changed. I could still remember the first time I saw it—weeks ago, in the hospital. Back then, it was nothing more than a small, black-inked circle near my wrist. An odd mark I didn't remember getting.

New lines had appeared, forming something almost geometric. A triangle? No, not quite. It had connections, lines that extended beyond its edges. Something about it resembled the shape of an eight, yet it has edge sharp, structured—more like a symbol rather than a mere design. It felt deliberate. Almost… calculated.

A strange chill ran down my spine. Before I could process anything further, hurried footsteps pulled me out of my daze.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun’s voice snapped me back to the present. I barely had time to lift my gaze before he was in front of me, kneeling, his sharp eyes scanning my face. His sudden closeness made my breath hitch—not out of fear, but out of surprise.

His hand was under my chin. I stiffened. My face grew warm under his scrutiny, yet he seemed oblivious to what he had just done. His concern overpowered any other thoughts he might’ve had.

“I—I’m good, Taehyun.” My voice came out uneven, but I managed a small nod. Satisfied, he pulled away, standing up and extending a hand. I hesitated for a second before placing mine in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet with ease. Dusting off my pants, I kept my gaze anywhere but on him, yet he still didn’t move.

He cleared his throat. “Did I come in at the wrong time?” I shook my head quickly, finally meeting his gaze. “No, are you here for your coffee?”

Taehyun nodded, but there was something off. His body language, the way he shifted his weight slightly, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. It was subtle, but it was there. He needed more than just coffee.

Raising an eyebrow, I crossed my arms. “Do you need pastries too?” He tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Sorta, but… I need you.”

My breath hitched. From the counter, Hongjoong perked up, blinking as he glanced between me and Taehyun. I looked back at him, confusion evident in my expression. “Need me for what?”

Taehyun exhaled, his jaw tightening slightly as if preparing himself, “It’s the husky.”

The room felt colder. I swallowed, feeling my fingers twitch against my sides. The husky. That same strange sense of unease returned, curling into my chest, heavy and suffocating. Something told me I wasn’t prepared for what he was about to say.

MEET THE NEIGHBOOR'S FRIENDLY VET DOCTOR:

TAGLIST: @soso59love-blog . @yoongisgirl69 . @forever-atiny . @ateezswonderland . @fr34k4c1dr41n . @breadedloafs . @k1xiara . @nkryuki . @beabatiny . @berryguks . @miniverse-zen . @fight-me-uwu . @xh01bri . @eclipwze . @blue-angel24 . @nkryuki . @matchahintonagar . @asyamonet22 . @szakias . @sanaegi . @notyaelly . @wolviejex

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Hi, sorry to bother and sorry if this is too much, but I was wondering if you had anything to help write a character dying of an infected gunshot wound? Love ur acc btw 💓

Writing Notes: Infected Gunshot Wound

It will take some time for a gunshot wound to heal.

The length of time depends on the person's health and how serious the wound is.

The bullet may have broken a bone or caused a lot of damage to muscles, organs, or nerves.

The bullet may also have been left in the body because getting it out would have caused the person more harm.

Some signs of infection:

Redness or swelling around the wound

A lot of blood or pus coming from the wound

Foul odor

Fever of 100.4°F (38°C) or higher, or as directed by provider

It's normal to feel some stress and anxiety after a traumatic event like a gunshot wound. You may write about your character feeling anxious, angry, or depressed or having trouble sleeping or focusing. The following may also occur.

Wound continues to bleed even after putting direct pressure on it

For chest, back, or abdomen wounds:

Shortness of breath

Painful breathing

Back or abdomen pain that gets worse

Weakness

Dizziness or fainting

Redness, swelling, or fluid leaking from your wound that gets worse

Pain that gets worse

Symptoms that don’t get better, or get worse

New symptoms

Signs of Wound Infection

Pus: Medical professionals manage healthy drainage with regular dressings. But cloudy, yellowish drainage or purulent discharge with a pungent or foul odor accompanied with swelling and elevated pain is a sign of an infected wound.

Pimple: When a pimple-like crust forms on an injury, it indicates an infection. This pimple increases in size over time.

Soft Scab: While it is normal to have slightly pink or reddish skin around the injury, a scab that constantly increases in size over time could indicate an infection.

Red Area: In the initial stages, wounds appear red due to the natural healing process. But if the red area around the injured site continues to increase even after 4-5 days of an injury, it is a telltale sign of an infected wound.

Red Streak: If a red streak starts forming from the injured site towards the heart, it could be lymphangitis (inflammation of the lymphatic system). This underlying infection requires immediate medical attention.

More Pain: Normally, the pain subsides a few days after an injury or wound. Long-lasting or elevated pain even after a few days is a symptom of an infected site.

More Swelling: Similar to redness around the wound, swelling in the affected area indicates that the body’s immune system is working. But if the swelling continues even after 3-5 days, with no signs of it reducing, it indicates an infection.

Swollen Node: Generally, swollen lymph nodes indicate that a body’s immune system is fighting an illness. But the formation of a large and tender node near the injured site could be a sign of an infected wound.

Fever: After an injury or surgery, it is normal for a patient to run a low-grade fever. However, persistent high-grade fever coupled with decreased appetite and body ache is a sign of infection.

An intermediate velocity (muzzle velocity 350-650 meters per second or 1,200-2,000 feet per second) and a high velocity (muzzle velocity >600 meters per second or >2,000 feet per second) gun shot wounds are more likely to have a high risk of infection.

It has been found that gunshot wounds to the abdomen with associated colonic injuries had a worse outcome with an increased risk of developing wound infections.

Necrotizing Soft Tissue Infection. A serious, life-threatening condition. It needs treatment right away to keep it from destroying skin, muscle, and other soft tissues.

The word necrotizing comes from the Greek word "nekros."

It means "corpse" or "dead."

A necrotizing infection causes patches of tissue to die.

These infections are the result of bacteria invading the skin or the tissues under the skin. If untreated, they can cause death in hours.

Fortunately, such infections are very rare. They can quickly spread from the original infection site. So it's important to know the symptoms.

The most common symptoms of a necrotizing soft tissue infection:

Pain that hurts more than you think it should, based on the size of the wound or sore

A wound with a fever (higher than 100.4°F or 38°C) and a rapid heartbeat. This is usually more than 100 beats a minute.

Pain that extends past the edge of the wound or visible infection

Pain, warmth, skin redness, or swelling at a wound, especially if the redness is spreading rapidly and if areas are turning bluish or black

Skin blisters, sometimes with a "crackling" sensation under the skin

Pain from a skin wound that also has signs of a more severe infection, such as chills and fever

Grayish, smelly liquid draining from the wound

A small sore or pus-filled bump that is unusually painful to the touch

An area around the sore that is hot to the touch

A hard time thinking clearly, especially along with one of the other symptoms noted

A lot of sweating, especially with one of the other symptoms noted

Areas of skin at or near a wound that feel numb

A sore that is getting worse quickly, especially if you:

Are obese

Have diabetes

Have a weak immune system from using a steroid regularly

Are on chemotherapy for cancer

Are on dialysis

Have peripheral artery disease

Drink a lot of alcohol

Have poorly controlled HIV/AIDS

People with some of these symptoms are surprised to learn that they have a necrotizing soft tissue infection.

That's because it may not seem to be very severe at first.

But these infections can get worse quickly if they are not aggressively treated.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here's another reference that includes some mechanisms at work with gunshots. And more information on wounds.

