#got a pocket full of subside

[isaiahomega]

"So who's the ditz and who's the dull?"

[razrbladekiss]

LOVE BITES | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: its been two years since joel broke your heart, and now you’re thrust into the most awkward situation imaginable. no thanks to tommy, of course.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.9k, literally pulled this outta my ass in an hour.

WARNINGS: angst. joel is a bit of a jerk and so is tommy but reader can hold her own. 🤭 tiny bit of fluff. plenty of dialogue to scratch the itch inside of my little pea brain!

“What can I getcha?” You call over the music, leaning against tacky wood as you greet yet another inebriated middle aged man. Your tits shine beneath dim light—highlighted with perspiration, liquor and the purple glitter that Cassie thinks’ll get you more tips—and you smile. “Bud Light?”

“Please, doll.”

Your eyes roll. The pet names are one of the worst parts about working at Fuel, but you suppose it’ll never subside. It’s sleazy, here. The place teems with parasitic men—old, sweaty metalheads that’ll never touch a bar of soap even if you bribe them—but they pay your bills with the gratuity they slip into your pocket, so you find it in yourself to tolerate it.

Plus, every so often an attractive stranger comes in and fills your evening with something more interesting than a story that usually starts with “were you even born when this song came out?”

It’s not clear why you’re targeted behind the bar—you’re not the youngest and certainly not the chirpiest—but you surmise that these figments of the male species must have some sort of affinity for being bitched at. Because as soon as someone says something even slightly misogynistic, you’re coming down on them like a wall of fucking bricks.

You’re outspoken. Kind of brash. But it makes for great conversation with some hot guys every so often.

Fuck this shit.

Feigning that internal indignation—and yearning for some kind of drama—you resume your work.

“There ‘ya go, Gil.” You pop off the cap, handing him the bottle and offer a smile. He takes it with a nod, bumbling away from the bar and you turn away to dry some glasses.

It’s busy, but not Saturday night busy. It’s wall-to-wall, but it doesn’t seem as tightly-packed as usual. You’re not rushed off your feet, you’re not being overrun with strange and usual orders from men whose eyes are needing to be held open with toothpicks, or the odd underage girl that managed to slip past Dean while he was checking ID’s.

Something is off.

And it isn’t for the fact that the same three Motörhead songs are playing on a fucking loop, either. Something is looming.

Something a little bit more tense.

“Hey.” Cassie tips her head in a nod toward the crowd while pulling the beer tap. “Look who just walked in.”

You squint your eyes. It’s a struggle to heed any new faces, for the light is so dim and room full of cigarette smoke, but you scan nonetheless.

“I can’t see.” You tell her, taking a few glasses from atop the bar to wash. “Is it that hot guy you always flirt with?”

Her cheeks turn thirteen shades of crimson. She shakes her head.

“No. He’s in Cancun with his wife.”

“Oh.” You say wryly. “So, he’s not interested in you then?”

She blinks in your direction. “We had sex on Thursday.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “Oh.” You repeat your earlier tone. “So, you’re his side piece?”

“Yes. And happily so.” Cassie slips the beer to her patron, and turns to you with an elbow propped against the sticky wood. “But enough about Luke…Can’t you see him? He’s got the denim jacket on—hair a little slicked back.”

Confused, your gaze drifts into the sea of drunks. You’re drawing a blank.

“Oh my GOD.” She grabs a hold of your shoulders, and turns you toward nine o’clock. “Look!”

You follow her line of sight, still blindly searching. Until he comes toward the bar, and you go through all seven stages of fucking grief as he ambles toward you.

He’s got a face like thunder. Eyes dark, nostrils flared.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.” The unyielding grip set against your shoulders is released, though Cassie stays close by. For back-up—and slightly inquisitive—purposes.

Tommy. Fucking. Miller.

You haven’t seen him since the night that Joel broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to surmise that the underlying hostility has died off in the two years that your eyes last met. He was a prick to you, that night.

But you’re not scared of him. Never have been. He’s a pussycat.

Aside from that night, the most confrontation between the two of you came on a very warm summers evening, when Tommy was barbecuing and you told him that his burgers needed a little longer when he tried serving them. He pitched a fit, threw the spatula in the air, and left Joel to take over.

He never could take criticism.

“Get out.” You tell him, hand firmly gripped against the Guinness tap. “I mean it, Miller. Get out.”

He ignores you, taking a seat at the bar and your jaw rolls.

“Fine.” You fake a smile, wanting nothing more than to throw a whiskey sour in his face. “What d’ya want, Tommy? Jack ‘n coke? Bud? A slap—“

“I dunno. But now that I’ve seen you, I want you to call my brother.”

Cassie takes a step back when you nudge her, needing to go through this alone.

“Phone works both ways.” Blunt, you say. You pour him whiskey—neat—despite him not elucidating exactly what he wants. “He’s a jackass, Tommy. I ain’t got time for jackasses no more.”

He rubs his lips together after taking a pull, putting firmly the glass against the bar.

“You left him—“

“Wrong. He broke up with me.”

“You left him.” Tommy repeats himself. He’s getting agitated, now. “He didn’t really want you to go. He didn’t mean to say all that he said—“

You scoff, throwing a dish rag over your shoulder.

“Well, he said it. He kicked me out.” You start, ready to reel off all the bad things Joel did to you. “He blocked my number, told everyone that I left ‘cus I was never happy with anything—“

“He loved you, and you were just a spiteful bitch.” Tommy defends, slightly more brash than what he once was.

“Wow. You’ve grown a pair of balls since I last saw you.”

“Oh, fuck it off with the mean shit.” He growls, staring pointedly at you. “You’re not like this, so stop pretending.”

You put a few glasses away beneath the bar, and stick clean scoops into the ice cube tray.

“I was crazy about him, he didn’t need to give me anything more than what he already did, Tommy.” With a small voice, you tell him. “We all know that.”

Tommy runs a hand over the back of his neck. But you’re not willing to argue the case any further—not with a man who downs his liquor in one single shot.

“So, is this why you’re here, huh? To spend the entire night chewin’ me out? ‘Cus if you are, then you can fuck off. I get enough shit from the assholes that come here every night.”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t on my agenda. Didn’t know that ‘ya worked here, so I guess its been a lovely experience for the two ‘a us, ‘ay?”

Your eyes roll. You pop the cap off another beer for Gil as he stumbles toward you, handing it to him while taking his cash at the same time.

“And why are you here? ‘Cus I didn’t peg you down to be the heavy metal type. That was always reserved for—“

Your face falls. This time, your heart actually starts to pound within the constraints of its ribcage, and you feel nauseous. You’re lucky that no glass is held tightly beneath deft fingertips, or else you’d be having to sweep the shards of it off of the floor.

“Joel.” You murmur as he pads over to Tommy.

He leans against the bar, looking at his brother. He mumbles something about this place being a dive, how loud it is, and that he needs to be getting back ‘cus Sarah’ll be gettin’ worried if I’m not home before midnight.

You’re blinking at him, but he doesn’t notice you’re standing right there. Not until he pins a cigarette between his lips and fishes about his pocket for a light, but comes up empty.

Joel turns around, patting his shirt and jeans pockets, before his eyes flick upward and mouth gapes open. The cigarette is stuck to his bottom lip by the slick of his saliva, and a sheer stroke of luck.

He yanks the stick from his mouth, before he’s pointing at Tommy with it.

It’s almost comical that Love Bites is playing from the jukebox. Though, it makes a fucking change from Whiskey In The Jar.

“This why you fuckin’ brought me here?!” He barks, and you’re glad that it’s so loud in there or else he’d be causing a scene.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know she worked here!”

“He didn’t.” You cut in, earning a glare from the man whose heart once lived in your pocket. “What? Do you really think he’d put you—us—in this position willingly?”

Joel looks between the two of you, easing the accusatory gesture. He slips the cigarette between his lips again, and you—begrudgingly—hurl a lighter toward him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. He just takes it and sparks the cigarette, cupping the cherry as the light takes.

“You’re welcome.” You snark. Joel slides it over to you without even so much as looking upward. “You’re used to that, ain’t ‘ya? Taking things from me when you’ve got no business to?”

He says your name warning, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes are dark. A lot more dismal, than usual. Saddened, maybe.

And his face is gaunt. Still as handsome as ever, but complexion slightly sallow. Though, you just put that down to the fact that winter doesn’t offer too much sun for him to tan, in Jackson.

“I didn’t do shit to you.” Joel upholds, flicking cigarette ash into the ceramic dish atop the bar. You tense up at his tone. “You wanted more than what I could’ve given you, so we both knew it wasn’t gonna work—“

“I loved you, Joel!” You bark across the bar, leaning over a little. He drops a glance to your tits—exposed and glittering—and swallows thickly the lump in the back of his throat. “I wanted to be with you—get married, start a family—was that such a bad fuckin’ thing?!”

“Y’knew I didn’t want that.”

You blink back the tears that are desperate to push over your waterline, and nod. “But if you communicated that to me earlier on in the relationship, then maybe I would’ve shunned those ideas.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, hating the prickly tension. Because—two and a half years ago—you two were the strongest couple he ever knew. Regardless of the age gap, you were obsessed with one another.

But now you’re strangers, standing at opposite sides of the bar.

“Take a break, hon.” Cassie tells you from a distance and you’re peeling off the waist apron faster than you can even acknowledge what she’s saying.

Marlboro reds are being yanked from the ass pocket of your jeans, and the lighter that you had let Joel borrow is snared firmly within the palm of your left hand.

You storm to the front of the bar—ignoring the friendly crowd of regulars, friends, and new-faces—all the while devoured by this overwrought tension that’s bubbling up from the deepest caverns inside of you.

Joel follows you, reaching for your wrist but you shirk the feeling because it’s turning you sick. Just the sheer feeling of his skin—calloused and rough—ghosting over yours is enough to churn your stomach and force those ill feelings to flood back into your system.

You step outside, the din of much-to-loud music now muffled by the steel doors—only clear when someone walks in or out of the bar—and let your back hit against the brick wall with a dramatic thud.

“Sorry.” Joel says, though you know he doesn’t mean it.

“For what, exactly? Dumping me? Making me look like the bad guy, just ‘cus I wanted something?”

He runs a hand over his face, before he’s shifting forward to let a drunken—completely in love—couple pass by the two of you. He joins you up against the wall, his right boot colliding with it.

“I didn’t make you look like the bad guy—“

“Bullshit.” You say. “I see Sarah about town sometimes—she doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore, Joel. I spent five years of my life playing mommy to that little girl, and now I’m like a stranger to her?”

He hates how you’re throwing this back into his face, but he supposes that he deserves it. However, he will not give in to you that easy.

“You never played mommy. She always called you by your first name.” Like he knows it’ll hurt you, he says. “You were just a glorified babysitter, to her—“

“Oh, get fucked!” You bark, teeth clamped together. “You can’t say this shit when you don’t mean it, Joel! You know that she loved me!”

Your words materialize into the saddest tone he’s ever heard from you, and he’s suddenly feeling awful for even musing such a thing. He’s never this mean.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. You’re right, that was an awful thing to say.” Regret depletes him. But it’s too late. Tears are flowing from your beautiful eyes, like a dam that’s burst its way over the river banks, and Joel hates himself for doing this to you. Again.

When he broke things off—and ruined your life—he thought it would be easier to build a wall around himself, and lie to people about the nature of your departure. He told everybody that you left on your own terms, that you wanted things that Joel could never give to you—though, if he had just kept an open mind, then maybe he could’ve.

Because for months after you left his home, he found himself glued to his cellphone, desperate to call or text you to tell you how sorry he was for doing what he did.

That he was too hasty—too fucking mean—to say that he didn’t want a life with you. Because he did.

But it’s too late.

“Piper missed you, Joel.” You wipe away fat tears with the palm of your hand—knowing your mascara has smudged but not being able to find it in yourself to care—and tell him about the dog that the two of you once cared for together. “She sat by the door every morning waiting for you.”

This is killing him. Having you in front of him, but knowing that things will never be the same again.

“She’s four, now.” You smile a little bit. “She didn’t grow any bigger than what a German Shepherd should’ve, but she acts like it. Thinks she’s a fuckin’ rhino, or somethin’.”

Joel chuckles, feeling his own sadness loom in his tear ducts.

“She loves babies.” That maims you, a bit. “Cassie’s sister had a little boy in February. Piper sits by the crib whenever we visit. She would’ve loved being a sister.”

“I bet. She was always such a protective dog.” He stubs out his cigarette, though makes no effort to go back inside. “Especially when it came to you.”

“I’m her mom.” You tell him, blankly. “I feed her. I take her on walks. I groom her. I’m the only person that’s remained a constant in her life since she was eight-weeks old—“

“And I’m sorry for that.” A little stern—not enjoying being discreetly chastised—he says. “But we were never going to work—“

“And you thought that you’d tell me that after five fucking years?” You flick your own roach to the ground now, letting your back peel away from the wall. “Joel, I wasted half a decade with a man who couldn’t see us going anywhere, and you just expected me to be fine with that?”

“You didn’t waste your fucking time with me.”

“I could’ve had a family, by now!” You yell, your cheeks damp once again. Eyes stinging. “Joel, I could be somebody’s mother. Somebody’s wife.”

He feels awful that he’s taken that from you, but surmises that it isn’t too late.

“I know that you did it all before you met me—I know that was something that I was signing up for when I started dating an older man,” you take a breath, “but I thought that you might’ve changed your mind. Because I thought that you loved me—“

Joel grabs firmly your hands and shakes them, getting you to look at him. His eyes plead with yours.

“I did love you.” He breathes deep. “I think there’s a part of me that still loves you. But I couldn’t give you what it was that you wanted—“

You yanked your hands from his grip—for the second time this evening, actually.

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t, Joel? Because to me, it seems like you were scared of committing to me for fear of something bad happening.”

“Don’t—“

“Not everyone leaves, Joel.” Softly, you tell him. “I was never planning on walking outta your life, so I don’t know why you were so scared to commit to me.”

Because I’m fucking insecure?

You look down at your watch, realizing that you’ve been out here far, far too long.

“Look.” You make eye contact with him. You miss the way he so boldly meets your gaze whenever you speak. “I’m sorry that you thought I was too high maintenance—that you’d never be able to keep me satisfied—but I was. There was never a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t have had the best life with you, Miller.”

“But you wanted kids—“

“And I had Sarah. Of course, I wanted to mother my own children, Joel, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It just hurt to know that you didn’t want to give me that, when I was always so willing to do it for you.”

His eyes close slowly, realizing how much of a fucking prick he’s been these last twenty-four months.

“I’m sorry—“

“I need to get back in there.” You say with a small nod, gripping firmly the heavy-set door to the club before you’re stepping inside and leaving Joel completely dumbfounded.

I need to make this right.

It’s twelve forty-three in the morning when you finally amble up your driveway, and you’ve actually never been this happy to see your house before.

The kitchen light dim—though still bright enough to see Piper’s silhouette by the door—fills your heart with an immediate sense of comfort after such a long fucking day.

Carefully guiding yourself up the wooden steps so that you don’t fall, you edge nearer to your front door. But not before your boot is colliding with a little bag perched on the top step.

There’s a tag—your name inscribed—and you feel your face fall. Do you have a stalker?

But any premonition is squashed when you take the bag inside—wary, of course—and open it up. Piper is running laps around you all the while your hands fish around the pink cardboard.

“Oh?” You take out an envelope, and your heart sinks.

It starts with your name, and a little wonky heart next to it. Not to mention, it’s written with a pink gel-pen.

I’m sorry for being a jerk, I’d understand if you hate me. Today was fucking horrible, and I’m a douchebag. Not just for today, but for this whole thing. I’m sorry for making everybody think that you’re a bitch, and I wish that I would’ve told you sooner that I didn’t want children, or to get married again. Now that I’m thinking about it, it doesn’t seem all that bad. I’m also sorry that Tommy was a dick, he said he texted you but it bounced back—must’ve blocked his number. But honestly I don’t blame you. We’re assholes and you never deserved us in your life baby.

Take this card as an apology, if you want to. But take those candies and the dog treats, and have a nice evening with our little girl. I’ve unblocked your number and put my own inside of this envelope, so I hope that you’ll call me and we can make things right again.

Love always, Joel.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, and pull out the dog treats alongside the nerds gummy clusters, and smile. He knows you both so well.

“Here, Piper girl.” She comes barreling over to you, almost sweeping your knees from beneath you. “Look’it what your daddy bought for you.”

Her ears prick up at the mention of Joel, and it’s at this moment that you realize you’ll be seeing him again a lot sooner than what you originally thought.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

I'll Sleep when i'm Dead

Toon!Beetlejuice x reader

i'll sleep when i'm Dead

Chamomile tea by your bedside. Noise machine you brought up from the basement. A small night light casting shadows around the room. All used in some form or another, and still your eyes were glued open; Thinking of both everything and nothing at the same time. The tick-tock of the clock rang out in your otherwise silent room. Speaking of the clock, what time was it anyway? You turned your head to read the digital clock on your dresser- and made eye contact with two large, grey rimmed eyes. 

You screamed- ‘AUGH!’

After the adrenaline rush had subsided, you knew who the strange eyes belonged to. Beetlejuice, your boyfriend. Who also happens to be a ghost.

He rolled through the air, shaking with fits of laughter. ‘Oh, you should've seen your face! Priceless!’ You rolled your eyes and shunted the covers over to the edge of the bed and stepped over to your dresser. Goosebumps prickled along your arms in the chilly air. ‘BJ! What are you doing here? It’s kinda creepy, spying on me like that.’ 

The mirror’s border creaked as he rested his full weight on it. ‘Aw, c’mon! Can’t I just wanna see my favorite breather?’ 

‘That still doesn't make it any less creepy.’ You murmured. Well, creepy or not, you could take advantage of the situation. Anything’s better than being alone with your thoughts at 3 Am. ‘But since we’re both up…’ With a triple recitation of his moniker; As he was shoved by an invisible force out of the mirror and into reality; He crash landed upside down on the floor. Stars circled around his head and his eyes whirled in their sockets. ‘Y-ya really gotta warn me before ya do that…’ You helped him up, but your giggles were interrupted with a large yawn.

 Beej raised an eyebrow. ‘You look tired, babes. Why aren't-cha in bed?’ Upon remembering your predicament, your shoulders sagged. A heavy sigh escaped your mouth. ‘Can’t. Not for lack of trying, I just have so much on my mind right now, like I have a science test tomorrow and notes for history and I have to wake up 30 minutes earlier because I have to pick up my prescription before they send it back and i’ve been trying to go to bed for 3 and a half hours now-’ You were interrupted by Beetlejuice, who shoved a grimy finger to your lips. ‘Ahp-bup-bup, no need to freak out. I’m gonna help you!’ Your eyebrows quirked skeptically, but before, you could express your doubt in that idea he exclaimed-

‘I got an idea! Lemme serenade you to sleep!’ He thrust his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out a full size accordion, complete with handles and a black and white paint job. He started playing a few painfully off-key base notes. ‘Any requests?’ Remembering the last time he tried to play something for you and all the apology notes you had to write to the neighbors, you pushed the accordion down a few inches. 

‘No-thanks, sweet of you but I don’t think it’ll help.’ 

‘You never want to hear my songs.’ He grumbled. But his face lightened up after a moment and exclaimed, ‘I know what’ll help-’ 

With a snap of his fingers, your world exploded into neon stripes. Your room spun away to be replaced by a 80s-esque dance studio, the backdrop a mix of zigzags and bright colors, fuzzing your vision up. In the middle of the room, BJ was dressed in neon green arm and leg warmers with neon purple bodysuit; And hands on his hips in a sassy gesture.

Well this is a sight you’d take to the neitherworld. 

‘Alright babes! Put your hands up and stretch up high! Let's tire those muscles out!’ His feet moved rapidly, spinning like a ballerina and stomping to an invisible beat. Bewildered, you tried to recreate whatever in the world he’s doing but you kept tripping, eventually landing flat on your ass. ‘Beej, take me HOME!’ You cried. He turned to you, huffing and puffing with the effort of his improv-ed dancing. ‘Aw, just when I was having fun…’ He lamented. But as you requested, he snapped again and your room reappeared before you. You steadied yourself on the headboard of the bed. You tugged off and flung the neon pink headband you only just realized you had on when your gaze shifted to Beetlejuice.

He looked a little hurt. Eyes darting away from you, fiddling with his tie. You hadn't meant to hurt his feelings, you were just so tired that you didn't have the sense of humor for his shenanigans in you. He was genuinely trying to help, after all. 

‘BJ…’ You started. ‘Yeah?’ He perked up.

You plopped on the edge of your bed, sagging as the fatigue returned at your lack of motion. ‘I’m sorry I was so harsh. I just… Honestly, the best thing you can do right now is just cuddle me. Silently. Please?’ 

He nodded vigorously, and suddenly his mouth was a zipper and fastened itself closed  with a ‘swiipp’. ‘’Mhmph-hmm!’ He mumbled; His voice, obviously, obstructed by the zipper. 

No matter the state you were in, this goofy ghost always managed to make you laugh.

‘Heh, c’mere.’ You stretched your arms out toward him and he readily dove into your embrace.

The soft chill of his arms was a welcome feeling. You pulled up the covers to both your shoulders, while his hand came up to stroke your hair. Like the clingy specter he is, he wrapped his arms and legs around your waist and clutched you like a parasite. It restricted your breathing a bit, but one look at his adorable face snuggling into your neck had you melting. You didn't have the heart to make him move. 

(1 hour later)

BJ

You're so beautiful. Well, you’re always beautiful, but especially now. It’s been TORTURE just sittin’ here not talking or anything! But I guess if you can sleep it's worth it… now just let me-oops, didn't mean to bump your nose there, Sorry, Y/N. Pleaseee stay asleep-there we go. *smack* free access for forehead kisses. Love ya, babes. Nighty-night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

can you tell I had fun with this one?

RS has the privilege of calling the 80s dance studio setting her own idea~

Credit where it's due: L and RS, who beta read and gave me suggestions (and a lot of laughs)

@accidentalnh2cl, this is for you! I hope you like it!

And off we go! I'll get started on the next one tomorrow.

luv y'all!

-Rea ❤

[thebunnednun]

Toast 4.

But do I look,

Like Him?

Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Prohero!Ex! Reader

Years after you walked out of his life, Katsuki can't stand how his mind won't let you go after all this time. And after your most recent phone call,

He doesn't think he ever will. Especially after meeting your secret daughter.

Who has his exact eyes.

Warning: Heavy angst, post break ups, crying Katsuki, meeting ex's (you).

Part one right here. Part 2 over yander Part 3 is here

Inspired by the song: Darling, I

Songs:

Full list on the ao3 chapter

Like Him <------ Tyler the Creator (Asuna over hearing everything.)

“My daughter.”

Katsuki felt his soul try to leave out his ass. 

You were still turned toward Asuna, smoothing down her hair and examining the dip-dyed tips of her braids as you fussed over her, completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding just behind you.

“You’ve got bring your coat with you to school,” you said, your tone equal parts affectionate and chiding. 

“And what did I tell you about after school junk food?”

Asuna grinned up at you, her sharp red eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“ Not to,” she said sweetly, though the giggle threatening to burst free ruined any attempt at sounding remorseful. You glanced down at the girl as her giggles finally started to subside, and her mischievous grin turned into something softer as she looked up at you. 

You ruffled her braids gently, your fingers lingering on the dip-dyed tips. The two of you looked almost like twins under the glow of the streetlights—same face, same posture, even the same teasing glint in your expressions. 

But then there were the eyes. 

Yours held warmth and wisdom, tempered by years of struggles and triumphs. Hers burned like twin embers, sharp and unrelenting, filled with the boundless energy of youth.

Katsuki couldn’t stop staring.

The resemblance between you two was uncanny. It wasn’t just the shared features; it was the way you both carried yourselves, that same blend of confidence and playfulness. The way her grin mirrored yours, the slight tilt of her head, even the way she gestured with her hands—it was like watching a younger version of you.

But it was her eyes that pinned him in place. 

Those sharp red irises locked onto him, and for a split second, the lightness in her expression dimmed. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studied him. Katsuki felt the air shift around him as recognition dawned in her gaze.

She knew who he was.

Her glare was quick, a fleeting moment of defiance that made his chest tighten. 

It wasn’t hostility—not exactly. It was more like a warning, a challenge wrapped up in a teenage girl’s unimpressed stare. Katsuki, for all his brashness and bravado, found himself breaking eye contact first, scowling as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“ Brat ,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Asuna didn’t let up. She leaned slightly toward him, the bouquet of flowers cradled in her arm like a shield, before quirking an eyebrow in a way that screamed the fuck you gonna do about it? Then, as if deciding he wasn’t worth her time, she turned her attention back to you, her expression softening once more.

You, oblivious to the silent exchange, gave the flowers in your hands another glance before passing them back to her. “Not bad,” you said with a teasing smirk. 

“You’re learning.”

The girl pouted dramatically. “I’ve always been good at picking flowers.”

“Sure you have,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Just don’t think this gets you out of trouble.”

Her pout melted into a grin as she hugged the bouquet to her chest. “You’re not really mad, though,” she said confidently.

You sighed, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Behind you, Kirishima, who had been openly gawking, leaned over to Izuku and whispered loudly, “It’s like they cloned her, but gave her Katsuki’s eyes!”

Izuku blinked rapidly, still processing, before mumbling, “She really does look like them both, huh?”

Katsuki shot them a glare, his teeth grinding as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and Katsuki felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. He stared at you, then at her, then back again, his mind scrambling to piece everything together.

Asuna, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension. She beamed up at you, then spun toward the others, her energy as infectious as ever.

“It’s nice to meet you all!” she chirped, giving a little wave with her free hand.

Kirishima, still looking like he’d been hit over the head, managed a weak smile and an awkward, “Uh… hey there.” He squatted down and was still a little taller than the girl.

Izuku’s lips parted as if to say something, but he just nodded dumbly, his cheeks tinged pink with surprise.

Todoroki’s gaze lingered on Hikari, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough to reveal the faintest flicker of confusion. “She really does look like you,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well,” you said lightly, brushing a strand of hair from Asuna’s face.

“ She’s got good genes.”

Katsuki’s stomach churned. His hands twitched at his sides as he stared at the girl again, his mind flashing back to earlier that day. He hadn’t known then who she was, but now—now it made sense. Every sharp word, every defiant glare, every moment she’d stood her ground against him.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. 

She really was your daughter.

And as the girl’s mischievous grin returned, Katsuki realized with a jolt of clarity–

He wasn’t ready for this.

Kirishima lay frozen for a moment, his hands hovering uncertainly as he watched his best friend struggle to breathe. His eyes darted from Katsuki to you and Asuna, then back again, panic setting in. Finally, as Asuna let out another giggle, Kirishima made a snap decision.

“So, uh,” he said loudly, his voice almost too cheerful as he stepped forward, blocking your line of sight to the commotion. “Asuna, right? Cool name! So, uh, when’s your birthday?”

Asuna blinked, momentarily distracted by the question. “April 21st,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

You could’ve heard a snowflake drop.

“Nice, nice,” Kirishima said, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “What’s your favorite color?”

You glanced up briefly, arching a brow at Kirishima’s sudden interest in your daughter. “Bloody purple,” Asuna answered without missing a beat, her grin widening.

“Uh, cool, cool,” Kirishima said, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he glanced nervously over his shoulder at Katsuki, who was still clutching his chest like his heart might explode. “And, uh, favorite food?”

“Mapo tofu,” Asuna said proudly. “Extra chili peppers. Gotta have the heat.”

Katsuki fell to his knees. 

His entire body trembling as if the world itself had flipped on its axis. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and one hand was clutching his chest so tightly his knuckles were white. 

Izuku, with his ever-watchful eyes, was the first to react, darting forward with a panicked, “ Katsuki! ” He crouched beside him, gripping his arm to steady him.

Todoroki was right behind him, his calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. Without a word, he grabbed Katsuki’s other arm, hoisting him back to his feet as though the blonde weighed nothing. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Todoroki whispered, his voice quiet but insistent.

You almost turned around to hear the commotion but Kirishima forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “You like spicy, huh? You and Katsuki have that in common—he’s all about the spice.” That had your attention back on your twin. 

Asuna's eyes flicked briefly toward Katsuki, who was now leaning heavily on both Izuku and Todoroki. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she added, 

“Oh yeah. Mom, I’ll be taking my hero license exam before Christmas break.”

“Really?” Kirishima said, trying desperately to keep the conversation going. “That’s awesome! Who’s helping you prepare?”

“Gramps,” Asuna replied casually, shrugging one shoulder.

“Gramps?” Kirishima echoed, blinking in confusion.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Asuna clarified, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s more like a hobo uncle, but I call him Gramps ‘cause he’s old and has the attitude to match.”

At that, Izuku’s head shot up, his eyes wide with realization. 

“ Wait ,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.  “I’ve seen her before.” His face turned an alarming shade of red as the pieces clicked into place, and he stammered, 

“She’s—she’s your—”

Todoroki, who had been silently observing, gave a slight nod, his expression as composed as ever but his eyes betraying a hint of smugness.

“I knew it,” he murmured.

Katsuki, however, couldn’t get a single word out. 

His breathing was shallow, his chest heaving as he struggled to process the scene in front of him. His gaze flicked from you to Asuna and back again, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with the girl earlier that day. 

Her sharp tongue, her confidence, her fiery glare—it all made sense now.

“She’...,” he choked out, barely above a whisper.

Asuna, who had been watching him out of the corner of her eye, turned fully toward him. 

For a brief moment, her playful demeanor faltered, and she regarded him with a look that was equal parts curiosity and challenge. Her wine red eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she were debating whether to say something.

Then, with a tilt of her head and a knowing smirk, it was like her eyes said, 

‘You’re slower than I thought.’

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, and for a second, it looked like he might argue. But before he could say anything, you finally turned around, noticing the way he was sagging between Izuku and Todoroki.

“Katsuki?” you asked, frowning as you stepped toward him.

“Don’t,”

He managed, holding up a hand to stop you. His voice was rough, strained, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

“Just—give me a minute.”

You hesitated, your concern evident, but Asuna tugged lightly on your sleeve, drawing your attention back to her. “He’ll be fine,” she said casually, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her gaze.

You sighed, ruffling her hair again before glancing back at Katsuki. 

“If you say so.”

As you turned your focus back to Asuna, Katsuki’s eyes lingered on the two of you. 

In the bright streetlights, the resemblance was undeniable. The way you fussed over her, the way she leaned into your touch—it was like looking at a version of you he’d never imagined but couldn’t look away from.

And for the second time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t know what the fuck to do.

The night air felt sharp against your skin, but it didn’t bother you as you glanced at the bag of snacks Asuna opened. She tilted it toward you with a casual shrug, revealing your favorite comfort snacks nestled among hers. You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You even got mine?” you teased gently, cupping her face in your hands to study her more closely.

Asuna shrugged again, feigning indifference. 

“Yeah, well, you’re annoying when you’re hangry.”

Her deadpan delivery earned a soft laugh from you, though your hands lingered on her cheeks. Her warmth was a welcome contrast to the chill in the air, but it only made you notice the absence of a coat on her even more.

“Kirishima,” you said, turning slightly to glance at the redhead still hovering near Katsuki. 

“Can you give us a second?”

Kirishima perked up immediately. “Yeah, no problem!” he said, stepping back with exaggerated cheerfulness before noticing Katsuki still sitting on the pavement. He muttered something under his breath and quickly leaned down to help his friend up.

But Katsuki wasn’t cooperating. 

The moment Kirishima hauled him halfway to his feet, Katsuki’s knees buckled again, and he collapsed onto Todoroki, who let out an audible grunt and staggered under the unexpected weight.

Todoroki’s expression didn’t change much, but the slightly widened eyes and twitch at the corner of his lips screamed discomfort. He looked like a disgruntled dog toy that had been stepped on.

“Bakugo, get ahold of yourself,” Todoroki said flatly, trying to nudge him off without much success.

