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missadangel · 2 months ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 4: No More Secrets

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Chapter Summary: Returning to NYC, heartbroken and jobless, you decide: no more secrets or tears and no more Harry. But he's a 40-year-old boy determined to find you in the city to make things right. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 8,5k, depression, dirty talk, fluffy, and angst... authors note: I'm in midterms and planned to publish the chapter on Monday, but I received so many requests asks from you guys and that I couldn't let you down. Thank you!

When the jet touched down at the airport, the sun was rising over New York City, casting a warm glow over the city. A tight knot formed in your chest as memories flooded in—thinking about the last time you left, whom you were with, and why you weren't returning with him this time. Stepping back into this beautiful city made you sigh. You knew that everything was about to change, which was good in some ways—you wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not anymore. However, it was also painful because you returned with a broken heart that would take time to heal.

Then there was the fact that starting tomorrow, you wouldn’t be working at Jack's place anymore—you’d be unemployed. During the flight, you barely said a word since he was glued to his laptop the whole time, always hustling. He was nice about it, though, treating you like a special guest instead of just a former employee. He made sure you had food and even set up a private spot in the back of the jet for you to sleep.

Once you both arrived at the Upper East Side, he mentioned you could stick around for a few more days if you wanted. You turned him down, saying it was all good because you had somewhere to go, and you really didn’t want to deal with Melanie’s face. Back in your room, you immediately started packing. The other maid girls came over, upset to see you go and wanting to talk to Jack on your behalf, but you stopped them, saying it was best for everyone and you knew it was the right call.

As you removed your dress and jewelry, tears began to well up, but you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. When you touched your right ear, you realized you had lost one of your earrings; it must have fallen out. Your mind was racing with so many thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed it was gone. A sense of panic washed over you as you thought, “I hope I didn’t drop it while running through the streets of Paris.”

You tossed the dress, jewelry, and heels—everything Harry had bought you—into a bag and pulled out the suitcase from the wardrobe that you hadn’t opened in three years. Your job never really gave you a chance to take a vacation. Even if it did, where would you go with such a tight budget? The closest thing to a holiday you had was last summer when the Johnson family took a trip to Miami from NYC. During their absence, you begged your cousin Zoe, who was working as a seasonal waitress at a hotel in Clearwater, Florida, to let you tag along. You had a great time for three days until you got caught swimming during work hours and were kicked out. You had used a small handbag back then, but now you needed the suitcase you brought from Atlanta—your trusty old friend. It held not just your clothes but also your hopes and dreams, and it had been your companion while you explored New York.

You slipped into some comfy clothes: blue jeans and a black blouse with open sleeves. With your hair in a ponytail and sneakers on, you were ready to head southeast to Brooklyn. As you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you sighed. It felt like three years ago when you were putting on these clothes, but this time, your hopes and dreams were overshadowed by heartbreak and regrets. Still, you weren’t the same girl you were back then. You felt determined and closer to your dreams, no matter what. You promised yourself you wouldn't be one of those girls crying over a guy. You’d been standing on your own two feet all this time, and that’s how it was going to stay. You zipped up your suitcase, set it on its wheels, and took a last look at the room before grabbing the handle and heading out. When you opened your door, you saw Danilo and all the other maids and staff from the mansion gathered in the hallway. You hugged and said goodbye to each of them when you heard Jack’s loud voice coming from down the corridor.

“Jack is really angry, so no one wants to get close to the main hall,” one of the girls explained.

You shivered at the thought of running into Melanie and her mom; meeting them was the last thing you wanted.

“I’ll head out before they spot me,” you said, glancing back at the staff one last time. They all looked at you with sad eyes. “I promise I’ll come visit again,” you added with a smile.

“Make sure you do!” they urged you.

“Oh, Cara mia, I’m going to miss you,” Danilo said.

“Me too,” you replied and gave him a tight hug.

They waved as the lift doors closed, and you waved back. The soft beep of the elevator reminded you it was time to go. As you walked toward the exit, Garry, Jack’s driver, noticed you and your suitcase. He stopped wiping the rearview mirror and came over.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

“No, I’m good. I just want to take a walk. By the way, did you happen to find any earrings in the car?”

“Earrings? Nope, haven’t seen any,” he said.

You let out a sigh, feeling a bit worried. “Is there any chance you could call the jet pilot or someone from the crew? It’s pretty important.”

“Sure thing, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Thanks a bunch, Garry,” you said.

“Anytime, girl. If you need a driver, you know how to reach me,” he replied with a wink.

“That’s really nice of you. Thanks! Take care.”

“You too!” he said.

As you started walking down the street, you waved back at him. At first, your steps felt a bit unsure, but they quickly picked up pace as the mansion faded from sight behind you.

The tires let out a sharp squeal as the sleek black Mercedes glided to a stop beside Jack's car, which he parked erratically, and slammed the door a little too hard before hurrying to the front door of the mansion. Garry was still busy wiping down the car, surprised to see him, but he continued his work.

Harry, out of breath, impatiently rang the bell repeatedly and pounded on the door. “Jack! Open up, dammit!” he shouted, glancing toward the windows. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he looked around anxiously. A moment later, Jack appeared in the doorway, puzzled. “Harry? What in God's name?”

“Where is she? Is she in there? I need to talk to her,” Harry said, desperation clear in his voice.

Jack squinted at him, very calm in contrast to him, “Who? Who are you talking about?”

He had to be kidding.

Harry exhaled a deep breath of frustration.

Damn it, he didn’t even know your real name.

“You're banging on my door for a maid whose name you don’t even know?” Jack remarked with disbelief.

“I’m not leaving until I see her,” Harry shot back, determined.

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time because the others just told me she left the house.”

Harry's heart clenched. “What do you mean she left? Where did she go? Did you kick her out?”

“I can't have anyone in my house who goes behind my back, including my own daughter. I'm sending her away, too. Besides, it’s not your business. Why do you care?”

Harry didn't have a clear answer to that; he just knew he couldn't let you go. He had to find you.

“Look, just let her go; it's for the best. You know that I'm right,” Jack said dismissively.

“No, I don’t,” Harry muttered stubbornly. “Tell me where she went. You must know where she is.”

“How would I know?” he lied. Just then, his phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take this. I’ll wait for you at my house some other time, but now is not the right time,” Jack said, closing the door.

Harry frowned and cursed under his breath.

Garry, who had seen the whole thing, cautiously walked over to Harry, making sure Jack didn’t see him. “She left like ten minutes ago and walked down the street,” he said quietly, pointing in the direction you headed. “That way,” he whispered.

Harry shot him a quick look, then followed the direction he was pointing with a nod. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a rush of hope and excitement. He jumped back into his car, fired it up, and hit the gas. The tires screeched even louder this time as the car shot onto the road. But of course, traffic was not on Harry's side. He usually didn’t drive himself in the busy streets of New York, but this was an emergency. He kept looking around as he drove, searching for any sign of you.

“Damn it, where are you?” he kept muttering.

He drove past Central Park, zigzagging through traffic, but still no sign of you. It felt like trying to dig a well with a needle. Not the greatest driver to begin with, he was so busy looking around that he didn’t see a garbage can in front of him. When he finally spotted it, he slammed on the brakes, but there was a slight bump anyway.

"Shit!" He growled.

A nearby cop came over and motioned for him to pull over. There was no real damage to the car—just a busted headlight and a small dent in the bumper—but he was pretty sure he’d get a ticket for hitting public property.

He didn't care about the ticket; he was frustrated and slammed down hard on the steering wheel. “Fuck! How am I supposed to find you now?” he growled to himself.

The old, rusty building stood in stark contrast to the large, luxurious one you had left on the Upper East Side just a few hours earlier, but for some reason, it felt warmer, even cozier. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, practicing a bright smile until Zoe opened it.

“Whoa! Jesus Christ! Is that really you?” she said, bursting with excitement as she jumped into your arms.

You laughed and hugged her with one arm. “Yep, it’s me, Zoe. I’m back.”

Zoe pulled back, her expression shifting to a frown as she glanced at your suitcase and then back at you.

"Will you have me as your flatmate for a while? Just like old times?"

“Are you kidding me? Come on in!” she said, motioning for you to enter as she closed the door behind you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t call you. My phone’s off because…” you mumbled as you stepped inside.

'Because I really didn't want to answer the calls from that charming millionaire who had kicked me out the moment he found out the truth about me,' you thought to yourself.

“Oh wow, sounds like a lot has happened, right?” she said, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. “And I guess it’s not exactly rainbows and butterflies?”

“Kind of,” you replied.

“Come on, sit down. Spill everything,” she urged.

You flopped down on the couch, grabbing one of the cushions. “It’s a long story, and I’m not even sure where to start,” you said lazily.

She peeked into your bag before placing it on the table. “Start with this,” she said, holding up a diamond necklace she pulled from your bag, her eyes wide with surprise.

As the days dragged on, it wasn’t easy for either you or Harry. You were both dealing with your own stuff, but somehow, it felt like you were struggling with the same things. Now unemployed, you immediately began searching for a new job. You had applied to several cleaning companies, including your former employer, but hadn't heard back from any of them yet. The generous severance pay that Jack had given you was not enough to open a small bakery and pursue your dreams—at least not in NYC, maybe in Atlanta, which sounded like "Nah." So you had no choice but to find work; the bills needed to be paid, and you didn’t want to burden Zoe. As a waitress, she already worked nearly 8 to 10 hours a day, and by the time she got home in the evening, she was exhausted.

It was one of those nights when she worked late again. When she finally got home, she was taken aback by the scene—though she really shouldn’t have been, given that she had an unemployed, depressed roommate. You were sprawled out in front of the TV, devouring a cream pastry you had made, totally lost in the show. You were deeply connecting with the character’s drama.

“He’s going to leave you, you idiot; all guys are the same,” you muttered at the screen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, you’re back, didn’t see you there,” you said.

“Seriously, what is all this?” she asked, eyeing the mess: clothes and pastries everywhere, and the kitchen a total disaster. “You sure you’re a housekeeper?”

“An unemployed housekeeper,” you shot back.

“Right,” she said, putting her bag on the table a bit awkwardly. “Alright girl, that’s it.”

You just blinked at her while still chewing on your pastry. She walked over, snatched it from your hand, turned off the TV, and yanked you up by the arm.

“Are you planning to kick me out? I promise I’ll cover the rent with some of my severance pay.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “And how are you going to chase your dreams then? Come on, get up. Let’s move.”

“So you’re not kickin’ me out?”

“What are you? A stray kitten or something?”

The word “kitten” hit a nerve and brought up something you didn’t want to deal with, tightening your chest. You made a face.

“Then what?”

“It’s time for an intervention,” she said, nudging you into the bathroom. It was small but okay, and when you stood in front of the mirror, Zoe adjusted you to face it.

“Look at yourself. You haven’t combed your hair in two days,” she said, running her fingers through it. “Your eyes look sunken from crying and lack of sleep.” You blinked in disbelief at the dark circles under your eyes— what the heck? Embarrassed, you quickly licked the corner of your lip to get the pastry cream off.

“Where’s the strong girl I used to know? This isn’t her at all. This is a total stranger—someone who’s given up, someone who’s lost the fight,” she said, looking seriously at your reflection. “You've let yourself go, and it’s starting to worry me. Babe, you need to pull yourself together.”

She was right, of course.