Thanks for this request, this was quite interesting for me to look up—no apologies needed! And thank you for your lovely words, hope this helps with your writing <3

#anonymous #writing reference #writeblr #spilled ink #dark academia #fiction #creative writing #novel #light academia #literature #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #writing prompts #writing tips #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing resources

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artifacts-and-arthropods · 1 month ago

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Four-Cornered Hats from Peru and Bolivia, c.600-800 CE: these colorful, finely-woven hats are at least 1,200 years old, and they were crafted from camelid fur

Above: four-cornered hats made by the Wari Empire of Peru (top) and the Tiwanaku culture of Bolivia (bottom) during the 7th-9th centuries CE

Often referred to as "four-cornered hats," caps of this style were widely produced by the ancient Wari and Tiwanaku cultures, located in what is now Peru, Bolivia, and Chile.

According to the Metropolitan Museum of Art:

Finely woven, brightly colored hats, customarily featuring a square crown, four sides, and four pointed tips, are most frequently associated with two ancient cultures of the Andes: the Wari and the Tiwanaku. The Wari Empire dominated the south-central highlands and the west coastal regions of what is now Peru from 500–1000 A.D. The Tiwanaku occupied the altiplano (high plain) directly south of Wari-populated areas around the same time, including territory now part of the modern country of Bolivia.

Above: pair of four-cornered hats made by the Wari people of Peru, c.600-900 CE

Both cultures used the hair of local camelids (i.e. llamas, alpacas, or vicuñas) to produce their hats. The hair was harvested, crafted into yarn, and treated with colorful dyes, and the finished yarn was then woven and/or knotted into caps and other textiles. Four-cornered hats from both cultures were often decorated with similar stylistic elements, including geometric patterns (particularly diamonds, crosses, and stepped triangles) and depictions of zoomorphic figures such as birds, lizards, and llamas with wings.

Above: four-cornered hats made by the Tiwanaku people of Bolivia, c.600-900 CE

The two cultures used different techniques to construct/assemble their hats, however:

Although they shared certain technological traditions, such as complex tapestry weaving and knotting techniques, the Wari and the Tiwanaku utilized significantly different construction methods to create four-cornered hats. Wari artists typically fashioned the top and corner peaks as separate parts and later assembled them together. Tiwanaku artists generally knotted from the top down, starting with the top and four peaks, to create a single piece.

Above: a four-cornered hat from Bolivia or Peru, made by either the Tiwanaku or Wari culture, c.500-900 CE

There is evidence to suggest that four-cornered hats were often worn as part of daily life, as this publication explains:

Many have indelible marks of hard usage: wear along the edges and folds, a crusting of hair oil on the inside, remnants of broken chin ties, and ancient mends.

Above: a pair of hats made by the Wari culture of Peru, c.600-800 CE

Above: more hats from the Wari culture of Peru, c.700-900 CE, with colorful tassels decorating the four peaks of each cap

The oldest known/surviving examples of the Andean four-cornered hat date back to nearly 1,700 years ago. They began to appear along the northern coast of Chile at some point during the 4th century CE; these early hats had an elongated design with four short peaks, and they are typically associated with the Tiwanaku culture.

Above: this early example of a four-cornered hat was created by the Tiwanaku culture between 300-700 CE

Why indigenous artifacts should be returned to indigenous cultures.

Sources & More Info:

Metropolitan Museum of Art: Four-Cornered Hats 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12

Museum Publication: Andean Four-Cornered Hats (PDF available here)

Emory University: Four-Cornered Pile Hat

Metropolitan Museum of Art: Andean Textiles

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #trailer park steve au #steve can have a little depression as a treat #robin buckley #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #my writing #my fic

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punkiefart · 2 months ago

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Hoodie by @overdramatics

Roughly 6-7 years old, used to be the hair bleaching hoodie. I remember one time asking if he was ever gonna patch it out and he said fuck no. Here we are 3 years later, trying to figure out how to save the front graphic. Anyone have any good ideas?

#crust 4 life #mcr #my chemical romance #a light to burn all the empires #crustpunk #diy punk #crust hoodie

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boop-le-snoot · 6 months ago

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kinktober #4

Light My Fire

kinktober day four | temperature play & monsterfucking (?) | cw: 18+, self-explanatory. Good!Loki is a Jötun and Avenger!You have fire powers. Rather fluffy, just two dorks in love goofin' | word count 2k | click here for full list of planned fics | author's note under the cut |

“Darling, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You are occasionally a little over 8 feet tall and very cold and blue. I am average tall but set myself on fire regularly without repercussions. I think we passed these sorts of questions a good while ago.” You pointedly bit into your toast, watching Loki watching you over the rim of his teacup.

Why did he insist on having tea from one specific antique tea set - and having to refill the cup at least five times in the process - instead of getting a mug like a normal person, you did not know.

Slumped over your breakfast in your Garfield pajamas, you eyed your boyfriend pat the corner of his mouth with his monogrammed kerchief before he vanished it away and stood up. His green button-up clung to his chest deliciously.

“Such a way with words.” Loki chuckled and patted over to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “But I see your point. We could either seriously harm each other or end up having a wonderful, one-of-a-kind experience.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded. He stole a piece of toast and pointed it at your nose, tapping the appendage gently with the hard crust. “And Tony would never forgive us if we at least did not try.”

“Since when do you care about what Tony thinks?”

Loki gave you an impish look. “He's not all terrible. Remember the time he 3-D printed an exact replica of Mjolnir and I haunted Thor the entire day with it?”

“Thor had a mental breakdown.” You replied dryly even as your mouth involuntarily curled into a smirk.

Loki, however, gave a wide smile. “Uh-uh. Tony filmed the entire thing start to finish.”

A chuckle broke out of you before you could stop it. You liked Thor, you ready did, but that had been just a single instance of mischief in the multiple-century long prank war between the brothers. The blonde had gotten you several times in the process of getting back at Loki and you would be lying if you didn't feel vindicated for all those times you had found glitter in odd places and worse...

Not that you yourself lacked your fair share of questionable life decisions. Having fiery super-powers, being an Avenger, being Loki's girlfriend, challenging Natasha to a knife throwing competition... The list goes on. So what if you wanted your icy boyfriend to be icy in bed? So what if he wanted your fiery self be fiery in bed? They do say opposites attract and yada-yada-yada...

“Makes me wonder what the fire giants look like,” you said absent-mindedly later that night while the two of you lounged in your oversized tub. You rolled a small fireball in your palm as Loki sipped his wine.

“Like demons,” he snorted. “Nothing attractive about them.”

“Some would say demons are attractive,” you shrugged. “I think Jötuns are attractive.” Using your free hand, you squeezed a slender, muscular thigh. Loki flexed it and you ran your knuckles over the hard muscle. “Although you're the only one I've seen. Might have to tell Tony to ban any more from Earth least they come to steal all the women away, being this handsome.”

Loki's cool hand reached up over your stomach to idly toy with your breast. “Is that so? Is my Asgardian form not as stimulating?” He mused.

You pushed into the touch, purring. “There's just more of you to love, babe.”

His unmistakable laugh filled up the bathroom, genuine amusement as he flicked at your nipple and leaned down to kiss your neck. “I do not think that is anatomically possible.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “Ye of little faith! Have you been on the internet? Anything is possible, provided there is an adequate amount of lube and some leverage.”

The internet - surprise, surprise - was wrong. Loki expressed an unfair amount of amusement at this, and you daredsay, even gloated a little bit. Shutting him up in this form was harder than when he was regular Loki, but not doable. It was, as you both had agreed, a learning curve.