Izuku hovered nearby, looking like he wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure how. Meanwhile, Kirishima alternated between fretting over Katsuki and apologizing profusely to Todoroki.

You ignored their antics entirely, turning your attention back to Asuna. “Where’s your coat?” you asked, your voice dipping into that firm-but-gentle tone you always used when nagging her.

Asuna rolled her eyes but grinned. “I run hot, you know that.”

“Not good enough,” you muttered, already shrugging out of your own black coat. She groaned in protest as you draped it over her shoulders, immediately beginning to fuss with the sleeves. 

“ Moooom , seriously, I’ll overheat—”

“Too bad,” you interrupted, brushing off her complaints as you buttoned it up snugly. The veil you’d been wearing came off next, and you wrapped it around her neck as a makeshift scarf, your braids slipping free to frame your face in intricate, thick ropes.

“Thermals?” you asked, squinting at her. She sighed, defeated.

“Yeah, I’ve got them on.”

“Good,” you said, finishing the last button and tucking the veil securely under her chin.

It was then you noticed something new in her hair—a small, blue butterfly clip tucked into the braid nearest her face. You tilted your head, running a gentle finger over it. “What’s this? I don’t remember seeing this before.”

Asuna’s grin widened. “Eri gave me a matching set. She said butterflies are good luck.”

Your smile softened as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“It suits you.”

Satisfied that she was as bundled as she’d allow, you tilted your head, your voice dipping lower. “How was school today?” Asuna hesitated, the bravado dimming slightly as she fiddled with the itchy edge of the veil. 

“It was okay . I stayed in the office with Nezu and Hound Dog most of the day.”

Your frown was immediate, though she quickly continued. “Aizawa let Midnight test me in the teacher’s lounge so I wouldn’t have to deal with people staring. She even paused the timer whenever I cried.”

You stilled, your chest aching at the thought. Without hesitation, you cupped her face again and leaned forward, pressing your forehead to hers.

“I’m proud of you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. 

Then you kissed her forehead, holding her close as your quirk instinctively warmed her.

Behind you, Izuku was visibly tearing up, his hand twitching toward his pocket. Katsuki, despite his earlier stupor, noticed and smacked Izuku’s hand down before he could pull out his phone to call his mom.

Katsuki barely registered the pain in his chest as he clutched at it, staring at you and Asuna. The sight of her—your daughter—was like a punch to the gut. She looked so much like you, but her sharp red eyes glared at him with an intensity that mirrored his own.

For a fleeting moment, recognition sparked between them.

He’d seen her before, hadn’t he? In a fleeting memory, a face in the crowd… 

And now, here she was, standing beside you like a living reminder of everything he’d lost.

“ Mom ,” Asuna whispered, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

You held her tighter, your warmth enveloping her entirely. 

This wasn’t about Katsuki, or even about you. 

It was about a girl who’d just lost her grandmother and was desperately trying to keep it together for her mom.

Katsuki’s throat tightened, and he looked away. There was no way he’d bring up the past now—not when it was so painfully clear how much healing still needed to happen.

The rustling of plastic bags broke the quiet hum of the evening as you reached into the convenience store bag. Pulling out a pack of tissues, you handed it to Asuna, who immediately sidled closer, using you as a human shield. 

Her eyes darted past your shoulder, scanning the guys as if they might jump her with questions. You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you fished out an unopened water bottle next, passing it to her.

“Drink,” you urged softly, tucking a stray braid behind your ear.

Asuna unscrewed the cap and tilted her head back, draining the bottle in one go. The hollow crackle of the plastic bottle echoed briefly before she sighed, lowering it and pressing her forehead against your shoulder. 

“Can we dip, please ?”

Her deadpan tone paired with her abrupt word choice made you laugh. “Selective vocabulary strikes again,” you teased, but nodded, rubbing her back gently. Turning to the group, you called out, 

“Alright, we’re heading out. Good night, everyone!”

Kirishima, who had finally managed to get Katsuki upright, grinned, his arm slung securely around the still-unsteady blond. But the moment Katsuki registered your words, he surged forward, his movements stiff but determined.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said firmly, his voice quieter than usual but still carrying that telltale grit.

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Izuku all moved in unison like an impenetrable wall of intent.

“Not happening,” Kirishima said, his voice chipper but resolute. “Too late for that,” Todoroki added coolly. Izuku, ever the diplomat, gave you an apologetic smile. “It’s safer this way.” You huffed in mock frustration, rolling your eyes.

“You guys act like I can’t handle myself,” you said, throwing them a playful glare.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Kirishima countered, his voice kind but firm. He stepped forward and hit the button for the crosswalk with his knuckle, grinning back at you like he’d done you a great favor.

Asuna sidled in front of you, linking her arm with yours as the walk signal lit up. 

The small group fell into step behind you, their quiet chatter blending with the distant sound of traffic as you made your way to the ramen shop across the street. When you arrived, the warm light spilling from the restaurant’s windows revealed a familiar figure standing outside. 

Aizawa was leaning against the doorframe, his ever-present scarf hanging loosely around his neck. Before you could say anything, Asuna lit up and bolted past you. 

“Eri!”

The teen barely had time to react before Asuna scooped her up, spinning her around in a hug. Eri laughed, her arms wrapping tightly around Asuna’s neck, her pink butterfly clip catching the light.

Inside, the members of Class 1-A were seated at a long table, their chopsticks halfway to their mouths as they stared in stunned silence. You followed Asuna into the shop, offering a sheepish smile. 

“Oh, I forgot to introduce y'all,” you said casually, gesturing to Asuna. 

“This is my daughter.”

The room fucking exploded.

Chopsticks clattered onto plates. Spoons hit the floor. Forks slid from bowls of ramen. Questions flew at you from every direction.

“Wait, what?!”

“You have a daughter!”

“She’s so cool!”

“She’s so pretty !!”

“SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER?!”

“Does she have a quirk?”

You let Asuna field most of the questions, stepping back and observing her with a quiet sense of pride as she answered effortlessly, dodging the ones she didn’t want to answer with a quick wit you knew she’d inherited from her….

Anyway.

When the questions began veering toward you, you expertly deflected them with a smile. “Thanks for the fun time, everyone. I’ll see you later. Have a good night!” 

Aizawa stood with Eri as you turned to leave, but not before Kirishima elbowed Katsuki so hard you heard the thud of contact. 

Katsuki let out a series of sharp, hot pops in response, glaring daggers at the redhead.

“Dude, say something to her,” Kirishima hissed, leaning closer.

Katsuki shot him a look that could melt steel, but before anyone could intervene further, he stepped forward, his gaze fixed firmly on you.

“I needa talk to you,” he said, his voice strained.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Alright,” you said, turning to Asuna. “I’ll be right back. Eri, keep an eye on her for me?” Eri nodded eagerly, her smile wide. 

“Got it!”

Asuna rolled her eyes playfully, catching the purse Aizawa handed you with an effortless snatch. “Egg rolls for home?” she asked, already fishing through the bag for cash.

You chuckled. “Go for it.”

Her cheer echoed behind you as you stepped outside with Katsuki. He held the door open for you, his movements a little stiff, and you bit your tongue, holding back a quip as you followed him toward Kirishima’s truck.

The cool air wrapped around you again, but the tension in the space between you and Katsuki burned hotter than any flame. He stopped a few steps away, turning to face you fully. His crimson eyes bore into yours, raw and intense, like he was trying to read every secret written on your face.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to fiddle with your braids as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.

The air between you both felt electric, tense with everything unsaid.

 Katsuki shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands flexing open and closed as if trying to grasp for words that refused to come. 

His chest felt tight, his heart hammering like it wanted to punch its way out. Danger, danger, danger, his instincts screamed, but he was already too far gone to retreat.

“I...” His voice cracked slightly, and he grit his teeth, frustrated at his own hesitation. 

“I want to say first—I’m sorry. Again. For making this about the past when... when you’re goin’ through so much grief.”

You tilted your head, your brows knitting together slightly as you studied him. 

“But...?” you prompted, the single word cutting through the cold like a blade.

Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He wanted to ask, needed to ask, but the words stuck, heavy and stubborn on his tongue. 

“I... didn't know you had a daughter...” His voice faltered, and he clenched his fists at his sides. 

He couldn’t even say it.

You caught the hesitation, your expression shifting. Slowly, you reached up and flicked one of your braids over your shoulder, the gesture calm and deliberate despite the fire sparking in your gaze. 

“No one knows,” you began, your voice steady but low. “Except for Aizawa, Eri, some UA staff, and Hitoshi.”

“ Hitoshi? ” 

The name hit him like a shockwave, bringing a flood of memories rushing back. “Bag check, Shinso ?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You nodded, and Katsuki’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Memories of a younger Shinso flashed through his mind—a quiet, sharp-eyed kid who always seemed to linger around you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

Katsuki closed his eyes and swallowed hard while a shuttered breath passed through him. 

“Oh. Is he—”

“No.”

Your answer was immediate, cutting him off sharply. 

His mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way you said it, the edge to your tone, the fire now blooming in your irises. It hit him all at once, the realization of just how much you’d been holding back.

You stood there, staring at him, your patience visibly fraying. Katsuki could see it in the set of your jaw, the tightness in your shoulders, and the way your gaze pinned him in place. Your quirk always revealed itself in moments like these, when your emotions ran too high to be contained, the fiery glow in your eyes a warning as clear as any explosion.

“No,” you repeated, quieter this time, but no less firm. “He’s not her father.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, as if daring him to push further.

Katsuki’s throat worked as he tried to form a response, but he came up empty. He could only stare at you, his crimson eyes searching yours for something—answers, forgiveness, clarity—but finding nothing he could grasp.

You took a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling as emotions swirled hot and heavy inside you. 

The weight of the last few days, the confrontation in the ramen shop, and now this conversation—it was all too much. Your fingers twitched at your sides as you fought the urge to fidget, knowing full well that he was watching every little movement.

Fucking annoyed you as much as the last time it happened. 

And yet, as much as you tried, you couldn’t read his expression. His eyes, normally so fierce and direct, were shadowed with something unreadable. 

Indifference ? Regret ? 

You couldn’t tell.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the cold air biting at your skin as the silence stretched. Katsuki finally took a small step forward, his hands still clenched but his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Then... who?”

The question hung there, fragile and uncertain, and you blinked, the glow in your eyes dimming slightly. But you didn’t answer—not yet. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze hardening.

“That’s not a question you get to ask,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to crack through. “Not tonight.”

Katsuki flinched at your words, but he didn’t argue. For once, he didn’t try to push past the boundary you’d drawn. Instead, he just nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stepped back, giving you space.

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of a distant car horn. “Alright.”

You turned away first, heading back toward the restaurant where Asuna and Eri were waiting. But Katsuki stayed where he was, staring after you as if the cold air might carry the answers he hadn’t been brave enough to ask for.

“WAIT!”

The cold night air pressed in around you, biting at your skin as you turned back to Katsuki. His voice had been sharp, desperate enough to cut through the haze of your exhaustion. You were so tired, worn to the bone by the last few days, and yet here you were again—caught in another conversation that you weren’t sure your heart could handle.

Katsuki stood a few feet away, his shoulders squared but his eyes uncertain. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, something that almost made you falter. But you didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze narrowing in a way you knew would keep him at arm’s length.

“Why didn’t you tell the group about her?” he asked, his voice low but carrying the weight of every unspoken question he’d been holding back.

Your jaw tightened, and you let the silence hang between you for a moment, tapping your foot against the cracked pavement in that telltale rhythm of frustration. It was a habit you couldn’t break, one that Katsuki clearly recognized. His crimson eyes flicked down to your tapping foot and back up, watching you like a man waiting for a storm to hit.

Finally, you let out a sharp breath and answered curtly, 

“Because of who her father is. It was for her own safety. I didn’t know she was going to pop up like this, so I hope that answers any follow-up questions.”

Your tone was clipped, leaving no room for argument, but Katsuki didn’t back down. He breathed out slowly, the hot cloud of his breath dissipating into the cold air. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. Then, he took a step forward.

Instinctively, you stepped back.

It was a sick, familiar dance, one y’all hadn’t realized you’d both fallen into so easily. 

He moved closer; you retreated. The space between you felt like a battlefield, charged with old wounds and unspoken truths. Katsuki’s frustration was palpable, etched into every tense line of his body, but he didn’t push harder. Not yet.

He just watched you, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable. And for the first time in a long while, he saw a reflection of yourself in him—of every time you’d tried to get closer, only for him to shift the goalposts, to move just far enough away that you couldn’t reach him.

It hit him like a frozen bread slice. 

That’s what this was. 

That’s how you’d felt every single time he’d held back. He could feel it now, the weight of emotions he couldn’t name sitting heavy on his chest. Feelings weren’t just fleeting thoughts—they were messy, tangled things that married the mind and the heart together.

Married.

The thought struck him, sharp and sudden, and his eyes darted to your hands, to your neck, as if searching for proof he already knew wasn’t there. 

Still, the idea clawed at him, refused to let go. 

Finally, he lifted his head again, his expression open and almost lost.

“ I didn’t know you got married ,” Katsuki murmured, his voice rough and cracking like dry wood.

The neon lights of the ramen shop cast a soft glow over you both, their warm colors a stark contrast to the icy air around you. Him, in the dark glow of the windows and green of the convenience store. You, bathed in the red and purple of the ramen shop. 

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching audibly. And then silence fell, heavy and unyielding. The seconds dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as the weight of his words settled between you.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. And for a brief, fleeting moment, Katsuki thought he might have been wrong to ask.

But then, finally, you spoke, your voice steady and clear despite the whirlwind of emotions behind it.

“I didn’t.”

Two words. That was all. 

But they hit like a detonation, shaking the fragile ground you both stood on.

Katsuki’s mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but no sound came out. He stared at you, his crimson eyes wide with shock, confusion, and something else—

Something deeper.

You stood firm, your feet planted on the cold pavement as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. Despite the chill, your cheeks felt hot, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch against your skin. 

And yet, you didn’t back down. 

You couldn’t.

For the first time since this conversation started, it felt like the roles had shifted. Katsuki was the one left floundering, scrambling to make sense of what you’d said. And you... you were finally the one holding your ground.

But as you stared at him, as the silence stretched on and the distance between you felt both infinite and nonexistent, you couldn’t ignore the pang in your chest. 

Because no matter how much you tried to steel yourself, there was still a part of you that remembered—remembered how warm and safe he used to feel, how easy it had been to curl up in his chest and let the rest of the world fade away.

And yet, here you were, the space between you wider than it had ever been.

The cold nips at your skin, sharp and unrelenting, as Katsuki steps closer. You could feel the heat of his presence, the weight of him pressing into the fragile boundaries you’d erected between yourself and the rest of the world. 

Step by step, he closed the distance, and step by step, you backed away, your arms crossed tighter against your chest like armor.

You didn’t realize you were nearing the curb until the edge of it bit into the heel of your shoe. 

The stumble was slight, but it jolted through you, a stark reminder of how close he’d pushed you to the edge—literally and figuratively. Katsuki noticed, of course, his crimson eyes narrowing with the sharpness of a predator, but he didn’t stop.

"Hey, I just..." His voice cracked slightly, and he exhaled heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I need to know. Is her father—"

"Stop." 

Your voice came out like a whip, sharp and cold. Your arms tightened further across your chest, and you held your ground despite the gnawing urge to retreat further. 

"You’re going too fucking far, Katsuki."

His jaw worked as if grinding down his words, his teeth clenched tight. But the frustration in his eyes only grew hotter. “I just want to know if he’s even—”

“Enough!” 

You snapped, and your voice rang out louder than you intended. For a moment, you saw the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression, but it didn’t last.

“Does he even know?” Katsuki shot back, his voice rough and biting. 

“Does her dad even know she exists?!”

Your entire body stiffened, the heat of anger flashing through you like a wildfire. The words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them, burning like acid on your tongue.

“That asshole doesn’t deserve to know.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Katsuki froze, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. His crimson eyes searched yours, wide with shock and something else���something softer, something heavier. 

Katsuki was lost.

Your throat tightened, and you turned your face away, a trembling hand swiping quickly under your eye. The motion was small, almost imperceptible, but it betrayed you nonetheless. The vulnerability of it all—of him seeing you like this, of him pushing you so far—made your chest ache with an unbearable weight.

Katsuki took advantage of the moment, of your gaze pulling away from him, and closed the distance. 

You could feel him stepping closer, his warmth drawing nearer, and the air felt too thick, too suffocating. 

Your eyes shifted to where Asuna and Eri were sitting at a table near the ramen shop window, their little faces glowing in the neon light as they giggled and shared egg rolls.

Hitoshi placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of Asuna, ruffling her hair as she swatted his hand before giving him an eager grin. Aizawa lingered by the doorway, looking half-exasperated as Denki animatedly gestured with wild abandon, no doubt recounting some chaotic tale about frozen bread. 

The scene was warm, domestic, and far too normal for the tempest swirling inside you.

“ You don’t get to come back and ask me things like this ,” you said, your voice quieter but no less firm as you turned back to him.

Katsuki’s gaze lingered on the scene for a moment longer before snapping back to you. His brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a hard line as if he wanted to argue. But something in your expression stopped him, something in the way your eyes glimmered with a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

You wanted to take another step back. 

You wanted to keep retreating, to put as much distance as possible between you and this man who had once been your everything. 

But the curb was at your back, and the thought crossed your mind to step into the street, to show him just how far you were willing to go for a sliver of space.

Before you could act on the impulse, Katsuki did something unexpected.

He stepped back.

It wasn’t a stumble, wasn’t hesitant or unsure. 

It was deliberate, a single step backward that left a noticeable gap between you. His hands balled into fists at his sides, the tension in his shoulders unrelenting, but he didn’t close the distance again.

You stared at him, your breath coming in uneven puffs of condensation, and for the first time in what felt like ages, there was a fragile kind of silence between you.

The frigid air bit at your skin as you stared at Katsuki. It wasn’t just the cold that made you shiver, though. 

The weight of his gaze, the anger barely hidden behind his furrowed brows, and the way he seemed to tower over the moment—it all made you feel exposed in ways you couldn’t afford right now. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, a flimsy shield against everything unraveling between you.

Katsuki wasn’t moving. His boots were planted firmly on the ground, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as though anchoring himself. You could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the frustration and confusion tearing him apart. You could practically hear the words he wasn’t saying.

"Tomorrow," he said finally, his voice rough and strained. "Park. Noon."

You blinked at him, your lips parting to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.

Katsuki’s jaw worked, his teeth grinding audibly. "For the pictures," he added, his voice sharp but quieter.

You felt the tightness in your chest ease ever so slightly, but only because it gave you something concrete to grasp onto, something simple. "Fine," you replied curtly, nodding. "During lunch."

For a moment, neither of you moved. It felt like you were standing on opposite planks, balancing on a precarious structure. The slightest shift from either of you could send the other tumbling, and neither seemed willing to make that first move.

Katsuki’s voice broke the silence, hoarse and raw. "You’re trying to do everything on your own, aren’t you?"

Your lips tightened, and you looked away, your gaze drawn back to the ramen shop window where Asuna and Eri were laughing. Their hands were messy with soy sauce, and Hitoshi was playfully nudging Asuna’s chopsticks toward the bowl while Aizawa kept one eye on the scene and the other on Denki, still ranting.

"I’m her mother," you said finally, your voice low but firm. 

"It’s my job to protect her, to do what’s best for her."

"And what about you ?" Katsuki snapped, taking a single step closer, the plank beneath him groaning under the weight of his frustration. 

"What about what’s best for you ?"

Your eyes whipped back to him, narrowing. "I don’t have the luxury of thinking about just myself," you shot back, your voice trembling with the effort to hold steady. "Not when I have her, not when I have everything else to keep in line."

"That’s bullshit," he growled, his fists trembling at his sides. "You’re—"

You cut him off, your voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. 

" Don’t . Don’t pretend to understand what it’s like to juggle all of this, Katsuki. You wouldn’t get it."

He flinched, just barely, but you saw it. His expression shifted into something softer, more raw, and the intensity of it made your stomach twist.

"You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re gonna snap under the weight of it all?" he said quietly, his voice dropping into something almost pleading. 

"Ya think I don’t know how much it hurts to have to hold everything together when all you wanna do is fall apart?"

Your throat tightened, and you looked away again, your arms uncrossing just enough for your hands to rest at your sides. You clenched your fists, willing your resolve to hold, but his words burrowed under your skin.

"I don’t have that option," you whispered, barely audible over the hum of the city around you.

Katsuki exhaled hard, his breath clouding the air. He didn’t argue this time. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration simmering just below the surface.

"You deserve better," he muttered, almost too low for you to hear.

You glanced back at him, your gaze steady but weary. Then, your lips curved into a sad smile as your eyebrows pursed together in grievance. A bittersweet chuckle escaped your breath,

“Yeah, I should’ve chosen better, huh?”

Katsuki’s heart stopped.

The weight of your words settled heavily, neither of you willing to move or send the other crashing. It was a delicate balance, but at least for now, it held.

"Tomorrow," you repeated, your voice softer this time. 

"Noon."

Katsuki nodded, stepping back finally, giving you the distance you craved. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned away.

As you watched him go, you couldn’t help but feel the tension still thrumming in the air, like the strings of a song left unfinished.

The sudden burst of energy from the ramen shop felt like a pressure valve had been released. 

Kirishima, grinning but clearly on a mission, bounded out first with Aizawa close behind, his sharp eyes scanning the street. Behind them, Eri and Asuna trailed, the former clutching a half-eaten egg roll while Asuna looked around with wide, curious eyes. Shinsou followed last, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze keen, observing everything.

You barely had a moment to gather yourself before Asuna caught sight of you. Her face lit up like the neon signs above, and she sprinted toward you, arms outstretched. 

You tensed instinctively, catching her as she all but threw herself into your arms. The warmth of her body against yours was grounding, and you clutched her tightly, spinning her once to hear the delighted giggle escape her lips.

Aizawa approached with a measured pace, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. 

“Everything alright? ” he asked, his tone low but concerned.

You nodded, not trusting your voice yet, and pressed a kiss to Asuna’s temple. She squirmed happily, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. 

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the words felt heavier than you intended.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Izuku step out, his gaze flitting between you and the rest of the group. “Mina wanted to know if she could sleep over tonight,” he said, his voice gentle. 

“To keep you company.”

You hesitated for just a second before nodding. “That sounds nice,” you said, offering a small, grateful smile. Izuku nodded back, his concern evident, before he ducked back inside to deliver the message.

Todoroki stepped closer, his expression neutral but his eyes studying you intently. “Is there anything I could do for you?” he asked. 

You nodded again, this time with a little more conviction. “Yeah. Could you let everyone know goodnight for me? I’ll see them later.”

Shoto inclined his head, ever the picture of grace. “Of course.” He turned, but not before casting a pointed glance toward Kirishima, who had Katsuki in a firm grip, dragging him back up the street. Katsuki’s expression was dark, his jaw set tight as he fought against Kirishima’s determined hold.

With a polite bow, Todoroki said goodnight to Eri and Asuna before slipping back inside. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the warm chatter from within the ramen shop and leaving only the chill night air between you and the others.

You adjusted Asuna in your arms, her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. Eri stood by Shinsou, who offered her a lazy smile as he handed her a paper crane he’d folded from a receipt. Aizawa lingered nearby, his gaze flicking between you and Katsuki as if assessing the situation.

Kirishima finally reached you, his grip firm on Katsuki’s arm. “Got him,” he said lightly, trying to inject some humor into the tension, though his smile faltered when Katsuki pulled his arm free with a sharp jerk.

Katsuki stood there, his breathing uneven, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. There was something raw in his gaze, something unspoken that made your chest tighten painfully. You didn’t want to do this—not now, not in front of everyone.

‘I’m gonna pack my things and leave you behind,’ 

You thought bitterly, the lyrics echoing in your head as you stared him down. The words felt like they were burning through your veins, but you didn’t dare say them aloud. Instead, you kept your voice steady. 

“I told you we’d talk tomorrow, Backugou.”

Katsuki clenched his fists in his pockets, his lips parting as if to argue, but then his gaze flicked to Asuna in your arms. Her face half buried in your coat but one ruby eye watching him carefully. Your hand rubbing her back in a soothing manner. Then he thought of Rita. The fight seemed to drain out of him, and he exhaled sharply, turning his head away as if the sight of you hurt.

‘Let me go.’

‘Let me go, so I can let you go.’

‘Let me go, so I can finally get you out of my head.’ 

‘Let me go, so I can finally let you free myself.’ 

'Let me go, so I can finally be free.'

'Please don't let me go.'

You wanted to scream. 

But you stayed silent, clutching Asuna tighter, using her steady warmth to keep yourself from crumbling. Eri tugged at Shinsou’s sleeve, asking something in a soft voice. Shinsou nodded and guided her toward Aizawa, murmuring something about getting her home. 

Aizawa hesitated for a moment, his gaze heavy on you before he finally nodded, giving you space.

Kirishima cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’ll head back inside,” he said, his usual cheer muted. He gave you a nod before dragging Katsuki back a step, though Katsuki didn’t resist this time.

You watched them retreat, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. Asuna leaned back to look at you, her hand cupping your cheek. 

“Mama, are you okay?”

You kissed her forehead, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you lied. You glanced back at Katsuki one last time before turning toward her fully, determined to leave the broken pieces of this night behind you.

The tension hung thick in the air, clinging to your every breath as you tried to steady yourself. A hand landed lightly on your shoulder, and you turned to see Shinsou, his violet eyes steady but kind. 

"I'll drive you home," he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Aizawa will probably call you later.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you smoothed a hand over Asuna’s hair. “Alright,” you murmured, pulling yourself together. Shinsou reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a takeout bag. 

“Got your usual,” he said, offering it with a slight smirk. “Figured you’d need it.”

Your stomach clenched, not from hunger but from the way Katsuki’s gaze flared at the sight of the bag. His jaw tightened, and you could almost see the flicker of heat behind his eyes. Shinsou, unbothered, simply handed you the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for Asuna to catch on. She rattled the convenience store bags on her wrists, drawing attention away as she chimed, “I got the drugs.”

You smiled at her, grateful, before lightly pinching her side as she squealed, and then made the mistake of looking at Katsuki again. 

He was still standing there, his chest rising and falling with a deliberate slowness as if he were forcing himself to breathe. His crimson eyes met yours, holding them for a beat too long before he nodded curtly.

“Goodnight,” he said, the words low and controlled. He glanced at Asuna, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly.

Now they were staring at each other. 

Katsuki’s eyes roamed over Asuna’s face, a mosaic of features that mirrored yours and yet held something wholly her own. Those bright vermillion eyes—the same shade as his—caught his attention, and for a moment, he looked almost lost, like he was piecing together a puzzle he didn’t know he was holding.

Asuna’s expression, on the other hand, was a mix of defiance and thinly veiled disgust. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line, but she held his gaze, committing it to memory as though it were a necessary evil. The air between them was electric, charged with unspoken questions and tangled emotions neither seemed willing to voice.

It was strange.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Goodnight, Kirishima,” you said, turning to the redhead who stood a few feet back, trying to look inconspicuous but clearly on edge.

He smiled warmly, a balm to the tension. “Goodnight. All of you,” he said. Then, looking at Asuna, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hero card, passing it to her with a reassuring grin. 

“Call if you need anything, alright?”

Asuna stared at the card for a moment before taking it with a light nod. 

“Thanks,” she said sweetly, turning to leave with you. But as you walked toward Shinsou’s sleek black Mustang, her hands shot behind her back, and she flashed both middle fingers toward Katsuki and Kirishima.

You barely caught the motion, her defiant smirk fading into feigned innocence by the time you glanced at her. Shinsou, already at the car, opened the door for you and Asuna. 

“Ladies first,” he quipped, gesturing with a mock bow.

Asuna climbed in without hesitation, sliding into the passenger seat and tossing the bags beside her. You followed, settling into shotgun as Shinsou closed the door with a quiet finality.

Katsuki and Kirishima were still standing there as Shinsou pulled onto the street, the Mustang’s engine purring like a contented cat. You didn’t look back, but Asuna did, her gaze lingering on the shrinking figures in the rearview glass.

The silence in the car was thick but not suffocating, and you let your head rest against the cool window, the takeout bag clutched in your lap. Shinsou glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“Ready to call it a night?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. You closed your eyes and exhaled, feeling the weight of the evening settle over you. 

“ Yeah ,” you whispered, the word carrying more exhaustion than you intended.

As the city lights blurred past, you reached back to squeeze Asuna’s hand, grateful for her warmth and resilience. Whatever this mess was, you’d figure it out. For her. 

For both of you.

The Mustang’s tail lights disappeared into the night, leaving Kirishima and Katsuki standing under the dim glow of the ramen shop’s sign. The street was quiet except for the occasional rumble of a passing car and the faint hum of city life in the distance. Kirishima let out a low whistle, his hands on his hips as he turned to look at Katsuki.

“ Damn ,” Kirishima muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “That kid’s got some fire in her. Just like you, man.”

Katsuki didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the spot where the Mustang had vanished, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. His hands hung at his sides, twitching with leftover adrenaline and something he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep this up,” Kirishima said gently, stepping closer. “C’mon, man. Let’s get you out of here. My truck’s right here. You can crash at my place tonight.”

Katsuki finally turned his head, meeting Kirishima’s steady gaze. His eyes burned with exhaustion and something deeper—something raw and unspoken. But he nodded, his shoulders slumping just enough to show he was done fighting, at least for now.

Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring shake before heading toward the truck. “I already took care of the squad's bill,” he called over his shoulder, trying to keep the mood light. 

Katsuki followed in silence, his legs feeling like lead as he climbed into the passenger seat. He slumped against the seatback, his head resting against the window. His skin felt tight, his throat dry. He didn’t say a word as Kirishima slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The truck rumbled to life, and Kirishima glanced at him before pulling onto the road. “You good?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“ Yeah ,” Katsuki muttered, though he didn’t sound convincing. He didn’t feel convincing either. His body ached, and his head was a mess, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t untangle if he tried.

As the truck rolled through the city, Katsuki stared out the window. The neon signs, the glow of streetlights, and the occasional flash of a passing car reflected on the glass, blending into a kaleidoscope of colors. The city moved on, oblivious to the storm raging inside him.

The last 24 hours replayed in his head like a movie stuck on a loop. 

You. Asuna. Shinsou. The confrontation. The questions. The overwhelming emotions that had left him spinning. And those last two hours—those played louder than anything else. Your face. The way your voice cracked when you spoke to him. The way you looked at Asuna, at Shinsou, at him. He couldn’t shake it. 

Couldn’t shake you .

His fists clenched in his lap as he thought of you with someone else, of the life you’d built after him. The idea that you’d given your heart, your trust, to someone who had burned you. The father of your child. A child who shared his crimson eyes.

Asuna

‘Did Asuna have siblings?’  

Katsuki didn’t think so. 

But he didn’t know anymore. 

He didn’t know what to think about anything.

Katsuki let out a long breath, his gaze shifting upward, past the skyline and the glowing city lights, to the faint glimmer of stars above. They seemed so far away, so out of reach, like everything he wanted but couldn’t have.

Kirishima’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”

Katsuki grunted, his head tipping slightly in acknowledgment, but he didn’t answer.

As the truck turned onto the highway, the steady rhythm of the tires against the road filled the cab, a soothing backdrop to the chaos in his head. Katsuki blinked slowly, his eyes heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

He let his gaze drift back to the stars for a moment longer before closing his eyes. The last thing he saw was the faint shimmer of light on the horizon. Then he let the darkness take him, the sound of the road lulling him into a restless sleep.

—

The house was warm and alive with the gentle hum of the washing machine and the faint sound of a true-crime podcast Shinsou had absentmindedly put on. He sprawled across the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed, one eye lazily on you as you bustled around with a basket of laundry.

Your home in one of Japan's well known volcanoes had an ever-present, soothing warmth that could only be found in a place tied so deeply to your quirk. The low hum of molten lava flowing beneath the house was almost like a heartbeat, steady and comforting. Soft, golden light filtered through the high windows, casting gentle shadows over the sleek, maximalist furniture that adorned your living space. 