“Look, I’ll be inside, and when you come out, I want you to look refreshed, okay?”

You nodded at your reflection, and she nodded back. “Good. I’ll give you some time. Shake it off and get it together. I’ll be waiting,” she said, giving you a supportive pat on the back.

That’s when you realized how bad you had let things get. Had you really looked like that for days? It was awful. You felt completely lost.

But no, you hadn't lost the battle, you were just getting started. You threw off the clothes that felt like they were sticking to you - you hadn't left the house in three days, so you'd been wearing them all the time. You stripped completely naked and turned on the shower. It took a while to heat up - old pipes, old flat. While you waited, you brushed your teeth and splashed cold water over your face.

As the hot water started streaming, you jumped in and let out a sigh—it was just what you needed. You washed yourself off, hoping to scrub away the worries clouding your mind at the same time.

When you looked in the mirror again after your refreshing shower, you smiled for the first time in days.

You felt different and rejuvenated.

You also felt silly for spending your days in misery.

Keeping your smile natural, you walked into the living room.

“That’s my girl!” Zoe cheered.

You rushed over and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Zoe. You’re such a great friend.”

“So are you. How are you feeling?”

It was a question she’d never asked before, probably because the answer was hard to face every day. After thinking for a bit, you replied, “I’m feeling hopeful, ambitious, and determined.”

"That’s exactly what you need."

“Right?” you said, smiling. “I’ll call Danilo and let him know I’m going to the hotel tomorrow to take the chef's assistant gig, at least until I land something better.”

"Awesome! We can get rid of these pastries," Zoe said, still snacking on one.

You crossed your arms and shot her a playful look.

"I mean, they’re amazing, and you’re really talented, but you’ve wiped out our flour and sugar stash. Plus, you need to bake somewhere other than home."

You glanced at the tray of pastries on the table. "Should we share some with the neighbors?"

Zoe’s eyes lit up. "Neighbors? That’s a great idea!"

She grabbed a plate from the kitchen and piled it high with the pastries you whipped up. You raised an eyebrow as she adjusted her dress in the mirror before bouncing out the door.

"I think we’ve got a cute neighbor," you said with a smirk.

She laughed. "Oh, it's one of the guys down the hall, John. He’s a waiter too and super hot—tall, buff, and those blue eyes!"

You raised your eyebrows with a big grin. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush, huh?”

"Let's say his eyes are blue like the Atlantic, and I'm going down like the Titanic."

“Wooohooo!” you whistled, and you both burst into laughter.

"Wish me luck!" she said she walked out.

Once you headed to your room to get dressed, you took off the towel wrapped around you and pulled out some fresh underwear from the drawer. As you put them on, your eyes landed on the bag sitting on your nightstand. You had almost forgotten about it, having intentionally ignored its presence.

Then you grabbed your phone, which you had stuffed away in the sock drawer, and turned it on. You figured it was time to confront what you’d been avoiding, especially since you’d been feeling good now. As soon as the phone lit up, tons of notifications popped up. You had used Zoe’s number for job applications, but that felt pointless now. You’d need to change that as soon as you found a new job.

Feeling uneasy, you swiped through the notifications without looking. You already knew who they were from, and you didn’t want to care. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

But deep down, you knew you’d take a peek.

There were missed calls and texts from Oliver and then from Harry.

So, he got himself a new phone.

That was a relief.

You could've called Oliver, but texting felt like the safer bet.

"Can we meet tomorrow? It’ll only take a few minutes. I have something to return."

Next, you called Danilo to see if his offer was still stood. While you were waiting for his reply, Oliver hit you up with a text.

"Sure. Where?"

Danilo called back just in time to tell you that the hotel chef was totally chill about it and is expecting you tomorrow. He mentioned, with a hint of smugness, that the chef is one of his best buddies. Plus, he owed him a favor as they're both Italian.

Since the hotel is in Manhattan, you set up a meeting with Oliver at a bar there during rush hour. You should’ve just handed over the bag and cut ties with him for good, but something kept bothering you: the missing earring.

You had no clue how much it was worth, and that freaked you out—probably more than your whole bank account. To Harry, it might be a sneeze, but you still needed to pay him back, even if it meant giving up all your severance pay.

You really hoped it wasn’t worth that much.

Otherwise, you were fucked.

"How long has he been like this?"

"Almost five days."

“Fucking hell.”

Oliver and Harry's close friend Maria exchanged worried glances as they looked at him. Harry's daily routine was a bit different from yours. Every morning, he got up and continued to work with a renewed sense of ambition, but he preferred working from home. This was manageable in the beginning, but as the meetings piled up, it became overwhelming.

Maria was not only one of his business partners but also an old friend. No matter how hard she tried to cope in his absence, she couldn’t manage without his support. She was already navigating life as a mother going through a divorce, and Harry's situation only complicated things further. Years ago, Maria’s husband and Harry had started a business together, working tirelessly to build it up. Despite facing challenges along the way, they always found a way to overcome them.

Maria and Harry's friendship dated back to their childhood. She knew him wel. She knew he had always had relationships with women, especially after achieving millionaire status and becoming a successful businessman. He was the kind of man who was passionate in love, compassionate, and willing to make sacrifices when he found someone special. However, things had not gone well with his last relationship, and the fallout affected him deeply. Now, he found himself in this troubled state for the second time.

Harry maintained his routine despite Oliver's pleas for days. He would wake up early, check his phone, go to work, and then drive around in front of Jack's house in the afternoons. But it all felt futile; there was no trace of you. It was as if you had vanished—like a fairy tale, just like Cinderella.

Oliver tried reaching out to the dating agency, but it didn’t go anywhere. He talked to Jack again. He was convinced he was hiding something, but the guy was tight-lipped. No one could provide any information about your whereabouts. All Oliver had was your name and your resume, and there was no current address listed. He felt a sense of failure, worried for Harry for the first time in a long time.

That’s why he froze when he saw the message on his phone that evening. He stared at it in disbelief, having saved your name as Melanie on his phone. Now, knowing your real name, he changed it back and considered how to respond to the message—whether to tell Harry or not. Ultimately, he knew he couldn’t keep something like this from Harry, especially when he was anxiously waiting for any news about you.

He walked over as Maria was on a mission to get Harry to hit the bar for a drink.

“I'm not in the mood,” Harry mumbled, sprawled out on the couch with his arm over his face.

“Ollie, can you say something to our grumpy buddy?” Maria complained, looking at Oliver.

Oliver was a bit lost in thought; he cleared his throat, “Uh, Harry.”

Harry moved his arm away from his face and glanced at him. "You'd better take a look at this." Oliver handed the phone to him, showing him the message on the screen.

Maria continued. “And, if you want, I can take you to a strip club or something, like the old days—my treat,” she suggested, sitting on the edge of the couch and looking like she was about to give up.

When Harry finally saw the message you sent to Oliver, he shot upright and grabbed the phone from him.

A grin spread across his face.

"Oliver, what have you done to make Mr Happy smile again?"

Oliver chuckled, “Not me; it was all her. Thank God for that.”

“I should just call her,” Harry mumbled.

Oliver grabbed the phone back. “She isn’t going to answer. She said she just wants to drop something off and doesn’t want to talk with you—at least, not yet.”

“I don’t care; I want to talk to her. I really need to see her,” Harry pushed back, frowning.

“I don’t think she wants to see you, man.”

“You really think that would stop me?”

“Nope, not at all.”

Maria jumped in, “Why don’t I just handle the talking—girl to girl? I’m really curious about her anyway.”

“No way.”

“Not happening.”

“Relax! I’m not going to bite her or anything,” she said, folding her arms.

“Look, I told her I’d go alone. But if you want to talk to her too, fine. You should get your act together anyway.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I need to figure this out, Ollie.”

“Alright, it’s getting late. I’ve got to bounce. See you in the morning.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and left while Harry went into the bedroom.

“Am I invisible or what?” Maria huffed.

“Just go home, Maria! I’m good; there’s nothing to worry about!” Harry's voice echoed in the hallway.

“Yeah, I can see it! You must care about this girl more than I thought if just one text can change your mood like this after we’ve been working hard for days and my efforts feel wasted.”

“Sorry about that!”

“Wow, you didn’t even put in an effort,” she said as she made her way to the door. “Hope that girl feels the same about you, dude. Catch you later.”

Harry thought about it while putting his T-shirt on. That’s what he was kinda unsure about—how you actually felt, especially after what went down last time. But he was set on making things right.

Whatever it took.

It was one of the most luxurious hotels in Manhattan. You arrived early in the morning, bubbling with excitement as you rushed straight to the kitchen. Danilo informed you that Chef Bruno prided himself on punctuality and had little patience for tardiness. You felt the weight of this when he grimaced slightly, revealing that you were only two minutes late—perhaps you weren't so early after all. Fortunately, he was also kind and helpful, and you soon impressed him by preparing and serving every dessert he requested throughout the day.

The kitchen buzzed with energy, resembling a beehive. Commis chefs and cooks labored over their dishes as waitstaff darted about, meticulously inspecting each plate before delivering them to the guests.

By evening, as the sun began to set, you had adjusted to the frantic pace. You couldn't help but dream of one day running your own bakery-restaurant amid such a whirlwind once you completed your training and got ready to receive your certificate. But you recognized that achieving that dream would require hard work and dedication.

As you glanced at your watch, you realized your meeting with Oliver was drawing near. Just as you were about to remove your apron and toque, a waiter approached Bruno and whispered something in his ear. Bruno turned to you with a glint in his eye, saying, “Here’s your chance to really shine.”

“I thought I had done enough for today,” you replied, the fatigue evident in your voice.

Bruno chuckled, “What you've accomplished so far are just baby steps, my dear. If you can whip up my specialty, the chef’s special, you might just receive that certificate sooner than you think.”

“I thought dinner service was over,” you replied with a frown. “Most of the staff has already called it a night.”

You felt utterly drained—exhaustion was an understatement.

“Do you know who we are serving for dessert?” Bruno asked, pulling out couverture chocolates and vanilla pods from a drawer.

You leaned over the counter, resting your elbows on it. “Who is it?”

“The owner of this hotel.”

Surprise lit up your face. “Really?”

“Absolutely! He orders my special dessert every Sunday night. Looks like today is your lucky day.”

“And I thought it was my unluckiest,” you murmured.

“Uh-oh. Success doesn’t come to those who shy away from challenges,” he replied playfully.

“Hey! What makes you think I’m afraid?” you shot back.

“Because you’re whining like a little girl,” he teased.

“All right then, can you share the recipe for your signature dessert, Chef?”

The dessert was a special creation, similar to a chocolate brownie topped with cherry sauce. You managed to prepare it in under half an hour, meticulously garnishing the plate with white chocolate and more cherry sauce.

“Well, not bad,” Bruno said, squinting as he appraised your work. “Let’s hope Mr. Finnegan likes it,” he added with a mischievous grin.

He was careful not to shower you with too much praise—this was no time for complacency, especially since he had asked you to deliver the plate personally.

Before you made your way out, Bruno advised you to carry the plate with one hand, not two, and to have confidence in yourself. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the dining room. You could feel Bruno's gaze following you as you approached the man sitting with his back to you. When he turned around, you were so taken aback that you nearly dropped the plate, ruining the dessert.

Bruno slapped his forehead in frustration, muttering quietly in his native language.