He was cold to touch. Not as a metal pole at a ski resort as you had previously thought, but enough to cause a pleasant, clean chill to settle in the back of your skull as you took the tip of his hard, blue cock intro your mouth. That was about as much as you could fit without going full Chelsea Smile around it. Your hands, kept warm by your powers, slid down his shaft, tender fingertips tracing the textured ridges covering every inch of his skin.

They were truly everywhere, and they were sensitive. Splayed on the various animal skins in front of the fireplace, Loki was a sight to behold: all cerulean blue and raven-haired, red eyes lidded with desire as they observed your exploration with mirrored curiosity. As you warm hands curled around him, a low hiss left his lips.

Attempting to say, “did that hurt?” with your mouth so full was a disaster. Loki chuckled anyway, and brought a large, cool palm to rest atop your head.

“No, darling,” his voice, in this form little more than a low growl, did something indecent to your insides. “Feels incredible.” A sigh as you swirled your tongue around the sensitive head. “I surely wish you'd let me at least keep my Asgardian measurements...”

Yes, but no. It would have been more practical, sure, but it wasn't the full Jötun experience you were seeking. With a wet pop, you dislodged your mouth from his cock to delight in his full-body shiver. To remedy the lack of your mouth, heat began to radiate from your palms; roughly the same temperature as the inside of your mouth.

“Not unless you are on board with me keeping the fire lukewarm,” you teased gently, watching his red eyes darken to a lovely burgundy. Slowly, you slid your hands over his lubricated flesh.

Loki was generous with his microexpressions in this form, with him being larger allowing for easier observation. Lust, love, yearning, a dash of insecurity and concern. He was your Loki through and through, simply blue.

“I fear I may have less allocated space for patience in this form,” he mused.

Captivating. His reclined position and the fire dancing over his skin, the horns growing tall and strong above his forehead - the helmet imitation did them no justice - Loki was a vision to behold. You wanted to eat him like the world's most exotic ice lolly and ride that fanged mouth until you forgot your own name and knew only his.

“Fuck,” you eloquently summarised your train of thought just as your hands stroked him to full mast. Loki merely tilted his head. Knowing that look well, you batted your eyelashes and gave him the final stroke before shamelessly climbing up onto his lap.

You wore nothing but a thigh-length slip of fine Asgardian silk, just like you knew he liked. Your hot, glistening cunt connected with the shaft of his cock as you settled above it, eliciting a sigh of wanton relief. Loki felt like a bag of frozen goods. You wanted to press him against everything sore.

His large, cold palm stroked the side of your face.

“Mmm,” you leaned into it, unconsciously shifting your hips to press closer to the textured hardness of his cock. It twitched as your wetness joined the spit you'd previously covered it in. Some adjusting was to be had - Loki waited patiently as you found your spot, and used his other hand to make you sit down just right. With that first, slow, slick grind, both of you were gone.

It came naturally. Loki's hands on your hips, on your face, sliding your slick cunt over the tip of his own leaking cock. His abs flexed with each measured movement; you kept your palms in closed fists, knowing better than to open them when you were this riled up.

Hurting each other was both of yours' biggest fears and it showed in the way you'd swallowed some of your moans upon feeling the beginnings of a spark crackle on your tongue. Loki refused to take his darkening eyes off your face for he would definitely lose himself in the moment and do... Something.

The intensity of your coupling grew. Your cunt provided ample lubrication on the account of your clitoris receiving all that extra stimulation from the ridges and valleys covering his cock. On harder thrusts, the very tip of his cock snagged the edge of your entrance, causing him to growl and you to whine when your hungry hole was forced to relent and clench around nothing.

It was exhilarating torture. Your cries of pleasure, as usual, only spurred the Jötun prince on.

As you arched your back and moaned loudly and brokenly up to the ceiling at a particularly hard thrust, Loki's deep growling added to the delightful cacophony of sex. He firmly held your hips, sharp nails digging into the meat of your ass, and pushed you down on his cock, missing your hole by sheer luck.

“Come for me, darling,” he rasped in that icy-sharp, husky voice. “I can feel your little quim begging for me. I may not be able to resist fucking you if you cry for me so sweetly.”

Never being the one to disobey reasonable orders, you and your abused pussy gushed your agreements as heat burst from your lower stomach and spread into your body and limbs. Loki's drawn-out hiss had you weakly trying to scramble, to get away from him least your elevated temperature burn the Jötun, but he held steadfast.

Eyes so deeply red they were almost black, Loki looked you directly in the face before his cock twitched for the last time.amd coated his chest and your front with an abundance of silver seed. His body shook with restraint even when his mouth had fallen lax and eyes lidded low; he let you rock forward to rest a hand on his hard chest as both of you caught your breath.

Giving into your body's demands, you fell ahead, uncaring of the mess. Immediately, a cold arm draped itself over you. A moment of silence was had. You licked your dry lips, sputtering somewhat as sticky - but not unpleasant - seed made way into your mouth.

“Are you alright?” Loki drawled, still breathless.

You briefly contemplated the phrasing of what you were about to say, but in the end decided to be completely honest as you two had sworn to be to each other.

“Your come tastes like snow. Literal snow.”

You heard Loki's heart skip a beat and then his chest shook, the chuckle as incredulous as your discovery.

“Noted.” Pause. “Yours feels like lava.”

Despite everything, you simply shook your head and laughed. “That's what were writing down in our science report for Tony?”

“Yes.” Loki nodded seriously. With a careless swipe of his hand, the mess disappeared, and you promptly found yourself staring at the ceiling. “Experiment number two. I am going to find out whether it also tastes like lava,” he said impishly.

Your tummy clenched in anticipation, but then you heard the proverbial sound of brakes skidding in your head. “Wait. How do you know what lava tastes like?”

“I be in situations,” ever the dutiful boyfriend, Loki mumbled his reply into the fat above your cunt on his way down to make you see stars once again. You were not complaining at all.

a/n: I'm personally very impartial to Loki being a little over 8 feet tall in his Jötun form. For, you know, reasons. My nature's pocket can fit a lot of fun things in it, but I don't know about yours so... I left the fine details to your imagination. See how I don't describe the size of his appendage? Very demure, very mindful. ✨

Additionally, I don't think Asgard has a book on erogenous zones of peoples they conquered and genocided. I'd like to think that they're both clueless here and Loki is getting to know his Jötun body in a sexual setting. But that's just me.

#loki x reader #jotun loki x reader #loki x you #jotun loki x you #female reader #jotun loki smut #loki smut #they goooooofinn'

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cottonlemonade · 5 months ago

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Epitome Of Stealth

word count: 867 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: University AU!Tendou x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: like one mildly suggestive line if you squint

request: fluffy, skipping lectures with crush Tendou

“You are a terrible influence.” Your supposed scolding lost considerably in weight when it was accompanied by barely suppressed giggling as Tendou pulled you through the corridor past many closed doors, behind one of which you should have been absorbing a whole bunch of knowledge right now.

But your friend seemed completely unbothered, even waved it off like it was the biggest compliment someone had paid him all week.

“You’re just saying that!”

It hadn’t taken a whole lot of persuasion to get you to skip the lecture. In fact, none at all as soon as the word pizza became involved.

“Maybe we should go back.”, you said, becoming suddenly unsure of your plans.

Tendou stopped, not letting go of your hand though, “But the pizza.”

“The pizza will still be there after the lecture.”

Thinking about this for a moment he then leaned in, his face only a pepperoni’s width from yours.