Every detail was intentional, from the geothermal-powered appliances to the vibrant, living plants that thrived despite the volcanic heat. It was secluded, a haven tucked away from the chaos of the city, and the perfect place to recharge—though it did make visitors rare.

Perfect place to raise a fiery young upstart too. 

Asuna was perched on a stool by the kitchen counter, her oversized black hoodie swallowing her frame, paired with Hello Kitty pajama pants that spoke of her half-hearted rebellion. Her hair was tied back in a silk scarf, messy strands framing her sharp, youthful face as she absently scrolled through her phone.

You stretched with a groan, your back cracking audibly. “ Finally ,” you muttered, tossing a few shirts into the washer with a little more vigor than necessary. Shinsou snickered from the couch, his tired, amused gaze tracking your movements.

“You look like you just lost a fight with a dryer sheet,” he teased, pulling a throw pillow under his head.

“Stuff it, Hitoshi,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself. Asuna snickered, shaking her head as she grabbed the jacket draped over the back of a chair.

“Mom,” she said suddenly, holding it up for you to see.

“ Whose jacket is this ?”

You froze mid-step, turning to face her. 

For a second, the sight of it didn’t register—the familiar black fabric with bold orange stripes along the sleeves—but then it hit you. Katsuki’s jacket. The one he’d draped over your shoulders earlier, his gruff voice saying, “You’re shivering, dumbass. Take it.”

Your jaw dropped, and you let out a half-strangled noise, a mix between a gasp and a yelp. 

“ Oh my god!”

“ What?!” Asuna asked, her eyes wide and freaked out as she clutched the jacket tighter. Her question only deepened your horror.

“ Nothing! ” you said quickly, your voice pitching higher than you’d like. “It’s nothing. A... a friend let me borrow it because I was cold.” You plastered on a smile, praying she wouldn’t dig deeper.

To your relief, she gave you a knowing smile that was somehow both sweet and teasing. 

“Oh, a friend ,” she said, emphasizing the word with a sly lift of her brow.

“ Don’t ,” you warned, pointing at her dramatically. 

“Don’t even start.”

Asuna chuckled, her red eyes— so much like her father’s —dancing with amusement as she turned and carried the jacket to the washer. She dropped it in without a second thought, closing the lid with a satisfying thud.

You exhaled deeply, the tightness in your chest loosening slightly. 

Tomorrow. 

You’d just have to return it tomorrow when you saw Katsuki at the park.

No big deal.

From the couch, Shinsou arched a brow at you, his smirk bordering on smug. “You’re gonna ‘borrow’ his jacket now, huh?” he said, voice low and teasing. You quickly looked from him to Asuna, who was too far into the hallway to hear, thankfully before you shot a look at the wonka haired shit talker.  

“ Go fuck yourself, ” you groaned, throwing a sock at him. It missed, landing limply on the floor, but the effort made him laugh under his breath.

“Sure, surrre ,” he drawled, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “I’ll just sit here and quietly judge.”

“Good,” you shot back, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

Asuna reappeared from the laundry room, already yawning as she stretched her arms over her head. “It’s past 9, I’m going to bed,” she announced, giving you a soft smile. 

“Love you, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning.” She gave you a tight hug that you returned before she just as quickly scampered off. You didn’t take it personally though, knowing she had a set schedule and would wake soon enough at 5am to train.

“I love you too, baby,” you said, your voice warm as you watched her shuffle toward the stairs.

Asuna paused at the base of the steps, turning to glance at Shinsou. 

“I tolerate you,” she said flatly, though her lips curved into a small, mischievous grin.  “Might see you tomorrow, if you’re not dead after patrol.” 

Shinsou laughed dryly, raising a hand in mock salute. “Nice to know where I stand.”

Asuna’s grin widened, and with that, she headed upstairs, her footsteps light as she disappeared into her room.

The apartment fell quiet again, save for the faint whir of the washer and the muffled sounds from Shinsou’s podcast. You sighed deeply, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders as you finally let yourself collapse onto the floor.

The coffee table screeched against the hardwood as you kicked it aside, sprawling out on your back with your arms stretched overhead. The cool surface of the floor felt grounding, and you stared up at the ceiling, letting the stillness wash over you.

“You good?” Shinsou asked from the couch, his voice softer now, his teasing tone replaced with genuine concern.

You nodded without looking at him. “Just... processing.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured, turning his attention back to his phone.

For now, you let yourself breathe, focusing on the steady hum of the washer and the faint flicker of light from the living room lamp. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Hours had gone by and you were going crazy. 

Focusing on the TV was becoming more and more difficult. The ramen Hitoshi bought you was already eaten, you placed both bouquets of flowers into water through sheer reluctance. Mina still hadn’t shown up yet and you were dying for her company. Hitoshi ate the eggrolls from earlier, which you didn’t mind because you didn’t have the appetite for them anyway.  

Shinsou was sprawled on the plush gray sectional, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a book in the other, while you folded laundry at the coffee table. The washer hummed softly in the background, and you worked in companionable silence, the volcanic glow giving everything an otherworldly warmth.

“Christmas plans?” Shinsou asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious as he set the book aside.

You glanced up, folding the last shirt and setting it down. “I want to make it special this year,” you admitted, your voice soft.

He raised a brow. “For Asuna?”

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you leaned against the counter. “She’s been doing so well. Top 1% in her school, passing all her exams. And Mirko accepted her as an intern! She’s been over the moon about it.”

Shinsou smirked, resting his head against the couch. “Can’t blame her. Mirko’s no joke.”

“She’s been training so hard, balancing school and the pressure. I’m just... so proud of her,” you said, your voice filled with warmth and pride. You picked up a stray sock, absentmindedly rolling it into a ball as you continued. “I want this Christmas to be perfect for her. She deserves it.”

Shinsou nodded, his expression softening as he listened. “Sounds like she’s lucky to have you. Most parents would just toss some gifts under the tree and call it a day.”

You chuckled, though the sound was tinged with nervousness. “You know I couldn’t do that. She’s my one and only.” You turned away, placing the folded laundry into a nearby basket. The pause lingered, stretching the space between your words.

Shinsou noticed. 

He always did. 

He tilted his head, watching you closely. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

You hesitated, your hands stilling as you gripped the edge of the counter. “I just...” you started, then faltered, unable to find the words.

Shinsou sighed, setting his mug down and standing. He walked over, leaning against the island across from you. 

“It’s about Katsuki, isn’t it?”

The mention of his name felt like a jolt, and you looked up sharply, your eyes meeting Shinsou’s.

The lights around you seemed to flicker, their glow dimming and brightening in sync with the fiery pulse beneath your skin. For a fleeting moment, crimson sparks danced across your veins, crackling like embers struggling to ignite. The air around you felt heavier, charged with a tension that wasn't entirely your own. You clenched your fists, willing the heat to subside, but the surge of emotion refused to be ignored.

He knew the rules here—every unspoken boundary, every landmine that had been laid in the fragile aftermath of your past. It wasn’t like your ex’s name was a curse, but the weight it carried might as well have been. It was a spark to kindling, an uninvited ghost dragging its chains through the carefully rebuilt calm of your life.

His gaze flickered to you, cautious but steady, the silent question hanging in the space between you both.

“I’m not judging,” Shinsou said gently, his tone understanding. “But if he’s going to be part of this picture, you need to figure out where you stand. For yourself. For Asuna.”

You sighed deeply, running a hand through your hair. “I know,” you whispered. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up. For her. For us.”

Shinsou crossed his arms, his gaze steady but kind. “You’ve done a good job raising her, even with all the craziness. She’s strong, smart, and honestly? She’s a little terrifying in the best way possible. You’ve got this.”

His words settled over you, grounding and reassuring. You managed a small smile, grateful for his steady presence.

“Thanks, Hitoshi,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

The familiar chime of the door alert snapped you out of your thoughts. 

You wiped your hands on your pants and checked the cameras, exhaling when you saw Mina’s pink, flushed face staring into the lens. She was sweaty but smiling, giving a little wave as if to say, I made it, finally.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Mina enveloped you in one of her bone-crushing hugs, squeezing you tight as if she could physically inject you with her endless energy and warmth.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she blurted out, pulling back slightly to look at you, her golden eyes glinting with concern. “We had to stop a villain trying to rob the city bank a few hours ago. It was a mess, but we got them!”

Your eyes widened, and you felt Shinsou shift behind you, his sharp intake of breath mirroring your own. “Mina,” you started, your voice thin with worry, “why didn’t you—”

She cut you off with a reassuring smile, holding up her hands. “You couldn’t have known, okay? Don’t blame yourself. We handled it.” Her tone was light, but her gaze flicked over you, taking in your exhaustion and the faint tremor in your shoulders.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. Everything Mina said blurred in your mind as the memories hit, triggered by her presence, by the safety she brought even in the chaos.

It wasn’t just the fight a few days ago that had left you physically and emotionally battered. It was waking up to a world that had shifted without you, to news plastered everywhere about your grandmother’s death—a beacon of your life suddenly snuffed out. The hospital TV hadn’t stood a chance against the projectile vomit that came up when you’d seen it, the molten heat of your quirk melting the screen to slag.

You remembered waking up disoriented, Asuna at your bedside, her face etched with an anguish you’d never seen before. That was what broke you more than anything. 

Seeing your child so lost. She had only ever known you and your grandmother.

And now it was just you.

A sob rose in your throat as Mina hugged you again, her energy softening, her arms anchoring you as you let yourself cry. The memories rushed over you like waves.

Your grandmother had been there when Asuna was born, cutting the cord with steady hands and a teary smile. Aizawa had brought flowers when he visited your hospital room, his stoic demeanor hiding the tenderness in his gesture. Mina had declared herself Asuna’s godmother with absolute authority, showing up with the most delicious post-birth meal you’d ever seen. Shinsou had brought cat-themed pajamas for Asuna, holding her like she was made of porcelain, his normally dry humor replaced with quiet reverence.

And your grandmother had known everything. She’d known the truth about Asuna’s father. She’d told you she’d handle it if you didn’t. “You take care of your baby,” she had said, her tone unyielding as steel, “and I’ll take care of mine.”

And now she was gone.

You felt Mina’s arms tighten around you, her cheek resting on your shoulder as if to shield you from your own grief. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice warm and steady, “We’ve got you. We’re your village.”

“You’re not alone.”

You cried harder at that, the weight of the past and present colliding in your chest. Mina held you, her vibrant presence grounding you as the grief poured out, a release you hadn’t let yourself have until now.

Behind you, Shinsou stood silently, his gaze softening as he gave you space to lean on someone else. In this moment, you weren’t the one holding it all together. You were just you, surrounded by people who refused to let you fall.

And then you fell in the doorway, taking Mina with you. 

The second Shinsou saw you break down in Mina’s arms, he stood from the couch without hesitation. His steps were deliberate but gentle, as if moving too quickly might make things worse. Without a word, he crouched beside you, his arms wrapping around your trembling form from the other side.

It wasn’t long before the three of you slid down to the floor in the doorway, your back against the cool frame as your sobs filled the space. Shinsou’s hug was firm, steadying, while Mina’s was warm and grounding. They didn’t try to shush you or tell you it was okay—they just held on tighter as you unraveled.

The tears came harder, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. You weren’t just crying about today. It was everything—years of pain, fear, and exhaustion crashing over you all at once.

“I failed her,” you choked out between sobs, your voice thick with guilt. “I’ve failed Asuna. I’ve failed her so many times.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mina murmured, her voice soft but unyielding. “You’ve done so much for her. Look at her—she’s thriving.”

But you couldn’t stop the flood of memories. 

You cried at the thought of all the times you felt like you couldn’t measure up, couldn’t be enough for your daughter. Mina had been there during your pregnancy, covering for you when your body gave out, when the world was demanding you be more than you could. She’d gone to battle for you, doing hero work in your name so you could recover without the public eye dissecting your every move.

You remembered your manager, Elle’s, tireless efforts to shield you. She’d blocked contact from the outside world, pretending to be you for photoshoots and promotional materials if it came down to it, ensuring that Asuna stayed your best-kept secret.

The nights Aizawa sat up with you played in your mind, his quiet presence keeping you company as he shared his parenting books and advice. He never judged, never questioned your decisions—he was just there, steady as ever. Shinsou’s midnight drives surfaced too, his dry but loving humor making the miles pass faster as he indulged your spicy cravings, no matter how absurd.

And then there were the tokens of your grandmother’s love. The tiny hats, socks, and blankets she made for her great-grandchild, each stitch a testament to her pride and care. You thought about the Christmas gifts still waiting at her house, already wrapped, waiting for a holiday she wouldn’t see.

Your sobs became more ragged as a new wave of grief surged through you. “Katsuki,” you whispered, his name slipping out unbidden. Saying it felt like tearing open an old wound.

Mina and Shinsou didn’t need to ask. 

They just held you tighter.

You wept harder at the thought of him—his stormy eyes and the memories that refused to leave you alone. The way he had once been your world, and the way he unknowingly left you with the greatest and most complicated gift of your life. The idea of seeing him tomorrow, of returning the jacket, of carrying the truth that you still couldn’t share—

It was too much.

Your fists clenched in their holds, your body trembling as you sobbed into the quiet. Mina rested her chin on your shoulder, rocking you slightly, while Shinsou pressed his forehead against the top of your head, his grip solid and unwavering.

“We’ve got you,” Shinsou said, his voice low and steady. “We’ve always got you.”

You let their words and presence anchor you as you cried until there was nothing left.

Eventually, yo exhaled shakily as your breathing finally steadied, and Shinsou rose to his feet, pulling you and Mina up with him. His grip was firm but gentle, his sharp eyes scanning your face to ensure you were truly okay. Satisfied, he gave a small nod, grabbed his jacket, and made his way to the door.

“Call like usual,” you reminded him, your voice still a little hoarse.

He paused, throwing a lazy salute your way. “Always will.”

Mina leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Don’t worry about her, Hitoshi. I’ve got her covered. You just go terrorize the villains like the grumpy cat you are.”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “And you try not to melt the place while I’m gone, Pinky.” She stuck out her tongue at him, and with a final wave, he disappeared into the night.

Mina shut the door and turned to you, her expression softening. She didn’t say anything immediately, just made a beeline for your fridge. The quiet hum of the appliance filled the air as she rummaged around before pulling out a can of her favorite strawberry soda. She pressed the icy metal to her flushed cheeks with a sigh of relief.

“I love your place, you know that?” she said, her voice light but tinged with teasing. “But seriously, would it kill you to crank the AC? It feels like I ran a marathon to get here.”

You chuckled softly, leaning against the kitchen island. “I keep it cool in Asuna’s room. She can’t stand the heat.”

Mina nodded, cracking open the soda and taking a long sip. Then, setting the can down, she shuffled over to where you stood. Without a word, she reached out, taking one of your hands in both of hers. Her fingers were cool from the soda, and the simple gesture made your chest tighten all over again.

“I know things have been… rough this past week,” she began, her voice unusually serious. Her golden eyes searched yours, filled with concern. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. And I really didn’t know Katsuki was going to… do that.”

You felt your throat tighten again, but you squeezed her hands back, managing a small laugh. 

“It’s okay. I don’t think he knew he was going to do that either.”

The two of you fell silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in. Finally, you pulled away gently, opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of green tea. The cold glass felt grounding in your hands, even if you had no real desire to drink it.

Mina perched herself on one of the kitchen stools, swirling the remaining soda in her can. “He’s always grumpy around this time of year, you know,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the countertop. “The night you two broke up… it was Christmas Eve. And technically Christmas Day was when you moved out.”

You sighed heavily, nodding as you unscrewed the cap from your tea. “I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I just…” You trailed off, words failing you as memories threatened to resurface.

Mina reached out, resting a hand on your arm. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” she said gently. “But you do need to let yourself feel it. Whatever it is.”

You nodded again, staring into the pale green liquid as if it held the answers. The two of you stayed like that, quiet but connected, as the soft hum of the volcano-powered home wrapped around you both like a warm, steady heartbeat.

Mina lifted the soda and took a sip before looking at you, her expression softening. “How’s Asuna holding up?”

You sighed, setting the tea bottle aside and hoisting yourself onto the counter, crossing your legs. “Honestly? I don’t know. She’s my little rock. She’s always been so strong, but I’m really worried about her.”

Mina frowned but stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“She’s only cried once since everything happened—at the hospital,” you said, your voice faltering slightly. 

“And she told me herself that she broke down during exams a few times. I think Kayama-sensei even emailed or texted me about it, but I never got around to checking.” 

You rubbed your temples, frustration and guilt creeping in. “I think she’s trying to be strong for me, which is exactly what I don’t want. She’s sixteen, Mina. She should be able to express herself, to fall apart… at home, where she’s safe.”

Mina nodded, her pink brows furrowing in thought. “Everyone processes grief differently, you know? Maybe Asuna just needs time to work through it her way.”

You nodded, but your shoulders slumped as you added, “I know, but her temper…” You trailed off, your lips pressing into a tight line. “When Asuna loses her temper, it’s like a nuke exploding. She’s been asking weird questions lately, too, and I don’t want a ticking time bomb on my hands.”

Mina tilted her head, curious. “Weird questions? Like what?”

You looked at her, hesitating, and she immediately pieced it together. Her expression softened, and she murmured, 

“Oh.”

You nodded, your voice quieter now. “About her father. She’s been asking more and more. I’ve never given her much to go on. Just that he’s a man I went to school with, that things didn’t work out, and he was always more into his work than anything else. We… we parted ways. That’s all I told her.”

Mina’s eyes held a mixture of understanding and concern, but she didn’t push. Instead, she waited as you stared off, lost in the memories that began to wash over you.

The first time you held her. That tiny, warm bundle laid gently on your chest after hours of labor. She was so small, her full head of hair damp against her delicate skin, and her cries—soft but strong—rang out. The sweet, almost otherworldly smell of her. When she opened her eyes, red as fire. 

Those same eyes you had tried so hard to leave behind.

It had been so much. 

Too much. 

The breakup, the media frenzy, being surrounded by old friends constantly. Then, just as you were piecing yourself back together, the nausea hit. That grilled fish someone offered you after a patrol had you puking onto the office floor in front of a dozen horrified colleagues. 

At first, everyone thought it was some concussion reaction. You’d been rushed to the hospital by your manager for every possible test—scans, bloodwork, everything—until one very specific blood test confirmed it: 

Five weeks pregnant.

You’d felt a rush of something indescribable when the nurse handed you the results, congratulating you with a warm smile. “Are you sure?” you’d asked, almost breathless.

She laughed, nodding. “Very sure. Congratulations, Mama. Your follow-up with the OB-GYN is already scheduled.”

You’d walked out of the hospital on cloud nine

Until reality hit. Your life was no longer just yours. You were 21, at the very start of your hero career and life as a young woman. No husband, no boyfriend, no partner. In a world that was dangerous on the best of days. Literally employed to kick ass and possibly get your ass kicked in the name of justice. 

Without thinking, you called Aizawa. The groggy sound of him waking up still echoed in your memory. He’d mumbled something incoherent, but when you said you were at the hospital, needed a ride, and, oh yeah, you were pregnant—there was a loud crash. You’d later learned he fell out of bed, taking the cat tree with him.

He showed up, though. Of course, he did. He always had. From that night onward, he was there for every moment, a steady presence as you figured out how to navigate the chaos.

Mina’s voice brought you back. “You okay?”

You blinked and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… thinking about everything. Aizawa’s always been there for me, you know? Like a dad. But he has his own kid to finish raising, and he’s already done so much for me.”

Mina tilted her head, watching you carefully.

You sighed. “He thinks Katsuki has a right to know. About Asuna.”

Mina didn’t say anything right away, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. Finally, she reached for your hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Do you think he’s ready to know?”

You exhaled shakily, unsure of the answer.

You shook your head slowly, staring down at your hands. “I don’t think so,” you admitted quietly. “But I don’t know if that’s because I’m scared of how it’ll affect Asuna. She’s doing so well in school right now. I don’t want to ruin that for her.” You paused, your voice faltering. 

“Or if it’s because Katsuki… he’s different now. Changed.”

Mina’s lips pursed thoughtfully as she leaned back against the counter. “Yeah, he has been a little off lately. Like, really off. More than usual. He’s in a slump, even if he won’t admit it.”

You glanced at her, curiosity mingling with concern. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, tipping her head back as if to gather her thoughts. “He came into the office this morning, right? Had all these random frozen things we forgot about—bread, soy sauce, and stuff. He just started throwing them at us.”

You blinked, a soft, “Ah,” slipping out as you remembered Denki and Sero recounting the same ridiculous story earlier to cheer you up.

“Exactly,” Mina said, pointing at you. “Then he went into Kirishima’s office, and the two of them stayed in there for almost two hours. No one wanted to get in or figure out what they were talking about. When Katsuki finally came out, he just… left. For the rest of the day. No one could reach him.”

You frowned, worry gnawing at you.

“Kirishima ended up tracking him down and bringing him to the ramen place,” Mina continued, crossing her arms. “When he got there, Katsuki looked like he’d been crying. Like, actual crying.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“After that, they hit up a convenience store with Izuku and Todoroki. By the time Katsuki came back to the office, you’d already shown up, and then you two disappeared outside for hours to talk.”

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together your emotions. Mina didn’t press, though you could tell she was dying to ask what had been said. Instead, you filled the silence. “We’re meeting tomorrow. At noon. He’s bringing back some old pictures of mine.”

Mina’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You’re meeting with him? Are you… are you ready for that?”

“No,” you admitted bluntly, trying to muster a smirk and failing. “But I’ve been through worse.”

She shook her head at you, her gaze unwavering. “You’re still not over him,” she said quietly, but there was no judgment in her voice. 

Just the undeniable truth.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small as you sat there, trying to sort through everything churning inside you.

Your kitchen was cozy, a mix of soft colors and warm woods that made it feel like a sanctuary. Potted herbs sat on the windowsill, their fresh scents mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from a nearby diffuser. 

A large window dominated one side of the kitchen, offering a breathtaking view of the sky and ocean, with greenery swaying gently in the breeze below. The moonlight streaming through painted everything in a soft glow, making the plants look even more vibrant. A few hanging planters dangled above the sink, their long vines brushing against the backsplash tiles like a living curtain.

Mina glanced outside, a hand dramatically fanning her face. “This view is gorgeous, but why does it feel like a sauna in here?” You laughed and got up, heading to the freezer. “Need some frozen chocolate?”

She shook her head but eyed you skeptically. “No thanks, but maybe some ice would help before I melt into a puddle.”

With a grin, you popped open an ice mold, revealing perfectly shaped rose cubes. “Here, delicate as you are.” You handed her a few, and she took them with exaggerated reverence, gently pressing them to her temples before finishing her soda with a satisfied sigh.

“This is why I come here,” Mina said, leaning back against the counter. “Cozy kitchen, ocean views, and rose-shaped ice cubes. You spoil me.”

“I aim to please,” you said, tossing a few frozen corn bits at her before closing the freezer door with your hip. The pinkette yelped in mock indignation. “You and Katsuki both have this terrible habit of attacking your friends with frozen food. Is this a tradition or something?”

You smirked, about to fire back a retort when something clicked in your mind. 

“The will!”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “The what now?”

You rushed into the living room, almost took out your coffee table, phone snatched in hand, scrolling furiously through your messages. The airy, open space was just as homey as the kitchen, filled with bookshelves and soft throws draped over furniture. Lavalight spilled through another set of large windows, highlighting the TV and a small jade tree perched on the side table.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Texting Katsuki felt daunting, a weight you weren’t quite ready to carry tonight. Mina followed you, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“What’s going on?” she asked, plopping onto the floor beside you as you sat down in frustration.

With a groan, you explained, “My cousin’s contesting the will. It only mentions Asuna and me, so if I don’t get the original document, the judge might split everything fifty-fifty. I can’t even get into the house because the sheriff put a lock on it.” You covered your face, sliding further down until your back hit the floor.

Mina sat cross-legged beside you, shaking her head. “Why don’t I just call him? Katsuki doesn’t have to know I know about Asuna.”

“No,” you said firmly, sitting up with a glare. “If he found out you knew and didn’t tell him, he’d never speak to you again.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “How would he even figure that out from a phone call?”

You groaned, making a faint, frustrated noise as you flopped back down. Mina, clearly undeterred, grabbed your phone. “Hey, your voicemail box has something.”

Curious, you let her play it. Katsuki’s voice filled the room, calm but tinged with his usual gruffness. “Hey, uh… I forgot to give ya that binder after all that stuff earlier. I’ll bring it to the park tomorrow with the other things. Just lemme know if that works.”

The relief hit you like a wave, your chest tightening as you nearly sobbed. “Oh my God, thank you,” you breathed, staring at the phone like it had just saved your life.

Then your eyes widened in realization. 

“Tomorrow’s the last day of school before winter break. Asuna gets out at noon.”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “So? Text Aizawa to watch her for a bit.”

You winced. “He and Eri are going straight home to nap and then going Christmas tree shopping. I don’t want to mess with that. Eri’s been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“Fair point.” Mina tapped her chin, then grinned. “What about Mirko?”

Your face lit up as you immediately texted the six-foot-tall bunny hero. Not even a minute passed before your phone rang, Mirko’s name flashing on the screen.

Mommy Rabbit 🤤🥰   is Calling 

“Don’t tell me you’re asking for babysitting favors,” Rumi teased the moment you answered, her tone light but curious. “Would you believe me if I said it’s a long story?” you replied, half-laughing, your heart easing at the sound of her familiar voice.

The warm lava light cast a soft glow as you leaned against the sofa, phone cradled to your ear. Mina sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping the last of her soda, while Rumi’s voice boomed from the speaker with her usual energy.

“Long story, huh?” Rumi teased. “Didn’t take you for the fairy tale type.”

“It’s not like that!” you said with a laugh. “Asuna gets out of school early tomorrow, and I’ve got to meet someone. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“Relax, I’m just teasing,” Rumi replied, her tone softening. “Of course, I’ll watch my favorite stinker! How’s she been doing anyway? Still blowing things up, or have we learned some self-control?”

Mina grinned, joining the conversation. “She’s actually been amazing! Aizawa’s been working with her on technique, and she’s gotten so good at regulating her quirk. Like, scary good.”

You nodded in agreement, your heart swelling with pride. “She’s not just controlling it; it’s like she’s physic. She’s using her quirk in ways I hadn’t even considered.”

“That’s my girl,” Rumi said with a laugh. “Sounds like she’s got a little stone-cold killer in her, just like her mom.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was impossible to hide. “Aizawa’s been incredible too. He’s agreed to keep working with her over winter break, which is such a relief. He really gets her.”

“Yeah, Eraser’s good like that,” Rumi agreed. “But don’t give him all the credit. You’re the one raising her, and it sounds like you’re doing a damn good job.”

Mina raised her drink in a mock toast. “Hear, hear!”

You chuckled, grateful for their encouragement. “Thanks, you two.”

“So, what about you?” Mina asked Rumi. “Got any Christmas plans, or are you just winging it like always?”

Rumi snorted. “You know me too well. I’ve got nothing concrete, but Taishiro and I were talking about maybe checking out the light displays. If you and Asuna are free, you should come with us.”

“Asuna would love that,” you said instantly. “Let’s do it.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we figure out the details,” Rumi said. Then, her tone turned serious, though her warmth remained. “And you, missy—keep hanging on. It’s easier to fall apart than to put yourself back together, but I know you. You’ll be back to being the woman I know and love before the year is out.”

“If not,” she added with a playful growl, “I’ll happily kick your ass into shape.”

The three of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the cozy living room like a balm for your soul.

Love you, you big bunny,” you said, making exaggerated kissy noises into the phone.

“Love you too,” Mina added, joining in with her own obnoxious smooches.

“Alright, alright, enough of that!” Rumi laughed. “I’ve got to get back to patrol. Catch you ladies later.”

She hung up, leaving you and Mina sitting in the lingering warmth of her encouragement. The sound of the waves outside the window and the rustling leaves in the breeze seemed to echo her words, grounding you in the moment.

Mina tilted her head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Wait, what did Rumi mean about Asuna blowing things up? I thought her quirk didn’t work like that.”

You sighed, setting the phone on the coffee table and crossing your arms. The lava streaming through the windows danced across the warm wooden tones of the floor, highlighting the cream carpet and photos arranged neatly on the fireplace. A pothos plant spilled its green vines down the wall, and the faint scent of rosemary from the herb garden lingered in the air.

“Well,” you began, leaning your hip against the table's leg, “Asuna got Rita’s quirk with... traces of Katsuki’s and mine. Her main ability is creating energy fields for offense, defense, and protection. At first, she could only make force fields, basic stuff, ya know? And my grandma was the one who helped her figure that out.”

Mina nodded, leaning forward, her interest piqued. “Okay, that makes sense. Force Fields are practical. Useful.”

“Right. Then she started producing powerful energy blasts, and that’s where I came in,” you continued, gesturing with your hands. “I helped her learn to control the intensity and precision of her blasts. But then Asuna realized she could channel the energy into these tiny, marble-sized balls... and set them to explode.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Yeah.” You grimaced, running a hand through your hair. “The results were... disastrous, to say the least. One burnt-down baseball field and two houses later, I went full paranoia mode and bought everything fireproof. Just in case.”

Mina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Wait, you’re serious?!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” You gestured toward the corner of the kitchen, where a fire extinguisher hung on the wall. “Even this place is prepped for the worst. I give Asuna credit, though. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s sweet and loving most of the time. But then there’s that other side of her—the gremlin side she inherited from Katsuki.”

Mina snorted, doubling over in laughter. “You mean the ‘short-tempered, explosion-prone, gremlin’ side?”

“Exactly,” you said, shaking your head. “Her temper flares, her quirk sparks, and... boom. Sometimes it’s an energy explosion, sometimes it’s a fiery mess hot enough to rival the lava I can conjure from my fingertips. And the scariest part? She’s fireproof to an extent, but not completely.”

Mina sobered, her smile fading. 

“That sounds... tough. For both of you.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice softening. “She’s getting older now, and I can tell she gets frustrated with that side of her quirk. She’s trying so hard to control it, but sometimes she loses herself in it. Aizawa helps however he can—he’s trained Katsuki, after all—but I know she doesn’t talk to me about it because it reminds her of her mystery father.”

You sighed deeply, gazing out the window at the endless blue sky meeting the ocean in the distance. “I hate that she feels like she has to navigate that alone.”

Mina placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her expression serious but kind. “She’s lucky to have you, though. You’re doing everything you can, and she knows it. Kids are resilient, and Asuna’s got your strength—and your heart.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “Thanks, Mina. It means a lot.”

“She’s gonna be okay,” Mina said firmly, squeezing your shoulder.

“You both are.”

You nodded, the weight on your chest lightening just a little as you glanced back at the cozy kitchen—the plants, the lava light, the safety you’d built here for Asuna.

Maybe Mina was right.

Maybe you were doing okay after all.

Upstairs, Asuna perched silently at the top of the staircase, earbuds dangling loosely around her neck. 

She had been about to head down for a snack and a bottle of water when she caught the tail end of your conversation with Mina. Her chest tightened at the words that drifted up.

"So I do get that part of me from him," she murmured to herself, barely audible, her fingers gripping the banister. A dull ache spread through her chest as realization settled in, heavier than she expected.

The sound of her name crackled through her earbuds, snapping her out of her thoughts. “’Suna, you there?” Eri’s voice rang, sweet and full of concern, in her ear.

Asuna pulled the earbuds back in and forced a smile. “Hey, Eri. Yeah, I’m here.” She rose from her crouched position and tiptoed back up the stairs, her socked feet silent against the wood. Her door clicked shut behind her as she whispered, “I gotta take a waz, I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“Okay, don’t fall in!”

“Pfft, you wish!” she replied with a small laugh before the line disconnected.

Asuna sighed, tossing her phone onto the bed before padding over to her window. She pressed her forehead against the icy glass, the cold biting at her skin but doing little to calm the storm inside her.