“Y-you... Alan?” you stammered, recognizing him. This was the man you’d encountered in Paris—what was he doing here?

He looked at you in surprise and then smiled. “Oh, you are the girl from Paris, whose name I still don't know.”

Embarrassed, you bowed your head and introduced yourself. “But what are you doing here?”

Alan laughed. “Well, I'm staying here; apparently, I own this hotel,” he replied with a polite smile.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. The coincidence was overwhelming. “Well, excuse me, I didn't know.”

“But I didn’t know you were a chef. You looked like a model or a celebrity the last time I saw you.”

You laughed nervously.

A model? A celebrity?

He must be joking.

"Well, I'm not actually a chef, I'm still trying to get my certificate so I can open my own restaurant."

“Really? I hope you get it. Did you prepare this?”

“Yes, please enjoy your dessert. I hope you like it.” You bowed your head slightly and turned to leave for the kitchen, but he stopped you with a raised hand.

“Why don't you join me?”

“But I... ” Just then, your phone rang. It was Oliver. Damn, it was almost nine o'clock. “I have to take this,” you said, looking at Alan, who nodded and took a forkful of his dessert.

“Oliver, I'm sorry I got held up at the hotel. Do you mind if I'm a bit late?” you asked in a whisper.

He responded from the other end, “Which hotel are you in?”

You told him the name of the hotel and where you were, then hung up. When you looked back at Alan, he was halfway through his dessert. He glanced at you. “It's really delicious. Taste it, please.” He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

It felt a bit awkward, but he was your big boss, so you couldn't refuse—not if you were going to work here with Bruno. You pulled the chair, sat down, and picked up the fork on the table. You took a bite of the dessert and realized it was fantastic. You smiled, proud of your creation. Alan's gaze was fixed on you; there was something strange about it, something you couldn't quite understand.

“Come on, finish it all,” he encouraged with a smile.

“But—”

“Come on, please. It's fun to watch you eat.”

What the hell?

What did he mean by that?

Some men really don’t know how to give compliments.

“So, how do you know Jack?” he inquired, still focused on you.

You swallowed the last bite of your dessert and replied truthfully, “I used to work as a housekeeper at his place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That's quite intriguing. But I shouldn't be surprised; I sensed you were a strong woman right from the start.” He chuckled, and you returned a shy smile.

Once you finished your plate, you glanced at him. “I’m really glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Just call me Alan, please,” he said with a warm smile.

At that moment, you heard someone call your name, causing you to jump in surprise. Harry was approaching you from across the hall. You froze, your eyes wide with shock. Instinctively, you took a step back, but before you could react further, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you.

“I finally found you,” he said, resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you even closer to his chest.

You stayed still, dazed by his sudden appearance. Then, you caught a glimpse of Oliver, and anger rose within you. Placing your hands on Harry's chest, you gently pushed him away.

Alan stood right beside you, and you cursed your luck. What a first impression.

With a quick, icy glance at Alan, Harry grabbed your hand and tugged it. “We need to talk. Come with me.”

“Wait…” you protested, but he held your hand firmly, making it hard to pull away. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Finnegan,” you added sheepishly. Alan frowned at the scene but didn't interfere. It seemed they knew each other.

As soon as you stepped outside, you managed to free your arm from his grasp. “Let go of me! What do you want, Harry?”

He frowned, looking slightly puzzled. But why? Had he forgotten how he treated you last time?

“How dare you just pull me away like that? I was with my boss!” you exclaimed.

“Your boss? Since when is Alan Finnegan your boss? And why are you dressed like this? Aren't you a housekeeper? ” he asked, scrutinizing your outfit.

Right.

There were no more secrets between the two of you.

Just heartbreak.

“You mean an unemployed housekeeper. Jack fired me, and I think you know that. And Alan, Mr. Finnegan… Wait a minute, why do I have to explain this to you? It’s over between us, isn’t it? Last time, you told me to ‘get out,’ and I did. That was pretty clear.”

Harry shook his head. “I am sorry. I misunderstood. I was angry. I thought you were a gold-digger or a crook. I had no idea you worked at Jack's house, and you didn’t tell me from the start. I felt betrayed. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

At that moment, one of the waiters approached you with your bag—the one you intended to give to Oliver.

“Thank you, Nancy,” you said.

“By the way, the clothes and the hat…” she pointed out, glancing at your outfit.

“Oh, sorry,” you replied, taking them off immediately. Once she left, you handed the bag to Harry. “Here, take this.”

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Stuff that doesn’t belong to me,” you said, looking away.

Harry peered into the bag and then back at you. “Are you serious? These were bought for you.”

“No, they’re for Melanie. I’m not Melanie,” you insisted.

“Why are you doing this?”

You ignored his question. “I couldn’t find one of the earrings, sorry.”

Harry was about to tell you that he had found the earring and had it with him, but before he could speak, you cut him off, making him more frustrated.

“I don’t want to owe you anything. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I’m ready to pay whatever it’s worth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” And what about the other things? The things that can’t be fixed with money?”

It was awkward to hear this from him.

You locked eyes, his expression serious and his gaze intense. “You deserve better than me, and you can do better than me,” you said, turning toward the street and starting to walk away.

Harry watched you for a moment before rushing to catch up. “What if I want you and not them?”

You kept walking, not sparing him a glance. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Ever since I first saw you. I like you for who you are, not just for the role you play as Melanie Johnson. If you wanted to object, you should have done it that night.”

“What did you expect? I was wearing her clothes, and you kissed me. I was going to end it, but I couldn’t, and I kept lying.”

"You didn’t have to keep lying for me to like you."

You stopped and faced him. “Who's kidding who, Harry? Do you really think you would have looked at me the same way if you knew I was the maid?”

He paused to think.

You shook your head. “That's what I thought,” you said, continuing to walk. He followed you.

“You didn't give me a chance. If you had explained everything, I would have answered that question. Besides, you judge me, but I never judged you.”

“But people like you often do. I am invisible to them, just someone who cleans and tidies up. Why should you be any different?”

“You're doing it again,” he muttered.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” you asked, stopping.

“The truth.”

“What truth?”

“You had to lie to me, and I understand that, but was everything a lie?”

You tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, feeling the weight of his eyes on you. “You want the truth? Part of me wanted to see what it felt like... to have someone like you look at me the way you did, even just once. And I’m sorry. Truly, I am. If I could go back to that night, I would tell Melanie to get off her ass and handle it herself.”

He sighed. “Was it real? Any of it?” His brown eyes searched yours, filled with a desperate plea for honesty.

You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him—not when he looked like that.

You nodded slowly. “Yes, it was real. So real that I struggled with the thought of letting you go. But I had to— that was the plan. Until that night came along. Then... I couldn’t. And when I walked into the room the other night, I meant to tell you everything, hoping you'd accept me for who I am.” You hastily wiped away a tear that threatened to spill down your cheek.

Harry took your hand, gazing deeply into your eyes. “Can't we start over? A second chance, another date—me as I am, and you as you. No secrets. What do you say?”

Your heart raced, like spring flowers blooming within you. But then that memory flashed in your mind—the moment he kicked you out of the room. What if one day, he hurt you because of your social status? Or if you hurt him simply by being who you are? You pulled your hands back. “Like I said, Harry, you can do better than me. Our worlds are so different; I just can’t fit into yours. Besides, I have my own dreams to chase, and I need to work for them. I made that promise to myself.”

“I can help you make that happen; you just have to ask.”

You frowned. “If I can’t achieve it on my own, then is it really success?”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Go on living as if I never crossed your path. Because that’s what I’ll do. It’s for the best. Goodbye, Harry,” you said coldly, turning away.

This time, he didn’t chase after you. You knew you had hurt him, maybe more deeply.

But this was better.

It had to be.

As you stepped out of the subway and started walking home, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Harry.

What on earth?

Hadn't you made yourself clear just a little while ago?

You opened the message, your heart racing.

“If you think I’m going to give up that easily, kitty, you’re mistaken. This isn’t over. It’s just the beginning. I’m going to make you mine.”

Kitty?

Seriously?

He's so back.

“Oh great, here we go again,” you muttered under your breath. As you made your way into the apartment building, you managed to open the door behind you with your back, using your foot to close it, texting him back.

“In your dreams, Mr. Castillo.”

“You're already in my dreams, darling.”

You felt your cheeks flush and took a moment to collect yourself before stepping inside your apartment. Upon entering, you noticed Zoe had already made herself at home.

"Hey honey! How was your day?" she asked cheerfully, but you sensed a strange tone in her voice.

“Oh, don’t even ask,” you sighed.

“Well, I hate to add to your stress, but…”

“Why? What happened?”

Zoe stepped aside and gestured towards the couch. “This happened.”

Your eyes went wide as you spotted an unconscious Melanie sprawled out on the sofa, completely wasted. “What the… Melanie?”

“A blond guy dropped her off this afternoon and just left. I didn’t know what to do, so I waited for you.”

“Ugh, Nate!” you hissed through gritted teeth. You immediately pulled out your phone and tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up.

“God damn it!” Frustrated, you dialed Jack’s number next, but he didn’t answer either.

What the hell?

Just then, your phone rang—finally! But it wasn’t Nate; it was a call from someone on the board of directors for the cleaning company.

“I’m calling to let you know your application has been approved, and you need to start work tomorrow morning, right away.”

Zoe looked at you expectantly. “Or?”

You met her gaze and nodded, which made her clap her hands in excitement.

“Uh-huh, I’ll be there,” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “Thanks,” you added and hung up.

“They finally called!” Zoe hugged you tightly.

“Yes!” you said, beaming with joy, but also wondering why they didn't call Zoe's number but called yours.

“So when do you start?”

“I have to be at the building by 8 a.m. sharp.”

“Is it standard house cleaning or regular maid service?”

“I’ll be cleaning one of the penthouses in the building. They mentioned we’d go over the details about continuity later, and I should be getting the address shortly,” you said, glancing down at your phone.

“What is it?” Zoe asked.

“It’s just a bit strange. Usually, they provide all the details right away, but they didn’t this time. Plus, they specified only one house. It feels like I was handpicked for that particular place.”

“Maybe the owner is really particular and prefers to have just one person working there. And let’s not forget, even though you were let go, you did have three years of private work in a mansion. Your resume speaks for itself.”

“Yeah, you might be right." Perhaps Jack left a glowing reference that influenced their decision.

“Come on, you’ve been waiting for this call for days. Stay positive!” she said, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

Just then, you both heard a series of grunts from Melanie. She rolled over on the couch and started snoring.

“What are we going to do about her?” she asked.

“We’ll tackle that in the morning. Let’s hit the hay before it gets too late. I start work tomorrow!”

“Yes, you do!”

You both touched each other’s hands, intertwined your fingers, jumped for joy, and embraced again.

“Let’s celebrate with your first paycheck! You’re buying!”

“Sure thing, girl!”

As you woke up that morning, a long-forgotten feeling washed over you, and a smile crept onto your face as you stepped out of bed. The weight of job responsibilities, the thrill of feeling useful, and the excitement of a new job with a fresh salary all surged within you—an opportunity that edged you closer to your dreams. While getting dressed, a sudden high-pitched scream jolted you. You sighed, recognizing the voice and knowing exactly who it belonged to.

Zoe was already in the living room when Melanie stood on the sofa, wide-eyed and looking utterly bewildered as if she had been kidnapped.