“Come on, the professor is always late. He won’t even notice we’re not there because he never has time to call for attendance. Plus-“, lowering his voice he said, rather seductively, “think about how much better it will taste with the spice of knowing you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. Imagine the long strings of hot cheese and the crust, crispy on the outside, fluffy and stuffed full of even more cheese on the inside.”

You started to blush but more so from the look in his eyes than anything else.

You gulped, then took the lead and he followed suit, obviously having the time of his life.

In the second long hallway, chattering voices could be heard up ahead and with the stealth and finesse of a seagull on a French fry heist, he pulled you behind a large pillar, raising a long slender finger to his lips. When you stifled a laugh he regarded you with a frown as if you really didn‘t take this situation as seriously as you should and moved his finger from his lips to yours. The touch sent tingles through your body and you became very aware of his cologne. You hoped he would be too wrapped up in his make-belief to notice the flush of your cheeks.

The small group of students walked passed, seemingly questioning the sanity of the very obvious, very visible couple.

Only when they rounded the corner did he let you go, leaving the warm print of his touch behind.

“I think we‘re safe.“, he said after pulling out his phone to use the camera to spy around the pillar if the coast was clear.

“You know, I think they didn‘t care. Or knew that we were supposed to be in a lecture right now.“

“You never know, little plum.“, he gave you a look of lofty confidence, “You never know where the foe has their eyes.“

“Oh, of course. You’re so right.“ Shaking your head, you followed him further down the corridor.

The front door came finally into view and you were just mentally crossing your fingers that he wouldn‘t let go of your hand once you made it outside. Then he stopped in his tracks and you bumped into him.

“What?“

You looked ahead to find whatever he spotted, then saw the professor whose lecture you were just skipping walking your way, head lowered to his phone.

With your heart pounding in your chest you yanked Tendou out of the way towards a door in an alcove that you thought would lead to a bathroom but it was a utility closet - and it was locked. For a split second, you debated whether to just stand still and hope he wouldn‘t notice you or create a diversion. And so you grabbed Tendou‘s collar and in one swift move pulled him down for a kiss.

Catching on quickly, his hands immediately came up to hold your waist. But they didn‘t stay there. Apparently not knowing where to keep them, his palms roamed over your back and up to your neck to hold you as close as he could. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, letting you take the lead in the kiss but gently squeezing your soft and squishy body all over as if he had to make sure you were really there. The preoccupied professor had hurried past long ago but you were still kissing. When you finally broke apart, Tendou leaned back into the corner you had him pushed up against, panting slightly. His eyes searched yours as he ran the tip of his tongue experimentally over his reddened lips.

“You think he saw us?“, you asked unnecessarily. You didn‘t know what else to say. The kiss had muddled your mind.

He shook his head.

“You okay?“

He nodded.

“So… uhm… pizza?“

He nodded again, his eyes flicking from yours down to your lips and up again, swallowing hard and trying to redirect his very determined blood flow back to his brain with thoughts of all the communal showers in high school.

Feeling silly if you wouldn‘t, you took his hand again to make your way out the building. He didn’t let go of you until he had to when the food arrived at your table.

a/n: request for @haikyu-mp4

I think this is the fastest I’ve ever written a request for you xD thank you for the prompt! hope you enjoy 🌟

#sunnys university #tendou x chubby reader #tendo x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x curvy reader #tendou fluff #tendou x reader #hq tendou #haikyuu tendou #tendou satori #tendo x reader #hq tendo #haikyuu tendo #tendo satori

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thebunnednun · 3 months ago

Text

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!

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r,@v3n7s, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the list!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have some more Katsuki (and other mha) here in the master list.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

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souliebird · 1 year ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 15]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Words: 8.1k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The first thing you process as you begin to come to is a slow, rhythmic beeping. It is dull and low and it almost carries you right back into the nothingness. You slip in and out of the fog a few times before your mind is able to catch a hold of conciseness. Even then, it feels like everything crawls by until your thoughts go from incoherent images to actual awareness.

You feel awful - like you've been hit by a massive truck, who then backed up over you only to run you over again. Everything aches, but the worst of it is centered on the left side of your head, going down to your neck. It throbs and feels so stiff. You don't think you could move your head if you tried.

The second worst thing is how dry your mouth feels. It is as if someone stuffed you full of cotton to remove all the moisture from your body, then to make sure you were drained, dried you out under a heat lamp. It hurts to even try to swallow the little saliva your mouth is producing.

You need something to drink.

Like some sort of miracle, something cold and wet is pressed to your lips. It startles you, but you react quickly. You force your lips to part and an ice chip is slipped between them. You suck on it desperately and it only takes a second for it to melt away, but almost instantly you are given another one. This happens two more times before your mouth finally doesn't feel like a desert.

Your eyes are hard to open. They feel crusted shut and you don't know if you have the energy to try and pull them apart, but you try. It takes multiple attempts, but finally they open. Everything is far too bright and blurry.

Matt comes into focus above you, face wracked with concern. His hair is a mess and it looks like he hasn't slept in ages. His eyes, while sightless, are puffy and bloodshot and you wonder if he has been crying. Your brow knits in confusion and you try to reach for his cheeks to offer some sort of comfort. Your hand doesn't make it far off whatever you are laying on, but it doesn't matter because as soon as it is in the air, he's clasping his around yours.

He breathes out your name just as you croak out his.

Above you, he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, like he is relieved, before moving even closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours and you let your eyes fall shut again - you're too tired to keep them open and you don't think he will mind the lack of eye contact.

“You scared me,” he whispers against you, before you feel his lips brush your cheek.

You manage a confused noise, not understanding what is going on. Your throat burns as you attempt to talk, “what happened…?”

“You've got a pretty bad ear infection,” he tells you and you think that sounds about right. Everything hurts so much and you are far too warm. The cotton feeling in your mouth is also in your left ear, making it feel like half your head is dunked under water.

He is so close, his breath warms your still cool lips as he talks, “It hit you hard and fast - your fever got up to 104 and you wouldn't wake up. We had to bring you to the hospital, but you'll be okay now. Your fever has gone down a lot.”

The words float through you and it takes you a few seconds to grasp onto them and make them make sense. “We…?” You question because you don't know who ‘we’ could be.

“Foggy and I,” he confirms. The hand not clutching your own cups your jaw and feels so cool and nice that you can't help but lean into it. He gives you another kiss, this time to the forehead, with his scruff lightly scratching against you. It tickles.

You realize a name is missing and your heart starts to race. Matt hasn't mentioned your daughter and you start to panic.

Where is she? Where's your baby?

“Minnie?” You ask, but to your non-stuffy ear, it sounds more like a whine.

He quickly starts to shush you, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek, “it's okay, she's okay. She's safe. Foggy took her to go get some breakfast. She's okay. She's okay.”

His words do calm you, but your heart still pounds in your chest. You know Matt trusts Foggy, so to an extent, you do as well, but you want your daughter. You want to hold her and make sure she is truly alright. She must be so scared.

You get another kiss to the forehead and it pulls you from your worried yet sluggish thoughts. You decide you like the feeling of Matt's beard against your skin. It's not something you're used to, and even if it is a little scratchy, it feels nice. It makes you feel warm but not like your supposed fever is making you feel warm. It's a good warm that wraps around your heart. It helps to soothe you - Matt would never allow your little one to be in any danger.

“Try to get some rest, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere - I'll be right here when you wake up, again. I swear,” he whispers into your hairline and you find yourself nodding into his palm.