The moon hung high, its glow illuminating the cityscape stretched out before her. Over the dark lava flow in the distance, the twinkle of city lights blurred into the horizon. She stared at the expanse, her breath fogging the window as memories and unanswered questions churned in her mind.

She didn’t know which of the famed men from Class 1-A was her father, but she had her suspicions. She’d pieced together fragments over the years: the photo she’d found in Aizawa’s desk drawer, you standing next to two boys with fiery red eyes; the limited internet access she’d used to match the faces to names. 

Red Riot and Dynamight —long-time best friends and heroes. The same men she’d met at the ramen shop not long ago.

She closed her eyes, the memory of their faces replaying in her mind.

Asuna hate’s the winter. The cold seeped into her bones, reminding her of her frailty as a child. Born at just five months, she had struggled with health issues, asthma attacks brought on by overheating being the most persistent to her underdeveloped lungs. You had kept her home most of the time, worried and protective. She had understood, even appreciated it then, but as she grew older, the isolation became suffocating.

It wasn’t until high school loomed that she had pushed to attend UA, determined to experience the world beyond the walls you've built around her. Aizawa had homeschooled her for years, and though she adored the time spent with him and Eri—her only true friend—she craved more.

Eri had understood her like no one else, the two of them often staying over at each other’s homes. But even with Eri’s companionship, the lingering questions about her father never faded. 

Why wouldn’t you tell her? What were you hiding?

The bracelet tracker on her wrist felt heavier than usual as she traced her finger over its edges. She knew where you would be, thanks to it. She knew where Rumi had told her to wait. She also knew she wasn’t supposed to leave—

But the need to know burned too hot to ignore.

Her forehead remained pressed to the glass as she closed her eyes, wishing the cold would seep into her and numb her thoughts. She wished it would snow, a blizzard so thick it would shut everything down. 

Then, maybe, you’d stay home. Just you and her, curled up with junk food, watching movies, and stealing moments of warmth in a cocoon of blankets.

She thought of her grandmother, her gentle hands tucking her in, rubbing her head as she drifted off in front of the fireplace. She missed her so much it hurt, a hollow ache that never truly faded.

She pulled back from the window, her breath leaving a foggy imprint on the glass. “I just want to know,” she whispered into the silent room. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t cry. The moonlight bathed her hair in silver as she stared out at the distant city, the question she never voiced echoing in her heart, 

‘Who is my father?’

The cold outside pressed closer, a stark contrast to the warmth she longed for. She hugged herself tightly, retreating to her bed. The city lights twinkled far away, just beyond her reach—much like the answers she sought.

Asuna sat on the edge of her bed, phone clutched tightly in her hand. The glowing screen displayed Eri’s contact, but she couldn’t bring herself to press call. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she sighed, tossing the phone onto her pillow.

Restlessness gripped her like a vice, her thoughts racing too quickly to catch. She wanted to storm downstairs and demand Mina spill everything. She wanted to grab the card the big red guy—Kirishima, or whatever his name was—had given her and call him up, demanding answers. She wanted to thank Rumi for covering for her, for always having her back.

She wanted to thank Aizawa for finding her and letting her sit quietly on that rooftop instead of sending her straight home. She wanted to call Uncle Shinsou and make him tell her everything, the way he always managed to pry the truth out of others. 

More than anything, Asuna wanted to march into your room, confess that she’d tracked your location and followed you, and apologize for breaking your trust. 

But she couldn’t. 

The weight of her emotions was too much, pressing down until she felt like she was suffocating. She stood abruptly, the movement sudden and jerky, and stumbled out of her room.

Her feet carried her to the bathroom in a blur. She slammed the light on, the harsh brightness stinging her eyes, and barely made it to the sink before doubling over. Her stomach heaved violently, the remnants of egg rolls and ramen she’d forced herself to eat earlier spilling out. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles red, as wave after wave of nausea rolled through her.

Finally, the retching stopped, leaving her trembling and dry. She spat into the sink, reaching blindly for the faucet to rinse the mess away. The rush of water was loud in the small space, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her own ragged breathing.

She grabbed her toothbrush with shaking hands, furiously scrubbing her teeth as if she could erase the sour taste of guilt and frustration along with the bile. The bristles scraped against her gums, her motions more aggressive than necessary, but she didn’t care. She wanted the germs gone, wanted to feel clean, even if it was just superficial.

As she rinsed her mouth, her mind drifted to her grandmother. She wished, more than anything, that the older woman was still alive. Her grandmother had never lied to her. She would have told her the truth—about her father, about you, about everything.

Her thoughts swung back to you, the image of your face etched into her mind. 

How could she be mad at you? 

You were her mom. The person who raised her. The one she had always reached out to, even as a baby.

Her first memory was of your lips—soft, warm, and comforting. She drew them in the margins of her notebooks, a small comfort when she felt overwhelmed. She thought of how her classmates whispered about you, how they admired your strength, beauty, and the private life you fiercely protected. Some speculated you’d gotten married in secret, building a family in the shadows.

Asuna turned her focus back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing her mouth thoroughly. She braced her hands on the counter, staring at the water swirling down the drain. She felt a lump rise in her throat, but she forced it down.

Finally, she raised her head and looked into the mirror. 

Her reflection stared back, drained and tired, with stormy eyes that didn’t quite belong to her but felt achingly familiar. A piece of him, whoever he was.

She traced her fingers lightly over the edge of the mirror, her voice barely a whisper. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

Asuna’s eyes lingered on her reflection in the mirror, her breath catching in her throat. She leaned closer, the fluorescent light above flickering slightly, casting a cold, sterile glow over her face. 

Those eyes… they didn’t feel like hers. 

They burned too brightly, smoldering like embers in the depths of a fire that wasn’t her own.

She raised a trembling hand to her face, her fingertips grazing the skin beneath her eyes as if touching them would confirm they were real. 

But they weren’t really hers. 

Someone else owned them.

The thought gripped her chest tightly. Her face wasn’t hers either. It was yours—your famed cheekbones, the soft curve of your jaw, the shape of your lips. Everyone said she was the spitting image of her beautiful, powerful mother. 

And while she admired you endlessly, it made her feel like a ghost of her own life. 

A shadow.

Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as the familiar weight of frustration and resentment bubbled in her chest. She didn’t feel like herself. 

To most people, she was a reflection of you—a legacy, an extension, a continuation. 

But who was Asuna?

She turned the faucet on, the rush of cold water snapping her out of her thoughts. She splashed some onto her face, hoping the chill would help ground her, but it didn’t. Her fingers pressed against her temples as she tried to stop the spiraling thoughts.

The only person who seemed to see her, really see her, was Eri. But even with Eri, there were times Asuna felt like she was walking a tightrope, trying to prove she was her own person. It didn’t help that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t escape being compared to you.

“Just like her mother,” they’d say, dismissing her achievements as though they were inevitable, as if her hard work was predestined because she was your daughter. Asuna always worked twelve times harder than everyone else just to carve out a sliver of her own identity, but even then, the credit felt hollow.

Ironically, the one thing people agreed was entirely her own was the one thing that made her feel most alien. 

Her eyes

Those piercing red eyes that weren’t yours, that didn’t come from the warm, loving person who raised her. 

Eyes that clearly belonged to someone else

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She had seen those eyes before, hadn’t she? Earlier today, when she surprised the two men at the ramen spot. Her stomach churned at the memory. They had been so stunned, so caught off guard. She’d taken a dark, petty satisfaction in startling them.

And yet, the thought of it now filled her with guilt. 

She hadn’t known it was him back then, the first time she’d seen them at the convenience store. She’d been overwhelmed, lost in grief and confusion.

But afterward?

She let them have it, throwing every ounce of her anger and frustration at them, even if they didn’t fully deserve it.

Bits and pieces of the story had come to her over the years, from whispered conversations and the few snippets she’d managed to overhear. You and her father had a terrible breakup—one that had clearly left scars.

But you never spoke about him. Not directly, only when Asuna had asked, in the way children do, with innocent curiosity.

Not even a negative word. 

Asuna’s fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as her mind flashed back to the stolen moments of research she’d managed to conduct. Parental locks on devices made digging nearly impossible. She didn’t trust anyone at school enough to ask, and the school computers were out of the question.

It wasn’t until Rumi had entered the picture that things had changed. A single Google search on the bunny hero’s phone, a quick scroll through old and recent news articles, and Asuna’s world shifted. The headlines spoke of heartbreak, of public fights and private betrayal.

Your hero name intertwined with his.

Asuna felt sick all over again, not from the ramen or egg rolls, but from guilt.

She shouldn’t have looked. She should have come to you first.

You must have had good reasons for keeping it from her—reasons rooted in love and protection. 

And yet, the need to know clawed at her insides.

Her powers were growing faster than she could control them, each surge of energy feeling like a scream she couldn’t silence. It was like her body was trying to tell her something, trying to fill in the blanks her mind couldn’t comprehend.

Asuna stared into the mirror, her red eyes glinting under the flickering light. 

‘Who do these eyes belong to?’ she wondered again, a lump rising in her throat.

The weight of isolation pressed down on her. 

She felt utterly alone, trapped in a mental prison built from secrets and half-truths. She wanted to cry, to rage, to throw something and let the dam break. 

But she couldn’t.

Instead, she reached for a towel and dried her face, her movements slow and deliberate. She glanced at her reflection one last time, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I need answers,” she whispered to herself.

Her fingers brushed against the bracelet on her wrist—the one with the tracker she’d given you. For her safety, you’d agreed. And yet, tonight, it had brought her somewhere you hadn’t wanted her to go. 

Somewhere that had only raised more questions.

She turned and left the bathroom, her steps quiet but purposeful. Back in her room, she grabbed her phone, staring at the screen. She thought about calling Eri.

Or maybe Rumi. Or Shinsou. Or even Aizawa.

But no. 

There was only one person she needed to talk to.

Sliding under the covers, Asuna clutched her phone to her chest. She’d wait until noon. 

And then she’d confront you.

How we feeling chat?

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.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the list!

So sorry about the hiatus between chapters. I hope you all accept this as a late Christmas/New years present. I'm also working on the poster for this fic so I can finally add it to my construction zone of a master list.

I own none of the images or art!!!

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. (Ao3 account is pretty sexy too.)

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[cambion-companion]

"Hold Monster"

Based on this amazing post and artwork. I couldn't help but write something for our beloved INT 8 Tav from 1st POV since that's what I feel most comfortable writing.

Raphael x reader!Tav | Tav thinks the hold monster spell works in a very different way

You certainly hadn't intended to trip and fall into the portal, landing face-first on the polished marble floor of Raphael's entryway.

Your presence had been noticed immediately by Raphael who, upon recognizing you, wore a rather aggrieved expression. He set down his quill carefully and rose to full towering height, a slight twist of bemusement curling his lips. "Here I assumed you could go an hour without indulging in foolishness." He strode toward you and gripped you by the scruff like a wayward kitten. "You just caused me to lose a bet with Korilla."

"I really don't know how this happened!" You protested against his grasp as he dragged you back towards the portal. "I would've knocked if you had a door!"

Raphael released you with a slight push, his wings flexing as he glowered down at you. "Innocent or not, a trespass will be received as such."

"Ah! Raphael, it was an accident!" You began to panic as his eyes glowed a bright gold and flames began to dance upon the tips of his fingers. "Oh, not again." You groaned, wracking your brains for something to counter his retribution."

You withdrew a small amount of silver from your pocket and shrieked. "I cast hold monster!!" Then charged at the cambion head-on.

So surprised was he by your yell and sudden movement, Raphael couldn't react in time before you leapt upon him. You wrapped your arms and legs around his torso and hips, clinging to him like a rabid spider monkey.

The force with which you jumped him caught both of you off guard and Raphael toppled to the floor, his wings failing to catch his weight in time. You felt his grip pierce your sides as he stared up at you in utter shock for a moment. The spell had worked, it seemed.

You panted. "I don't want my bottom singed again like last time. That wasn't very nice."

Raphael grimaced, his face sharpening again as his surprise subsided. Emotions warred across his features. "You are a most confounding creature. If I believed you at all capable of rational thought, you'd be a pile of ash this very moment. Now...get off."

"Sorry, I can't." You shook your head sorrowfully. "The spell lasts a minute."

Raphael growled low in his throat, his wings stretching as he slowly got to his feet. You still clung to him, holding him tightly as you could.

With great care and powerful restraint, Raphael removed you from his person limb by limb.

"Wow, you're strong." You said with awe, panting a little from the exertion. Seeing the look on his face you backed slowly towards the portal. "Okay, I can see you're busy. I'll be going now."

"I should think so." Sparks of hellfire danced between Raphael's fingertips as he looked at you, his expression much like one who is considering how best to skin a deer.

Once you'd disappeared back to the material plane, Raphael grunted and looked around his immaculate manor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the infernal air. "For the crown."

[lafiametta]

Im so glad im not the only one still stuck on anora x igor😭😭 love them sm

As for a 1 word prompt i think hug could result in something sweet or even unexpected, but i could also leave a word-vomit here and maybe you’ll feel inspired by one of them:)) so let me just

ride, dinner, dance, call, sweatpants, beach, couch, deli

Haha, thank you for all the prompts! I’m going with the first one, but I may come back to some of the others because they’re so good! :)

She wakes a little before two and shuffles into the kitchen. It’s quiet, so Vera must be out somewhere. There’s a quarter of the Honey Nut Cheerios left, which she eats while absently scrolling through TikTok. None of it’s particularly interesting, so she flips over to her texts. There’s one from Vera (“went 2 nico’s. get more tp at the store thx”) and a string of messages from Lulu, detailing some kind of crazy shit that went down last night involving two of their new dancers, a stolen g-string, hair-pulling, and a broken bottle of Cristal.

The last one, sent an hour ago from a contact she put into her phone as Hunchback Weirdo, is in all-caps, as if he didn’t fully trust himself with punctuation.

COME BY AT 3 OK?

She holds down the text and sends a thumbs-up reaction. He’s been coming by her house every Sunday at three for the last month and a half and he doesn’t really need to text each time, but she knows he likes to check with her to make sure it’s alright.

They don’t ever stay at the house that long—normally she just grabs her jacket and meets him on the porch, then they head in the direction of the beach. It’s only a few blocks to the boardwalk, a wide expanse that somehow feels just big enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side. It was awkward at first—neither of them really knew what to say after everything that had happened in his grandmother’s car—but after a while the quiet grew easier, and they learned how to talk in ways that seemed safe. He talks about his grandmother a lot, and about growing up in Russia. Ani’s childhood stories are far less heart-warming, so she avoids them, instead detailing all the things Vera—or Vera’s shitty boyfriend—had done to piss her off that week, along with anything fun or outrageous that had happened at work. She’s got a job at a new club now, secured through a glowing reference from Jimmy, and like any place full of drunk men and insecure women, there’s always drama.

They don’t ever talk about what happened in the car.

She thinks about it sometimes, the memory pulling deep and hard in her chest, a strange mixture of shame and sadness and gratitude that she doesn’t know where to put. Being around him makes it a little easier, which is why when he comes by she always goes with him, despite how fucking strange the whole thing really is.

A minute after three there’s a knock at the door—Ani’s already in her jacket, fingers flipping back the deadbolt.

It’s warmer out today, a tiny promise of spring, but the wind is brisk and tugging against her hair and cheeks, and she sinks deeper into the bulk of her jacket. Igor’s only in a black hoodie; she doesn’t ask him if he’s cold.

Along the boardwalk, there are older men in rumpled suits and women in headscarves sitting together on benches. A kid runs along the beach, trying to get a kite to lift into the air. For a moment, they’re walking close enough that their fingers brush together and Ani quickly stuffs her hands into her pockets, doing her best to ignore the unsteady feeling in her stomach.

By the time they get down to Coney Island the feeling has subsided enough that she lets him buy her a pretzel, which she eats piece by piece against the metal railing overlooking the beach while he smokes.

She’s already told him about Nico, how he had clogged their toilet two days ago and then fucked everything up more by continuing to flush, the whole thing overflowing and ruining their bathmat.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” she mutters. “I can’t believe my sister lets him fuck her.”

She laughs a little, although it’s mostly a sigh, and then lets the silence settle around them as they stare out at the mostly empty beach. He hasn’t finished the cigarette yet, so she reaches out for a quick drag.

“So how’s Garnik doing?” she asks as she hands it back, not realizing until she asked that part of her was actually curious. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t mentioned Vanya or the Zakharovs at all, but it seemed a little weird he never said anything about the two Armenians, who he probably still saw all the time.

“Garnik?”

“Yeah, Garnik. His face still look like a fuckin’ raccoon?”

Igor shrugs, then drops the cigarette butt to the ground and stomps it out with the toe of his sneaker. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how your boss’s face looks?”

There’s a tiny shake of his head, and he turns to lean back against the railing. “I don’t work for him. For any of them.”

The words cut through her more strongly than the wind, leaving only questions in their wake.

“Since when?” she asks.

He turns his face to finally look at her, those blue eyes trained on hers in a way that always felt like she was something worth looking at. She had hated it at first—the intensity behind it—but now she’s wondering what it was really trying to convey.

“Since we come back from Vegas.”

For a moment she’s uncharacteristically speechless. He hadn’t worked for them since Vegas? He had quit his job—for what? For her? No, that made no sense. What was she to him? She had been a problem he had been sent to fix, a rock in someone else’s shoe, and then she had fucked him and cried all over him and run away. And now? She still has no fucking clue what they are. But she had thought she had been left alone to handle all of it, and he’s telling her that she’s not alone, that he walked away to meet her on the other side. And he’s here, with her, knocking on her front door every Sunday, trading stupid stories with her as they follow the path along the beach, looking after her in a way she hadn’t really understood until this moment.

He’s standing here, next to her, the March wind whipping against the fabric of his hoodie.

Ani steps closer until she’s right in front of him, her arms reaching out to tightly curl around his back. She remembers the feel of him, the warmth, and leans in, her cheek pressing up against the top of his shoulder. There’s a moment of hesitation—she hopes it’s only out of surprise—and then his arms wrap solidly around her, drawing her into the hug.

“Hi,” he says, the sound soft, like laughter.

“Hey,” she says, like she’s saying it for the first time.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[thehistoriangirl]

Without Compromise [1]

I said the first one had smut, but I lied KDJDJKF it was getting too long so... the smut will be in the next part! For now I can only serve contained horniness 😌 Hope you like it!

Viktor x Fem! Reader-------3.5K-----SFW

[ M A S T E R L I S T ]

-> Next

Synopsis:Viktor had never enjoyed any snobby party held in the luxurious districts around the Academy, though he can't deny this one is rather... peculiar. Still, when accompanying Jayce to another boring celebration ends with him stuck in an awkward situation when a stranger wanders inside the lab asking for him, he can´t help but comply with the unpredictable threads of a mockeing fate--how else would he, from all the assisting guests, be inside in this mess?

Chapter Summary: When you bump into Viktor at a snobby Valentine's thematic party, his boring night turns into a more interesting path.

Tags: | Blind Date | One Night Stand goes wrong -> | Matchmaking Shenenigans | Strangers to Lovers | Friends with Benefits | Slow Burn kinda? | They got the horny for each other |

Taglist: @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

This has been such a terrible idea. And, sadly, the thought only completely dawned on Viktor when the gates of the gigantic hall closed, illuminating the room with the flicking golden hues of at least a hundred candles, painting the whole ambiance of pinks, whites, and reds from all the roses hung in arches.

He was trapped. First manipulated by Jayce’s puppy eyes begging him to accompany him to this snobby party, even when Viktor had retorted that such celebration was for “renown bachelorettes and bachelors”, which he wasn’t—as much as Jayce wished to argue with him.

Co-creator of Hextech or not, he was still a man from the Undercity. Out of place here.

He was a ride too far from home, too.

Humming, he thought that perhaps he could tell Jayce his feet were aching now that almost all the tiny tables were occupied by couples trying to hit it off in the name of the celebration. But if only he could see where Jayce could be.

Viktor sighed, knowing how ridiculous he sounded; both for his whining and for his inability to find Jayce’s gigantic figure among the crowd.

“Try to have some fun, Vik!” He cheered, patting his shoulder as he put a glass of amber liquor on his free hand. “I’m going to go greet the hostess Mrs. Laviz for her thoughtfulness. I’ll be back in no time.”

Well, Jayce was a terrible liar, which could only be because he meant to return promptly but was caught by other guests on his way back.

Of course, he would be, Viktor tapped the still-full glass of alcohol. Who knew how many people were trying to end the night paired with Piltover's Golden Boy? After all, wasn't this party for that?

He had felt panic once one of the butlers slid a card to scribble his name on it, another empty line to write, at the end of the night, the name of any other attendant whom he would like to have an arranged date.

The feeling subsided once he tore the card by the middle, stuffing it in the depths of his coat's inner pocket. But now it was just annoyance prickling in the center of his brow where he couldn't reach well enough with the stupid mask he was forced to wear.

Who would he like to date? Surely no one assisting at a party like this—Valentine’s the perfect excuse to, as usual, tie the comradery between the riches of the city so their power couldn’t slip out their grasp once their heirs dared to choose any other path than the one already drawn for them.

Viktor would've been disappointed if it weren't for how frivolous they were, passing him by almost knocking his cane over and bumping over his slender frame without even apologizing.

Despite Jayce’s fancy birthday gift—a tailored suit Viktor promised to wear in formal events rather than his (cleaner) working clothes—it had been two times another person had told him to fetch him a drink.

Maybe it was the mask, dull and black against the ones decorated with gems and gold thread; crafted to mimic animals and magical creatures with long beaks or curved horns, some even showing animalistic sharp teeth poking from their smiley mouth.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, we deserve to have some fun!”Jayce told him in a dozen different forms of speeches on their way to the hall.

Well, for Viktor was just a normal Wednesday.

And what was he supposed to do for fun at these parties, anyway? Besides breaking the so-demanded decorum these people boast to have.

He could see shadowy corners shifting from afar, bodies tangled improperly on the dance floor. A reason why the music was never-ending, was so the shyer guests couldn't hear the lewd noises surely floating in the air.

Ah, to be carefree. Privilege Viktor perhaps never had, and hasn’t still.

He walked toward a balcony, wishing for some privacy to take the mask off and wipe his face from the sweat making the silk stick to his skin, from his nose up to his brow.

Contrary to the boiling cauldron of the hall, outside a gentle breeze characteristic from the end of winter entered his clothes. And still, not a bench in sight against the perfectly aligned pots of flowers that seemed not to fit in the crystal greenhouse shining silver against the moonlight Viktor could see in the middle of the mazy garden.

Perhaps he should go there.

Turning around, he didn’t see the figure approaching, the hurried steps muffled by the music making Viktor’s head pound. The figure bumped into him, the handle of his cane that was hooked on his crossed elbows falling to the ground as Viktor tried to steady himself, not before his drink poured all over a flowery dress.

Sračka, he muttered between his teeth once the action had seeped in. As if the night couldn’t get any better.

Well, at least he’d be kicked out quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you said, the words stolen from his lips. Your hands froze over the now-soaked bodice of your dress. At least it wasn’t wine, but the liquor had some pieces of ice that had slipped inside the corset, which took a shiver out of you, skin covered in goosebumps.

Gathering your skirts, you prepared to lean down to give him his cane, though, from the reduced peripheral vision of your stupid butterfly-shaped mask, you did not see that he had done the same. Quickly following, you heard the hollow-like sound of his head bonking yours.

“Ow.” This time you retreated, rubbing your head without caring that your hair would resemble a bird's nest for the rest of the night. "I'm so sorry," you repeated, like an idiot—and oh, you felt like one. Despite you were wearing a mask, your voice didn't do much to hide your embarrassment which the way it cracked at the end.

Viktor took you in between the daze of his pounding head.

You were dressed like a flower fairy; pinks and blues and reds decorating your skirt, leaving petals whenever you went. The light, yet long skirt didn’t shelter well enough from the chilly air, with the high slit on your left leg, the deep V cut on your back, and the thin strap on your right shoulder.

All confused and soaked, and yet, Viktor’s curiosity picked for your unexpected kindness.

You didn’t seem to care about the dress, though, only minding for the goosebumps running down your bare skin. If Viktor had asked why, you’d told him that the colors being so pale and delicate, the bodice to be cut like a corset. You knew this dress wasn't meant for your tastes, but rather, for Lord Sylvester. The ones your parents would kill for you to marry.

Luckily, Sylvester was too occupied surrounded by other people to notice you walking away even when your parents had sent him a letter in which you expressed your desire to dance with him. Which was a total lie, of course.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, his tone hidden by the complete mask he was wearing. You shrunk because of course, you had annoyed him. It was a miracle he wasn't screaming at you. Now, with all masks on, people could be rude and daring all in the same night, knowing that any action done today wouldn't have consequences. "It’s me who should be sorry. I ruined your dress.”

“Huh?” You looked at his hand disappearing inside his pocket to retrieve a napkin. His hands hovered over yours. “Oh! That’s not needed. It was me who bumped into you…”

He gestured to the stain over your dress, making the petals of the sewn flowers stick flat against the silk. “Take it. At least to dry it a little. You could get sick.”

You smiled under your butterfly-shaped mask, fingertips touching briefly as you touched the thin cotton fabric. “Thank you, sir.”

“There’s no need for such titles tonight,” he answered, the black mask making his yellow-like eyes shine like pieces of gold. It almost sounded like he was smiling.

“I’m—, uh… then what should I call you?”

“What would you like to call me, Miss?” he chuckled. “Or perhaps I should call you Miss Fairy?”

You giggled, feeling heat pooling up your face. “What about Mr. Shadow?” you said, pointing at his full black mask and the long coat flapping against the wind.

“Suitable,” Viktor said, looking over his shoulder to see a man approaching, his presence parting the crowd without any word. The man looked at him, green eyes flashing with contempt.

“Darling,” the man said, his hand posing over your shoulder. “I lost you for a second. Are you ready to dance, lovely?”

Viktor lurked nearby, like the nickname you had bestowed with.

Only your gaze acknowledged him, your bottom lip protruding in an adorable pout.  He was impressed by how expressive your eyes could be, compared to the rest of the people he had met in events like these who ought to have every emotion restrained.

He arched an eyebrow. Well, he had nothing better to do.

"Excuse me," Viktor chimed in, tapping his cane against the marble floor as if he were knocking on a door. "Miss Fairy owes me a drink.” Paying no mind to the Piltovan man hovering nearby, Viktor extended his gloved hand toward you. “And then perhaps we shall dance? I would be honored to enjoy your company tonight.”

“I’m afraid she asked me for a dance first—” Sylvester said, his lion mask shining obnoxiously bright from the jewels and molten gold.

“I would love to dance with you, Mr. Shadow,” you interrupted him, clutching the napkin in one hand while sliding the other one in Viktor's, feeling the warmness of his fingers tangling in a graceful, almost lazy motion around the back of your hand.

Viktor was presented with the priceless opportunity of annoying a snobby man without consequences, even if it was just for a couple of hours. And perhaps this wasn’t what Jayce was referring to about having fun.

But for him, now, it was at least interesting.

With a fluid motion, Viktor pulled you closer, smelling the fruity essence of your perfume and the impressive softness of your silk skirt. “First, perhaps a drink?”

You nodded, looking up at him with the best dreamy eyes you could muster.

Viktor would like to be more impressed, but he was used to seeing Piltovans wear masks as they needed—and you’d be no different. Though he was intrigued as to what would happen next if he decided to follow your game.

Sylvester glared at him, calling your name with gritted teeth. The sound prickled Viktor’s ears with unnecessary focus.

"We'll see each other some other time," you told him, and your demeanor let Viktor know that you were certain this answer would create problems for you. And yet still, you continued with the charade.

He couldn't stop from thinking if in the end he'll be painted as the villain, as the wicked man who sought to seduce you.

Viktor stopped himself from being the picture of the dashing Casanova he considered to be, if only for a fleeting moment, as this mask kept on his face; yet, he decided to tuck his free hand inside the pocket of his pants instead of guiding you by the arm.

The bar was overflowing with both people and drinks, thick clouds of smoke exhaled by pipes and thick cigars that made his eyes water. You dipped between the enthusiastic assistants, asking the bartender for the same drink that now soaked the front of your dress and Viktor’s borrowed napkin you were now fiddling between your fingers.

Between the cacophony of the animated chat around you two, Viktor only caught the lonely request of his drink being remade, not any other sign you were asking one to have the excuse of lounging with him a little longer.

Viktor stepped closer, sensing the gaze of someone at his back. His golden eyes swept across the moving landscape of people dancing, and of course, it couldn’t be another one that the rather snobbish Loverboy from earlier.

You seemed to have forgotten about him, but Viktor still had his mind turned upon the plans you'd surely planned out in your head—all the guests in this place surely had crafted one, if not, why were you here?

Viktor considered you, with the elegant hairdo and the daring dress. He hummed. Perhaps you were playing mouse and cat with that man? Though it appeared that you had bumped into him because you were running away.

“Aren’t you going to have one for yourself?” he said once the bartender slid a glass of the same golden liquid across from the bar into your hands, to then pass it onto his. “Excuse me,” Viktor called the bartender before he could get too far away. “Have something,” he told you, leaning against the bar while hooking his cane’s handle on its edge. “Let me enjoy your company, Miss Fairy. In case you’re also planning to run away—I can offer my help.”

“Are you also trying to get out of this party?" you said, trying to stifle a laugh. "Aren't you here for someone?"

You asked for your drink, fruity and savory. Viktor looked at the mix with an arched eyebrow, observing you sipping it with ease, the way the glass’ rim got stained with your lipstick, and the way the flicking candelabra suspended over the bartender's table made your lips shine with the wetness of the drink.

You caught him observing. “Do you want a taste?” You raised the half-empty drink toward him, the essence of mango and pineapple welcomed against the pungent odor of smoke. “It’s probably too sweet for you, but, um, if you’re curious.”

“Fret not, Miss Fairy. I have a sweet tooth,” he answered, taking a sip. The tangy taste of the acid pineapple and the sweet mango combined with the strong aftertaste of the liquor surprised him. “It’s delicious.”

You beamed at him. “Right? I prefer cocktails like these instead of plain liquor,” you explained. “It’s too bitter for me.”

Well, for his credit, you sure seemed to be sweet from inside and out. Of course, just a theory.

Viktor would have left the drink you asked for him, only that in his mind it was a rude action to do. But now he craved something sweeter—and yet, Viktor gulped down the whole thing, ignoring the sensation of burning down his throat.

“Don’t take offense, Miss Fairy,” he started. “May I ask why that man for earlier is watching us like a hawk? It’s been a while since he started.”

You looked from the corner of your eye where Viktor’s gaze directed you, sighing. "I guess Sylvester thinks we're married—” you stopped, laughing at seeing Viktor’s posture going stiff. “We’re not even engaged, but it is.” Your shoulders sagged after you shrugged, fingers playing with the rim of the glass. “Our parents had expected it ever since we moved across the street from them. Before Sylvester's father inherited their family's business they became wealthy. I guess my parents look it like an escape.”

“And you?” Viktor surprised himself asking. “How do you look at this whole situation?”

Your gaze fixated on the table fleetingly met his before pulling away, if it was due to shame or if the sudden jolt rippling across Viktor’s body was also traveling in yours, he didn’t dare to ask again.

"I… I'd rather not talk about such… grim things at a party," you smiled, or at least, you tried to, lips still firmly pressed together. “This is supposed to celebrate love, isn’t not?” Humming to the current piece played by the orchestra, your fingers tapped the bar’s mahogany. “Mr. Shadow?” you insisted at his silence.

“Eh, I don’t think someone can find love in a place like this. With all due respect, Miss Fairy,” Viktor started, thankful that the mask could cover most of his blush. "To me, this seems like a choreographed dance where everyone knows whom they may end up once the sun rises again."

“Then, with whom are you going to end up tonight?" you asked.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you said everyone is here seeking a purpose, so, what’s yours, Mr. Shadow?”

“A bit early to get philosophical, don’t you think?” he joked, and he did make you laugh, but you still looked expectantly, not distracted at all. Defeated under the power of your gaze, Viktor chuckled awkwardly. “With no one, Miss Fairy. I came here accompanying a friend, but I’m not looking for… eh, anything.”