“Look who finally woke up!” Zoe snarled.

“What on earth are you screaming about?” You hissed

“Nate brought me here?” Melanie was a mess, with disheveled hair and smudged makeup on her face. She sank onto the couch, still feeling dizzy.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. "You've just woken the neighbors, you weirdo," Zoe grumbled as she went to open it. "Oh, hey John!"

“Are you girls okay? I was worried when I heard that scream,” he said, peering inside as you waved him in. “Hey John, sorry!” you replied with a grin. “We’re having a sleepover, and someone is still drunk.”

Zoe flushed bright red, embarrassed at being caught in her pajamas by her crush. You stepped closer to her and stifled a laugh.

“Wow, that's fine. I was actually going to knock on your door anyway,” he said, glancing over at Zoe. “By the way, are you going to the wedding this weekend?”

“The fancy one with all the celebs and billionaires? Yeah, I’ll be there. They’re paying pretty well,” she said.

“Same here; otherwise I'd have no reason to go. I’m already wiped out from working two jobs during the week; I’m really grinding it out.”

“Full-time waiter?” you mocked.

“Also doing deliveries,” John sighed.

“Wow, you must be a superhero or something.”

“Gotta pay the bills, girl. Want to come along, too? I can ask the boss.”

“Pass on the waitress gig, and I don’t need to; they called me yesterday. I was just about to head out for work.”

“Really? That’s awesome,” he responded, giving you a friendly tap on the shoulder.

“Thanks, John. I need to get ready and head out now,” you smiled at both of them and turned back toward your room.

“Good luck!” he called after you, then turned to Zoe. “We’ll pick you up with the guys Saturday afternoon.”

“Sounds good!” she replied, visibly more relaxed.

You called Nate again as you stepped off the subway, making your way through the streets of Manhattan to the address they had sent you.

“Yep?” he replied, sounding groggy.

“Listen, that thing you left on my couch yesterday? You need to come and get it right now and throw it out, got it?”

“Thing? You mean Melanie? Are you really calling her trash?”

“To me, she is.”

“Come on, babe, I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You raised your voice more than you meant to, causing a few passersby to give you curious glances. Ashamed, you lowered your head and kept walking.

“Don't you think it's partially your fault Jack kicked her out?”

“How dare you say that? Do you even hear yourself?”

Your stomach turned when you heard the unmistakable sound of a girl, no, two girls moaning on the other end of the line, and it hit you why. “I’m a little busy right now. If you're not joining the fun, I should hang up.”

“Ugh! You’re disgusting! I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe,” he said with a cheeky laugh.

Fuming, you abruptly ended the call and shoved the phone into your bag. “What an asshole.” He was a real pain in the neck. As you continued down the street, thinking about how to deal with Melanie, a car pulled up to the curb just as you crossed the street. You nearly stumbled when you heard a familiar voice.

“Morning, beautiful.” Harry was leaning back in the seat of his Mercedes, window half down and a grin plastered on his face.

“Harry? Oh, please, not now. Go away—I’m already running late.”

“Want a lift?”

“No, thanks. After last night, I realized I should avoid you,” you said firmly, resuming your pace. The car kept moving alongside you at a slow crawl.

“Would you consider avoiding me over breakfast?” he asked, still grinning.

“Look, Harry, I’m really sorry, but I’m starting a new job today and I just can’t fit you into my schedule. Is that clear?”

“Hmmm. Not as clear as the memories of that night in Paris with you meowing in my ear. Which I have been replaying over and over. Like a special kinda music to my ears.” he said, smirking and pointing at his ears.

You paused for a moment, swallowing hard as your cheeks flushed. “Huh! I’ve already forgotten; I suggest you do the same. Just erase the damn tape!”

He pursed his lips teasingly. “Hmph, I could if I didn’t still have your fingernail marks on my back. Nice color, by the way,” he remarked, nodding at your nails.

You glanced at the red polish you had applied just the night before, then back at him, watching as he chuckled at your reaction. You frowned and said, “Just knock it off.”

"I will, but only if you promise to let me take you to dinner one night," he replied with the cutest grin.

Oh boy.

Those damn puppy-dog eyes.

Shit.

Ignoring the rapid beating of your heart, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Fine, but not anytime soon. I’m swamped with work.” You were already at the entrance of the apartment building.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, kitty. See ya!”

You squinted at him as you crossed the street. He rolled up his window and sped off around the corner. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the building.

“Is everything set?” Harry asked, just settling into his seat at the office.

Oliver nodded, noticing the grin on his face and his upbeat demeanor. “Yes, the meeting kicks off in ten minutes. Maria's on her way.

By the way, your invitation arrived. The tailor is expecting you tomorrow. With the wedding this weekend, time is tight.”

“I know, thanks,” Harry replied, setting aside his friend’s wedding invitation. He pulled out his iPad and opened the smart home app, looking as excited as a kid in a candy store.

“Why didn’t you mention that you found the other earring?” Oliver suddenly inquired.

“It just didn’t feel like the right time,” Harry responded.

“Listen, if I know her at all, she’ll want to make it up to you,” Oliver said.

“That’s exactly what I want,” Harry replied.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "I had no clue you had a bit of a dark side, buddy."

Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’s just an excuse to see her, isn’t it?”

Harry didn’t reply, but Oliver could tell the answer was yes. “Like you wouldn’t see her often anyway,” he suggested with a smirk. “You better put as much effort into your work as you do into chasing her, or Maria's going to kick our asses,” he added before heading out of the office.

Harry tuned him out and connected to the home camera in the penthouse through the app. When he spotted you in your maid outfit, pushing the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, he couldn’t help but smile. “Welcome home, Cinderella,” he murmured to himself.

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bettelaboure · 3 months ago

Text

⊹ Tangled in The Past⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, explicit sexual content, rough sex, dominance/submission dynamics, jealousy, possessiveness, implied infidelity, and strong language

i don't know, just pure smut with little plotline...

⊹ Summary: a glamorous ballroom becomes the battleground for unresolved emotions when you cross paths with your ex, Seung-Hyun. What begins as a night of celebration spirals into a heated confrontation, reigniting old wounds, passion, and a dangerous game of control neither of you are ready to surrender.

⊹ Authors note: no words... Kind of breathless...

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The ballroom shimmered in golden hues, chandeliers casting reflections across the glossy floor as laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. It was the perfect setting for a celebration, but for you, it had turned into something entirely different—a battlefield.

You hadn’t even been paying attention at first, too busy dancing with someone new, enjoying the moment, letting yourself forget. His hand had been warm on your waist, his laughter light in your ear, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at ease.

But then, a ripple of laughter from a nearby table had caught your ear. And then his voice—smooth, confident, just like always.

“She’s probably here hoping to find someone new. You know how desperate she gets.”

Your fingers had tightened around your partner’s hand, your stomach twisting. The words shouldn’t have mattered. They shouldn’t have burrowed under your skin the way they did. But hearing them from Seung-Hyun, spoken so casually, as if you weren’t even worth the effort of being discreet? That had sent a sharp sting of betrayal through your chest.

So now, you stood in front of him, the taste of bitterness still fresh on your tongue.

“Are you serious right now?” Seung-Hyun’s voice was low, sharp, barely audible over the ambient jazz playing in the background.

You turned on your heel, nostrils flaring. “Oh, I don’t know, Seung-Hyun. Am I? Or am I just reacting like a normal person who doesn’t appreciate her ex making a joke at her expense?”

“It was a joke,” he exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair. His tuxedo was crisp, his tie slightly loosened from the night’s revelry, and yet he stood rigidly before you. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You called me desperate.”

A flicker of something passed over his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. But he masked it as quickly as it appeared, sighing. “I was joking, and you know it. You always take things too seriously.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that held no amusement. “Right. I’m always the problem.”

“You’re making a scene,” he muttered, shifting his gaze to the nearby guests who had begun stealing glances your way.

“And you made a joke about me at my expense in front of all these people,” you shot back, stepping closer. “So, forgive me if I don’t particularly care about appearances right now.”

His jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed whatever words he wanted to say next.

You should’ve walked away then. Should’ve let it go. But emotions swirled inside you, tangled with memories, old wounds that hadn’t quite healed, and the lingering sting of his words.

So instead, you lifted your hand and flipped him off.

Seung-Hyun’s brows lifted in disbelief, mouth parting slightly. “You’re—”

But you didn’t stay to listen. Turning sharply, you stormed past the curious onlookers, your dress swishing around your legs as you made a beeline for the hotel reception desk.

“I need a key to my room,” you demanded, voice still shaking slightly with residual anger.

The receptionist, a young woman with a polite but slightly startled expression, quickly began typing into the system. “May I have your name?”

You rattled it off, tapping your fingers against the counter as you felt Seung-Hyun’s presence approach from behind.

“Running away, as always,” he murmured, his voice softer this time, but still carrying that infuriating edge.

You turned just enough to glare at him. “And you’re following me, as always.”

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to act like you don’t still—”

“Don’t.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like you don’t know exactly why I left.”

“You left because you thought I didn’t care,” he said, his voice rough with frustration. “Because I was too busy with my career, too caught up in appearances to give you what you wanted.”

You clenched your jaw, the hurt flashing in your eyes before you quickly masked it. “No, I left because I realized I was never going to be enough for you. You always had to be admired, always had to be the center of attention, even if it meant putting me down to do it.”

His face fell, just slightly. “That’s not true.”

You let out a sharp exhale, shaking your head. “It is. Tonight just proved it again.”

The receptionist cleared her throat, extending the key card to you. “Here you go, Miss.”

You grabbed it, offering a small, tight-lipped smile before turning to leave. But as you brushed past Seung-Hyun, his fingers barely ghosted over your wrist, a touch so fleeting you almost questioned if it had happened at all.

“You’re still running,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You hesitated for only a second before pulling away completely, stepping into the elevator without looking back.

You pressed the card against the little scanner and it clicked, letting you know that it unlocked. Carefully, you pushed it open and placed the card in a slot to turn on the lights. When the room lit up, you were met with a surprise. It was already filled with belongings.

The bed was still made but on it rested a hoodie. The desk had a laptop still open with a art documentary up and a half-drunken bottle of wine. On the bedside table rested a pair of glasses, a phone charger and two notebooks.

This room was already occupied. The lady at the front desk must have messed up.

You wandered over the closet and saw it filled with a couple different suits, dressing shirts, a paid of jeans and a shirt.

You were so caught up that you missed the sound of the door opening and footsteps echoing in.

“What are you doing in my room?”

A low, deeply known voice made you jumped and you whipped your head around.

Seung-Hyun.

Your pulse hammered against your skin as he closed the door and looked at you with those piercing eyes.

“I asked you a question,” he began, “What are you doing in my room?”

His tone glimmered with confusion but also aggravation.

“The..The lady at the front desk,” you barely managed to get your words out. “She..She must have given me the spare key card to your room by mistake.”

He scoffed and shook his head, walking further into the room as if you weren’t event there. “And you decided to snoop?”

“I’m not... I wasn’t —“

“Then why is your hands still on my suit?” He slapped the laptop on his desk closed and turned around to face you, waiting for an answer.

You looked to see your hands clawing onto his suit for dear life. Shit.

“I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight.” You changed the subject. Why are you still talking to him?

“I'm the main investor in this place, you should have understood that,” He chuckled. “Why did you come, though? You could’ve stayed at home.”