Sleep sounds good - you're tired and achy. Your eyes are so heavy you couldn't possibly open them again. You are slumping back down into your pillow before you know it, thoughts slowly buzzing back into nothing.

The darkness takes you easily and you drift off without realizing Matt is practically clinging to you.

----

When you wake again, things make a little more sense. The hazy heavy fog is no longer covering your brain and you are more aware of what is happening around you before you open your eyes.

You can hear people walking around and talking outside your little room and everything smells disgustingly sterile. You can feel where IVs have been placed into your arm and the different monitors attached to your chest. You also know Matt is still clutching your hand and that motivates you to actually look around.

Your head is tilted to the right, stretching out the stiffness on the other side, and centered in your view is Matt. He's asleep, head tilted down with his chin nearly to his collarbone. He looks so peaceful with his chest slowly rising and falling and someone has draped a thin blanket around his shoulders, only adding to his gentleness. You can't see it, but you're sure his knees must be bumping against the bed with how close he is to you.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Had he stayed there this entire time? Has he let go of your hand at all?

You remember when you were in the hospital to give birth. You had been so lonely - no one had been there to hold your hand or keep watch over you. No one had visited you - though you had received flowers from your work friends.

Is this what it will be like now?

You want that desperately - to feel like you matter to someone, for someone to care about you and your well-being, to feel like you aren't always alone.

You squeeze his hand, and even though you feel absolutely horrible - hot and sweaty and like your head wants to fall off - you find yourself smiling at the sweet, handsome, lawyer who fathered your child.

You are so happy you forced yourself to tell him the truth.

You don't hear anything to your left but your heart rate monitor beeping, but your ear is also so clogged up not a lot of noise is getting through and you know it's throwing off your spatial awareness. It hurts to roll your head, but it eases your nerves to find you are alone with Matt in the exam room. However, you can't help the worry that bubbles in your stomach over the lack of your daughter.

You know she must be with Foggy. The hospital is probably an incredibly unpleasant place for her - you hate being here because of the smells and atmosphere and that must be amplified for her. You can't imagine all the awful things she might hear here - the sick and dying and the surgeries. You are grateful for Matt's best friend. You will have to find a way to thank him properly.

You force your gaze back to Matt and begin to slowly rub your thumb over his knuckles. He has so many scars there and you don't possibly know how he could have collected them all. He's told you before he practices boxing, but you don't think it is the bare knuckle kind. Maybe the punching bag can split skin - you have no idea about any of it beyond what you've seen in short viral videos.

You have toyed with the idea of asking about going to the gym with him. You think it would be a fun experience for Minnie and you're curious how fit you actually are. Your workouts consist of chasing a toddler around - star jumps, push ups, and weights are no longer in your repertoire and you haven't properly gone on a run since high school. Plus, Minnie has recently learned what a cartwheel is and you are sure she will want to learn to do one and a gym is a safe place for that.

You fall into a daydream about Matt teaching you and Mouse how to tumble, closing your eyes again as you do. You picture buying cute little leotards and watching your daughter perform a routine until there's movement under your hand.

Matt squeezes your fingers, and you open your eyes just in time to see him blink awake.

He gives you a sleepy smile, then with his free hand pulls his glasses out from somewhere under his blanket and puts them on. You watch him, taking in his crows feet before they disappear.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

You take a moment to consider the answer. You honestly feel horrible, but you don't feel as horrible as you previously did. There are aches and pains but you feel human again, as opposed to the concept of one. So you squeeze his hand and respond, “Better. I didn't…I didn't think I was that sick.”

Matt hums and somehow scoots closer to the bed, then lifts your hand up to kiss the back of your hand. You feel your face heat up and your heart rate monitor beeps a little faster. “I'm glad, you gave us a good scare,” he says, keeping your hand against his lips.

You have to remind yourself he's a very touchy person to keep your heart rate from increasing even more. To help with that, you drop your gaze to his chest - he's wearing a Columbia sweatshirt that is far too big on him and hides his lean frame.

“What time is it?” His question throws you off at first, but then you realize there is a clock above the curtain entrance to the room.

It takes you a second to process, which you blame on the illness and not the fact you haven't used an analog clock in ages, “Almost 1:30. I'm…guessing that it is PM. I can't really tell.”

Matt nods and you guess he can tell whether it is day or night. You hope it is day - you'd feel so guilty if you'd been in the hospital longer than a few hours.

Behind your hand, a small smile appears on his face, “Minnie and Foggy are on their way back up. I think she heard - oh. Okay, yes, she heard you talking. She says she has a present for you.”

Your heart pangs for your daughter. You don't want her to see you like this, but you desperately need her in your arms. You try to push yourself up, but you don't know if you have the energy to keep yourself sitting.

“Do you know how the bed works?” You ask and Matt shakes his head. He reaches out and feels along the railings, but by his frown, you guess he can't figure it out. You doubt any of the button labels are in Braille.

“Let me get the nurse.”

He squeezes your hand once more before letting go. You tell yourself to ignore the strange feeling that envelopes you as he disappears behind the curtain separating you from everyone else.

You don't want to be alone again.

But you aren't - Matt is gone for barely thirty seconds before he's slipping back into the room, followed by a tired looking nurse. The woman comes up to your right side and you finally notice a little stand computer tucked by the bed. As she swipes her card key to unlock it, she looks at you, “How are you feeling?”

You decide to go with the same answer you gave Matt, “Better, ma’am.”

“Good, good,” she says as she types something. You go through the quick song and dance of confirming your name and birthdate, before she starts her questions, “Your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

You have to think about that - your head hurts but not nearly as much as it did last night and your body feels sore and groggy. You bite your lip before estimating, “About a four..?”

She adds that to your chart, “how about your ear? It should feel a bit clearer, you had a lot of fluid that drained out.”

That surprises you because you definitely do not remember that. You touch your ear and it feels far too warm and sensitive. You had no idea it was the problem, so you feel like you can't compare.

“I don't know. Full? It…hurts. Like it's…sore on the inside?” you feel like an idiot trying to explain, but you have no idea about ear anatomy.

The nurse hums, then turns to you, pulling a stethoscope out of her pocket, “I'm going to listen to your lungs. Take a deep breath.”

You do as you are told as she places the device on your back to listen. You repeat this a few times with her until she's satisfied and she goes to enter her findings in the computer.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she tells you before leaning down to adjust your bed, so it can help you sit. You go from laying down to being propped up, “He will go over your discharge instructions.”

You're being discharged? You just woke up and haven't talked to anyone at all. The fact they are sending you away confuses you, “I'm being discharged?”

The nurse nods, not even looking at you as she locks the computer, “Yes. Do you feel you shouldn't be?”

You flush at the question and duck your head in shame. You know better than to question a doctor - if they think you should be discharged, you are fine. You force yourself to shrug and apologize, “No, I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it.”

The nurse simply gives you another hum before leaving to probably go tend to a patient that actually needs her. Almost instantly, Matt is back by your side, taking your hand. He kisses the meat of your thumb as he sits back in his chair.

“If you need to stay, you can stay,” he quietly advises.

You quickly shake your head, “No, it will be fine.” You huff a sad laugh, “It's not like I can afford this anyways.” You don't want to imagine the bill you are going to receive - being brought into the emergency room and given all kinds of medicine. You’ll have no more savings.

“Don't worry about it,” he quickly tells you, a frown clear on his face. “Focus on getting better. Taking care of yourself. We can tackle the bill later - there's plenty of work arounds.”