You kept silent for a while, so much that Viktor thought for a moment that he'd said something wrong.

“Allow me to be your dance partner,” he added once the pause had extended for too long.

You snapped your gaze from the bottom of your empty glass toward him. “Hmm?”

"It would be suspicious if Mr. Sylvester doesn't see us dance as we promised, don't you think?"

“I can deal with it later,” you assured. “You don’t need to dance with me.” Why those words made him feel as if someone had punched him in the chest?

“I insist,” Viktor smiled. “I meant those words, Miss Fairy. I'll treasure your company tonight if you'd like to share it with me.”

You smiled sheepishly, fingers taking his. Even with the black gloves Viktor wore, he could feel the warmth of your skin seep into his, from his hand to everywhere your body brushed his as you stood in a corner of the dance floor, his hand fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist.

“Eh,” he said once the music started, your skirt brushing his legs as you swayed against him.

This was a bad idea—Viktor’s second bad idea of the night, which was astounding. He couldn’t keep stiff as a board, with you gently guiding him through the movements. But you were too close; you smelled like jasmines and strawberries, elegant and so, so sweet. Your lips probably still tasted like the fruity cocktail. And the fleeting brush of his fingertips over the exposed curve of your lower back was making him lose the rhythm.

“Hmm?” you responded, your hand tickling the rebel locks of hair at the base of his neck. Looking at him, your eyes seemed brighter than the chandelier and the dozens of candles illuminating this party.

This was a terrible idea. And both the mask and the alcohol gave him enough bravery to do it.

“Please forgive me,” Viktor said, dipping his head to give you the softest kiss, with barely the brush of your lips against his.

First, you froze, and Viktor was already tripping to push himself afar, but your hand gripped his shoulder to stop him from pulling away, your lips pliant and exquisite against his once you leaned closer to deepen the kiss, the savor of pastries and cocktails mixed in your tongue playing against his.

In any other normal circumstance, Viktor would’ve felt ashamed for such an indecorous sight in a public place, but this wasn’t the norm. His face was hidden, and you were just the perfect combination of sweet and daring—a dangerous mix, he’d admit.

Besides, the thought of that man, Sylvester, seeing you and him tangled in such a passionate kiss made his chest bloom with a stroked ego.

And speaking of stroking…

“Miss Fairy,” he muttered, surprised with how his voice had become ragged and husky from just a simple kiss. Your lipstick was smeared all over your chin, and Viktor knew he’d be in a similar situation. “I… we need to stop…”

“Why?” you said, guiding him out the dancefloor. “I want you. Do you want me?”

“Miss… we don’t even know each other…”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you said, taking his napkin to wipe his lips clean and then doing the same with yours, letting them plump and pleading for more. “Only for tonight.”

Viktor stood in front of you, frozen like a statue. Though his mind was running with a thousand thoughts, a thousand possibilities of the future, and yet only two paths ahead of him tonight.

He could refuse and walk away. You’d never seen him again—or even if you did, you would never known it was him. He could walk away and forget your taste and your essence, the sound of your voice and your loving touches while dancing.

Or he could allow himself to have a slip of his impeccable manners, to succumb to the same guilty pleasures everyone in here seemed to indulge themselves right now.

He wasn’t looking for love—he’d be a fool for thinking such a thing in a place, in a party like this. And the lust and passion between you two was undeniable.

Only for tonight.

You could be from each other only for tonight. So Viktor allowed himself to ponder, to imagine, how would it be like to see what was concealed under your dress, the new sounds he could elicit from your enticing lips. The new dance you could both participate in.

Only for tonight. And tomorrow? Viktor could figure it out later, once the sun came out again.

“Show me, Miss Fairy,” he said, grabbing the handle of his cane as he leaned down to steal another kiss from your lips. “Only for tonight.”

Lemme know if you wish to be tagged in the next parts! 💛😸

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, fighting, yelling

I shook my head as I took in the car in the driveway. All day, I’d been considering taking a baseball bat to it. But it wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t enough money left in the bank to fix the damage I would do. Unlocking the door, I rolled my eyes at the hat sitting on the table next to the keys to the car. The black jacket on the wall further annoyed me.

“hey!” Elwood called, walking into the living room. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “How was work?” His smiled fell when he saw my face. “Shit day huh?”

“oh I don’t know Elwood.” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You tell me. Given how you blew off your job to spend our entire life’s savings.” He gulped and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“oh. You heard about that?” He asked, eyes starting to drift down to his feet. I put my hands on my hips.

“yeah. I heard about that.” I shot back. Elwood rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. “You didn’t think the bank would call? When you took everything out of our account?”

“It wasn’t everything.” Elwood muttered.

“ok no.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “It wasn’t everything. But it was most of our lives savings Elwood. We were supposed to have that for when we retired. Wanted to go on vacation. Do things together. Things we decided on together. How could you?” Elwood shifted his weight and chewed on his lip.

“it needed it.” Elwood whispered. He moved to head back into the kitchen but I followed him.

“the bluesmobile needed it?” I cried. “What was so wrong with it before that it needed the money?”

“I have to add modifications to it.” Elwood said. “Make it safer.”

“Elwood…” I breathed out, trying to calm the rage that was burning inside me. “It’s an old cop car. It’s the safest car out there. What the ever loving fuck could you do to it to make it safer?” Elwood put his hands on the counter and leaned his weight against it.

“a few things actually.” He said. His voice was oddly even and flat. “Better seat belts. Fix the suspension. The shocks.”

“I don’t give a shit Elwood!” I cried. “What I give an shit about is that you took our hard earned money and blew it on a goddamn car!”

“it wasn’t just the fucking car!” Elwood exploded, turning to look at me. “I almost got into an accident the other day! Because of Jake. And Matt almost went through the window!” I nodded. Elwood had come home pretty shaken up after it had happened. I’d pried him from the front seat and made him come into the house. “It coulda been you. And that fucking terrifies me. Add in the fact Jake’s gonna have a kid…” Elwood shook his head as his anger started to subside. “I had to. Ok? For you. For me. For Jake. For this fucking kid. I just had to.” I stood there in shock.

“Jake’s gonna be a dad?” I asked, all the anger leaving me. “You’re gonna be an uncle?” Elwood nodded.

“he found out this morning.” Elwood said. “Carrie or Carla or whatever her name is. The on again off again one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t even know if it’s his and he’s going fucking nuts. Talking about changing things up and settling down and raising this kid.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Elwood…” I reached out for him and Elwood shot over, wrapping his arms around me tightly and burying his face in my neck. “I’m not happy about it. But I understand.” I buried my fingers in his hair and kissed his cheek. I started to giggle and Elwood pinched my side.

“What?” He said. It turned into a full blown laugh as Elwood smiled against my neck.

“You’re just as bad as Jake.” I said. Elwood pulled back with a frown. “You babyproofed the bluesmobile.” He tried not to smile but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Elwood ran a hand through his hair and turned away from me.

“shut up.” He chuckled.

“it’s cute!” I shot back. Elwood shook his head and blushed. “Really it is. Shows how protective you are.”

“it’s just…I’m concerned you know?” He said. “First that happens and then Jake finds out he’s gonna be a dad and I just…panicked.” I cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“I really am still pissed about you not saying anything to me about taking all our money to do this.” Elwood nodded and wrapped his hands around my wrists. “But it’s understandable. Especially after everything that’s happened.”

“I am sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I should have. But I know you get busy and stressed and I didn’t want to make it worse.” Elwood said, leaning in and kissing me softly.

“Elwood, you calling me and telling me this would have been so much less stressful than the fucking bank calling me.” I said. Elwood chuckled and nodded.

“understood.” He said. I smiled at him as I rubbed my thumb over his cheek.

“now.” I said, moving my hand to pat his chest. “Show me these modifications.” Elwood lit up and took my hand, pulling me outside to show me what he had done to the car.

[honeii-puff]

The perfect moment

In which Soren gets caught in a snare @sorinethemastermind as an apology for this morning Listen to The Perfect Moment by Dawid Ocheduszko for full immersion

Soren just wanted to go on a hike. He woke up that early October morning and thought the weather would be good for a hike. That’s why he’d bought the cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere, New York.

That, and the woods provided good inspiration for his poetry during the fall. He and Claudia took turns with the cabin; she usually commandeered it during the winter and spring months, while he’d spend weeks at a time during the rest of the year.

Now, he was hanging upside down by his leg from a rope attached to a tree like a cartoon character. The blood rushing to his caused temporary spots to dance in his vision, hurting his head.

He squeezed his eyes closed, digging his palms into them in an attempt to clear the spots, before using his core muscles to bend upward and inspect the rope holding him up.

The rope was sturdy, clearly good quality– the stuff that cost an arm and a leg in this economy– and the knot was tight around his ankle. Great handiwork, too. Whoever made the snare really knew what they were doing.

Probably weren’t trying to catch him, though. He figured ex-army men in flannel and polyester were less appetizing for dinner than a rabbit or waterfowl.

This is what I get for going on a hike during hunting season. He thought, scrunching his nose in thought, unbending himself to give his core muscles a break. He blinked the spots out of his eyes again before patting his pockets. A small flare of panic went through Soren, not feeling his notebook in his pocket.

Or his pen, but that was easier to replace compared to the months of poetry that was in the notebook and the notebook alone.

Looking around, he eventually spotted it on the ground below him, lying over the carpet of dead leaves covering the ground. It must’ve fallen out when he got caught.

Shit. He could’ve at least been writing while waiting to find a way to get out.

Soren sucked in a breath before bending back up again, letting the blood flow from his head before looking at the knot again.

Double overhand noose…

He patted his pockets, feeling for his pocket knife, before silently cursing. He had left it on the counter, not expecting to need it.

Of course, the one time I leave it at home I actually need it. Stupid. He chided himself.

He heard a small rustling behind him, and unbent himself, pausing to let the head rush pass before looking around.

When the spots subsided, he found himself face-to-face with a shock guy. Seemed to be around his age, maybe a bit older. Dark skin, and short dreads flopped over on one side. And carrying a bow, which was the least surprising bit of it all, considering rifle season hadn’t started yet. 

“You’re not a rabbit.” He stated, looking at him.

“That I am not.” Soren tilted his head slightly. “Unless I’ve grown ears and a tail within the last…” He checked his watch. “Five minutes. Nice rope, by the way.”

“Thanks. I made it.”

That made… a lot of sense, actually. 

“Well, as much as I’m enjoying this current conversation from where I’m hanging, care to cut me down, handsome?” Soren grinned, and the guy seemed to snap out of weird staring thing he had going on.

“Right. Sorry.” He took a few steps back before drawing his bow and shooting it. Soren felt the air as it whizzed past him, and after hearing a small snap, he fell onto the ground in the least graceful way possible.

“Way to let a guy down gently.” He groaned, rolling over onto his back before getting up. He picked up his notebook and pen, tucking both back into his pocket before turning to look at the guy. “I’m Soren.”

“Corvus.” The guy– Corvus– said, holstering the bow on his back. “I didn’t know anyone else was out here.”

“Yeah,” Soren stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thought today would be a good day for a hike to get out of the cabin for a bit, got stuck in a rabbit trap.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Is this a common occurrence for you?” Corvus raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head.

“Nah. If it was, I would’ve had the wits to actually bring my knife with me this time.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You’re funny. And military.”

Soren raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Army. How’d you get that?”

“Your posture,” Corvus explained. “You stand a bit straighter, less of a natural curve to your spine.”

Soren glanced down at his feet briefly. Had he been doing that?

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” Soren shrugged again. “You headed off?”

He paused before answering. “I’ve been out since 5, I probably earned a break.”

He whistled. “Damn. Early riser naturally or do you have some unspoken military habits too?”

“More like wilderness training habits,” Corvus answered, leaning against the side of a tree. “Still running on camp time from August.”

“Adventurous,” Soren commented, leaning against one of the trees, the act causing a few leaves to shake loose and fall into his face.

“Thank you?” It sounded more of a question, causing him to laugh.

“It’s a good thing, trust me.”

“Good to know.”

[comingyourlugubriousness]

I wrote this a long time ago for Twst SMAU. Some lore on how Ghost King! Idia and Mario!Yume meet! I have a general plot planned, but right now I'm working on Ghost Marriage lore so I'm not sure when I'll get around to it! I have lots of fun with this au though! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

Enjoy! Writing under the cute!

Title: Ghost King Join's the Party!

Length: 6.5k words

“Whe he he!~ It’s finally finished!” Idia giggled, his sinister laughter echoing throughout the dark, cold dungeon. 

“This is gonna be the one for sure, no way he gets out of this one!” He assured himself, and himself alone as there was no other soul in the room with him. His ghostly underlings were all at their posts; awaiting the expected arrival of one, said Yuuta Midori. Idia sighed, his brows furrowing at the thought of his rival. 

During their last encounter Yuuta had “beaten” him…that part wasn’t…really uncommon. Yuuta interrupting his plans was a constant plague on his life to the point where he was genuinely worried about the amount of free time Yuuta had. But, even though Idia never won their encounters in a literary sense he had always gotten what he needed to do.

Sure, Yuuta may have stopped him from summoning an undead army, but he had gotten away with the necromantic book he needed with the spell. So in a way he was the true “winner” in their game. That is until last time….

Absent-mindedly, he touched the top of his head. A place where his family’s crown was supposed to be sitting.

“How annoying…freaking goodie goodie…” He grumbled to himself. Idia got careless with their last encounter. When trying to steal those parts for his machines he ended up losing his crown. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” He groaned aloud, drearily pacing back and forth as he talked to himself. 

“Those Toads wouldn’t sell anything to me! Just because I had some “terrifying and scary Boo's” with me.” He put finger quotes and rolled his eyes as hard as he could. 

“So what if they scared a few people!?” He shrugged. “I needed the parts way more than them!” He pointed at himself indignantly, as if he was having an intense debate with someone.”They weren’t utilizing the parts to their full potential! Just letting them rust away in a corner because they were too STUPID to see its value!” He growled, the long blue flames of his hair blazing a harsh red for a second as he kicked a loose rock on the floor.

 Idia yelped as it actually kinda of hurt his foot…

“But would that wannabe anti-hero with a mom complex hear me out?! Noooooo of course not!~ Cuz I’m just the gross, creepy, shut-in who lives with dead people!!” He complained dramatically, hopping up and down on one foot until the pain subsided. Idia’s voice simply echoed off the empty walls of his family's old castle dungeon. Only the slight jangling of chains in the wind through the cracks in the walls responded back to him…He stood there for a few moments soaking in the lonely silence as his face went passive and expressionless. 

It was fine…he was used to it by now…

Idia sighed, feeling ashamed that he was once again getting himself so worked up in a conversation by himself. How pathetic…

“Well…I guess it doesn’t matter. Once I capture that wannabe hero, I’ll make him give me back my crown.” He grinned widely at the idea, his sharp teeth on full display.

“We just have to-Hm?” He stopped, hearing a notification sound from his tablet. He lifted his cloak, sticking his hand through it to the pocket dimension inside and pulling out of his tablet. Unlocking it to check his security cameras feeds.

“What the-?!” Idia’s brows furrowed and he leaned forward; hunching close to the screen. 

There he saw a chaotic scene; dozens of his Boo subjects all scattering around, panicked expressions on their faces. They all flitted about, desperately finding places to hide and disappearing into old furniture. Through the blurs of barely transparent ghosts he could see the rooms of his family’s castle were a wreck, more so than usual, as if battles had taken place. Remnants of his puzzles and traps that he had so strategically placed were either rendered obsolete or smashed to smithereens. 

Did Yuuta do this?? It usually took him longer to solve Idia’s traps and he NEVER scared any of his subjects like this, usually they did the scaring!

Idia watched as one Boo ran right into one of his security cameras cracking the lens. What was his name…? Herbert? Idia wasn’t sure. He was never good at recognizing all their faces and remembering their names… it was always Ortho who…

His train of thought was interrupted as someone stepped in the camera frame. 

Due to the crack in the camera lens, Idia couldn’t make out any details, but he saw the Boo shriek and scrambled to get away. A blurred motion approaching the camera was the last thing he saw before it was busted. The camera feed going offline. 

Idia winced and sneered in annoyance thinking about how he’d have to replace that camera now. Though he felt himself beginning to sweat as he cycled through the other camera feeds, trying to identify or even catch a glimpse of his intruder. But he never could, they were always just out of sight of the camera angles or moving too fast for him to get a clear picture. Just a red blur? He swallowed hard; he couldn’t help but notice that the cameras he was following were getting closer and closer to his current location.

“Gah, geez what’s with this horror movie atmosphere!” He bemoaned, growling in frustration as another camera was destroyed, just one room away from the dungeon he was currently standing in. A few seconds later he heard a bang from outside the door. 

“Wha-! O-oh forget this!” He said, closing his tablet and stuffing it in his cloak. 

“N-n-nothing w-wrong with a strategic retreat! H-hehe?” he said to himself, laughing, nervously as he hurried to gather his tools and keys.

*THUMP*

He jumped in place and failed to hold back a high pitched shriek, his tools falling around his feet; as the heavy wooden dungeon door entrance was suddenly struck.

“O-Oh! Oh, shit!” Idia looked around frantically. The banging on the door continued relentlessly. It wouldn’t hold forever. 

Usually he would just phase through the walls to escape, but that was impossible here. The dungeon was designed to imprison even ghosts. He could try to take this threat head on, but without his crown his powers were so nerfed he could BARELY use them to fight. He let out a nervous noise, stepping around his trap's trigger, and cramming himself into a corner of one of the dungeon cells, crudely kicking an ancient skeleton aside as he did. 

With one final *thunk* the dungeon door fell off its hinge, a cloud of dust puffing up and a deafening bang reverberated off the old stone walls. Idia cautiously peeked from his hiding spot, looking to see this new enemy…

-

.

“Whoa~!” Yume yelped as they fell through the door. A small ‘oof’ escaping them as they tripped on the door.

“Oww…” They groaned into the hard wood where they face planted. Maybe they used a little too much force on that last swing? They thought, clumsily stumbling to their feet. They gently dusted themselves off, taking extra care to clean their monogrammed hat. Yu went to adjust their glasses only to realize they weren’t on their face.

“Ah, my glasses!” They panicked for a second looking around the dark room until they found them only a few feet away. They sighed in relief, putting them back on and taking stock of their surroundings. 

Yume glanced around the room, which looked to be a dungeon of sorts. A majority of the area was shrouded in shadows; only a bit of light coming from dull torches of blue flames. They could hear the slight jingling of chains as the cold air drifted through the room. Yume grimaced, their knees buckling for a second at the idea of exploring this creepy place. 

Ugh! They should have gotten a flashlight like Yuuta told them. They jogged in place for a moment to calm their nerves.  I’ll be okay, just some dumb little creep, I can take him! His puzzles weren’t even that difficult! Yume took a deep breath to calm down. Their face settling into one of determination.They would be fine, they just had to keep their guard up. 

With that thought in mind they grabbed the handle of their hammer, pulling it from where it was wedged into the door. The old sturdy wood splintered under the head of the iron hammer head and they made a small noise of effort as they lifted the blunt weapon over their shoulder.

“Eek-!” An unknown noise echoed in the chamber.

Yume whipped their head around towards the direction of the noise, but all they could see was darkness. Their first instinct was to call out, but they hesitated for a moment. Was it an enemy? Or…maybe someone who needed help? They bit their lip unsure if they should speak…

“Hellooo? Is someone there?” They called out, their voice echoing across the chamber. They felt slightly silly at how much they sounded like a dumb horror movie victim. But if someone was here then…well…it’s not like they hadn’t heard Yu come in.

Yume waited a few seconds, but got no response. They let out a breath through their nose…guess I have to do this the hard way. With that final thought, Yu tightened their grip on their hammer as they slowly and methodically began searching the room .

-

Idia held his hands over his mouth. Shit that was close!! He hadn’t meant to make that noise! He scolded himself for acting like a dumb protag in horror movies, the very ones he always rolled his eyes at!

 ‘C’mon think, Idia think, you're better than those idiot normie throw away characters!’ He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to focus as he heard the intruder stepping around in and opening doors in the other cells. Each time getting closer and closer to his current location.. He couldn’t run away, the enchantment on the dungeon walls prevented even ghosts from phasing through them and if he tried to run through the open entrance they would definitely see him!

The footsteps came closer.

He could try to fight but without his crown he was severely underleveled! He didn’t know the stats of this intruder yet, but if what he saw on the camera was any indication they were not just some random noob! He could easily get K.O’d if he wasn’t careful!

The creak of the cell door next to his opened.

Gah-! He was running out of time he-! Idia felt himself start to hyperventilate. 

The footsteps were right outside the cell. 

He hated this, why couldn’t people just leave him alone!? Is what he was doing really such a crime?! He just wanted to be left alone! Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He wished he was anywhere else, he wished Ortho was here, he wished he could just disappear from the face of this earth for good! 

Idia heard the door to the cell creak open and he gasped. Blinking away the tears and instinctually cowering and covering his face to hide. His bloodline powers activated automatically, making him invisible where he stood.

He held his breath as the intruder stepped around the cell, he could hear them, walking around towards each corner carefully until they got to his. They were so close, Idia could tell without even seeing them. Cautiously, he peeked through his fingers, trying to see this interloper up close…

Big brown eyes stared directly at him and he almost screamed in shock, but caught himself as he realized they couldn’t actually see him. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact regardless.

He moved his fingers aside just a bit to see them more fully.

Idia wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe a huge monster or a large buff dude but…instead this person was actually rather short…? Glasses resting on their rosy round cheeks, wavy curls framing a soft face, and a small pout their plump lips as they carefully examined the corner he was hiding in. Huh? Who…? His eyes trailed down, catching a familiar attire

Short overalls and a monogrammed hat? Yuuta wore something like this though in a different way…was this person…related to him in some way? Did he send them? Idia thoughts raced, his curiosity starting to overtake his anxiety. 

If that was the case then…it's possible that they weren’t that much stronger than Yuuta… maybe they were even more of a scardy cat then him? At the thought a mischievous sharp tooth grin split on his face as he got an idea. A way to get this nuisance out of his hair AND avoid a fight with some NPC of unknown lvl. He just had to do what Boo’s did best.

As the person turned away from the corner, stepping over something and kneeling down to examine the entrance to the cell, Idia saw his chance. 

Idia released his breath, making himself visible and with all the remaining strength he had left called upon his power to shift into his ghostly form. He felt his figure grow, his wispy cloak merging with his body.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth as his mouth unhinged, displaying his rows of razor sharp teeth, his face twisting and distorting in an unsettling nightmarish visage. He loomed over his capture, now turned victim. Idia took a deep breath as he prepared himself to let out an unholy scream and hopefully scared them to death.

 He took a step forward, getting closer and closer, waiting for just the right moment…

**Click** 

Idia looked down with wide eyes, seeing the trigger of the trap release. Oh n-

Idia couldn’t even finish his thought as the trapped sprung and he yelped as metal sheets on the floor quickly folded up around him, locking him in a metal box. He couldn’t even scream as the small area encased him, forcing him to fold his body like a tetris piece just to fit.

“AHH-! WHAT THE FUCK!” He heard the intruder scream, then a loud metal thunk hit the trap. 

“S-shit!” Idia choked out, finding it hard to breathe. The trap wasn’t made for someone his size in mind. He tried to shift his knees to sit in a better position. 

This was fine, this was completely fine! He just had to get the remote from his pocket to release the trap. With great effort he shimmied his hand to his pocket to find…

…It empty?

“…!”

SHIT! HE MUST HAVE LEFT IT SOMEWHERE ON THE FLOOR! He had thought he would have more time to prepare before Yuuta came!

“No no nononono!” He whined and began hyperventilating again as he tried to kick and pound at the trap. Unfortunately, it was working perfectly as intended, leaving him with no hope of escaping on his own. What was he going to do?! It could be days before one of his subjects found him?!

A few seconds later three hesitant knocks on the container broke him out of his panic. 

-

“Umh…H-hello? I-is someone in there?” Yume asked carefully, their hand on their chest to calm their still racing heart. What the fuck just happened? One second the cell was empty and then they heard a horrible loud noise? And now this metal box was here?? And it was making noises?! Where did it come from?? Did it fall from the ceiling…?

There was no response from the box. So, reluctantly, Yume leaned forward and cautiously knocked again; pressing their ear to the side of the container. A few seconds passed but this time they did manage to get a response.

“H-help…!” A feeble male voice choked out. If Yume wasn’t literally pressed up against the box they definitely wouldn’t be able to hear it. Yume gasped, placing their palm against the box.

“Help?! Who are you?! Are you okay? How can I help?!” They asked in rapid fire, their instinct to aid beginning to take over. Yu automatically grabbed their hammer, thinking maybe they could just smash the trap, but then they noticed. The spot they hit earlier didn’t even have a dent…Even if they pounded away at this thing all day; it might not budge...

“The trap is too sturdy-! I don’t think I can break it!” Yume explained. They squished their cheek up against the box; now able to hear the labored breathing of whoever was inside. Yume frowned, their worry for this person increasing with every second.

“H-Hey, it's okay, it’s okay! We’ll figure this out…!” They said, trying to calm the person. An unsure noise came from inside. 

“I mean it!” They tried to reassure them again. “I heard that this guy always has an out for these kinds of things, there must be a way to free you? A-A key somewhere or-!” They did a quick once over of the cell but found nothing. Then the prisoner piped up.

“R-r-re-remote…!” His voice stuttered. 

A remote? Yume thought, then like a lightbulb they remembered. A remote! Yume reached into their pocket, pulling out the strange device they had found earlier in one of the rooms upstairs. They didn’t know what it was then, but thought it seemed important. Definitely a key item! Maybe the Ghost King had dropped it and misplaced it? HA! What a total idiot!

“Hang on! I’m gonna try something!” They said, taking a few steps back.

“H-hurry…!” The voice pleaded.

Yume held the device out at arms length, leaning slightly away, and pressed their thumb down on the almost comically large red button.

A satisfying *click*, sounded. Something inside the trap whirled and the metal plating shifted rapidly as the coffin-like trap began to unfold itself. The top of the box popped open like a trapped door. A cartoonish spring noise sounded, and the person screamed as they were quickly and forcefully ejected upwards out of the trap.

“Whoa-!” Yume’s eyes followed the motion, holding on to their hat as a blur of blue flew up past them.

-

Idia let out a shriek as he was ejected into the air. After being tumbled around in the trap he was completely disoriented, he couldn’t tell up from down; the whole world was LITERALLY spinning. Were his traps always this messed up? A few moments later he felt a moment of equilibrium, before gravity overtook, sending him plummeting down.

He was falling? Time almost seemed to slow down around him. Since he’d inherited his crown it was a sensation he’d forgotten…Was he going to die?  The thought crossed his mind matter of factly before the panic set in. N-No he couldn’t, he still had so much to do-! He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he fell, faster and faster. Idia pinched his eyes shut and tried to brace himself for the cold unforgiving stone floor…

.

.

.

“Gotcha!” Yume grunted, their small arms wrapping around the prisoner. Even as they caught him the force of the fall was a little too much for them and they both fell to the floor. Yume let out a groan as they fell flat on their butt. The person bouncing on their lap as Yu’s own body cushioned most of the fall. It knocked the wind out of Yume so they tried to take a few deep breaths. 

“Ack!” Yume wheezed as they were suddenly squeezed in a tight hold. Long arms wrapped around their waist as the trembling prisoner clinged to them like a lifeline. Wisps of blue overtook their vision as the person buried themselves in Yume’s shoulder. They felt small panicked breaths hitting their neck as the person hyperventilated.

The sudden closeness started Yume and they were a little embarrassed, but they set that aside, their practiced heroic persona taking over. 

“Hey hey, shh… it's okay…” They cooed, gently rubbing the prisoners back. Yume tried to pull them back a bit so he wasn't sitting directly on their lap. But, he  flinched at the contact, letting out a small whimper. He clutched the back of Yume’s hoodie more intensely, bunching up the fabric. 

Yume sighed, but relented, tentatively setting their arms around the person.

“Okay okay, you don’t have to let go.” They murmured softly, it wasn’t the first time they had to comfort a panicking victim, but usually it was only children who clingged to them like this. Though this person was clearly not a child, their tall frame almost completely enveloped Yume. If it wasn’t for how thin they were, Yume might have been knocked flat on the ground. Absent-mindedly they moved their hands around his waist. Actually, they were REALLY THIN! Yume’s brows pinched up in worry.

-

Idia was beside himself, he couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t the first time he had a panic attack like this, but this was one of the worse he’d had in awhile. Ironically, the only thing keeping him together right now was the very person who caused his composure to crumble in the first place. He hadn’t meant to cling to them, sure, it was a natural instinct when falling but… then he felt it…

The warmth of another living person…he had almost forgotten what it was like. Idia shivered as soft warm palms rubbed his back.

“...How long have you been here?” The intruder asked, sounding concerned.

How long? How long had he been here? In this castle; a glorified prison for his cursed family?  He wasn’t thinking straight, a part of him knew that wasn’t what they meant but…

“Forever…” The words just came out.

 “...I-I-’ve-” Idia struggled to speak, cringing at his own voice and giving up the thought halfway, choosing instead to steal more warmth from this person and burying his face in their neck. He caught a whiff of a fruity smell he couldn’t identify, but strangely it calmed him. 

The stranger didn’t seem to mind, in fact they held him closer, a hand soothingly patting his head.

“Shh…it’s alright, I’ll protect you… '' They said the words softly, but with conviction. Even in Idia’s skeptical mind it sounded reassuring. Though, it was the next words that really got to him.

“You're not alone anymore.” The person whispered to him as if it was a promise. 

Idia tensed, the words making him freeze in place. His brain jump started as he suddenly registered EVERYTHING that was happening. Where he was, who he was with, the position he was in. The scenario and sensations overwhelmed him, making him hyper aware of every stimuli in the room.

What the hell was he doing? 

At the thought he pushed the intruder away, scrambling away from them.

They let out a noise of surprise at the sudden shove.

“G-get away-!” Idia choked out, all at once the warmth from before left him, sharpening his focus. Idia crawled away until his back hit the cell bars and he anxiously gripped one. Uncomfortably pushing himself into the cold steel to get as physically far away from this person as possible. NO ONE had ever made him drop his guard like that? Was it some kind of weird power?  In his mind they were even more dangerous now then when they were just some OP freak with a hammer. 

-

The push knocked Yume to the floor. They grunt in pain as they felt their elbows skinned against unforgiving stone. They recovered quickly. 

“Ow! Hey! That hurt!”  They growled, giving into their first instinct to get angry. They were only trying to help this person and this is what they get. Geez! 

“What’s your fucking issue?!” Yume shouted as they sat up to glare at the person, puffing up their cheeks at him. Though their anger dissipated once they set eyes on this person; vaguely registering that this was the first time they could see him clearly. 

Bright golden eyes trembling with fear met Yume’s. A glint of sharp teeth peaked from his mouth, nervously biting thin blue lips. His pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. The illusion only became more prominent due to the actual flames of long blue hair; cascading wildly around his shoulders and back; framing his mature angular face.  

Yume blinked twice, taking in the appearance of this person, a person who just a few seconds ago was sitting in their lap. Their face heated up now at the idea.

“Oh…You’re…” Yume started to say ‘beautiful’, but caught themselves, as they saw the man’s shoulders hike. Yu trailed off…losing their nerve to say what they wanted. They took a moment to collect themselves, clearing their throat..

“-You're safe.” Yu said, firmly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible; thought still a nervous laugh escaped them. “Y’know what, here let's uhm, start over!” They said kindly, shifting to sit on their knees. They clear their throat again, their nerves suddenly spiking  as they realized they were meeting a stranger.

“ H-hi, I’m Yume Ume! Part Time Hero! ” They tried to smile, voice a little too loud and gungho; as they awkwardly put their hand out for him to shake. He jumped at the loud volume of their voice and tried to lean back even more at the quick movement. Eyes shifting back and forth at Yume’s hand, and expression, skeptically.  He made no move to shake their hand, but raised an eyebrow at their introduction.