“I wanted to get out and be away from shit for a while.” You stated, giving any remourse in your tone. “Am I not allowed to do that?” You rased an eyebrow.

“I don’t own you, Y/N. You’re not mine anymore.”

You felt a lump growing in your throat and you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Good, at least that is established.” You coughed awkwardly and ran your hands down the front of your dress as you began to walk away.

“Oh yeah, you established that very well when you danced with that man.” You heard him bitterly remark under his breath.

You turned on your heel and narrowed your eyes at him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He simply said. Oh, you heard him well.

You looked him in the eye, “His name is Jae-eon, and I had lots and lots of fun dancing with him, thank you so much for asking.”

He didn’t looked impressed, instead you watched his jaw tick as he stretched his fingers by his side, as if he was itching to touch something. “Are you two a thing then, hum?”

“You have no right to ask that.” You shot back. “Last time I checked, my life is none of your concern.”

“And what does that mean?” He scoffed angrily.

“It means,” you stepped further into the room till you stood opposite him. “I have every right to do whatever the hell I want with him without your permission or judgement.”

“Is that so?” He took a step forward.

“Yes, so maybe I was going to go back to his room, maybe I was going to let him bend my pretty ass over his bead and fuck me rough. “ Your voice became stern. Cold. “Maybe I was going to moan his name all night and beg him to fuck me harder. Maybe he could fuck me better than you.”

“So what? You are throwing yourself at people now?”

Anger bubbled in your veins.

“I’m not throwing myself at people. And you have no right to even say that when you went and ran to Jun-hee for some quick fucking as soon as we were done! What are you now? Her new little fuck toy?” You let that slip out before you even registered what you just said. Oh shit.

He laughed a cold laugh, “Me and Jun-hee? Please, she’s just been sticking to my side to gain more attention. I barely event let her touch me.”

“Well, you don’t seem to object. I guess you must like that little doll.”

“I guess you must like trying to make me jealous whoring around with another man—“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you stormed right up to him and slapped him across the face.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that, you motherfucker.” You gritted through your teeth.

He gazed down at you, eyes blazing with a fierce storm you hadn’t had seen before. It was heated and merciless.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” He warned it a deep, low voice.

You went to slap him again, “Fuck you—“ but your sentence wasn’t finished and your hand never met his skin as he grabbed your wrist and pinned you against the closed door, harsly.

“Do that again. I dare you.” He warned in low, menacing tone. You couldn’t even speak due to the shock. “Go on. Do it.” No words could from in your throat. “Lost for words, baby?”

His smug tone made your blood boil.

“Fuck you.” You spat. “You’re a fucking motherfucker and I fucking hate you.”

“Don’t worry,” he gripped you thigh under your dress, “The feeling is mutual.”

Slowly, he trailed his hand up your thigh, his warm hands moulding into your soft skin. Not once did he looked away from your eyes, his hand climbing higher and higher under your dress. You didn’t want to give in and kept your eyes on him, refusing to show him the torment he was putting you through.

When his hand cupped you, over the thin material of your underwear, you couldn’t help but let out the faintest of gasps.

He ran a finger across your covered slit, feeling the wetness soaking through. You hated that he turned you on so much, especially now with his eyes scorching into yours with such a merciless lust, you couldn’t control yourself.

His fingers began swirling your clit, working with the material of my underwear in a sweet friction. You kept looking into his eyes, refusing to show any reaction, when in reality your insides were burning. This was a fight, a mental one, and you weren’t going to lose.

You tried your best to keep your breath steady, fighting the temptation to gasp and moan, when his fingers slipped inside your underwear and worked your clit in the slowest of pleasurable circles. Don’t moan. Whatever you do, don’t moan.

You could see the smirk in his eyes as he continued playing with you, swirling your clit now with his thumb, applying the gentlest of pressures to tease you. Make you beg for more.

A finger of his parted the slick skin guarding your entrance and slowly eased inside of you.

With his finger inside you, curling and thrusting, his thumb rubbing your clit, every part of your body burned and screamed in heaven.

He leaned down so that his lips grazed your ear, “Don’t moan, baby.” He taunted. “Don’t give into me.” He smiled against your skin. He knew what he was doing.

“You like it, don’t you? You like how my finger can fuck you and drive you insane?”

Don’t moan. Don’t moan. Don’t give in.

“Want me to add another?”

As soon as second finger entered you, everything in you shattered.

“Fuck—“ you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as his fingers fucked you.

“There it is.” He smirked. His thumb worked faster as his fingers picked up a pace, thrusthing in and out, curling to hit all the spots they needed to. “You going to say my name for me too?”

“I— fucking—hate you.” You gritted through your teeth between breaths.

“But you pussy seems to love me. You are so wet, it that all for me?” He trust his fingers faster, rolling and rubbing your clit, applying even more pressure.

“Fuck you — ah!” You felt yourself climbing higher and higher to your climax. Just as you felt yourseld about to let go, he painfully removed his fingers, and you were left whimpering in the most painful ache.

“You think you’ve got such a smart mouth.” He gripped your chin, so you looked up at him. “Get on your knees.”

You practically fell to your knees as he let go with your legs still wobbling. You brushed your hair out of your face, redness climbing up your cheeks as he unbuckled and removed his belt, let his pants drop to the floor and pulled out his hard and throbbing erection from his boxers. Wetness leaked from the tip, and it was practically pulsing with need.

He gripped you by your hair and guided your mouth to his cock. You sucked on the tip, swirling your tongue around the slit, sucking up the pre-cum.

“You make me so fucking hard.” He groaned and tightened his grip on your hair. You took him further in your mouth, as much as you could to suck from base to tip. So hard that you hollowed your cheeks and his cock came out of your lips with a popping sound.

You gazed up at him through lashes, innocently widening your eyes as you sucked and circled your tongue around the tip.

He closed his eyes and let out a depper groan.

“You’re so hard.” You teased, licking him from the base to the tip, “Is that all for me?”

You grinned, mimicking him, taking his cock in your mouth as far as you could and started bobbing, lapping your tongue around the tip every time you came back up.

His chest heaved up and down as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, keeping a tight grip on your hair. He began to thrust his hips up and guided your head to go faster. You gagged and tried to keep up with the pace of his thrusting, almost gasping for air as he fucked your mouth.

“Look at the pretty girl with her pretty lips around my cock.” He groaned. “It that enough for you? You want me to fuck your mouth harder?”

He started thrusting in and out harshly, bruising your lips with the most erotic movements you had ever seen.

He thrust harder, fucking your mouth remorselessly, battering your throat. Fuck, this is so hot. One hand gripping your hair, the other holding the side of your face as his hips worked fast and hard.

“You want another man to fuck your pretty mouth like this?” He mused, groaning as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly. You gagged and tears spilled down your cheeks as he stuffed his mouth with his cock. You reached down to play with yourself, rubbing your clit through your underwear as hard as you could as the ache between your legs got too much to bear.

You could feel the pulsing of his climax start to rumble with every groan that echoed through the room. Abruptly, he yanked himself out from your mouth, his erection standing tall, coated in your gleaming saliva.

He looked down at you and watched you touch yourself, still on your knees, gasping and whimpering in desperation. Without a warning, he grabbed you chin and forced you up to your feet, grabbing your wrist, losing contact with yourself and replaced it with his.

“It this what you want?” He whispered darkly. “You want this?” He pushed your underwear to the side and started to roll your clit between his fingers. “Words, baby, or I’m leaving.”

“Yes—“ you gasped. “Oh god, yes.”

He hoisted you up and slammed you up against the wall. And then, out of nowhere, your underwear was ripped from your skin. Ripped.

You have never seen this part of Seung-Hyun. You were used to a little bit rougher sex, but not like this.

He got down on his knees, licking you from slit to the clit, toying his tongue between the slick skin dripping with your arousal before he met your clit and began flicking it. The warmth of his wet tongue made you curse him even more and throw your head back.

“Fuck, Tabi.” You moaned, not being able to hold yourself back.

“You like that?” He murmured against you. “Tabi? Not Seung-Hyun, not Motherfucker?”

He looked up to stare you in the eyes whilst his tongue continuously flicked your clit.

“Fuck.” You cried. It was so good. Too good.

Suddenly, he stood back up, leaving you with a feeling of loss. Your legs wobbled so badly that you thought you were about to fall over any second. His hands connected with the back of your dress and ripped it down. And now every part of you was exposed to him.

His fingers thrust into you, and your legs almost gave out. He pushed you down onto the bed and spread your legs even further, getting a better view to watch his fingers fuck you as he stood over you.

“So tight.” He slowed his pace and continued working them in and out. “Tell me a secret, baby. Do you want me?”

“Seung-Hyun!” You cried as he began to curl his fingers, thrusting them in and out in slow, deep strokes.

“Ah, and we are back to formal names.” He mused. “I don’t hear the right words, baby.”

“Ye—yes.” You pleaded.

He smiled to himself and removed his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking all the traces of you off. He brought them up to your lips, and commanded, “Suck.”

And you did. Shamelessly.

He trailed his fingers down your neck, to your breasts, tweaking the hard pebbles of your nipples. “I would kiss them.” He whispered,” But you are making a mess, aren’t you?”

He grabbed you by your hair at the nape of your neck, so your head was tilted back.

When his lips hovered over yours, he ordered, “Get on your hands and knees.”

You completely froze as those words slipped his lips in the utmost dominance. And he didn’t like your pause. “Now.” He demanded ruthlessly.

You scrambled onto the bed and got into the position he asked you to.

He removed the rest of his clothing and then walked around the bed till he stood by his desk, looking at you.

“What..—What are you doing?” You whimpered, aching so badly for a release, you suppressed your embarrassment at being in such a vulnerable position.

He was so far away and seemed to be admiring the position you were in for him. During your relationship, he never made you so vulnerable. You were the one biting.

He wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked it.

“Beg.”

The word made you still. Beg.

“I—“

“Beg.” He cut me off. Beg. Never in your relationship he asked you to beg. Especially not for sex.

“I—I don’t know how.”

He chuckled darkly to himself, still working his hand up and down his pulsing cock. “Figure it out. You are a big girl.”

“Tabi..” You pleaded. “Please.”

“Not good enough. You want me to fuck you? Beg.”

Your blood boiled. “You want to see me begging? Go to hell. I won’t tell you how burning it feels, how I miss your cock inside me, ripping me apart. So fucking ba—“ He lifted up on finger to pause you and walked over.

He was only an inch from you and a hard smack landed on your ass cheek.

“A feisty tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day, but you are lucky I love you.” He pushed a hand down your back to arch it even more. “Only good girls get to cum. Are you a good girl?”

“Yes.” You whimpered.

“Say it.” He commanded.

“I’m a good girl.”

“Are you mine good girl?” He hummed and ran his cock along your wetness, teasing you so much, you ached even more.

“I’m yours.”

“I can’t hear you, princess.”

“I’m yours.” He pushed the tip into your wetness.

“You sure about that?” He asked, pushing his cock inside of you, deeper. “You sure that you only mine good girl? Only I can make you feel this way?”

“Yes.” You nodded furiously. “I’m only yours, Tabi.”

You moaned as his thick girth stretched you out, pressing against your walls.

“Correct.” He whispered, slowly kissing up your back. “You are being such a good girl taking all of my cock. I’m so proud of you, princess.”