Guilt pools in your belly - you don't need Matt worrying about your money problems. You force yourself to nod at his words, simply so he'll not try to comfort you over this issue. You think he must be on to what you are doing because he squeezes your hand and starts to say something, but quickly cuts himself off. You don't understand why until a few moments later - the curtain closing off your room is pushed aside and Minnie barrels in, closely followed by Foggy.

You barely look at the blonde, instead pulling away from Matt to throw open your arms for your baby. The speed in which she manages to scale Matt and jump to you is impressive and you hug her to you like you're trying to absorb her. Your arm screams at you due to the fact you're trying to bend where your IVs are, but you don't care - and you don't care if your little angel is nearly strangling you with how tight she's hugging you.

“Don't ever get sick again!” She whines into your neck and you nod against her. You'll never get sick again - what you put her through for being sick will forever live in your mind.

“I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was sick.”

“It was scary!”

That absolutely breaks your heart and tears start to fall.

“I'm so sorry, Minnie,” you choke out as you try to hold her impossibly closer. The guilt you had regarding money transforms into guilt over being sick at all. How dare you put Minnie through this? You should have realized something was wrong. You repeatedly apologize into her hair, trying to keep yourself from sobbing while she clings to you.

You feel the bed dip and then Matt is pulling you both against his chest and pressing his lips to your crown, “Shhh, it's okay. It's okay.”

You try to shake your head because none of this is okay. You scared and upset your daughter and you've got a stupid ear infection that is going to bankrupt you. Nothing is okay.

“Do you want to show your Mommy what you got her to make her feel better?” Foggy asks Minnie after a minute of you being hysterical and shame courses through you as you are reminded someone else is there, watching you breakdown.

You are such a fucking mess.

However, Minnie pulls away from being squashed between you and Matt and jumps off the bed to go to the blonde. You finally notice, through teary tired eyes, that he has a decently sized gift bag. He sets it down on the ground and Mouse has to pick it up by its sides because it's too tall for her to hold by the handles.

As she tries to figure out how to get back on the bed, you realize Matt is still wrapped around you and you decide you are too tired to fight with your anxiety and guilt any longer. You want his comfort - so you lean more into his arms and he responds by nuzzling you. He begins running his hands over your arms and somehow, it begins to soothe away your upset.

You miss whatever exchange your daughter and Foggy have, but he lifts her up and places her and the gift bag on the bed and she hauls it over to you.

“We got you a present to get better,” she tells you and you know whatever it is, you'll cherish it.

There's no tissue blocking your view and you see something pink and white checkered that looks very soft. Before you can move to pull it out, Matt intervenes. He takes your wrist and gently stretches out your arm that has the IV in it, humming against you, “You have to keep your arm straight.”

You flush at the reminder, feeling like a complete idiot, and use only one hand to pull out the gift.

It is a massive blanket and it is so so soft. You want to bury yourself in it.

“Oh, Mouse, this will make me feel better. Thank you so so much,” you say as you reach out with your good arm to hug her again. She wastes no time tucking herself back between you and Matt.

“Blankies make everything better,” she advises wisely, “Froggy said so.”

You can't help but smile at that and hold your daughter even closer. You turn your attention to Foggy, who has just been an absolute saint for watching over your daughter, “Thank you so much, Foggy. For everything. I can't thank you enough.”

He scoffs and waves his hand, “it is my pleasure. This wasn't my first late night Murdock call, it won't be my last, and she is at least a pleasure to be around at three in the morning.”

You want to ask how they even knew you were sick, but you also don't want to know the details. You can only guess Minnie somehow called Matt and you aren't in a place to hear that conversation. The guilt and emotions would overwhelm you even more than you already are and you are so so tired of crying. So you hug your daughter even closer, so she's in your lap, and mumble another thank you.

Foggy takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs and asks, “has the doctor come yet to talk to you?” You very much appreciate his concern, but most importantly, his tact. You don't feel like he's judging or lying to you. He seems genuinely concerned.

You try to not shake your head at his question, since Matt is still holding you and it would just hurt your head more, and reply “Just the nurse. She said I'm getting discharged.”

The blonde huffs, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms, “Wow, they really do just turn and burn. Last time I was here, they pushed me through, too. American health care, right?” You hum in agreement - the health care system in America is very bad.

Foggy dives into a story about being in the hospital when he was a kid. It quickly catches Minnie’s attention and you realize this may be more for her benefit than anyone else's. You try to listen, but instead find yourself resting your head on Matt's shoulder and closing your eyes again.

You’ll just stay like this, your daughter in your lap and her father holding you against him, until the doctor comes.

If he takes his time getting to you, you don't think anyone is going to complain.

---

It takes another three hours for you to be fully discharged. You have to fill out a mass of paperwork before the doctor even speaks to you, but after he does, no time is wasted to clear you out of the needed exam room.

Any concerns you have about getting home are moot, as Foggy has everything covered. He has borrowed his girlfriend's car and procured a child's seat from his parents - who apparently have multiple due to their ‘hoard of grandchildren’. Minnie doesn't fuss at all, focused on being the best helper she can be by carrying your purse, which had apparently been brought in with you. Matt is insistent on helping you walk, which you are grateful for - standing makes you very dizzy and you have to focus to not stumble.

To your great surprise, Karen is waiting outside your building as Foggy pulls the car up. She's carrying a few shopping bags, and beside her is a grumpy looking man you vaguely recognize holding a very old fashion looking crockpot. It has an orange vintage flower pattern and you kind of want it.

No one says anything as you all climb out of the vehicle. Matt quickly gets himself under your shoulder and his arm around your waist while Minnie latches herself to your hand. You don't know if she thinks she's helping or if she's obeying your rule of hand-holding when outside.

You all awkwardly stand on the sidewalk and you watch as Foggy and the new man have a staring contest. You have no idea what is going on and kind of don't care, as you want to get up to your apartment. After a full minute, Foggy points to the man and declares, “you aren't coming to Thanksgiving,” before marching towards the door to the building. Matt, and thus you, follows after him and as you pass Karen, she snorts with laughter. She and the man fall in line behind you as you make your way to the stairs.

You just know that if you allowed him, Matt would pick you up and carry you up the three flights of stairs, but you refuse to let it happen. You are dizzy and far too warm, but also very stubborn and you determinedly take each step at a time, refusing to stop until you're on your floor. Only then do you resume leaning into his hold.

Foggy unlocks your door then ushers you all inside. Minnie lets go of your hand almost instantly, drops your purse, and runs to the bedroom. You guess she is going to grab Pig and Scooby to update them on everything. You make your way to your couch as Karen sets the groceries on the table and her grumpy friend finds a spot on the counter to plug in the crockpot.

As she unpacks, Karen narrates, “Okay, so I got you all the essentials - Gatorade, tea, saltines, ibuprofen, a compress, and I got you life savers to suck on because that helps when you want something to sweet but don't want to eat anything. I picked up your medicine, it's just ear drops. And of course, the most important thing,” you turn on the couch just in time to see her motion towards your kitchen, “Nelson Family Chicken Soup.”

You stare at the blonde with wide eyes and you feel like you are going to start crying again. No one has ever done this much for you before - not even your ex-boyfriends. Your last one wouldn't even pick up tampons for you, but Karen has clearly gone out of her way and you've only met her a handful of times. You have no idea how to thank her and Foggy for everything they have done for you. You are going to have to bake them a cake or something. As for Matt, you know you are never going to be able to repay him for the comfort and care he has given you in the last few hours.

You are so overwhelmed with love for this little group of friends who are letting you into their life.