-

“Part time Hero”, that was the way Yuuta introduced themselves to people sometimes, too. Idia didn’t say anything but made note of it. A more pressing concern plaguing his mind right now.

“U-Uhmm…” He started speaking, cringing at his own stutter.

 “A-aren’t y-you….g-gonna to attack m-me? O-or s-something” Idia muttered, he knew he should try and put on his villain persona, but his head was pounding. He felt so weak, he must have used too much of his power… 

Yume’s eyebrows hiked up in surprise. 

“Huh?!” They were confused for a second, so he shifted his eyes to their hammer lying in arms reach. They followed his gaze.  “Oh! Oh no! No!” They said quickly, pushing the hammer away. It slid further across the floor, clunking loudly till it hit the wall.

“That’s not for you! That’s only for bad guys!” They said, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. Idia paused, his eyes widening and jaw going slack as he realized…

This person…this Yume…had no idea who he was.

“What’s your name?” They asked, further proving his assumption. 

“O-oh! I..umh…” It’s been a long time since he introduced himself to anyone. Part of him understood, why would anyone want the name of some freak like him. Even the moniker of ‘Ghost King’ was given to him.  Nobody, not even his subjects called him by his real name anymore…no one did, not since Ortho… He shook off the thought, not trying to go down that train of thought.

“M-my n-name-i-ts uh-!” He hesitated, bringing his knees to his chest and fiddling with his fingers. Unsure if he should tell them… In the end he decided it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of keeping up a lie.

“I-Idia j-just…Idia.” He whispered, peeking up at them through his bangs. Yume smiled at him.

“Idia…” They repeated, giving a little nod of approval. “That’s a nice name!” They said so sincerely it made Idia’s stomach churn a bit. Even so his face still heated up at the compliment, he wasn’t used to them. They went on, leaning into him a bit.

“Listen Idia, my brother, Yuuta! He sent me here to stop something the Ghost King was planning, I’ve searched this place to to bottom, but I still can’t find him, I don’t think he’s here so-”

“Wait-! YUUTA IS YOUR BROTHER?!” He asked in disbelief, leaning into them as well. Yume leaned back not expecting him to suddenly raise his voice.

“Yeah…have you met him?” They asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“O-oh n-not I-I’ve just uhh…h-heard of him…! Y-yeah, talk f-from the dungeon g-guards ehehe…” He lied, chuckling nervously, pushing his index finger together to stim.Yume frowned looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You… must have been trapped here for a while, huh?” Then their brows furrowed. “No wonder you look so thin and pale! That guy is gonna pay!” Yume said seriously, bawling up their fists till they shook. 

Idia let out a quiet noise as if he had been stabbed; any confidence he had plummeted to the floor and shattered, and he hunched in on himself.

“I c-can’t help how I look…!” He grumbled gloomily. Honestly, he had been called much worse by others, but for some reason the comments from Yume stung extra hard. He didn’t try to dwell on why.

“Ah-! Nono-! I didn’t mean-!” They tried, but Idia interrupted them.

“H-how do you plan on beating the Ghost king anyway!?” He asked,  looking at them curiously. This whole thing was a big epic fail, definitely one for his cringe comp. But maybe he could get some useful information from someone so close to his nemesis.

“O-oh well!” Yume pushed up their glasses. “ Yuuta told me the last time they fought, he managed to steal the Ghost King’s crown. We didn’t know much about it or how it worked. So, I was worried it might be dangerous, y’know?” They gave a small shrug. 

“Like, bro I love you. But you can’t just take freaky villain shit without knowing what it is!” They explained, and gestured their hand out as if it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that thing could be cursed for all we know!” They said, throwing their arms up dramatically. 

Idia’s eyes widened and how close to the mark they were, but he didn’t say anything.

“Anywho,  I took it upon myself to do a little research on the crown so my brother gave it to me and-”

“YOU HAVE MY CROWN!” Idia blurted, forgetting himself for a moment and scrambling closer to them; scanning Yume up and down to find it. Their posture turned a bit sheepish, seeming to be nervous at suddenly having Idia’s full attention.

“Oh no not on me I- '' Yume paused, Idia’s words catching up with them. 

“Your crown?” They repeated, tilting their head and looking at Idia with narrow eyes. Idia let out a noise of shock, only now realizing what he had said as well.

“O-oh! I meant- W-what I meant is um-” He stumbled over his words, bawling his hands to his chest. Unable to come up with a lie to cover it. HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID! He internally screamed at himself. 

“Wait a second…yellow eyes…and blue flames….” Yume said, their eyes carefully scanning over his features, he could practically see the gears turning in their head…

GAH, THIS WAS IT HE WAS SO DONE FOR! GAME, SET, MATCH! Idia’s eyes darted around, back once again in trying to find a way out of this situation. But there was nothing he could do, even if he ran they would definitely catch him.

“You…you're…” Yume continued. And Idia swallowed nervously, pinching his eyes shut and preparing his mental tombstone: “Death by hammer”.

“...A SHROUD!” Yume said confidently with a look of awe on their face.

“Huh?!” Idia said dumbfounded, his body untensing. It wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

“Yeah..?” Idia nodded.”H-how did you know?” He asked genuinely surprised. His family was considered the stuff of legends. They weren’t recorded in any historic literature; at least not traditionally. Whispers of the Shrouds only came up in myths or sometimes tales of cautions.

Yume gasped, doing an excited little dance at being correct. Then they propped their hands on their hips, looking proud that their prediction was true. 

“I KNEW IT! Well not ‘knew it’, but it all makes sense!” They began speaking passionately.

 “All the books I read about the crown mentioned a family with ghostly powers that passed down the crown from generation to generation! Some books even theorized that the bloodline had ended long ago, but they were all so ambiguous and never had definitive proof! A story that inspired so much mythology couldn’t have been based on a simple fairy tale! Gosh, I can’t believe it!” They rambled on passionately. Idia simply watched them, overwhelmed but…unable to take his eyes off them.

“Um-.” He tried, but Yume went on, speaking quickly and manically.

“And AND, you’ve been imprisoned here all this time! The Ghost King appeared only a few years ago, so that’s when he must have stolen it and learned how to unlock the secrets of your crown! By imprisoning you! AM I RIGHT?” They asked, sitting up on their knees leaning in only an inch from his face.

Idia laughed nervously, blushing at how close they were now. It took him a few seconds to process everything they said. They had really crafted this whole narrative in their head without Idia saying anything. But the scary thing was how almost accurate their theory was. Sure, they were just missing a few crucial details. But…they didn’t need to know that. 

“T-that’s right!” He lied, nodding quickly to agree with them. Yume’s mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape, and for just a second, Idia found himself having to hold back a genuine laugh at their expression. It was the same face he made when his favorite TV show theory got confirmed.

“Oh my gosh…what a conspiracy! Yuuta’s never gonna believe this!” They murmured to themself. “Like, ‘Hey bro, that thing we’re using as a paper weight at home, it's a legendary artifact of darkness from a royal family.  Hey, who would have thought; not me!” Yume said, mocking out the conversation 

“W-what, you just have it at your house-! Wh- A PAPER WEIGHT?!” He spluttered indignantly. “YOUR USING MY FAMILY CROWN AS A PAPERWEIGHT!?” 

“I mean…yeah.” Yume shrugged, tilting their head and sheepishly grinning at him. Idia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity.

“I need it back!” He said desperately, even going as far to reach over and tug a little on their sleeve. 

“A-ah okay okay, we can get it back…” Yume said, placatingly patting his hand. Their faced scrunched up in thought. “Hmm…well actually it's kinda of a long trip there and back…just going home for me is gonna be a journey in itself.” They murmured thinking to themselves for a few seconds, before their eyes widened; a creative sparkle to them.

“Oh I know! Here’s an idea!” They smiled. “You need your crown back and I need more info on the Ghost King! So, If you're willing to, I can escort you out of this place, and you can come back home with me to retrieve it!” They said.

“Hm?!” Idia’s first instinct was to grimace at the idea of leaving his land. Yume noticed his expression.

“Hear me out…!” They said, carefully placing a hand atop Idia’s. Idia noticed it, but decided not to yank his hand away to keep up appearance. The warmth was already spreading through his skin, even with his gloves on. Yume continued.

“This way we both can get what we need and besides I…well…” Yu looked away shyly. 

“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you behind-!” Idia watched their face flush a bit. 

“I mean-! S-someone who's never really been out in the world on their own! It would be hard to fend for yourself!” They flusteredly explained, looking back to him. 

“I have connections back home too, people who can help get you settled back into society…you must have been so scared and lonely…” They trailed off, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, before continuing.

“So…what do you say?” Yume asked, looking up at him through their long eyelashes, they almost looked…nervous? Idia didn’t understand why.

“Uhm…” He looked down, avoiding their gaze as he processed their words. They didn’t seem to mind; not pressuring him for a quick answer. He took a minute, running through all the possible scenarios in his head and came to a conclusion. His gut instinct was to tell them no, thank them for saving him and run off; when the “ghost was clear” pun intended. He could just return back to his castle and fortify his defenses. And apt strategy…however…This might be his best and only chance to get the crown back…and he needed it soon if his plans were ever going to come to fruition. He knew could never get it back with a full frontal attack, not with his debuff status ...but a stealth mission….that could work…he just had to play pretend, he could do that. He did that all the time as a child and even now.

Idia turned to them, doing his best to maintain eye contact. 

“O-okay…I-i'll take you up on the offer…p-please take care of me.” He stuttered, doing his best to give them a warm pleasant smile and not be “positively creepy” and “wonderfully unnerving” as he’d been told it was by his subjects. Gently, he gave the tiniest squeezed in return to Yume's hand.

Either Yume was a big weirdo or he did a halfway decent job, because they beamed at him, looking relieved.

“Great!” And they grinned, as if he had told them the best news in the world. They helped him to his feet as he shakily stood; smiling at him for a few moments longer before they seemed to remember themselves, looking away and chuckling nervously.

“Well then-!” Yume heaved up their hammer. A glint of what Idia recognized as magic sparkled for just a moment as they wound up a big swing towards a crack on the wall.

*BOOM*

 Idia jumped and let out a noise of surprise as a large section of the castle dungeon wall crumbled.

The dawn of the morning sun shone on the horizon and the birds chirped, signaling the start of a new day. It was so bright Idia had to shield his eyes and instinctively tried to take a step back into the shadows. Through the cracks of his fingers he saw Yume holding out their hand. The rays of light from the sun enveloping them and glinting off their glasses, making their warm olive skin almost seem to glow. 

Yume smiled at him with a kindness he’d never seen from a stranger…

“Let’s go!” They said cheerfully, flexing their hands for Idia to take. 

Their words broke him out of his stupor of awe and he stumbled towards them, nearly tripping over the debris, but at the last second Yu caught him, lacing their hands together to stabilize him. Idia blushed as they locked eyes, seeing nothing but pure sincerely on their face. How could they be like that with someone they just met, weren’t they embarrassed? Idia looked away, but couldn’t help but notice that somehow Yume’s palm felt warmer than the burning sun on his face. 

As they began climbing carefully down the hill of the crumbling rocks, Idia couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mess he was getting himself into.

It was fine…he just had to stick to the plan. 

No mess, no strings attached, just play pretend…that's all.

-

UI: IDIA HAS RELUCTANTLY JOINED THE PARTY!

[vex-bittys]

When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 5: Skeletons Do Not [REDACTED]

All of your frustration, anger, and heartache pours out of you in the form of tears. Red starts out with a tentative hug, but eventually his arms settle firmly around you, holding you tightly. You grip his shirt front with both hands as if he's the only thing keeping you from fracturing, as if he's your lifeline. 

You feel like a boat set adrift on a vast ocean, lost and small. Everything you had just yesterday has an “ex” on it now: ex-manager, ex-job, ex-residence, ex-roommate. You moved to Ebbott for a fresh start, but you ended up in the same position as before. No family. No place to live. Granted, you do have a friend in Ebbott, but her career and fiancee leave little time for you. As an added bonus, you also don't have the suitcase of belongings you left your hometown with or the sense of security and safety you should have towards other people.

In short, you have a lot of things to cry about, so it comes as no surprise that it takes quite a while for your sobs and hyperventilation to subside to snot, sniffles, and the occasional hiccup.

Once he sees that you're calmed down, Red helps you back into your seat then heads to the counter to get some food. You try to protest his offer to buy you lunch, but he flatly tells you to either give him your order or you'll end up with a plain bread sandwich with extra mustard. You relent and call out the instructions for your sandwich. Red picks up drinks and chips as well, but when he goes to pay, the worker gives him an unimpressed look.

You can't tell if she dislikes Red because he looks like a living human skeleton or if she dislikes Red because he just reached into his pocket and tossed a bunch of wadded up bills, miscellaneous loose change, buttons, paper clips, lint, and other deep pocket detritus onto the counter with a casual “keep the change” thrown in for good measure. Fortunately, she perks up when she realizes that the “change” Red let her keep amounts to more than the cost of the entire order. 

Red brings the food to your booth and sets your meal in front of you. You appreciate it, you really do, but you're just too anxious and emotional to do much more than pick at your food and sip your drink. Red, on the other hand, demolishes his sandwich and chips with gusto, belches, then speaks.

“so where ya plannin’ on stayin’ t'night?” Apparently, Red is going straight for the million dollar question, so you stuff a huge bite of sandwich into your mouth and go over your options silently while you chew (also silently). Red’s phone buzzes an alert into the silence you've created, and he ignores it.

With no forewarning about last night's events, you'd gone ahead and paid your rent, your portion of the utilities, your phone bill, and your student loan payment in full and on time like a responsible adult, the kind of adult with a bank account running dangerously low on funds. You have a few hundred dollars that you had stashed in a savings account to someday purchase a car, but a chunk of that would be spent today buying replacement clothes and toiletries. Even if you had the money for a security deposit and first month’s rent, who would be willing to lease an apartment to someone with no job?

Nobody.

Even the cheapest motels would be out of your price range after just a few days. This conclusion has tears welling up in your eyes again. You hate crying in front of people; it makes you feel weak and helpless. You swallow your bite of food and your emotions and give Red an honest answer.

“I really don't know.”

“ya ain’t got nobody y’can stay wit’?”

You don't want to explain your family situation or your lack of a social life. Those are stories for another time. The last thing you need right now is to open yourself up to additional emotional turmoil, so you go with a short and simple “No.” Red's phone buzzes again as if to accentuate your answer.

“look, i'd have ta talk t'my cousin, sans cuz it's technically his house, but would ya wanna stay wit’ me n’ my bro n’ cousins?”

You're stunned by the offer, and it takes a moment for you to respond. “I don't want to be a freeloader…” You trail off because honestly there aren't any other options open to you.

“y'could offer t'do some of the cookin’ n’ cleanin’,” suggests Red. “i know my bro is always complainin’ about all th’ shit he has ta do around th’ house.”

It's a fair compromise, and you accept. Red’s phone gives a triumphant buzz, and he ignores the alert a third time in favor of calling his cousin. You suddenly become very interested in the lunch you've barely eaten to avoid eavesdropping, but it's difficult when the conversation is happening right across the small table from you.

Sans must have picked up because you overhear the indistinct mumble of a very deep voice on the other end of the line. Your phone vibrates violently inside your purse, and you welcome the distraction. Digging around to find it, you still can't help hearing Red speak.

“i gotta friend who needs a place ta stay n’ i thought maybe she could take th’ attic room.”

You retrieve your phone and see a new message icon displayed on the screen. 

“nah, she ain't a troublemaker.”

New Message:

The Magnificent Blueberry

(XXX) XXX-XXXX 

The Magnificent Blueberry: ARE YOU ALRIGHT, MAIDEN?

“my bro n’ blue already met ‘er, n’ they liked ‘er just fine.”

Your fingers fly over the phone screen, quickly tapping out a reply to Blue.

You: Yeah, I'm good. Just enjoying some lunch.

“axe didn't bother ‘er las’ night.”

The Magnificent Blueberry: I APOLOGIZE FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR MEAL!

Blue's random check-in is a bit odd, but it's nice to know someone is thinking of you and worrying about your welfare. You close the conversation with Blue only to notice another unread message underneath it on your list of texts. At first, you don't recognize the number.

“axe n’ rusty ain't had an episode in months. look, maybe y'should jus’ talk to ‘er yerself.”

New Message:

(XXX) XXX-XXXX 

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: y’can make it up t’me by joinin’ me f’r lunch sometime to listen t'more of my jokes. i got a skele-TON of ‘em.

You would've known this message is from Red even without your original text nested above it. Unexpected laughter bubbles up inside of you. When it bursts free, it takes some of your gloomy mood with it.

“A skeleton pun, Red? You must know I find them quite-” You pause for dramatic effect. “- humerus!”

You do not realize that Red has put you on speaker phone until you hear a deep, low chuckle coming from the phone. Red groans.

“i take back what i said. she's obviously a troublemaker,” Red says, making Sans laugh harder.

“Just because I like puns,” you huff, indignant. 

“puns're th’ low-hangin’ fruit of th’ joke world, doll.”

“Gasp,” you cry instead of actually gasping. “How could you say that? Puns are the pinnacle of jokes!”

“the cherry on top,” Sans quips, and you giggle.

“what’ve i gotten myself into,” Red laments.

You smile in a very devious manner. “Orange you glad I didn't make that cherry pun?” Red groans again, and you and Sans howl with laughter. Obviously,  Red’s cousin understands that the humor of puns doesn't come from the wordplay itself; it comes from people's reactions to the puns. You think you'll get along with him just fine, and it seems he agrees.

“i'll talk to axe and rusty and ask papyrus to get the attic room ready, but she's your responsibility, red.”

“got it.” With those final words, Red hangs up on his cousin, probably to avoid the possibility of more puns. You save Red’s contact information  as “Clifford” in your phone, and turn your attention to packing up the remains of your lunch. You don't have the appetite to finish it, but you hate wasting food. A partial sandwich and some chips will be a great snack if you get hungry later. For now, you need to focus on finding some inexpensive outfits and toiletries to bring to your new temporary home.

You approach the woman at the counter to ask for a bag to carry your leftovers, and no sooner have you stuffed your future snack into that bag than you hear an unmistakable high-volume rasp shouting for Red. At least you assume “MY INSUFFERABLE LAZYBONES OF A BROTHER” is Red. You return to your booth to find the two skeleton monsters arguing.

“HOW MANY TIMES MUST I REMIND YOU NOT TO IGNORE MY TEXTS!” It’s difficult to be sure since Edge speaks loudly and has extremely pointy features, but you think the tall skeleton might be angry at his brother. Red, though again you're no expert at reading bone facial expressions, appears sheepish.

Your curiosity leads you to interrupt. “How did you know where we were?” Edge levels a glare at you that makes you regret your very existence. 

“MY VEHICLE HAS A GPS TRACKER INSTALLED TO PREVENT THEFT.” OK, so Edge is obviously a stalker, and he has the nerve to sound proud of himself for it. “WHEN MY CONTACT AT THE HUMAN POLICE DEPARTMENT SHOWED ME THE REPORT FROM YOUR RETRIEVAL MISSION-” Retrieval mission? “- I DECIDED TO INTERVENE.” Now Red is on the receiving end of Edge’s glare again. “AND STOP TELLING PEOPLE THAT YOU CHANGED MY DIAPERS! SKELETONS DO NOT POOP!” Edge stomps his foot to punctuate each word of his last statement. 

“then what were ya wearin’ the diapers for?” Red asks oh so innocently. You sputter, trying to hold in your laughter and failing. 

Shifting his focus to you, Edge changes the subject in lieu of answering. “I ASSUME YOU ARE HERE TO REPLACE YOUR POSSESSIONS, AND FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON MY BROTHER HAS TAKEN IT UPON HIMSELF TO ACCOMPANY YOU.” You nod in acknowledgement. “I SUPPOSE I SHALL ESCORT YOU AS WELL TO KEEP AN EYELIGHT ON MY DEGENERATE BROTHER AND MAKE SURE YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN WEAKNESS DOESN'T PUT HIM IN ANY DANGER.”

“didn’ i teach ya any manners growin’ up?” scolds Red.

“NO.”

“true, but if ya keep bein’ rude ta the human, i'll show ‘er pictures of you as a babybones.” 

“YOU'RE BLUFFING!” Edge’s voice lacks its usual cocky confidence. You actually hope that he calls the supposed bluff and you get to see his baby pictures. Even pointy, scowling babies are cute!

“if ya think so, then try me.”

The skeleton brothers continue to bicker, trailing behind you while you backtrack to the store entrance to grab a shopping cart. You gather from conversation that Red raised Edge, but you don't dare to ask about their parents because it might invite questions about your parents. You aren’t ready to talk about that yet, especially when you're in the ladies underwear department trying to select a comfortable, affordable bra. 

Thanks to the abundance of clearance racks at this particular store, you have a pair of bras and a multi-pack of underwear in your cart in no time. You also find some pajama pants in case you need to wander the house at night without your upper thighs exposed. Red stays close to you as you browse a rack of marked down shirts. Edge prowls around the clothing department, eyelights darting back and forth suspiciously. Periodically he checks back, speaking to his brother in a low tone that discourages eavesdropping. You're not the listening-in type anyway, so the secrecy doesn't bother you.

You are, however, significantly bothered when Edge hijacks your cart to pass judgment on your selections.

“THE CRAFTSMANSHIP ON THESE GARMENTS IS ABYSMAL,” he sneers. Clearance rack leftovers at a superstore do tend to lack in the quality department, but you have a tight budget to work with. Before you can even begin to explain this to Edge, he drops a pile of clothing into the cart, scooping out the shirts you had just placed there a moment ago. You can see from the tags that he chose the correct size; unfortunately not a single item is on sale.

“THESE ARE THE BEST THAT THIS ESTABLISHMENT HAS TO OFFER,” Edge informs you, though he doesn't sound particularly impressed.

“I can't afford all of this right now, Edge,” you point out, exasperated. 

“I AM AWARE OF YOUR SITUATION, HUMAN,” he responds, equally exasperated.

Red diffuses the brewing argument by interrupting. “what my bro's tryin’ ta say is: since yer stuff got destroyed because you associated wit’ us, we'll pay ta replace it.”

Oh.

“AND I WILL NOT PROVIDE YOU WITH LOW QUALITY REPLACEMENTS EITHER. I HAVE A REPUTATION TO MAINTAIN.”

The tall skeleton monster can't know that his words mirror the ones his brother said to you yesterday, but they make you smile anyway. Now that clothing has been checked off the shopping list, you move along to the hygiene essentials. Red marvels at all of the human cleaning products (“hair soap n’ face soap n’ body soap n’ pussy soap, n’ it all comes in diff'rent flavors!”), and Edge remains vigilant for possible shampoo aisle ambushes. He also refuses to let you shop for sale items here.

You put cheap deodorant in the cart. Edge hands it back to you and points to a popular (and more expensive) brand. 

You try to pick out budget brand shampoo and conditioner. 

“NO.”

You grab store brand bar soap.

“TRY AGAIN.”

You reach for a value pack containing a toothbrush and toothpaste together for one low price.

“NOT THAT ONE.”

You toss a hair brush into the cart. Edge says nothing. Apparently the brush meets his high standards.

“it's easier t'just let ‘im have his way, doll,” Red whispers loudly to you. You roll your eyes. Calling Edge a control freak would be the understatement of the year.

“HUMAN!” The tall angular skeleton monster demands your attention. You patiently inform him that your name is, in fact, not “Human,” and give him your real name. Edge impatiently informs you that he “ALREADY KNEW THAT” and, in fact, “DOES NOT CARE.” He waves away any protest you might make, or perhaps shoos you towards your next destination. It’s difficult to read his intentions.

“SINCE MONSTER FOOD DOES NOT MEET A HUMAN’S NUTRITION NEEDS, YOU WILL NEED TO PROCURE VITAMINS AND HUMAN FOODS.”

You have seen the Public Service Announcements regarding monster food, of course. Monster food will satisfy hunger and even leave a human feeling rejuvenated just like a good night's sleep, but it lacks some key nutritional components. Humans can't survive on monster food alone, and monsters, who need the magical properties contained in their foods, can't survive on a human diet. You lead Edge and Red to the vitamins and supplements department only to be absolutely blown away by the ridiculous prices.

“I think I'll be fine with just a multivitamin,” you mumble, trying to avoid Edge’s well-meaning wrath. It turns out that Edge’s wrath is inescapable.

“IT WOULD BE STUPUD TO INVITE A HUMAN INTO OUR HOME AND THEN ALLOW IT TO PERISH OF MALNUTRITION. GATHER THE NECESSARY SUPPLIES AND STOP WHINING!”

“blue says she needs iron, b12, d3, n’ calcium citrate,” Red butts in, holding up his phone to show off what must be a text from Blue. Huffing in irritation, Edge swipes a handful of appropriate vitamin bottles off of the shelf and tosses them into the cart. Without another word, he stomps off towards the grocery section of the store. You and Red hurry to catch up, pushing the loaded down shopping cart in front of you. Knowing that skeletons don’t poop (thank you Edge for that strange tidbit of information), you grab some toilet paper on the way. 

Red and Edge return to their routine: Red hovering near you, and Edge patrolling each aisle as if Jay might leap out from behind a display of microwave mac and cheese to finish what he started. You fill the remaining space in the cart with breakfast, lunch, and dinner staples though Red reassures you that he and his cousins will start incorporating human foods into their recipes next time they shop for ingredients. Meanwhile, Edge scouts around the next corner and discovers the magical land of soups, the perfect food for autumn's chilly weather!

Hefting a can of soup in each hand, you weigh the pros and cons of chicken and rice versus chicken noodle, and Edge,  apparently satisfied that this aisle is secure, picks up a can of bone broth to glare at.

“WHY ARE WE BUYING CLOTHES AT THE SOUP STORE?”

You take the can from him and return it to its place on the shelf. “Convenience,” you say and move along to browse the store's selection of snack foods while Edge guards you from the perils of grocery shopping, whatever he thinks they might be.

You're just starting to think that this shopping trip will turn out alright in spite of Edge’s abrasive personality when someone decides to rain on your little three person parade.

“Can you believe that they sell monster food here? Humans can't even eat monster food!” The complaints come from a young woman who speaks in an annoying whine, a dead giveaway that she's probably one of those self-centered types who don't understand that not everything in this world is made specifically for them. There are two skeleton monsters shopping in the store right now just a few feet away from her!

“I know!” You mimic her voice perfectly.  “Can you believe that they sell milk here? I'm lactose intolerant!” The woman's pretty face turns into an ugly sneer once she catches on to your mockery, but you refuse to let her speciesist comment go unchallenged.

“I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE-” You already know Edge well enough to know he would never apologize to this woman, but her smug smirk tells you that she's falling into his verbal trap. “- TO ANYONE WHO HAS THE EXTREME MISFORTUNE OF ENCOUNTERING SOMEONE LIKE YOU.” Insult delivered, Edge places a surprisingly gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the confrontation. 

Red adds his two cents with a double middle phalanx salute which he maintains while walking backwards behind you and his brother. You catch one last glimpse of the woman's stunned face, her mouth hanging open before Edge has you out of the aisle. You quickly dart back to grab a few boxes of Pop-Tarts only to have the delicious pastries scrutinized by a pair of disapproving red eyelights.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Edge declares. “THOSE HAVE NO NUTRITIONAL MERIT!”

“I can pay for these myself,” you offer. You will defend your Pop-Tart habit to the death if you need to. Edge relents in his own way, snatching the treats from your hands and throwing them unceremoniously into your cart. Flanked by two skeleton monsters, you steer the cart towards the checkout lanes feeling a bit like a princess with two bony knights to escort her.

A cashier begins scanning your items, and with each beep your euphoria evaporates a bit more until all that's left is a heavy sense of anxiety. The total continues to climb, and anxiety gives way to panic. You can't ask two skeleton monsters that you've known for less than a day to buy you so much stuff, but the transaction is already out of your price range and the cashier is still working his way through the pile of clothing.

“breathe, doll,” Red whispers, making you jump. You actually forgot about the skeleton monster standing next to you! Now that your focus is broken, you take some calming breaths. The cashier scans the last item, and hits a key to reveal the staggering sum. Unfazed, Edge pays with a credit card. Did he even check the amount?

The cashier requests Edge’s ID, probably due to the large purchase. Edge hands it over. The cashier checks it, then gives Edge a skeptical look.

“Edgelord Edgerton Serif? What kind of name is that?” You think he might be joking, but Edge lets out a low growl of frustration. 

“IT'S THE KIND OF NAME YOUR MOTHER WAS SCREAMING LAST NIGHT. NOW FINISH MY TRANSACTION.” Edge’s dry joke makes you snort, and Red bursts into raucous laughter. 

Thoroughly chastised, the cashier gives Edge his ID and a lengthy receipt. Not bothering with the now-empty shopping cart, Edge picks up each and every bag and carries your purchases outside by himself. You suspect that he is grumpy about having his name questioned, but you have to agree with the cashier's skepticism. Who names a babybones Edgelord?

You aren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however… especially if that gift horse is a skeleton with really sharp teeth named Edgelord Edgerton Serif.

In the parking lot, Edge stows your new belongings (and Pop-Tarts) in the back of the SUV and slams the hatch down. Turning to his brother, he holds out a gloved hand, metacarpal palm facing upwards.

“YOU CAN TAKE YOUR CHOPPER HOME, BROTHER. I'LL TRANSPORT THE HUMAN.” 

“sure thing, boss.” With no protest, Red drops the keys to the SUV into Edge’s hand.

“You call your brother ‘Boss’?” The question slips out while Edge retrieves the chopper keys from his pocket. The skeletons repeat their earlier performance of throwing and catching keys, and Red gives you an answer over his shoulder as he saunters up to a sleek black and red motorcycle.

“yeah, everyone used ta think it was cuz i was a sentry in the royal guard n’ he outranked me, but it's really cuz he was such a bossy little babybones.”

Edge stamps his foot and shouts: “STOP TELLING THE HUMAN YOUR COCKAMAMIE STORIES!” Red just starts up his bike and revs the engine to drown his brother out. He then speeds off, leaving you in the care of a tall, irritated skeleton monster.

You and Edge climb into the massive vehicle (Edge figuratively and you literally) and start your journey together. Edge drives attentively and cautiously while still managing to go slightly over the speed limit. At first he doesn't speak to you, but the blissful silence is over all too soon.

“FOR REASONS UNKNOWN, MY BROTHER HAS FORMED AN ATTACHMENT TO YOU.” Edge’s loud voice fills the SUV, surrounding you with the sound of it. “IF ANY HARM COMES TO HIM BECAUSE OF THAT ATTACHMENT, I WILL ENSURE THAT YOUR END IS EXCRUCIATING SLOW AND EXCEEDINGLY PAINFUL.”

“I would never do anything to hurt Red.” Your heated words are immediate and honest. You would never forgive yourself if something bad happened to Red because of you.

Edge says nothing, and an uneasy silence returns to the vehicle. You wonder why Edge feels the need to control every aspect of a situation. Maybe it comes from being a high ranking member of the Royal Guard? You presume Edge’s inner monologue is more along the lines of where to hide your mangled body if you cross him, and an unexpected shiver races up your spine.

Thankfully, you survive the ride to your new home. Edge once again gathers up the purchases and carries them by himself. Red must have somehow beaten you here because he stands at the front door, opening it to let you and his brother inside where you find yet another skeleton monster waiting. 

“WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME, HUMAN,” he shouts with contagious cheerfulness. The new skeleton is tall like Edge with softer, rounder features and a casual style of dress. He sweeps you up into a powerful hug, spins you around, and sets you back on your feet,  then he picks up a gift basket from a side table and presents it to you. “PLEASE ACCEPT THIS TOKEN OF HOSPITALITY AND FRIENDSHIP FROM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

You stare through the clear cellophane wrapping in shock. The basket contains a luxurious loofah, slippers, bubble bath, candles, and lotion, all items that a person on a tight budget wouldn't bother buying for themself. This family of skeleton monsters barely knows you, but they have already done so much for you. Red protected you, Blueberry checked on your health, Edge provided for you, Sans made you laugh, and Papyrus embraced you as a housemate and friend, sight unseen.