He slowly began thrusting in and out, making your body shake with pleasure.

“Ah, Tabi!” You cried.

His hips rolled against your ass, gridding so his cock started hitting deeper, pressing all the right spots. Every part of your body was on fire, burning in complete pleasure and heaven as he pounded into you.

“Good god, fuck.” You gasped. The sounds of wet skin slapping echoed around the room as he buried himself inside of you, the hardness of him stretching you to accommodate for him.

Your arms barely hold yourself up and gave out. Your cheek rested against the soft sheets with your ass high in the air.

“Please...” You begged desperately, your eyes clouding from the glaze of threatening to spill down your cheeks.

He wrapped his hand around your stomach and pulled you up, your back pressed against his front and your head falling down onto his shoulder.

“So needy.” He kissed up your neck, biting and sucking the skin. His hands found your breasts and massaged them, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“Seung-Hyun!” You sobbed, tears falling down your cheeks. “It’s too.. It’s too much.”

“Oh princess.” He chuckled against your skin. “Is my pretty girl complaining?”

“No—”

“You created this, you pushed me over my limits. Why don’t you cherish it a little more?” He groaned and grinded against you harder, thrusting deeper. He was right. You did create this.

He raised his thumb up to your lips.

“Suck.” He commanded. You opened your mouth, and he pressed his fingers against the pad of your tongue. Gently, he moved them in and out. You hollowed your cheeks to such it hard and felt his grunts turn harsher.

He removed his thumb and brought it down to play with your clit. The sensation of his cock pounding deep inside of you matched with his biting across your neck.

“I’m—I’m close.”

“Hold it.” He commanded.

“I can’t—Please, Tabi, please let me cum.” You begged, hot tears falling down your cheeks. It was too much, you felt like you were going to die.

His thrusts got sloppier, letting me know that he was close too. “Look at you, princess.”

He whispered, “Look at you now. Begging for me to let you cum. Such a good girl for me.”

Your body was shaking as you tried to hold your climax. “Please!”

“Cum for me.”

As soon as he whispered that, you let go and the wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in complete ecstasy. Every noise faded out into a ringing sound and every light in the room exploded into a burning ball of brightness.

You clenched him as your orgasm burst through you and his grunts got heavier. He came, his warm cum coating your walls, causing you to let out more whimpers.

“So good.” He whispered. “You were so good for me.”

“Tabi...” You began to sob when he reached out to you, turning you around and bringing you into his arms.

“I know, baby.” He whispered into your hair and kisses your forehead. “It’s all going to be okay. Just promise me, that no matter what, you will always be my princess.”

�� ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @sherrayyyyy @mirahyun @sherxoo

#fanfic #bigbang #big bang #choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun scenario #t.o.p bigbang #choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #choi seunghyun smut #top smut #top bigbang

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platonicaxaxe · 29 days ago

Text

Deathtrap & Bob ⁶

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: Mad Bob->Sentry

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

Two Weeks Later – Avengers Tower

The Tower had a pulse now.

Not the cold, clinical hum of mission logs and training routines—but laughter in the halls, coffee mugs left beside comic books, and the sound of footsteps that weren’t always measured or militant. Yn had been staying at the Tower for two weeks, and the change was tangible.

She wasn’t just a guest anymore. She belonged.

Training Room – 10:34 A.M.

“Again,” Yelena said, smirking as she lunged forward.

Yn ducked, rolled to the side, and swept Yelena’s legs—but her blonde opponent caught herself mid-fall, flipping into a backwards stance with a grunt.

“Your balance is better,” Bucky observed from the side, tossing a small towel over his shoulder. “But don’t overextend.”

“I’m trying,” Yn said between breaths, wiping the sweat from her brow. “But Yelena’s built like a machine.”

“Thank you,” Yelena said proudly. “You hit harder now, too. Must be all that ‘love power’ from golden boy.”

Yn snorted, tossing a towel at her. “Shut up.”

At the edge of the mat, Bob stood silently, arms crossed, eyes trained on Yn like a hawk.

Every time someone struck at her, even during practice, he had to restrain his instinct to intervene. His fingers twitched, his golden aura faintly flickering at his shoulders.

“She’s fine,” Bucky said lowly to him. “Let her breathe.”

Bob nodded stiffly. “I know. I just…”

“You love her,” Bucky finished, matter-of-fact.

Bob didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Bob had just returned from debrief with the team after a short recon mission. Yn sat on the couch in his hoodie, legs tucked under her, sipping tea as she watched something play softly on the TV. When Bob stepped into the room, her head turned immediately.

“There you are,” she said, smiling.

Bob melted.

“Hey. Sorry—Val kept us an extra thirty minutes.”

“Did you win the war?” she teased.

Bob chuckled as he sat beside her. She instantly curled into his side, her head finding that familiar space near his collarbone.

“We missed you,” she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. “We?”

“Myself... and the heating system.”

He laughed again, quieter this time. “I’ll take it.”

Valentina stood in front of a holographic screen, arms folded, her expression unreadable as she watched surveillance footage. Yn sparring. Yn in the training gym. Yn walking in the garden. Yn laughing with Bob in the mess hall.

“Playback again,” she ordered curtly.

Mel, typing behind her, gave her a glance. “Ma’am, this is the fifth time today.”

Val didn’t look away. “I want to know how someone like her breaks through someone like him.”

“Maybe she didn’t break him,” Mel offered. “Maybe she just... held the right pieces.”

Val turned slowly. “Don’t romanticize it. She was trained to seduce, manipulate, kill—in that order. The Red Room didn’t raise wives, Mel.”

Mel frowned but nodded.

Valentina narrowed her eyes at the screen. Yn was now laughing at something Bob said, her hand over his, light, relaxed.

“She plays it well. Civilian enough for the public to ignore. Deadly enough for the right agencies to notice. If this goes south…”

“We’ll be ready,” Mel said quickly.

“No,” Val corrected. “I’ll be ready.”

Back in Bob’s Room – Midnight

Yn stared out the window at the stars.

“Do you think I’m ready?” she asked softly.

Bob, lying behind her in bed, propped himself on one elbow. “Ready for what?”

“To have a life.”

“You’ve always deserved one,” he said gently.

She turned to him. “Even with everything I’ve done?”

He reached for her hand. “Especially because of everything you’ve survived.”

She blinked, lips trembling slightly. Then she nodded, pressing her forehead to his.

And somewhere in the building above them, Valentina watched the glowing footage in silence, her reflection cold in the glass.

The storm wasn’t here yet. But she could feel it coming.

The room was dimly lit, windows casting long shadows across polished floors. Valentina stood by the window, the city twinkling behind her like a breathing organism. Her fingers held a glass of dark wine, swirling slowly as she stared out at the skyline—calculating.

Mel entered quietly behind her, tablet in hand.

“You asked for me?” she said cautiously.

Val didn’t turn to look. “Yes.”

She took a slow sip before speaking again. “I want you to pull up every unredacted file on The Deathtrap. Everything—missions, confirmed kills, suspected hits, aliases. Anything that slipped past the Red Room's wipe.”

Mel hesitated. “That’s… a lot of digging. You sure you want to do this now?”

Val turned sharply, her eyes gleaming.

“She’s been here two weeks, Mel. Bob is changing. And not in a way I can predict.”

Common Room

The fireplace flickered, casting golden light across the dark walls. Bob stood silently, arms crossed, eyes on the flames. Val entered alone, her heels echoing faintly against the floor.

“You wanted to talk,” he said, not turning.

Val didn’t waste time.

“I know you love her,” she said.

Bob finally turned, eyes cautious.

“But love,” she continued, “can be the perfect blindfold. It’s soft. It’s warm. And it’s dangerous.”

Bob raised a brow. “Is that what this is about? Another lecture?”

Val stepped forward, voice lowering. “You know what the Red Room is, Robert. You’ve seen enough minds to understand. You’ve read dark thoughts, disturbing ones—Yn was born into that. Forged in it. She’s not just a victim; she’s a weapon that walked.”

Bob’s jaw tightened. “She was a weapon. She’s not anymore.”

“That’s what you want to believe,” Val said, circling him slowly like a panther. “But let me show you something.”

She threw a tablet onto the table. On it, an old mission dossier flickered to life: Classified Black Ops: Subject — Deathtrap. Moscow. Target neutralized. Body count: 12. Clean hit. No witnesses.

Another file. Another hit. Another dozen dead. She scrolled quickly through them, page after page of carnage and blood.

“She was their prized killer, Robert. Her hands are redder than most of ours combined.”

Bob stared at the screen for a moment. But then… he looked back at Val, completely unmoved.

“And she hated every second of it.”

Val scoffed. “How do you know?”

“Because I can feel it,” he said, voice rising, glowing light flickering faintly around his eyes. “I see her nightmares. I see the child in her still trapped in that place. Every time she flinches at loud sounds. Every time she stares at her own hands like they betrayed her.”

“She’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” Bob growled. “More than anyone here.”

“If the government finds out she’s here—”

“I’ll protect her.”

“They’ll want her in a cell, Robert!”

“They’ll have to go through me first,” he snapped.

Val’s voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You’d destroy everything we built here… for her?”

Bob stepped forward, now face to face with her. “No. I’d destroy everything you built—if it means saving the only person who makes me feel human.”

Val’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“No, Val,” Bob said, voice calmer now but firm. “For the first time in my life… I am.”

Bob closed the door softly behind him. Yn was sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading. She looked up, eyes instantly softening.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

He nodded, walking toward her. “Yeah… just had to shut someone up.”

“Val?”

He climbed onto the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

“She doesn’t understand what love looks like. But I do.”

Yn leaned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You sure I’m not too much baggage?”

“You’re my favorite kind,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

And outside the room, behind a screen, Val watched in silence—her plan faltering as love, once again, refused to be broken.

Valentina’s Private Office – Midnight

The moonlight spilled faintly through the high-rise glass windows, casting silver stripes across the sleek, cold marble floor. The city was quiet, but inside the tower—tension simmered.

Yn stood in front of Valentina’s door, jaw tight, knuckles slightly white from clenching. After a breath, she knocked once and walked in—without waiting for an answer.

Valentina was pouring herself a drink, calm and composed as ever.

“Well,” Val said coolly, without looking up. “Didn’t expect you to come to me.”

“I bet you didn’t expect me to hear what you said to Bob either,” Yn replied sharply, shutting the door behind her.

Val turned, swirling her glass lazily. “So the assassin does eavesdrop.”

Yn took a step forward, voice low but steady. “Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”

Val chuckled, leaning back against her desk. “Let’s not pretend, sweetheart. You already know why. You’re a liability.”

Yn’s eyes narrowed. “To who? You? Or the government?”

“To everyone,” Val snapped, the mask finally cracking. “You may play the part of the quiet girlfriend, the broken stray Bob’s trying to fix—but I know your kind. The Red Room doesn’t train women. It rewires them.”

“You think I asked for any of it?” Yn hissed. “You think I chose that life?”

“No,” Val said coolly. “But the world doesn’t care about your trauma. They only care about results. And your results come with bodies. Too many. Too bloody.”

Yn took another step forward, her tone icy. “You’re not scared of what I’ve done. You’re scared of what I mean to Bob. That he’s not yours to manipulate anymore.”

Val slammed her glass on the desk, her voice finally rising.