“Thank you so much,” you say, meaning it with all of your heart, “you didn't have to do all of that. Thank you.”

Karen gives you a warm smile before waving you off, “Don't mention it. You'd do the same for any of us.”

You happily would and plan to take notes of what Karen bought, just in case. However, the soup is something that confuses you. Did Matt's best friend bring Minnie to his house to cook? You turn to Foggy, who is examining Minnie’s toy chest, and ask, “You made soup?”

The blonde man looks up with a laugh, “God, no, you don't want me cooking. That was all my mom. Her soup is a cure all.”

“It is,” Matt vouches from beside you. “It can cure almost anything. It got rid of my flu last year.”

“It saved countless Christmases,” Foggy adds.

“It also stops cramps,” Karen confirms.

You look to the man in the kitchen for his approval and he just shrugs, “Haven't had it, but it smells good.”

You have to cover your face at that point because it is all too much. Foggy's mother made you soup? How did she even know you were sick? Why did she do this for you - someone she's never met? Someone she has no connection to at all?

An arm wraps around your shoulder and you are pulled to lean against Matt. He nuzzles against you and whispers, “you aren't alone anymore. We're all here for you.”

You hide yourself against him and he starts to rub your back in a comforting manner. This is far too much for you. You don't know how to process all of it.

Luckily, a distraction from your patheticness comes in the form of your daughter.

You hear her come back into the living room and boldly ask the strange man in your kitchen, “Who are you?”

You try to listen since you are curious and you can feel that Matt has turned his head to pay attention to his daughter. You stay tucked against his shoulder, wishing you had your new big blanket to wrap yourself in.

“My name's Frank, what's yours, little lady?” The man says and you try to commit the name to memory. You wonder if he is Karen's boyfriend or something - you don't think he's been mentioned before.

“Minnie!” She declares, then, “This is Pig and Scooby. They like soup, too!” You guess she's held up her toys for him to see. She must be less nervous of the man since he is in your home.

There's a round of chuckles before Frank speaks again, “That right? How about we leave it to your Daddy to get you and your friends some soup and we let your Mommy get some rest?”

There's a few beats of silence before you hear Minnie again, “Okay. Bye-bye, Mister Frank.”

The man barks with laughter, which barely covers the pitter-patter of feet coming towards you, “Daddy, can we have soup for dinner, I'm hungry.”

“Of course, princess, I'll make you a bowl.”

The others must take that as a cue, because when you lift your head up, the three other adults are making their way back to your front door.

Karen lightly calls out your name to get your attention, and when she sees you looking at her, offers a soft smile, “Feel better soon, and let us know if you need anything.”

“Anything at all,” Foggy adds, “I'm more than happy to play babysitter. Parks are my specialty if the squirt needs to get out all that Murdock energy.”

“I'm not a squirt!” Mouse huffs and you can picture her puffing up her cheeks.

“I don't know, kid, you look like a squirt to me,” Frank tells her and she lets out a long ‘nooooo’ in response.

You smile against Matt at the little exchange - you can tell your daughter is extremely fond of Foggy and that makes your heart rest easy. She's never been so vocal around other adults before.

“Thank you, so much. I really, really mean it,” you tell the people who have come to your rescue.

“It is really not a problem, you're family, now,” Foggy tells you before directing himself towards Minnie, “Okay, squirt, can I get a high five?” The sound of a toddler running followed by a slap tells you she just did that. “Good girl! Now, help your Dad take care of your Mom and call me if he gives you any trouble, got it?”

“Got it, Froggy!”

Goodbyes are exchanged then it is just your little family left in your apartment. You finally allow yourself to pull away from Matt.

“You don't need to stay.”

His response is to raise his eyebrows at you, “You think I'm going to leave you alone while you're sick? You need to rest. I’ll take care of everything else. Minnie can finally show me her Scooby movie.”

You want to tell him ‘no’, that you have it handled and he should go get his own rest, but you know it's fruitless. You're learning Matt is committed to his role of being a father and there will be no way to convince him to go. He's a lawyer - he probably already has fifteen arguments ready for why he should stay.

So you give in and give a small nod, “Okay…”

He breaks into a big grin, like he expected you to push back and is happy you didn't, “Good. Are you feeling up to some soup?”

Your stomach turns at the idea of eating anything. You’d been given IV fluids at the hospital and managed a cup of water, but you do not want to eat. There is nothing actually wrong with your stomach - everything is centered on your ear - but that doesn't change the fact you'll probably not be able to keep anything down.

“No,” you tell him after a moment, then add, “I think I'm going to shower and go to bed.”

“Okay,” he hums, reaching up and oh so gently petting your cheek with the back of his fingers and making a shiver run up your spine, “Let me know if you need anything. You don't need to get up, if you just say anything, I'll hear it, okay?”

You don't like the idea of him being able to hear your sick gross body, but there is nothing you can do about it. You slowly push yourself up, careful to not get too dizzy, then start towards your bedroom. Behind you, Matt starts talking about soup and Scooby with Minnie.

Once you are alone in your room with the door closed, you break down. You sit on your bed, hide your face in a pillow, and just let out all of your tears. All your frustration, your shame, your guilt, your confusion, your tiredness, and your pain pours out of you. Your shoulders shake as you bite into the pillow to try and hide your sobs and you pray Matt realizes you need to be alone right now and distracts Minnie. You just need to get all of this out of you.

Your body is so exhausted you can only cry for a few minutes before you are completely drained. You feel slightly better emotionally, but your head is throbbing even more.

You desperately want to get clean and curl up now. You weakly toss your pillow back on the bed and force yourself up to gather something clean to change into. You place the new garments of the dresser, before going to the closet and pulling out a new sheet for your bed. You know you don't have the energy to strip it, but you don't want to sleep on your own filth. So, you push your blanket off, then lay the clean sheet over the dirty one.

Satisfied with your meager attempt, you grab your clothes, open the bedroom door, and shuffle to the bathroom.

You look like absolute shit and don't need your mirror to tell you that, so you try to not look at it. To help, you grab a towel and maneuver it to hang over your medicine box, then strip out of your soiled clothing.

You let your body go on autopilot to start the shower and as you wait for it to heat up, you wash your face and brush your teeth. That alone makes you feel cleaner. You take your hair out of its ponytail - you washed it on Saturday, so you aren't going to rewash it, but you'd like to wet your skull to remove some sweat.

You kick your dirty clothes into a corner, then check the spray. It feels nice and hot, but not scalding, and you step in.

Almost immediately, your vision goes spotty and it feels like your brain is floating in ice water. You have to reach out with both hands and lean on the wall so you don't tumble over and you shuffle to it to press your forehead to the cool tile.

Maybe a shower wasn't such a good idea after all, but you feel so sweaty and sticky and gross. If you just stand and let the water wash over you, maybe it will help and you won't have to let go of the wall. Or you can just sit on the floor, but with how you are feeling that runs the risk of you not being able to get back up.

A knock on the door startles you and you have to push more against the tile to keep yourself upright.

You close your eyes tightly.

You think it must be Minnie. She's come to go potty when you've been in the shower before and you don't think she went before you left the hospital. You take a deep breath and center yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens and closes and the voice that speaks isn't Minnie.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head because you are very much not okay in any sense of the word. You don't know how to put that into words or even if you want to. You don't want to go on the emotional rollercoaster again - you're so tired. You just want to get clean and go back to sleep.

You don't mean to space out, but you do. There's just so much going on and your body decides to only focus on remaining upright. So when hands smooth over your waist, you nearly scream. You know it's Matt, but it still scares you.