You haven't felt so wanted and cared for since your grandmother passed away.

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[softhairedhotch]

jack has complicated feelings about his father, and aaron finds a note that explains it. content/warnings: angst, alcohol/drunkeness, hints of hotchgan but no relationship, angry notes, angry jack hotchner, teen jack, arguments, haley's mentioned a few times, parent loss mention, hurt/comfort, happy ending!! word count: 6.1k also on ao3!

i can't handle change

Aaron pressed a kiss to Jessica's cheek and allowed a small smile to twitch at his chapped lips. “Hello. Is everything alright?” He asked as he got rid of his jacket. He placed his briefcase on the kitchen table, settling his go-bag down on the floor beside it, and began searching for his laptop when he realised that he hadn’t received an answer. “Jess?” He glanced her way and realised that everything was not alright. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were slightly wet with tears wiped away a few times over. Taking two large strides toward her, he reached out to rest a comforting hand over her shoulder, squeezing gently. “What's wrong?”

“Aaron…” 

Panic hit him square in the chest. “What is it? Is Jack okay? Are you okay?”

Jess shook her head with a sniffle. Timidly, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Aaron thought his heart might give out as time seemed to slow around him, watching as she unfolded the paper. It was jagged at the edges, torn unceremoniously from a small notebook–no doubt Jack’s considering there was a small dinosaur that said ‘you’re rawr-some!’ in the corner of the page–and she bit her lip as she stared down at it. “I found this,” she started, her voice shaking. “In Jack's room. I wasn't snooping, I swear, it was just on the side with his homework, and I was wondering if I should leave it, or throw it out, or, or, or, I don't know, maybe just not show you.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she offered him the note. “But Jack wrote this.”

Aaron felt numb as he reached out for it. He had no idea what to expect. He combed over every possible explanation in a matter of seconds, fearing the very worst, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found, yet it all felt expected once the initial shock subsided.

‘I HATE MY DAD’ was scrawled across the top of the page in a deep red. The ink bled through the page, Aaron had seen it when Jess had opened it up, but he didn’t realise until now that it wasn’t accidental. Jack was full of rage as he wrote it, pressing down on the pen so hard that Aaron wouldn’t be surprised if he found the broken felt in the trash. Underneath, in black pen, was a letter addressed to Aaron himself, short but in no way sweet. 

He needed some time to process before he read the rest. He folded the paper back up, inhaled sharply, choked on air for a moment, and let out a deep hum when Jess clapped his back half-heartedly. Mumbling out a weak thanks, he dropped down in the nearest chair, careful not to scrunch the paper in any way. Despite the harsh words he wasn’t ready to read, he knew it was delicate.

“Aaron?” Jess whispered, her voice sounding distant to Aaron even though she stood right beside him. His ears rang, steadily increasing in volume until it physically hurt, and time seemed to stand still. It was as if he was trapped underwater with no escape, banging fruitlessly at the sheet of ice that kept him washed away in the current. “Hey, talk to me.” She reached out for him but he ducked away, unfolding the note once more. “Aaron, this is just a thing children do. It's nothing to do with you, it's their way of getting their feelings out.”

“Jack isn't a child,” Aaron replied, voice sharp. “He's thirteen.”

“And this is what teenagers do, too. Don't let it get to you.”

Aaron shook his head, staring down at the page. The words swarmed together, becoming almost completely unreadable, and he could feel the anger–at himself, not at Jack, never at Jack–begin to take a hold of him. “I haven't read it yet.”

“What?”

“I've only read the top line.”

Jess nodded in response. “I’m not leaving until you’ve read it all then.”

He had nothing to say to that. Instead, he forced his eyes to cooperate by blinking until the fog had mostly cleared, and he mentally cursed himself for not listening to his doctor about wearing his glasses, even when he knew he was reaching the age where they were necessary. He took a deep breath and began to read.

I HATE MY DAD.

I wish I had a better dad. One who chose me instead of his shitty job. I used to think he was a hero, like Spider-Man, but now I realise he’s just Peter Parker. A man who never has time for his loved ones because he’s too busy saving the world. A man who saves everyone but not the ones closest to him. He’s not a hero, he just dresses up as one. How can I call him a hero when he’s the reason my mom died? 

Why did he save me but not her?

Aaron’s hands shook as he read it over and over. The words imprinted themselves in his mind and, once he was sure he’d accidentally memorised every word, the paper slipped out of fingers, gracefully falling to the floor. He dropped his hands to his side, clenching his fists and running his thumb soothingly over his knuckles, although it didn’t help.

“Aaron?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

Jess’ face crumbled, though she tried to hide it, and she gave her own curt nod. “Okay. Well, Jack's at Owen’s house. Do you need me to pick him up?”

“No.” What was the point in that, Aaron wondered, why take him from a place he felt safe, loved, appreciated, and bring him back to a lifeless home? That’s how Jack felt, right? “Let him have fun. I'll call Owen’s parents later and ask if they need me to pick him up soon.”

“They said something about a sleepover. We thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes never leaving a piece of wallpaper that curled away from the wall. He'd been needing to fix that for years, ever since Jack tried to sneakily skateboard around the house in the early hours of the morning and fell off, the skateboard flying at the wall and tearing up the paper. ‘At least it wasn't your head’, Aaron had said when he was woken up in a panic thinking someone had broken in, and Jack had laughed in embarrassment. They'd eaten leftover pizza in the kitchen at 4am, and Aaron thought that life was good for once. Things were good. He was good.

But seeing that note, he realised none of that was true.

He wasn’t a good father. 

It was something he already knew, of course, something that nagged away at him constantly, no matter where he found himself. But realising that Jack knew that too, had written it in words, scared him more than he was willing to admit. It destroyed him. He’d never felt more like a failure than he did in that moment. 

Jess rubbed comfortingly at his back, hands as warm as they always were, but he was too numb to feel it. Exhaustion lay thick on his shoulders, weighing him down until he felt as though he might collapse right then and there, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep forever.

“You should go,” he whispered, voice hoarse. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“No, it’s, it’s fine,” he mumbled, leaning down to pick up the note. His back stretched uncomfortably as he bent over, the muscles aching from the strenuous work from that week’s case and the long flight home, and he let out a soft groan. He knew he should get a nice hot shower, or dig out an unused heating pad hidden away in one of the kitchen drawers, but he was too tired.  He needed to sleep. “I’m just gonna lay down.”

Aaron headed toward the couch and Jess tutted, grabbing at his elbow and using minimal strength to divert him toward his bedroom. He allowed her to take him wherever, too drained to fight, and she gently sat him down on the bed. “I can make you some soup,” she offered, “or some green tea. I have some in my purse.”

“Of course you have some in your purse,” he replied, huffing out a laugh. “But it’s okay. You’ve done enough, thank you.” He laid back on the bed, hardly bothering to cover himself with the duvet. It covered his legs and that was enough. “I just need to, just need, uh, just…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence; he was out like a light.

Jess smiled at him, a sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes (they never did anymore), and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She watched him for a moment, appreciated that he was allowed some form of peace in his sleep, and left, gently shutting the door with a heavy heart.

When Aaron woke up a few hours later, he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened. His mind was completely silent–a rare occasion–and he felt calm. But then, as he wondered how Jack was doing, and where he was, and if he was okay, it all came rushing back to him.

Jack hated him. 

His son blamed him for the death of his mother, and he blamed him for never being around enough. Aaron understood, though, because he blamed himself for those things too. He always had and he always will.

Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was almost 9pm. He muttered under his breath and pulled up his contact list, scrolling through the list until he found Owen’s mom’s number, and dialled it. The call was quick–Jack wanted to sleep over, Aaron said that that was fine–and he dropped back against the bed with a deep sigh. He stared at the ceiling, hardly blinking, before forcing himself up with an angry huff. He knew he couldn’t wallow in self-pity, he had to do something. Anything to take his mind off things. To give him space to think about how to handle the situation.

Aaron changed into comfortable loungewear, avoiding the mirror in the corner of the room as he did, and made his way to the kitchen. His plan was to get himself a coffee, maybe two, and power through the pile of paperwork in his briefcase that never seemed to end. Before he could make it to the kitchen, however, he came to a stop at Jack’s bedroom door.

For a moment, he imagined that Jack was in his room. He pictured what he’d be doing–probably talking loudly to his friends as he played on the Xbox, or softly singing along to his music as he focused on his homework–and his heart hurt. He knocked on the door as if Jack was there to answer, and after a long silence, gently opened the door. He wasn’t there to snoop–he’d never–but he wanted to look around the place. He wanted to feel close to Jack, even though he knew his son didn’t feel the same way.

As he stepped toward Jack’s bed, the covers a dark blue with white spots, something Jack had picked out when he claimed he was too old for his dinosaur sheets, Aaron realised he couldn’t blame his son for hating him. Not when he knew how easy it was to hate a father. Not when he knew how easy it was to hate himself.

Aaron sat down on the bed, a groan ripping through his lips at the steep drop, and glanced around the room. There were a few pictures messily attached to a corkboard beside Jack’s desk, and he noticed that there were none of the two of them together. He knew they had pictures, he had one of them on his desk at work, and he knew Jack had a few printed out for himself, but it was clear he wasn’t proud enough of his father to keep those pictures up anymore. Ignoring the guilt that curled in his bones, Aaron laid back and stared at the ceiling. It was bare, the ceiling, but the fading marks of glow-in-the-dark stars were still visible. Jack had loved them when he was a kid, especially on dark nights alone when he was sure someone was going to hurt him at any moment, but as he grew into a teen, he’d torn them down. 

Maybe that was the first sign of his hatred, Aaron thought. Or it could have been when the bed sheets changed and no longer represented his personality. Or after his mom died, when he finally figured out that she was never coming home and he’d never see her again. Hell, maybe it was when Haley had left Aaron, before Jack could even put a word to his thoughts but knew how to feel hurt. How to blame.

Aaron’s head pounded, a constant thudding that refused to subside, and he forced himself out of Jack’s room before he could fall into a restless sleep on his bed. He headed straight to the coffee machine and made himself the strongest coffee he could before settling down at the dining table, sipping at it and letting it burn his tongue. He felt like he deserved it. Once the mug was mostly empty, he sorted through his upcoming reports through most important to least important and began working on the one needed early next morning. He caught sight of his go-bag on the floor and sighed, annoyed that he hadn’t had the chance to throw the clothes into the washing machine before he passed out, but he left it until he stood up for more coffee. 

Hours passed and he hadn’t even made a dent in the reports. He sighed, forcing himself up for his fourth–or fifth, maybe sixth?–coffee of the day, when the front door swung open. His first thought was to reach for his gun, too many years on the job training him for the worst, but then he caught sight of a tear-stained Jack and he hovered awkwardly between reaching for his weapon and staring at his son.

When the initial shock dissipated, Aaron moved forward slowly. “Jack?” He asked, freezing when Jack took a few steps back. “What’s wrong, buddy?” 

“Nothing.” 

Jack turned on his heel and sped toward his room, shaking off his jacket as if it burnt his skin, and Aaron followed him close behind. “No, don’t give me that. What happened to the sleepover?”

“I didn’t wanna have one.”

“But Owen’s mom said–”

“She lied!” Jack turned to face him, eyes full of so much sadness it physically pained Aaron to see. “Owen wanted the sleepover, I didn’t. I just wanted to see, to see if…”

Aaron held his breath as he waited for Jack to finish.

“I just wanted to see if you’d say no so we could finally spend some time together.”

All the air rushed out of his lungs. 

“Jack,” he started, but Jack was having none of it and slammed the door in his face. “Jack…” he called out again, voice weak. He hated feeling weak but it was unavoidable when it came to his son. There was no answer other than the sound of Jack locking his door, and Aaron hung his head. “I’m sorry.” It was a weak apology, one that stained his tongue with how false it felt, and he knew it, but it was all he could offer. 

Stepping away from the door, Aaron had no idea what to do. They’d never fought, not really. Aaron had promised himself that he’d never take his anger out on Jack, no matter what happened. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he felt ashamed. He stared down at his reports, unable to find it in himself to sit back down and work. 

Work could wait; it could always wait for Jack.

But could it? 

His job was hard enough as it is, even more so as a single father. There was never time to plan for events–he was either there, or he wasn’t. But he tried his best, he really did. And he thought that Jack knew that, and now he knew otherwise. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he unlocked his phone and went straight to Jess’ contact number. His finger was inches away from calling her when he stopped himself, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose to dull the ache thrumming through him. He couldn’t call her, not for this. He went to her for everything and she came running when he called, always so willing to care for Jack without taking time for herself. He had to stop asking her to raise his own son for him. He had to stop asking her to stand in for her sister. He swiped away from her contact and scrolled down further to Derek’s name, dialling it before he could stop himself.

Derek answered after the third ring. “Hey, Hotch. We got a case?”

“No,” he replied after a long pause, suddenly anxious. Why was he even calling? What was he even going to say? “Uh, sorry, wrong number.”

Derek let out a loud laugh on the other end of the line. “There is no way you just said that, man. Seriously, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I was meant to call Jess, it’s just, uh, something with Jack, and–”

“Is he being bullied again?” 

Aaron sighed. “No, it’s something else. Something worse.”

There was a shuffle on the other end of the line and he could hear the opening and closing of a door. “I’ll be over ASAP.”

“Morgan, no–” But it was no use, he’d already hung up. “Shoot.”

Derek was at Aaron’s door quicker than he expected. He knocked a specific pattern before letting himself in and making his way to where Aaron stood. A crate of beer was in his left hand, his phone in his right, and he grinned when Aaron glanced at the alcohol. “I wasn’t sure how bad, so…” Derek shrugged. Aaron reached out for a beer and opened it with ease, downing it in one go. “Woah. Very bad then. Should have gotten something stronger, huh?”

“Jack hates me,” Aaron grumbled before he could stop himself. The beer wasn’t enough to loosen him up yet but he trusted Derek. He always trusted Derek.

Derek raised his eyebrows, his lips twitching into a disbelieving smile. “No way, man. That kid loves you.” A loud yell came from Jack’s bedroom as he raged over a video game and Derek’s eyebrows shot up even higher somehow. “What happened?”

Instead of repeating himself, Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out Jack’s note. It was scrunched up into a ball–he’d gotten annoyed and tossed it in the trash before anxiously scooping it back out seconds later–and Derek took it from him, slowly unfolding it. He read it, his jaw going tense, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, before folding it neatly and placing it on the counter. “Yeah,” Aaron spat out, reaching for another beer and uncapping it, sipping at it this time. “That’s what happened.”

Derek was at a loss for words. Finally, though, after he took several thoughtful gulps of his own beer, he shook his head. “That’s just what kids do, man.”

Aaron fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s what Jess said.”

“Because she’s right. Jack just turned, what, thirteen? He’s entering his rebellious phase, so what? We’ve all been there, man.”

“Morgan, we’ve seen children’s rebellious phases. We’ve see what can happen to them; we know what loss at a young age does to these kids.”

“So, what, you’re saying you think Jack’s going to become a serial killer based on this note?”

Aaron almost choked on his beer. “What? No!”

“Then what are you trying to say? Because from where I’m standing it sounds like you’re comparing him to the children we’ve had to put away. Those children are troubled; Jack isn’t.”

“But he is.” Aaron polished off his second beer. It wasn’t his drink of choice, he preferred the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat, but it’d do for now. He needed to stop thinking so clearly, so coherently, just for a moment. “He lost his mom at a young age, Morgan. He heard her die. Heard me kill the man who murdered her. He’s never gonna get over that, that trauma will follow him for life. And I’m never around. To him, he lost both parents that night. I know I lost myself that night, anyway.”

“Hotch–”

“And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Talk to him.”

“How?”

Derek shrugged. “I can’t help you with that, man, you have to figure that out yourself. All I know is that it needs to come from the heart. Tell him how you feel, let him know you love him, make sure he knows that you’re trying. Because you are, I know you are.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Cut the bullshit.” Derek stepped closer and their eyes met. Aaron couldn’t look away. “You are trying, man. I’ve seen it first hand. Whenever you have the chance, you wrap up a case as quickly as you can just so you can get a few more minutes with that boy before he falls asleep. And if you know you’re not making it home that day, you call him any chance you can get. I know he doesn't answer as much as you would like because he’s always busy with school or friends now, but I see the effort you’re making, man. You hearing me? You are trying, I can see it. And Jack will too, eventually, but right now you and Jess are all he has, and all he knows is that he sees Jess more than you.” Aaron opened his mouth to say something but Derek cut him off. “No, let me finish. Trust me, I am not saying that to hurt you.. I’m just calling it how I see it. You’re trying, man, and you’re doing your best. You’re a good dad, Hotch, I need you to know that. But Jack isn’t going to understand that unless you sit him down and talk to him.”

Aaron had no words. He turned his beer a few times in his hand but couldn’t bring himself to take another sip as he mulled over the words. They hit him much harder than he expected but he knew deep down that it was all true.

“Jack’s a smart kid,” Derek continued, clapping him on the shoulder. “He’ll understand if you just give him a chance. But for now, give him some time to cool off and think.”

“Right.”

“Which means that gives us time to drink, huh?” Derek beamed, throwing his head back to drain the last of his beer. “Let’s get something stronger, though, this beer ain’t cutting it.”

“There’s some whiskey in the cupboard over there,” Aaron pointed toward it, “help yourself.”

“Nuh-uh, I ain’t gonna be the only one drinking this stuff,” Derek laughed, grabbing the whiskey and two glasses. “You better join me.”

And join him he did. 

A few hours passed and Aaron was, respectfully, wasted. He knew how to handle his alcohol, he knew his exact cut-off point, but he’d exceeded that by almost three times. Derek matched his energy, drinking as much as he did, and the whiskey bottle was almost empty by the time they were both falling asleep on the couch. 

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Derek spoke up, words slurring as he tried–and failed–to sit up. Instead, he chose to lay down across the couch, flicking his long legs over Aaron’s. Aaron didn’t have enough energy to push his legs away. “You’re a good dad.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel like you have to.”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P. He laughed at himself afterwards, a small chuckle turning into roaring laughter that had him sliding off the couch, before he managed to compose himself. Aaron laughed alongside him for a short while, the alcohol making him feel like he was floating, but reality crashed down on him once again and guilt seeped into his bloodstream. “Saying it because it’s true.”

“Whatever, man.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow, laughing again. “Did Aaron Hotchner just say ‘whatever, man’? What’s next, you gonna rock up to work in a hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts? You gonna hang a surfboard on your wall instead of a bike this time?”

“Please… don’t remind me of the bike.”

“I will remind you of the bike, man, because seriously, what was that?”

Aaron shrugged. “I was in my biking phase. It reminded me of my time back in Seattle. It was…”

“It was funny, that’s what it was. But healthy, too.” Derek thought for a moment and gasped dramatically, reaching forward to lightly slap at Aaron’s upper arm. “Hey, we should go biking together.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Right now?”

“Jesus, not right now. I think I’d throw up just trying to sit on the damn thing.”

Aaron groaned and held his stomach. “Don’t mention throwing up or I’ll throw up.”

Derek covered his mouth with hand and Aaron closed his eyes to steady his swimming vision. Behind them, Jack’s bedroom door opened, and Aaron tensed as he focused on the tentative footsteps heading toward the bathroom. Derek began to talk about a brawl he witnessed at a local pub to fill the silence but Aaron wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts drowned out Derek’s voice, far more violent than the fight he was explaining, and when Jack came back into the room, the sound of footsteps was all he could hear.

“Hey Jack!” Derek said, sitting up with a smile on his face. “How’s it hanging?”

“Alright.”

“Come on, man, I haven’t spoken to you in ages!”

“Morgan,” Aaron warned, voice low. “You said to give him some time.”

“Yeah, from you,” Derek shrugged. “But who needs time away from Uncle Derek?”

Jack eyed them, unamused. “I need to go back to my game, Uncle Derek. It was nice seeing you.”

“Jack,” Aaron started, turning to face his son. At the sight of him, however, all words escaped him and all he could do was stare.

Rolling his eyes, Jack turned away from them and pushed open his bedroom door. “Wow, nice talk, Aaron.” And as if that wasn’t enough, he slammed the door so hard Aaron was sure there’d be a noise complaint in the morning.

“Holy shit,” Derek muttered, sitting up so fast his neck cracked unpleasantly. “Did he just…”

Aaron felt sick to his stomach. “He did.”

“And you’re just gonna let him do that?”

“For now, yes.” Aaron reached for the last of the whiskey and opened the bottle, throwing it back without bothering to pour a glass. “You should leave.”

“No way am I going to leave after–”

“Derek. Leave.” His voice was desperate; Derek had never heard him so vulnerable before. “Please.”

“Okay, man, sure, yeah. I’ll, I’ll leave.” Derek stood up, stumbled, and looked around as if he couldn’t physically get himself to move. “But only after I know that you’re okay.”

“Morgan–”

“No, Aaron. Only after I know you’re okay.”

Aaron was too tired to argue. 

The next day, Aaron woke up in bed and had no clue how he got there. All he knew was that his head was throbbing, his body felt weak, and he was wrapped up in his sheets like a newborn. Derek must have tucked him in. The thought made him flustered, albeit not entirely unpleasantly, and he pushed it aside as he forced himself out of bed.

Feeling gross, Aaron made his way to the shower and put the temperature as high as it could go, stepping in the moment it reached its peak. The water burned him, his skin quickly becoming bright red, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He stood there for what felt like hours before getting out, not even bothering with cleaning himself. He had no energy to commit to a task that felt so menial. Throwing on the first clothes he could find, Aaron finally allowed himself to enter the kitchen and make himself a coffee. To his surprise, though, Jack was there, making himself cereal, and at the sight of his dad he began to walk away, leaving everything on the counter.

“Jack.”

“Leave me alone.”

A switch flicked in Aaron’s head. He wasn’t going to take this anymore. “Jack Hotchner, you listen to me right now.”

Jack paused, stood still for a few moments, and slowly turned around. He looked nervous, not used to his dad taking such a sharp tone with him, but he nodded nonetheless. “Okay.”

“We are gonna sit down and we are gonna talk. Man-to-man. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… awful,” Jack said, but he managed a small smile. “But okay.”

Jack moved toward the couch and Aaron quickly made himself a coffee, grabbing both the mug and bowl of cereal before sitting beside his son. He passed Jack his cereal and watched him intently, waiting for him to take a few bites before talking. “Jess found something you wrote and she showed it to me.” Jack tensed but continued to silently eat, avoiding Aaron’s eyes. “On it, you said you hate me.”

“Dad, I–”

“Oh, so it’s dad now?” 

Jack looked incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry. I really, uh, really shouldn’t have called you by… something other than Dad. You didn’t, like, deserve that.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have, and I didn’t. But we need to talk about it, okay?” Aaron took a few sips of his coffee before placing his mug on the table beside him. “I understand that I’m no hero, especially not to you. Not after…” Aaron swallowed nervously. “Not after mom. I know that. But I do try, I need you to know that.”

Jack nodded. “You’re just… never mind.”

Aaron reached out and clasped Jack’s shoulder firmly in his hand. He waited patiently until Jack found enough courage to look up at him. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

“You’re never around.”

“I know.”

“And I need you around.”

A tear threatened to escape Aaron’s eye. “I know.”

“I don’t hate you, Dad. I was just… I was angry. You hadn’t been home in a week and all I wanted to tell you was some good news I got and I couldn’t.”

“You can always call me.”

“Sometimes you don’t answer,” he sighed, looking away again. He stirred his cereal but didn’t bother to eat anymore. “And I know it’s because you’re on a case, and you’re out there risking your life to save people and make the world a better place, but it hurts. And I wanted to tell you in person.”

Aaron nodded somberly. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Nuh-uh, we’re having a serious talk here.”

“Wow,” Aaron chuckled, “okay then. I guess I’ll reprimand you more and–”

“Oh, no.”

“–then you can tell me, huh?”

“I regret what I said, can I take it back?”

Bumping his shoulder against Jack’s, Aaron smiled. “After I say the rest of what I need to say.” Jack groaned, and Aaron rolled his eyes playfully. “I know you don’t hate me, buddy, but those words you wrote really hurt.”

“More than when you got stabbed?”

Aaron winced. “Way more. But we can move past that, it’s fine. I want to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“If I were to take… time off work, how would you feel?”

“More than two days this time?” Jack asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Maybe even three days?”

“Alright, don’t get too sassy now, bud. You’re still in trouble. But, yes, more than two days, and more than three. What if, what if I…” Aaron couldn’t believe what he was about to suggest. “What if I left the job?”

“What?” Jack’s mouth hung open. “No, Dad, I’m not asking you to do that. You love your job.”

“I know you’re not asking, Jack. I’m offering. And yeah, I do love the job, but I love you more. And, truth be told, it’s getting too much for me.”

Jack's face became one of concern and he sat up straight, scrutinising Aaron from head to toe. If it wasn’t so endearing to witness, Aaron’s sure he’d have broken down right then and there. He looked so much like Haley when he looked at him like that. “Did you get hurt on the last case? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Aaron moved Jack’s bowl away from the two of them before pulling Jack into a hug. He squeezed him tightly and took a deep breath before answering. “No, bud. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. You’re the best kid I know.”

Jack wrapped his arms around Aaron’s neck so tightly that he feared he might really need to go to the hospital if he kept up with that grip. He was growing stronger each day, both mentally and physically, and Aaron felt emotional at the thought. “Aren’t I, like, the only kid you know.”

“You really, like, believe that?” Aaron said, mocking him gently. 

Pulling away, Jack laughed. “Don’t make me take back everything I just said.”

“Oof, bud, too soon.” 

“Sorry,” he shrugged, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “Does this mean we’re okay?”

“Of course we are. I don’t think you could do anything that would end up with us never okay again.”

“Even if I keyed your car?”

“You what?!”

“Oh my god, Dad, it’s a joke, it’s a joke I swear,” Jack said through laughter. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t do well with jokes.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Aaron replied, dropping his shoulders in relief. “That was always your mom’s thing.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence, both reminiscing over Haley. Aaron remembered how hard she’d laugh at her own jokes and the way she’d light up the room as she did. She always worried that it was annoying but Aaron promised her that it’d never annoy him, and it never did. She was endlessly brilliant to him, and always would be. Looking at Jack, he felt the same way.

“So,” Aaron started, breaking the silence. Jack looked up at him expectantly. “What was the good news you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh.” He grew sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, and Aaron cocked his head, intrigued. “Uh, well, promise not to get mad?”

“Now I’m worried, so I don’t know if I can make that promise.”

“It’s not bad, I swear.”

“Okay… I promise.”

Jack took a deep breath, wringing his hands together in his lap. “I kinda, sorta, maybe, just might, I don’t know–”

“Jack.”

“Ihaveagirlfriend.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Aaron’s mind. At first, he wanted to demand information so that he could send the names to Penelope for background checks on her parents and her parents’ parents, but he refrained from saying that out loud. His second thought was that Jack was too young to have a girlfriend, but then he remembered his first kiss was with a boy behind the school bins when he was seven, so he couldn’t say anything. And then he remembered what his own father did to him when he told his parents he had a girlfriend when he was eleven, and how it took months for that broken arm to heal, and he realised that he was nothing like his father. “That’s great, buddy. What’s her name?”

“Lola.”

Aaron smiled. “That’s a pretty name. Tell me everything.”

Jack beamed up at him and scooted closer so that he could lean into Aaron’s side, burying himself even closer when Aaron grinned back and wrapped his arm tightly around his shoulders, before he began to ramble about his new girlfriend. They’d met at school in art class and she had the sweetest laugh, according to Jack, and he was sure he was going to marry her. As Aaron listened, he thought back to Haley, and he couldn’t help but feel so proud. Things were good again, and this time he was sure they’d stay that way.

[kpop-stories-21]

Mystery/Crime section | Beg For Your Life

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jongho x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Criminals & Detectives, Smut

Content & Trigger Warnings: Criminal!Jongho, Detective!Reader, trading sexual favors, bondage, manhandling, dirty talk, use of the words "whore" and "slut", multiple orgasms, gunfucking, praise kink, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids)

Summary: It's your first solo case since becoming a detective and this is not at all how you imagined things playing out.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @hwasdollie @yoonguurt @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @sanjoongie

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

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Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

You walked to the section labelled Mystery & Crime and headed down the first row, scanning the books as you went. About halfway through you started to feel a sort of pull, like something was drawing you towards a certain place in the section. The closer you got to whatever it was, the stronger you felt the pull. Finally you came to a stop in front of a large book that seemed to be glowing around the edges. There were no words on the spine, so you picked it up to see what the title was.

As soon as you did so, the book flew open on its own and a blinding white light filled your vision. When it became unbearable, you closed your eyes until it abated. Upon opening your eyes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place. A sudden headache pounded into existence as a flood of knowledge and memories that were definitely not yours filled your brain. When the pain subsided, you took a moment to survey your surroundings.

You were in a small room that looked quite old-fashioned. On a little table beside the head of the bed lay a newspaper bearing the date "June 5th, 1885" alongside the words "London, England". You felt your eyes go wide at the revelation that you'd been dropped right into Victorian Era London.

You looked down, expecting to see yourself in a pretty dress, only to be surprised by the sight of fitted slacks and a simple blouse. You felt the cool touch of metal in the small pocket on your blouse and fished the object out. It was a detective's badge, shiny and brand new. Confused, you looked around the room for any further clues.

Scotland Yard Employs First Female Detective

Below the newspaper headline was a picture of an older man standing next to a woman who looked exactly like you.

Then the memories that didn't belong to you kicked in and you were able to figure the whole thing out.

This version of you had just been given full status as a detective, and was close to solving your first solo case. Looking at the notes scattered about on the desk across from the bed, you'd successfully discerned where the criminal would be this very night. All you needed to do was arrest him and the case would be closed.

When you found the time you planned to go after him and checked the pocket watch lying nearby, you let out a gasp. If you were going to get to him in time, you needed to go now. A flash of knowledge told you what to take with you, and after a quick call to the Yard to inform them where you were headed you were hurrying down the damp streets towards your destination.

It didn't take long for you to leave the bustling city behind and enter the quiet countryside. Presently you came upon an old, abandoned cottage and knew you had arrived.

You felt weight in the pockets of your slacks, and investigating revealed a pistol and a pair of handcuffs. You put the handcuffs back but kept the pistol out, other memories showing you how to use it properly. Now, you were ready. Just before you went in you wondered if this criminal might be the Guardian, and if he was, how could you get the key from him without getting yourself killed?

You pushed the door open and words spilled unbidden from your lips. "I know you're in here, Jongho. You're under arrest, come out unarmed and with your hands up!"

A dark chuckle sounded from the doorway behind you and you whirled about. There stood Jongho, a young dark-haired man with a scarred face half-hidden by a black mask. His clothes were ill-fitted, clinging to the bulging muscles of his arms and legs.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't find him rather attractive, but that was not why you were here. Lifting your pistol a little higher, you again ordered him to raise his hands.

This time he obeyed your order, but instead of staying put he began to slowly walk towards you. No matter how many times you warned him to stay back, he kept advancing. You held your pistol at the ready, but were unsure if you should actually shoot him. As of yet he posed no direct or obvious threat to your person, so you couldn't claim self-defence.

You were pulled from your musings by a large hand wrapping around your own where they held your gun. Looking up you found Jongho maskless and standing right in front of you, a wide smirk on his face as he ripped the gun from your grip.

"Do I distract you, Detective?" His voice had a higher tone than you'd expected.

"N-No." You lied, the slight tremor in your voice giving you away immediately.

Another chuckle. "How very unprofessional of you. I'd expect more from a freshly promoted detective."

You glared at him, then launched yourself forward, hoping to knock him off his feet. Much to your chagrin, he remained on his feet and you felt an arm snake around your waist. You struggled against him, but to no avail. He had you firmly pinned against his body with an iron grip.