“You’re going to be the mole that rots the Avengers from the inside,” she hissed. “You think the world won’t find out who you are? What you’ve done? You think Bob’s glowing little heart will be enough when governments start questioning why a mass killer is sleeping in a secured tower?!”

Yn didn’t flinch.

“I’ll face whatever comes. But I’m not leaving him. Or this team.”

“You’re a time bomb,” Val seethed.

“And you’re just pissed that he’s no longer dancing to your strings.”

Silence fell between them—thick, suffocating.

Val picked up her glass again. “This isn’t over.”

Yn leaned in, just slightly. “It never is with women like us.”

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving Val alone with her spiraling thoughts and unfinished wine.

From the shadows near the hallway, Mel had been listening. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face for the first time.

The day before the mission, Valentina stood at the front of the room, tapping her fingers against the polished table as a digital map flickered to life behind her. Her tone was professional—cold and calculated.

“We have intel on a Hydra cell resurfacing in rural Latvia. Minimal resistance, clean sweep, in-and-out op. Bob, you’ll lead. Yelena, Bucky, Mel… and Deathtrap,” Val said with a flat gaze at Yn.

“Yn,” Bob corrected gently, but firm. “Her name is Yn.”

Val’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course.”

Yn, standing beside Bob, crossed her arms. “I can handle myself. Just tell me what to do.”

Val’s eyes lingered on her a second too long before turning to the others. “Good. Wheels up at 0400.”

Latvia – Abandoned Facility – Operation Site

The mission was smooth—too smooth. Yn moved like a ghost through the corridors, silently disabling targets and leading the way. She took down the final room, disarmed a Hydra tech, and retrieved the data drive.

Suddenly—click.

She froze.

A bombcuff locked around her wrist. A synchronized warning sound blared, and all members’ comms echoed the same words:

"Warning: If any unauthorized individual attempts to remove or interfere, detonation is imminent."

“What the hell—?!” Bucky shouted, spinning toward the source.

Yn stood frozen, her breath caught. The cuffs were glowing—live.

“Yn!” Bob moved toward her instantly, glowing with golden light. “Get that thing off her now—I swear—”

“Stop,” Yn said quickly, holding up her cuffed hand.

Everyone turned to her.

“I… I think I know what this is.” She looked directly at Val, who had just stepped off a nearby unmarked aircraft.

“This was never a mission,” Yn whispered. “This was a setup.”

Val didn’t deny it. Her voice rang over the team’s confusion.

“We’ve received footage. Discreet agencies. Cases covered up by people who were paid off. And now the truth will be public.”

Yelena’s voice broke through the tension. “Val, don’t—”

“Yn,” Bob’s eyes were glowing, his aura beginning to radiate power. “I-I can destroy all of this—I’ll do it.”

“No,” Yn said, her voice soft but unwavering. “If I run… I’ll always be running. If I want to live free… I need to face what I’ve done.”

Bob stared at her, hurt blooming behind his golden gaze. “But you don’t deserve this.”

Yn looked into his eyes. “Neither did the people I killed.”

U.S. Supreme Court – High Security Tribunal – Two Days Later

The courtroom was cold, vast, and clinical. Yn was locked inside a reinforced glass chamber, her neck secured by an inhibitor collar, wrists and ankles chained. She stood tall—but pale.

The media was shut out. But in Thunderbolts Tower, the entire New Avengers team sat in silence in the conference room, watching the trial through a secure feed.

Bob sat closest to the screen, fists trembling, his powers threatening to rise with every flash of horror on screen.

The prosecution played a montage of CCTV footage—old missions from around the globe. Yn in her Red Room uniform. Silent. Efficient. Brutal.

– One clip showed her silently executing a diplomat in Dubai.

– Another, planting a bomb that leveled a meeting between defected spies.

– A final one—dragging a whimpering Hydra scientist through snow, blood marking the path.

Bob’s eyes welled up. Yelena covered her mouth.

Yn watched her own footage, face blank—until the last tape. It was a child. Her target.

She looked away, jaw clenched, breathing ragged.

In the tower, Bob stood up. “This is torture,” he said. “She’s already living in hell.”

“This is justice,” Valentina said, arms folded at the back of the room. “She’s a threat. A loaded gun in the heart of our tower.”

Bob turned slowly toward her, voice dangerously low. “You call this justice? You’re just afraid of what she means to me.”

Val arched an eyebrow. “She’s a killer, Robert.”

Yelena stood. “Most of us here have done what she did. We were made into monsters. Some of us still are.”

Bucky stood beside her. “Even you, Val. Don’t pretend you’re clean.”

Val’s smile vanished.

One by one, the team stood behind Yelena.

Yn, inside a glass detainment cell, her arms chained, her neck restrained with a magnetic collar—just like Bucky’s years ago. Her hair was damp with sweat, her eyes hollow, and her breathing shallow.

Bob sat on the edge of his chair, fists clenched, while Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, Ava, and John watched with aching tension in their eyes.

“She’s scared,” Bob murmured, barely above a whisper. “I can feel it.”

The Prosecutor Stepped Forward

“The following surveillance clips have been decrypted from Hydra's black files, Red Room’s deepest vaults, and allied intelligence bureaus who erased these from existence—until now,” he announced coldly.

He turned to Yn.

“You were known as Deathtrap. What we will show now is the cost of that name.”

The courtroom’s main screen lit up.

There were more

CLIP ONE: Rome, 2013 – The Poisoned Waltz

A ballroom full of diplomats and elites.

Yn moved through the crowd in a silver dress, emotionless. She spun in a slow dance with her target—a high-ranking physicist planning to defect from Hydra.

She whispered something.

He fell dead mid-spin.

The crowd screamed.

She walked away like nothing happened.

“Laced contact lens. No forensic trail. Death within seconds.”

CLIP TWO: Morocco, 2015 – Black Site Silence

A desert prison facility in flames.

Inside the chaos, Yn slipped past burning cells and panicking guards. In a corner cell, a man screamed for mercy—one of the few Red Room handlers who defected.

She dragged him by the collar.

“You broke them. Let’s see how it feels.”

The blade was swift. Her hand didn’t shake. She walked out covered in ash.

CLIP THREE: Seoul, 2017 – Political Execution

A South Korean senator sat tied to a chair, bloodied.

Yn stepped into frame, calm, surgical. Dressed as a hotel maid, she placed a silenced gun to his head and pulled the trigger without a word.

“The Red Room’s message to the resistance. A warning.”

CLIP FOUR: Switzerland, 2018 – Cold Heist

A snowy mountainside. Yn descended on a laboratory. The footage showed her silently eliminating guards—quick throat slits, snapped necks.

She retrieved a glowing vial. Extremis prototype.

“No witnesses. No survivors.”

CLIP FIVE (New): Latvia, 2019 – The Betrayed Mentor

An older woman in a wheelchair—another Red Room survivor—sat before a fireplace. She welcomed Yn in with a warm hug.

Moments later, hidden camera footage revealed Yn’s eyes dim as she was triggered by a command phrase.

Her body language changed.

She stabbed the woman in the heart.

“Her mentor. Her handler. Her friend. All three.”

Bob’s hands trembled.

“She didn’t want any of that,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “T-they made her do it.”

Valentina stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “People will never believe that. All they’ll see is blood.”

Yelena turned sharply. “Then they’re the problem. Not her.”

Val didn’t even blink. “She’s a ticking time bomb.”

“She’s just a survivor,” Bucky muttered.

Tears streamed down her cheeks now. Her lip quivered. She stared at the cold marble floor, haunted by the ghosts she’d buried.

“I didn’t choose to be her…” she whispered hoarsely.

Silence fell.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

The prosecutor stepped forward, unsympathetic. “But they didn’t have a choice to live either.”

“She’s breaking,” Bob said, nearly rising from his seat. Energy crackled faintly at his fingertips.

Val turned. “She’s too dangerous, Robert. Don’t be blind.”

“I’m not,” he snapped.

“You’re in denial,” she snapped back.

Yelena stepped between them. “We all have blood on our hands. Even you, Val.”

Val’s jaw twitched.

“We fight for redemption,” Yelena continued, “Not to bury people under their trauma.”

Yn finally broke.

tears slid down her face as the prosecutor listed her aliases: “Shadow Widow. Deathtrap. Asset 02-Theta.”

“Do you deny these names?”

She raised her head.

“I don’t,” she said. “But I’m not her anymore.”

Silence fell like a blade after hours of agonizing footage and sharp accusations.

The presiding judge rose slowly from her seat, her voice stern and final as she stared directly at the glass chamber where Y/N stood, trembling and pale.

“Y/N Y/L/N…” she began, her words echoing through the courtroom, “…for the unlawful assassination of 39 individuals including political figures, scientists, and civilians—while knowingly operating under and affiliating with illegal organizations such as the Red Room and Hydra—this court finds you guilty.”

Y/N's breath hitched. Her fingers trembled around her shackled wrists.

“You are hereby sentenced to capital punishment by lethal injection… tomorrow afternoon.”

The gavel slammed down like thunder.

“Court adjourned.”

A collective gasp erupted in the chamber.

The screen flickered as the final verdict was read.

Bob stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat.

Then—

His eyes lit gold, veins glowing faintly under his skin.

His chair screeched against the floor as he stood. “No…” he breathed.

“NO!”

Energy cracked in the air around him like static lightning.

Yelena's eyes widened. “They’re killing her… they’re actually going to kill her.”

Alexei slammed his fist on the table. “This is wrong! She was brainwashed!”

Bucky gritted his teeth, eyes glassy. “They’re punishing the soldier, not the war.”

John Walker stood up, tense. “We need to do something.”

“No…” Bob muttered, still glowing, his voice deeper—warped—the Sentry threatening to surface.

“I should destroy the building. I should burn their judgment to the ground.”

Yelena rushed to him. “Bob—no! That’s not what Y/N would want!”

“SHE IS NOT A WEAPON!” he shouted, his voice booming like a storm, causing the walls to shudder.

Yelena looked near tears. Ava turned her face away in fury.

“I won’t let them take her,” Bob whispered again, face hard, voice hollow.

Valentina stepped back from the room’s edge, silently watching as her plan bloomed into chaos.

Y/N collapsed to her knees after the gavel slammed, gasping for air.

Two guards moved toward her. She didn't fight.

She just closed her eyes and whispered softly to herself:

“I deserve this. For them. For all of them.”

But even as the walls closed in, a part of her clung to the warmth of Bob's hand… the scent of his hoodie… the sound of Yelena laughing in the training room… the little peace she found after the storm.

She had tasted healing. And now, it was being ripped away.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a bloody hue across the city skyline as the world prepared to end the life of a woman it once didn't even know existed.

Inside a high-security containment facility, Y/N sat in a transparent cube reinforced with vibranium fibers and gamma-proof seals — a prison designed for monsters. Her hair hung damp and limp over her eyes, her body slouched in defeat, and the red welt still burned on her neck from the restraining collar. She was a ghost of the assassin once called Deathtrap — and even more so, a ghost of the woman Bob Reynolds had come to love.

A low, distant hum stirred in the wind above the facility. Lights flickered. Alarms didn’t even get the chance to scream.

Then, a golden streak split the darkened sky.

A thunderous blast echoed across the complex as The Sentry landed like a meteor, golden energy crackling off his form, boots crushing the pavement beneath him. Dust and debris swept through the prison yard like a storm.

Inside her cube, Y/N jolted as the world outside shook.