Why is he in the shower with you?

You try to turn around to question him, but his hands tighten around you, keeping you in place.

“Let me help you.”

The words shake your core. Your heart begins to pound in your chest and you know, if you had any tears left in you, they would be falling. Why is he doing this? Why is he here, asking to help you? Why is he pushing for it?

You feel him step even closer to you and his chest brushes against your back. He breathes your name into your ear, then repeats, “Let me help you, please.”

You try to shake your head and choke out, “You should be with Minnie.” Minnie needs him, she needs his help, not you. He is here to help watch over her, he even said so himself.

His nose bumps against your ear and you feel like your knees are going to give out. Why is he doing this?

“She's trying to give soup to her toys and watching her shows. She doesn't need me right now. You do. Let me help you.”

You push your hands firmer against the tile to keep your balance.

Matt has been with you all day, holding your hand and keeping you upright until you left his arms to go take a shower. You haven't asked this of him - he's been with you of his own free will. He's been so gentle with you, so caring, so comforting.

His hands move from your waist around to your stomach and slowly up to your sternum and very gently pulls you flush against his chest. He feels so firm, so steady, holding you up.

Do you really want to push him away? Do you really want to send him back to watch Minnie?

You can barely keep yourself standing. You're so dizzy. It feels like at any moment your body is going to give out and you'll collapse.

It feels nice to be held.

It feels nice that he is here for you, for whatever motivation he has.

You think of your daughter. How scary this must be for her and how terrifying it would be for her if you fainted in the shower after everything that has happened.

That must be why Matt is here with you. He's far more in tune with your body and you know that means Minnie is too.

He's trying to keep her safe by keeping you safe.

You need to think of Minnie, not yourself.

Matt whispers your name again and you drop your hand from the tile and place it over Matt's.

“Okay…” you whisper. “Okay.”

Lips brush your shoulder and his hands move to be at your ribs and there's a gentle pressure, silently asking you to turn. You take a steadying breath and start to rotate, slow as can be.

You can't look at him in the face. Despite everything, shame burns deep inside of you. You've always been able to do things yourself - you've always had to. Even if it feels good to have the help, to know Matt is going to catch you if you fall, the voice that lives inside you hisses that you're being weak. Pathetic.

You force your eyes open and the first thing you see are the scars going across his chest.

He has been through so much you don't even know about, just like you have been through things you haven't told him about, and to make this work, to make raising your daughter work, you have to trust each other. You have to trust Matt and he needs to trust you.

You slowly reach up and place your hand half over the scar on his right pec, then, to prove to yourself that you mean the beliefs in your head, you lean in and press your lips to the other side of the scar.

He inhales sharply and you feel like, for some reason, you made the right move.

Neither of you move for a minute, then Matt gently presses against you and guides you back into the spray of the shower.

It feels so good against your hot sticky skin and you find yourself letting yourself lean more into Matt and you give in to your desires and let your head fall against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you do.

You feel him reach behind you to the shower caddy and you are happy you have been using bar soap, so you don't have to explain what is what to Matt. He lathers up his hands, then begins to wash you. He starts with your back and you decide to just zone out. You can't debate anymore, you can't let your mind go crazy - you're too tired, too sick to deal with much more.

Matt's hands slowly work over your back and sides. They dip down to your bottom and even though he's touching somewhere intimate, it doesn't feel lewd.

After your back has been washed, he tilts his head just slightly and his nose brushes the shell of your ear and he breathes into it, “turn around so I can get your front.”

It takes a few moments, but you do as you are told, and then you are leaning back against Matt's chest, head once again resting on his shoulder, just the opposite one this time. Your nose is a hair's breadth away from his jaw.

He relathers his hands, then starts on your stomach. He's so methodical about it and it feels almost hedonistic. You're not going to deny it feels good, but you know it's not in any way sexual or wanting. You just haven't been touched in so long, so anything will feel good.

He avoids your nipples when he runs his hands over and under your breasts and he doesn't linger, moving up to your shoulders, then down your arms. When he gets to your hands, he laces your fingers together.

“Do you want your hair done?” He quietly asks and you just barely shake your head.

“Just want to get it wet,” you mumble into his throat.

He hums in response and squeezes your hands, “‘m gonna need to turn you around again to do that and to get your legs.”

He keeps your hands in his and, to your great surprise, turns you slowly around like you are dancing, one arm over your head and another around your back. When you're facing the right way again, you open your eyes to see Matt smiling at you with the softest look.

In your chest, your heart clenches.

No one has ever looked at you like that before. No one. No one has ever treated you the way he has.

You don't think you care if it is because you are the mother of his child. Matt is a truly good and loving person and you want to bask in it, at least for now.

You let go of one of his hands and cup his jaw. He presses into it, closing his eyes and it's like you can feel any tension he might have in him melt away. You stay like that for a few seconds before he turns his head just slightly to nuzzle into your palm, then he lets go of you to drag his fingers through your hair. He makes sure to get your roots wet, but doesn't soak your hair. His nails dig slightly into your scalp and you try to not moan at how nice it feels.

“Hold onto my shoulders,” he directs you and you do as you are told. Only when you have a secure hold on him does he kneel down and begin to run his hands over your legs. He starts high on one thigh and works his way down to your foot, then repeats the process on the opposite leg.

You can't help but look down at him, watching as he delicately washes you. There's this deep urge in your belly, right above your core, to tangle your hands into his hair. A memory from your night together, all those years ago, flashes through your mind.

He had backed you against a wall and gotten on his knees to push your dress up and your panties down. Your thigh had been draped over his shoulder and he had eaten you out like a starving man before taking you to bed and making you cum two more times on his tongue.

You quickly banish the thoughts because not only do you know it's not the time for that, but that it was a one night stand between strangers. You don't want to make things any more awkward by Matt realizing he's having such an effect on your body, even if you don't intend for it.

You tell yourself to think of the pajamas you've picked out to wear instead - a nice, soft, baggy shirt and your favorite biker shorts. You picture the amazing blanket your daughter got you and how nice it will be to curl up in it and sleep.

You want that more than anything right now. You want to just sleep.

You focus on that until Matt is back in front of you and turning off the water.

“All done,” he whispers and you repeat the words back to him.

He helps you out of the shower and gets you wrapped in a towel before starting to dry himself off. You don't allow yourself to admire his body and focus on getting the water droplets off of your body and out of your hair.

Once you are no longer dripping, you bundle your hair back into a ponytail and pull on your clean clothes.

The little change makes you feel so much better. You always forget how just being clean can change your mood so drastically.

“Thank you,” you whisper once you are dressed. “Thank you so much, Matt.”

You turn to finally look at him, and he has redressed in just his boxers and oversized sweater. He steps towards you and cups your jaw, smoothing his thumb over your cheeks, “You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You just have to let me in, okay? Please let me in.”

You close your eyes at his words and nod.

You can't promise you will let him in fully, but after everything he's shown you in such a short time, you think you can try. You can try to let Matt in.

“Okay.”

He lets you go with a small, sweet, and soft smile then cocks his head slightly to the right, “Let's get you to bed, I think someone has decided they want to join you for a nap.”

Joy swells in your heart and belly at the idea of cuddling with your daughter. You want to wrap her up and hold her and let her feel loved and protected. You know now how nice it is and words tumble from your lips without you meaning them to, “you should come too.”

His eyes go wide at the offer before that small sweet smile morphs into a boyish grin, “I would like that. I would like that a lot.”

a/n: Matt would not stop smooching. I could not hold him back from smooching.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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