His free hand came up to circle your throat, eyes dark with an emotion you couldn't quite discern. "Be a good girl, and I might consider letting you go."

At his words your body went still, suddenly afraid of angering him and losing your chance at freedom.

A dark smile spread across his face and he moved his hand from your throat to dig through your pockets. The darkness in his eyes turned lustful as he pulled out the handcuffs and waved them in front of your face.

"We can have some fun with these if you'll be good for me. If you'd rather not, you'll have to leave without your criminal. What do you say, Detective?" 

You took quick stock of your situation, weighing the options in your head. Leaving without bringing Jongho in would end your career before it had really begun, so you decided it'd be worth whatever was about to happen if you were able to arrest him in the end.

"All right then." You consented. "Go ahead." 

A pleased smirk spread across his face and Jongho flipped you around, unceremoniously dumping you onto the floor. Your back hit first and then your head knocked against the hard ground, leaving you slightly dazed. This allowed Jongho to slip the handcuffs on your wrists with relative ease.

When the fog in your head cleared, you found your hands restrained above your head. Looking up revealed that he had cuffed you to a very sturdy pipe that was protruding from a ruined portion of the wall. The wood floor was cold on your back, and chills were making their way across your body. Jongho was nowhere in sight and you felt your heart sink. Had he just left you here?

Footsteps came slowly towards you, and you felt your heart rate pick up. Was it Jongho? Or had someone else wandered in?

A familiar dark-haired man came into view, and a confusing feeling of relief washed through you. You supposed you'd rather it be Jongho than a total stranger. Once more you wondered if he was the Guardian, only to be pulled back to reality by the feeling of your slacks being slowly pulled down.

You jerked your body, trying to get him to stop, but a firm grip on your hips put that to an end.

"Now, now, Detective. I thought you were going to be a good girl for me."

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?"

"We're gonna have some fun, Detective. Surely you don't object to that?" As he spoke he slipped your slacks all the way off and your underwear went with them.

You opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a moan as Jongho suddenly slipped a finger inside you, brushing your g-spot immediately.

"If you're a good girl, things will go quite well for you. But if you misbehave, there will be consequences. Understand?"

"Mmh, ah, yes!" You exclaimed, back arching as he added a second finger.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me, hmm?"

You nodded frantically, feeling a bit too overwhelmed to speak. At this Jongho's fingers stilled, and a whine escaped you at the loss of movement.

"I need you to use your words, my dear. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, I'll be good for you!" You managed, forgetting your original purpose as the desire to have his fingers back inside you blocked out all other thoughts.

A smile crossed Jongho's features. "That's my good girl. Do you know what good girls get, sweet Detective?"

"A re-reward!" You gasped the words as he inserted a third finger, stretching you out. The memories told you that you hadn't been with anyone in a while, but the burn felt pleasurable.

"That's right! And you'll get your reward as soon as you cum on my fingers."

His words went straight to your core and soon a coil of heat was growing in your stomach as you came ever close to your high. As if sensing this, Jongho began moving his fingers faster, thrusting deep inside you.

"Oh god, I'm gonna c-cum!"

"Already? So anxious for my dick to ruin your little cunt, aren't you? Cum for me little Detective."

He leaned forward, teeth grazing the skin of your neck before beginning to bite and suck at the spot.

The coil of heat snapped then and you let out a loud moan as your orgasm washed over you, your walls clenching around Jongho's fingers.

When you had calmed down a bit, he slipped his fingers out and pressed them against your lips. You opened your mouth and began sucking on them immediately, tasting your own juices.

After a few moments he withdrew them and pulled a small jar from some unseen pocket.

"Ready for your reward, Detective?"

"Yes!" You nodded your head frantically, thinking he was finally about to fuck you.

You flexed your fingers, wishing desperately that your hands were free. You wanted to touch him, to know what those muscles felt like as he pounded you into oblivion.

Something cold prodded at your folds before slipping in and you let out a surprised cry. After a moment of confusion, your arousal intensified as you realised Jongho was fucking you with your own gun. It was so wrong, and definitely dangerous, but in that moment it felt amazing.

The cold of the metal was a thrilling contrast to the heat of your core and your moans grew louder. He set a swift pace, faster than with his fingers, the shape of the gun fitting you perfectly and hitting all the right spots despite not being made for such a use.

"Look at you, coming apart on your gun like a little whore. Imagine what your fellow detectives would think if they saw you letting a criminal like me cuff you and fuck you dumb like this." Jongho chuckled, working the gun even faster as he spoke.

"You'd probably lose your position, maybe even go to jail for failing to do your job. Would it be worth all that just to have me inside you, sweet Detective? Would you become a criminal just so you could be my little cockslut?"

Your second orgasm came upon you fast and hard, so suddenly that you almost didn't have a chance to warn Jongho before you were cumming all over the gun and his fingers.

You could practically feel your body vibrating from the intensity of your high and you weren't sure if you could physically handle a third. You were so sensitive you thought you might need a moment before he did anything else.

You felt something hard brush against your entrance as Jongho leaned back over you and you shrank back, quivering. "N-No, too sensitive! Can't take it!"

"I think you can cum one more time for me, hmm? You'll be a good girl and cum all over my dick, won't you?"

His words sparked something within and you felt yourself getting wet again. "Y-Yes, wanna be a good girl. Please, fuck me!"

"There's a good girl. Don't worry, you'll get what you want, my sweet."

With that you felt him slowly enter you, his girth stretching your walls in the most delicious way. Hypersensitivity had you aware of every little drag and pull, enhancing the pleasure many times over.

"Fuck, you're so tight. I'll cum right away if you keep squeezing me like that."

You moaned loudly, pulling at your restrained hands in frustration. You wanted to touch him so bad it was driving you crazy. But since you were denied this, you chose to feel him in a different way.

"Faster please, wanna cum t-together."

"As you wish, Detective."

He began pounding into you, stuffing you full to the hilt with every thrust. You could feel your head getting fuzzy as your high rapidly approached, letting out cries and screams of pleasure as Jongho fucked you into the hard floor.

You felt teeth on your neck again as he wrecked you, marking you as his for the world to see. Your head was empty save for thoughts of Jongho and the pleasure he was inducing, no remembrance of why you were there or that this wasn't even real.

"Look at you, falling apart like the good little cockslut you are. Gonna stuff you full of my cum and ruin you for anyone else but me."

The waves of your high crashed over you with no warning, ripping a scream from your lungs as you were plunged into pure euphoric bliss. You'd never had an orgasm this intense and realised that Jongho was probably right: this would ruin you for any future rolls in the hay with others besides himself.

Jongho's hips began to stutter as your walls tightened around him. You could feel your consciousness beginning to grow hazy as he slammed into you one last time before filling you full of his cum.

Darkness edged your vision as you felt him slowly slip out of you.

"You were so good for me, my dear Y/N." Jongho murmured the words gently as his hands rubbed up and down your sides.

As your eyes fluttered closed you felt a soft kiss on your forehead and the press of cold metal in your palm. "I'll see you again soon my sweet."

His voice faded away as white light flashed through your closed eyes and you had the distinct sensation of falling for a moment before your eyes suddenly flew open.

You were back in the Library, your clothes and memories returned to normal. The only difference was the shiny gold key inlaid with many brown topazes that was clutched tightly in your right hand. Elated, you slipped the key into the pocket of your jeans and stood to your feet.

Scanning the plaques for the different sections, you chose to tackle History next. Taking a deep breath, you began to walk.

[thecloudstan]

I want to draw a short comic about a birthday party for Rufus this year but we have no information about his date of birth :(((((

So if it's OK, I would like to read a short story about our dear president's birthday with the Turks, Darkstar and Cloud too ofc 🥰

And if you don't mind, may I draw a short comic based on that story?

I don't mind at all!! Because Advent Children era is when my brain works most flexibly with them, this little moment slots into the NTYC timeline rather nicely. So it could be anytime between chapter 6ish and chapter 15ish. Due to this, I couldn't work in Darkstar, though. But please feel free to add the lil beastie into whatever art you decide to do (if you indeed decide to do it). She can be lying protectively at Rufus' feet in spirit for the story but for real in the comic (you could even just take this scenario and make it OG/Remake timeline if you want, 100% up to you and I will be happy with anything)! 😂 Because formatting is being hateful, I'm putting the blurb below a Read More.

Enjoy!

Cloud slips his cell into his pocket after trudging up the steps at Healen and shooting a quick, curt text to Reno to let him know he's waiting outside. The invitation had been out of the blue and uncharacteristically vague. The boss wants you here, he'd said. Tseng??? Cloud fired back. No, not MY boss, THE boss. Don't play dumb today, pretty boy, just make the appointment, yeah? Cloud still isn't sure why he agreed, but as Reno opens the door and chaperones him to Rufus' very familiar quarters—babbling incessantly all the while—his nerves start to subside. He can hear voices beyond the door before Reno even cracks it open. Upon entering, the room is aglow with warm light and voices full of tempered excitement. All the Turks are here and accounted for; Elena and Tseng nurse drinks while chatting back and forth off to the left of the little center table, Rude arranges small, festive bags and packages atop the counter beside the mini fridge.

And there, sat at the table alone with a smile on his face and some tiny confection before him, is Rufus Shinra. He fixes Cloud in place with eyes partially squinted by the force of his grin, offering a little nod and wave of hello. "Anyway, go say hi to the birthday boy," Reno says, snapping Cloud out of his moment of wonderment at the scene in front of him. "Birthday?" Cloud grouses, looking at Reno with a little knit in his brow only after Rufus has broken their gaze to ask Rude for something. "You could've at least told me. I got nothin'." Cloud throws both arms out wide in a gesture that reveals just how empty handed he is. As usual, Reno shrugs off any accusations as he backs away from Cloud and toward his partner. "Don't worry, blondie, your presence is present enough, trust me!" With an undeserved snicker Reno turns to meet Rude at Rufus' side. Cloud watches them in the doorway for an awkward moment before summoning the wherewithal to move his feet. As he approaches the former President, the other two slink away to find themselves a drink. Upon closer inspection, Cloud can see that the confection is some kind of cake from an upscale bakery, all perfectly round and encased in what looks like a hard, white and brown candy coating. Probably white and dark chocolate, but he can't be certain.

"A nice surprise," that velvet voice pours out syrupy sweet, sweeter than any birthday cake could ever hope to be.

Cloud levels him with a heavy but almost apologetic gaze.

"Hm? Wish I knew ahead of time so I could've brought you something but I think some details got lost in the invitation..."

Rufus only smiles, stifles a laugh. It's hard to tell whether he knew Reno tracked him down, or if it was his idea to begin with. That's not surprising, though. "Would you like a taste?" he suddenly asks out of nowhere, gesturing to the cake on the table. Cloud ignores the baser meaning behind the question and leans over the table to get a good look at the cake, making a bit of a show of it. He's not a die hard lover of sweets, but it looks good enough. He does notice there isn't a single candle is in sight, though. Feigning contemplation, he folds his arms over his chest, rests his chin on a fist. "Before the birthday boy? Nah. Besides...your friends here seem to have forgotten the candles," he teases, only now realizing how much of their relationship has progressed without him even knowing Rufus' birthday. "How old are you turning, anyway?" Rufus again only reacts with the slightest curl to the corners of his lips before reaching a graceful hand forward. He lifts a heavy cake knife from beside the platter on which the fancy little dish sits. With deft and nimble fingers he cuts through, but pauses before completing the slice. "Wouldn't you like to know..."

[justa-rat]

Meeting of Minds and Gunpowder. Pt. 2.

May 12th,

Word Count:  920

Part One

Goodnieghbor bloomed before the Ghoul. A mix of robots, ghouls, and smooth-skins. Compared to Diamond City, it was a true mixing pot of all sorts. However, one thing that pulled them all together in similarity - was the no good aura around them. Each and every person was scum, he could tell. Pickpockets, thieves, and scammers the lot of them. Even the spare raider could be spotted slinking in and out of doors in the back alleys. Dried blood splattered on the pavement underfoot, telling stories of mugging and knife fights long passed. A place of true degeneracy. It was about what the world had come too in a nutshell - a steaming pile of shit. As long as he got what he needed, the Ghoul could care less. He adjusted the hat on his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and strode deeper into the city. Another wretched bout of coughing wracked his lungs, his head tilting down on instinct as he shoved himself into an alley. He leaned against a wall for a moment, sweat beading down his forehead. He took a wheezing breath, sliding down till he was sitting, resting his aching head in his hands. His body was shaking, not out of any fear - but of need. The world blurred, spinning around and around twistingly. 

"Hey… Guy. You feelin' alright?" A raspy voice sliced through the Ghouls' thoughts.

A man stood before him, he wore a brazen red coat - fashioned in a colonial style. Atop his head sat a tricorn hat, it looked to be old, worn, covered in dirt and old blood. The Ghoul swatted a hand lazily in his direction, voicelessly forfeiting the others assistance - yet the stranger still persisted. 

"C'mon pal, just talk to me. What's the problem? Run 'outta Jet? Psycho? Buffout? Withdrawal can be a bitch, I've been there." His words sounded oddly sincere. This was no doubt going to cost him. It didn't really matter, if this dumbass stranger could get him in the same room as some Rads - he'd be all set from there. 

It was a shame the strangers voice only worsened his aching head. 

"I don't need no damn drugs. Not them kinda drugs, anyway." He growled out through grit teeth, the wave after wave of vertigo driving him near mad. His expression turned to a wince, and the stranger nodded in understanding. Wordlessly, he fumbled throughout the pouch attached to his waist. Inhalers and tablets shifted about as he dug through it, momentarily producing a small vial containing a yellow liquid. 

"Here, friend." He extended his hand, the vial resting in his palm. The Ghoul wasted no time snatching up the precious vial, uncorking it with his teeth - he paused, looking up at the stranger. A fellow ghoul, it seemed. 

"If this is piss, I'll fuckin' shoot your ass." He lifted the vial to the gaping hole in which his nose once rested, sniffing it. It at least didn't smell like piss. The stranger only snorted in response, but said nothing to his comment. The Ghoul lifted the vial to his chapped and broken lips, tilting his head back and slurping up the small amount of liquid greedily. Instant relief washed over him, and a sigh left his body. He relaxed, waiting for the rest of the symptoms to slowly subside. 

"Feel better?" The stranger was leaning against the wall now, one ankle crossed over the other as the full of his weight rested on the building behind him. His arms were crossed, and he was watching the other man keenly. 

"What do you want, exactly?" The Ghoul cut to the chase, he understood how the wasteland worked - nothing was truly for free. "Caps? Want me to kill someone for ya?" His tone was demeaning, taunting even. Guy looked like he was ripped out of a damn history book.  

The stranger simply put his hands up in resignation, bowing his head ever so slightly, "I don't want a damn thing from you, friend, just a fellow forgotten and undermined man looking to help another get back on his feet." A smile appeared on his face, and the Ghoul realized it was worse than anything he could have thought. The man was an idealist. 

Pushing himself away from the wall, the stranger took a few paces towards the Ghoul. He tensed in reaction, hand unconsciously feeling for his gun - but the other made no move to pull out a weapon. Instead, he reached out a hand towards the Ghoul, an offering of peace - and to help the fellow stand. The Ghoul's eyes narrowed, and he denied the help - pushing the other ghoul's hand out of his face, and getting to his feet on his own. They stood eye to eye now, rather than the stranger lording over him in a state of vulnerability. The Ghoul even took slight satisfaction of being taller than the other, tiling his head up ever so slightly. He took a moment to look the stranger up and down, fully taking in the revolutionary war garb he dawned. He made a vague gesture towards his clothing, curiosity overpowering anything else in that moment, "So uh… What's up with the getup… You some kinda… Weird reenactor? Thought thems all died out with the war n'all."  

The stranger's smile didn't fade, he even let out a laugh, "Ahh, nah. Not really. Outfit just… Spoke to me is all. The name’s John Hancock, I'm the mayor here. I'd like to personally welcome you to my little slice of heaven, Goodneighbor."

[biscuitblinkeu]

Morals; Too Close [5]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Warnings: Graphic Description? TW

Word Count: 3480

A/N: If you don’t understand her thoughts, you aren’t supposed to, they’re jumbled up on purpose. (😏) This chapter is on the shorter side btw.

………………………………………………………………………….

Officer Marco Manoban has been a police officer for almost eleven years and he had seen some grizzly sights and had his fair share of stabbings, but never a dead body. Not yet in this town. Dispatch said the body was found in the victim's house, reported by a UPS delivery man. He clenched his jaw as he sped past traffic, sirens wailing and roaring, its cries doing nothing to calm his thundering heartbeat. 

The house was coming into view now. It was a nice house, remote and modern, right next to a lake. On the surface of the dark, inky blue water, a layer of fog rested. The warm and salty smell of the lake wafted through his open windows, almost tasteable of the tongue. Gravel crunched underneath the wheels as he pulled onto the side of the road next to identical police cars, the engine's rubble subsiding with the keys removed. The UPS truck was parked on the road in front of the house. The homicide squad and police squad were already on the grounds scrambling about with important papers and tools in their hands, searching outside and inside the house. Marco stopped for a moment to watch them, the pit in his stomach so deep; it might leave a hole in him. He stepped out of his vehicle. 

“Manoban, over here!” A voice shouted, the owner none other than his fellow policeman– often caught dancing to pop music at the station– Suho. Suho beckoned him over with a hand and he cleared his throat before making his way to him. “Hey,” he greeted with a curt nod.

Suho grinned back at him, the smile faltering a second later as he jabbed a thumb to a middle aged man in the UPS uniform. He was the one who put in the call to report the body. “The detective is going to need a statement, she’s got her hands full inside,” he told Marco.

“Alright.” Marco took out his notepad and turned to the man, taking in his appearance. The man had sandy hair, gray strands peeking through his hat; his nose was slightly crooked, as if he’d broken it before, and he had big eyes. He reeked of sweat, pine, and oil. Marco fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, but plastered a small encouraging smile on his face. “Officer Manoban; I’ll need a statement of events leading up to when you found the body and your name.”

The man stumbled, his mouth opening and closing but no sound was produced. “Ah, yes– Milliard Jones.”

“Milliard Jones,” he repeated with a nod. “And the events leading up to when you found the body?”

Milliard clicked his tongue, rubbing his palms on his khaki shorts, looking very uncomfortable. “I had been delivering a package–  my truck is just over there–  and I was knocking on the door to get a signature for the package, and the door opened; it was unlocked, and oddly quiet. I called out, and out of curiosity made my way in… The television was on, and I heard water running in the basement– so I went down there, and I really shouldn't have God! I really shouldn't have!” Milliard brought his hand to his mouth and let out a few choked sounds. 

“Hey,” he tried to say in his most encouraging and understanding tone. “I really need you to finish the statement for me, alright?”

Milliard nodded, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “I went into the basement, and I saw him dead. He was just– hanging there.” He finished. 

Marco wrote it down with his pen, occasional glancing at the man. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing his notepad. “You seem put-off. I can imagine you’re shaken up. Over there are the medics, talk to them.” The man left with a small ‘thank you’ and Marco ran a hand over his face. Suho chuckles from beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“This was never your scene, was it?” Suho says, gaze apologetic. 

Marco grumbles something inaudible and asks, “Where’s the detective?”

“She’s examining the body as we speak; inside, in the basement.” Suho informed.

Marco looked to the front door, where gloved officers and officers wearing body suits were coming in and out the house. He felt a pit in his stomach knowing that he was about to see something terrible and took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had a job to do. Marco walked to the door, his steps heavy. He was handed gloves by Bill, a homicide officer, on the way. Bill and Marco walked side by side.

“You look tense, loosen up,” the homicide officer laughed from beside him, elbowing him in the rib. 

Marco ignored him. “Have you even seen the body yet?” 

Bill shook his head. “No, I arrived around the same time you did,” he said and Marco sighed. Now they have a surprise waiting for both of them. “Look, It was probably just a suicide..?” 

The interior of the house is messy, like a little boys room. There were clothes strewn about, a mass of dishes in the sink, empty boxes all over the floors, and crumbs on the counters. There was a stench to the house, and maybe it was from the body, maybe it wasn’t.

“Don’t worry?” He mutters. Bill is a little too relaxed about this death. What if he was wrong, that it wasn’t that, but actually that they had a killer on their hands? Marco finishes slipping on his right glove when they get to the bottom of the basement stairs. Upon their arrival, the detective stands up, brushing her pants off. She stands next to the (frightfully) awed officers, looking at the space around them.

Blood was smeared across the walls and under the chains. If you stepped back like Marco did, you could see the areas of the wall left untouched, spelled out "SMILE." To the side of the words were childish drawings: a ball, a sun, dog, etc.

“Dear God…” Marco mutters, using a forearm to wipe his forehead. “What the hell happened here?”

“A lot,” the detective replies flatly. “The body has been moved already, we’re all still here searching the scene though. But…I have pictures.”

Marco and Bill move to stand in front of her. “Who was the victim?”

“Henry Donner. It’s estimated that he was tortured for at least four days. Parts of him have been cut off, just like the others. Including the penis,” she tells them with a sigh. 

Marco swallows heavily; Bill coughs.

“His fingers were all cut off,” she says, showing him a picture of ten severed fingers lying on the ground. “His chest was pulled off piece by piece. They stopped the bleeding each time by using a barbaric method of cauterization. He wanted the victim alive for that time period specifically. His penis seems to be the last thing to have gone.” 

Bill, now crunching on a granola bar, winces. “Yeah, no, only a woman could cut off a man’s...”

The detective ignores him. She pulls out five or some different photos. “Marks were found around his wrists and neck, assuming their from the chains hanging from the basement rafters. The victim was strung up in their home.”

“And the motive?”

“To be determined. The victim did not have any enemies, he was rather liked. He worked at a daycare. But,” she pauses, brows knitting.

“But what?” Bill inquired.

“We did find cameras in his room. He was a child sex offender.”

Now outside, after Marco had left the room abruptly, Bill ran a hand through his hair. “This is..is… I can’t even find a word to describe it,” he chuckles.

Marco wipes his mouth and stands back up to full height. He couldn't stomach the photos found in Henry’s camera. “It’s rattling, is what it is, Bill. This is— disgusting.” How did they let a man like that go under the radar for so long? Marco’s glad he's dead– and it’s something he would never say out loud. That killer took out the trash, and now they have to take him out.

Bill patted him on the shoulder. “It only gets worse from here.”

…

The first thing Roseanne wants to do when she gets home is take a shower, but she can't. She can't because now that she's driven Lisa home— and she had to take her to bed since Lisa was in no condition to do anything other than pass out in the hallway because the Thai had a few drinks at the bar— and you’re out doing God knows what there is nothing else to occupy her mind. 

So she panics.

She feels it coming, she always does. There are beads of sweat on her forehead and everything becomes blurry, making it hard for her to walk to her room. She stumbles inside in her dizzy state and slides to the floor, back against her bed. Her throat is tightening and she gets butterflies in her stomach, the kind she would rather never experience. Roseanne is terrified; her heart pounds against her rib cage, loud in her ears, threatening to come out of her chest. A numbness makes its way into her fingers and toes and they tingle, like the nerves in them are dancing. 

What exactly brought this on? She’s never— ever had a panic attack that she couldn’t get under control. Was it because earlier, with Lisa’s dad leaving suddenly? The look on his face, the poorly masked emotions running rampant? Was she worried? Or was it shame? Roseanne gasped, a shallow breath following it. He will understand— won’t he? That the project she’s working on might not be up to his expectations, her professor’s expectations, her classmates, or Lisa’s, Jisoo’s, and Jennie’s? Oh— she was meant to be so much more, that is what he told her when— Roseanne choked, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid succession. It wasn’t the first time. Why was it different? 

You. 

It was you— it was you, there, on your knees in front of her. 

“Roseanne?” You ask, worried at the state of your roommate. She’s not looking at you, her gaze is stuck to a spot on the floor. You didn’t expect to come back to your roommate having a panic attack. How long has she been like this? You notice she’s digging her nails in her stomach, and you’re sure they’re leaving crescent-shaped dents in the areas. She’ll hurt herself. “Hey, hey, Roseanne— Rosie,” you try again. You can’t snap in front of her face, that would startle her, so you lightly tap her shoulders, her knees, and her forehead. It’s silly, but it worked when your brother did it for you. 

Roseanne’s eyes frantically dart across the room, staring at nothing, not seeing you. You want her to focus on you. You want her to know you're here. “Rosie,” you call again, and she finally locks eyes with you. Her eyes swam with tears. She tries her hardest to keep eye contact with you. You smile encouragingly. “It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Try to match my breathing.” 

Roseanne doesn’t know what you're saying. It’s all muffled, noise drowned out by her heavy breathing, but she watches your chest, moving up and down, your lips making an “O” shape and then narrowing. You want her to breathe? She can’t. Roseanne shakes her head side to side, she tried that before, and her fingers dig further into her stomach. You peel her hands away from her abdomen and place them in her lap. Her nails dig into her palms instead, knuckles turning white. 

You sigh. “Hey, you can hold my hand if you want— squeeze it, anything, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that.” You hold your palms out in front of you, conveying the message. Surprising you, she takes your hand and wow, wow, why did you think this was a good idea? A squeaky noise escapes your throat at the crushing grip she has on your hands and you smile nervously when her glossy eyes flicker to you. It’s okay, you tell yourself, pain is temporary. 

You still exaggerate your breathing for her, taking in large breaths and exhales, figuring she’ll catch on soon enough. You start telling her about your day and random things and she tries to focus on the smell of your perfume, the thumb that’s awkwardly tapping (not rubbing because you can’t really move your fingers) the dorsal side of her hand, and your soothing voice. As you continue to talk about pointless things she doesn't hold in the next breath she takes and just focuses on keeping them deep and steady, like you were trying to show her earlier, and repeats the process until the beating of her heart no longer vibrates on the skin of her breasts. Her grip loosens as the minutes pass and she feels slightly calmer, lightheaded, but calm. 

“And then he put it in the back of my shirt! I was so mad I chased him around the plaza—” 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and if you were any further away you wouldn’t have heard it. It’s endearing, the tiny smile on her lips— because she’s truly grateful— and you felt happy you were able to help her with this.

“Yeah,” you say dumbly, slow, ignoring the warmth blossoming in your chest. You clear your throat and reprimand yourself— idiot— now more conscious. “Seriously, don’t even think about it. Like… Like I said, I've had my fair share of anxiety attacks before, it really isn’t an issue…It’s what I'm here for.” You spoke softly, unsure. Was that even the right thing to say: ‘it’s what I’m here for’— when you haven’t been roommates any longer than five weeks? 

The longer she stares at you the hotter your face becomes. You pulled your hand that was still held captive away slowly. Roseanne blinked, something shifted, snapped, and she became sensible of the situation. She abruptly stood up and wobbled slightly, to which you’re quick to stabilize her by the biceps, her legs feel like jelly. “Thank you,” she says again, much firmer, and it feels like she’s saying it too much. She sits on the side of her bed and you shift on your feet in front of her. What do you do now?

“Do you, uh, want water or anything?” You ask, fiddling with your cotton shorts.

“No.” She says quickly and maybe too briskly. You don’t seem too affected.

“Okay, I can just—” 

“Wait; water would be nice,” she changed her mind. “Yeah? Okay, I’ll be right back.” When you leave the room, she sighs, resting her head on her palms. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s going to be very regrettable. You weren’t supposed to see her like that: a mess. It was embarrassing. She feels exposed, vulnerable, out of her element. 

It was no longer ‘Cons of Having a Roommate’ but rather, ‘Pros of Having a Roommate.’ She couldn't take anything back, it was too late.

You hand her her water gingerly; she knows you're avoiding her eyes. Trying and failing, that is. “So,” you drawl. “Are you…okay now?”

She takes another sip of the water before replying. “Yeah, thank you again.”

You hum, and a silence that’s neither comfortable or awkward falls upon you. You should leave now, shouldn’t you? She looks better, you’ve done your part. You bite your cheek, tongue swiping out to wet your lips. Is she going to tell you to go or do you—? (A part of you wants to stay and ask personal questions.) 

“…Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Just got a little overwhelmed, that’s it.”

You nodded, zipping your mouth shut, taking a few steps back. “I’ll go to my room then...” She doesn’t say anything, and you make it to the door frame before she speaks up again. 

“Wait, (Y/n), do you want to…hang out?”

…

She didn’t want to send you off after you helped her. (Right.)

“…Lisa didn’t care what people were saying about me and still approached me. I remember when she was stopped by a girl when she tried to sit next to me in the first lecture and it was funny watching the girl stumble over her words as Lisa brushed past her without a glance. Then Lisa talked my ear off the whole lecture and we became friends,” you finished, smiling at the memory.

"That's really sweet.” Roseanne knew Lisa was kind-hearted. Sometimes, when they were younger she worried Lisa would get hurt and acted like the Thai’s personal bodyguard. She didn’t want to see that glow leave her best friend's eyes, didn't want anything like a crush or accident to cause it to fade.

"Yeah. She's always been great with things like that. With people." You said, looking down at the blanket as you shrugged one shoulder. "And I've just always been the bitch.”

She jerked upwards a little, affronted on your behalf. "I've never thought you were a bitch, (Y/n)." You wrapped the cover around your hand and made a thoroughly unconvinced noise. “I haven’t!”

You stared at her for a few tense seconds, lips pressed firmly together, studying her, because for all you know she could be lying. Under your gaze, Roseanne shifted in her spot, fingers picking at the cover, eyes darting across your face but never shying far from your eyes. “What?” She barked, her eyes narrowed at you, lips pulled into a shape boarding a sneer. She didn’t like being scrutinized, it made her agitated.

You held your hands up, like soothing an angry dog. “I believe you,” you mumbled under your breath. Your hands fell back into your lap, a smile spreading across your lips. “Thanks.” 

Roseanne watched your expression soften before her own did. Her shoulders relaxed and her lips curved upward. She didn’t say anything more.

“Hey, can I call you Rosie?”

She sinks into the pillows with a sigh, vaguely remembering you called her that earlier. “I don’t mind.” 

You grinned, and a moment later you yawned. You glanced at your phone screen. “Are you going to bed soon?” She shook her head. Bedtime is four A.M. It’s only midnight.

A few seconds of silence passed, your eyes wandering around her room briefly, taking note of the band posters and her messy study desk and how all the lights are on in her room. You meet her eyes again. “...I’ve been wondering if you ever manage to fall asleep.”

“Finally notice the panda-bags under my eyes?” She snorted, and you knew it was deflection.  

“No, Rosie, you have light under-eyes for someone that doesn't sleep the recommended hours– but really, why don’t you sleep at night? Sometimes I hear you shuffling about or playing your guitar; I’m curious.”

When it was clear you weren't going to let it go she pursued her lips. “Well, I…I don’t particularly like dreaming. And you’re right, I don’t sleep– much.” Rosie tells you as a distant look falls over her eyes, she brings her long legs up to her chest, cradling them. It’s almost guileless, childlike in a way. “If you truly must know, my mind has the scary capability of being dark when I don’t want it to be.” The ghost of a smile dances on her lips, conveying a secret, a sense of regret, pain; and you dared to ask, to confirm something for yourself, to not feel alone. “You’re afraid of your dreams?”

“Yes,” she whispered. And you left it at that. Somewhere– somehow, Rosie let you stay that night. She doesn’t know why herself; maybe it was because she felt exposed. After she told you she was afraid of her dreams, you told her you were too, and she felt understood, strangely. To what degree? She didn't know. Maybe in that moment of weakness she made the unconscious decision or agreement that you could stay for the night. Just this night. She told herself it was because you were clearly tired and that she didn't want to make you walk to your room. She didn't have the heart to wake you up when you fell asleep again during a movie you had once asked to watch, slow breaths escaping your parted lips, chest rising and falling steadily. She was paying you back because you had done so many nice things for her today. That was it.

This didn’t change anything.

Rosie turned on her side and closed her eyes, willing to sleep easy no matter how absurd the idea was. Although, that night she did drift off to sleep, and she didn’t dream of a house, a man, and a car laying on its side. However, this still didn't change anything. 

But deep down, something changed, didn't it?