Then she saw him. Bob.

His blonde hair messy from the wind, chest rising with erratic breaths, eyes glowing molten gold — not just with power, but with love, desperation, and pain.

She rushed to the glass wall, pressing her palm against it. Bob mirrored her, their hands meeting with only the thick transparent barrier between them.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice low, raw, breaking.

She shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Bob... you shouldn’t be here."

"I have to be here," he said, breath trembling. “I can’t just stand back while they take you away from me.”

Her knees buckled slightly. “I chose this, Bob. I needed to face it... for all the blood on my hands...”

He pressed his forehead against the glass, golden sparks dancing at his fingertips. “That blood isn’t all you are. You’re not just Deathtrap. You’re Y/N. And you saved me when I couldn’t save myself.”

She whimpered, her voice cracking, “You don’t understand… I don’t deserve freedom.”

His voice dropped, raspy and fierce. “Then I’ll fight to make you deserve it. If the world can’t see what I see in you… then to hell with the world.”

Energy surged from his body in golden waves. The unbreakable cube began to hum and tremble. Microfractures spiderwebbed along the glass where their hands met.

“B-Bob—!” she gasped, stepping back.

But he didn’t stop.

"I promised you we'd live our life. Just us. Away from all of this." His voice cracked as a tear fell. “And I don’t break promises.”

With a final burst of light, the glass shattered outward, the force contained and redirected by Bob’s own will so she wasn’t harmed.

The sirens finally started. Guards rushed from towers, orders screamed through comms.

But they were too late.

With a blink — whoosh — The Sentry wrapped Y/N in his arms and shot into the sky like a star ascending. The explosion of flight blew the prison's rooftop apart, debris spiraling as golden light disappeared into the clouds.

They were gone.

No one saw where they went. No one knew where to find them.

Only the wind carried the last echo of Bob’s vow:

“We’ll live free. Together.”

The world would never know what truly happened that night.

The high-security facility meant to contain the most dangerous woman alive was reduced to ash and ruin. What was once a steel-locked fortress now lay in twisted metal and scorched earth. Hundreds of guards, agents, and staff—gone in an instant. No black boxes. No camera feeds. No trace of survivors.

The only thing the authorities could piece together was a growing legend: The Sentry had turned. That he had loved The Deathtrap. That their love brought the skies down in fury.

But there were no photos. No videos. Only whispered theories, exaggerated tales, grainy images distorted beyond recognition.

They became ghosts. No—myths. Echoes in the wind of a love so powerful it rewrote fate.

Yet somewhere, far away from the charred remains and political scandals...

Peace lived.

In a quiet, tree-wrapped cabin nestled on the outskirts of a sleepy town — nameless, unbothered, and almost too ordinary — life found rhythm again.

The early morning light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden stripes across the wooden floors. The cabin smelled of pine, fresh coffee, and the warm scent of sizzling breakfast. A pan crackled on the stove, and Bob stood at the counter, sleeves rolled, spatula in hand. His blonde hair was longer now, tousled and soft, a few strands falling over his brow as he focused on the eggs.

Then—arms.

Delicate yet familiar arms slid around his waist from behind, pressing against him with a quiet warmth that made his heart leap.

A sleepy voice murmured against his back, “Good morning…”

The sound of her — rasped, honeyed, drowsy — made him melt.

He smiled, setting the spatula down for a moment. “Morning.”

He turned just enough to press a kiss to her crown, where her slightly messy hair still held the scent of lavender from last night’s shower..

Y/N’s cheek rested against his spine, her arms holding him tighter. “You’re up early.”

“Wanted to make your favorite,” he said softly. “The local shop had fresh sourdough yesterday. Thought it’d go well with the omelet.”

She chuckled lightly. “You spoil me.”

He turned to face her, hands finding her waist. “After everything we’ve been through…” He looked into her eyes, a gentle fierceness behind the gold that barely shimmered anymore. “You deserve peace. You deserve mornings like this.”

Y/N blinked at him, her eyes glinting with emotion. “I don’t care where we live, or if the world forgets us… as long as I have you.”

He leaned forward and kissed her — slow and steady, like time didn’t matter anymore.

Outside, birds chirped. A wind danced through the forest.

And inside that cabin, far away from governments and villains and cages...

Two people—once weapons of mass destruction—had finally found their own quiet heaven.

#bob reynolds #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #buckysam #marvel #marvel mcu #sentry #sentry x reader #sentry x you #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #bob thunderbolts x reader #marvel x you #marvel x reader

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ghstyles · 2 months ago

Text

Lint | FWFW Oneshot

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WC: 3.5K

FWFW Masterlist

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Friday nights were typically reserved for movie night. No homework, no studio, and no outside world.

Tonight was an exception.

The charity gala was exactly the kind of event Harry typically enjoyed. Elegant without being stuffy, populated with familiar faces from the industry, and benefiting a cause he genuinely cared about. The children's hospital had been one of his preferred organizations to support for years, and he'd performed at their annual fundraiser three times before.

This time, however, his attention was decidedly not on the charity, the excellent champagne, or the acoustic set he was scheduled to perform in forty minutes. Instead, his eyes kept gravitating to a corner of the ballroom where Y/N stood in animated conversation with a man Harry didn't recognize.

He watched as she laughed at something the stranger said, her head tilting back slightly, the elegant line of her throat exposed. The man who stood tall, dark-haired, and conventionally handsome in a boring suit, leaned closer, placing a hand lightly on her arm as he spoke.

Harry's jaw clenched so hard he could hear his teeth grinding.

"You might want to ease up on that glass before you shatter it," came an amused voice from his left.

Harry turned to find Mitch watching him with poorly concealed humor.

Harry looked down at the champagne flute in his hand, surprised to find his knuckles had gone white from the force of his grip. He deliberately loosened his fingers, setting the glass on a nearby table.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket. A deep green velvet that Y/N had helped him select, claiming it made his eyes look "unfairly gorgeous."

"Right," Mitch drawled, his gaze following Harry's previous line of sight. "You're definitely not about to commit homicide over there."

Harry shot him a dark look. "I'm fine."

"Clearly," Mitch agreed with mock seriousness. "That's why you're standing here glaring holes through that poor bastard's skull instead of, I don't know, joining your wife in conversation?"

"Ex-wife," Harry corrected automatically, the word still strange and bitter on his tongue despite the three months that had passed since they'd decided to end their arrangement.

Three months since they'd admitted that what had begun as a business deal had evolved into something much more complicated.

Mitch raised an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling her this week? Because last Thursday at rehearsal, you referred to her as your girlfriend. Twice."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's...complicated."

"When isn't it with you two?" Mitch asked, not unkindly. "But complicated or not, you might want to stop looking like you're planning his murder. People are starting to notice."

Harry glanced around and realized Mitch was right. Several guests were casting curious glances in his direction, no doubt wondering why the evening's headliner was standing alone, radiating tension like a storm cloud.

"Who even is that guy?" Harry asked, his tone aiming for casual interest and landing somewhere closer to barely restrained hostility.

Mitch shrugged. "No idea. Some doctor, maybe? This is a hospital fundraiser."

Harry's scowl deepened. "Great. A doctor. Perfect."

Mitch's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "Would you prefer he was something less impressive? A professional clown, perhaps? Tax auditor?"

Harry ignored the attempt at humor, his attention drawn back to Y/N as she accepted a fresh glass of wine from the man, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

"He's standing too close," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Mitch.

"Yeah, it's a real tragedy," Mitch agreed dryly. "Someone should call security."

Harry shot him another glare. "You're not helping."

"Not trying to," Mitch replied cheerfully. "Just enjoying the show. It's not every day I get to see Harry Styles having a jealous meltdown in public."

Harry stiffened, his gaze snapping back to his friend. "I'm not jealous."

Mitch's expression made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Sure. And I'm not planning to play guitar in about forty minutes."

Harry sighed again, his shoulders slumping slightly as he admitted defeat—at least to himself if not out loud.

The truth was, he could recognize his own faults when forced to. While Harry liked to think he had many positive qualities. He was generous, loyal to those he cared about, and hardworking. His jealousy had always been a trait he wasn't proud of. Especially when it came to Y/N.

Even during the early months of their arrangement, when they could barely stand each other, he'd felt a possessive surge whenever he saw her talking to other men at events. Back then, he'd justified it as concern for their public image, they were supposed to be happily married, after all.

But now, three months into whatever this new phase of their relationship was, he could no longer hide behind that excuse. The pure jealousy simmering in his chest at the sight of some random doctor talking to her was unreal, and entirely his own problem to deal with.

"Look," Mitch said, his tone softening slightly, "why don't you just go over there? Say hello, introduce yourself. Be charming instead of...whatever this is."

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit he'd never quite managed to break. "She's having a conversation. I don't want to interrupt."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Since when has that stopped you?"

"Since things are finally good between us," Harry admitted quietly. "Since I promised myself I'd stop being a controlling arsehole."

Understanding dawned on Mitch's face. "Ah," he said. "So instead of being a controlling arsehole, you're going to stand here radiating hostility from across the room. Much better."

Put like that, Harry had to acknowledge the absurdity of his position.

"I'm working on it, alright?" he said defensively. "It's not like there's a manual for how to handle seeing your ex-wife-turned-girlfriend talking to attractive doctors at charity events."

Mitch snorted. "Pretty sure the manual would just say 'don't be a dick about it,' but what do I know?"

Before Harry could respond, a waiter approached with a tray of champagne. Harry waved him off, but Mitch took a glass, using the momentary interruption to scan the room.

"We should probably start heading backstage," he said, checking his watch. "Sarah wanted us to run through the set list one more time before we go on."

Harry nodded absently, his attention once again drawn to Y/N. The doctor, if that's what he even was, had moved even closer, his head bent toward hers as he spoke. As Harry watched, the man reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek.

Something hot and dangerous surged through Harry's veins. Before he could think better of it, he was striding across the ballroom, weaving between clusters of well-dressed guests with single-minded purpose.

He imagined storming over there and punching the guy. The satisfying crunch of knuckles against jaw, the shocked gasps of the crowd, Y/N's eyes widening in surprise...

Harry forcibly reined in the fantasy. Violence wasn't the answer, no matter how appealing it might seem in the heat of the moment. He was an adult, a public figure, and most importantly, someone trying to be worthy of Y/N's trust and affection.

So instead of throwing a punch, he plastered on his most charming smile as he approached, determined to be civil despite the jealousy still churning in his gut.

"There you are, love," he said, his voice warm as he reached Y/N's side. "Been looking all over for you."

Y/N turned, surprise and something warmer flashing in her eyes as she registered his presence.

"Harry," she said, her smile genuine in a way that eased some of the tension from his shoulders. "I thought you'd be backstage by now."

"Heading there soon," he assured her, before deliberately turning his attention to the man at her side. "Harry Styles," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "Y/N's husband."

Ex-husband, a small voice in his head corrected, but Harry ignored it. The legal distinction seemed unimportant in the face of the possessive instinct thrumming through his veins.

The man blinked, clearly taken aback by Harry's sudden appearance, but recovered quickly. "Dr. James Mitchell," he replied, shaking Harry's hand with a firm grip that Harry matched and perhaps exceeded slightly. "Chief of Pediatric Surgery at London Children's. I was just telling your wife about some of the new equipment her donation helped us purchase for the oncology ward."

Harry's smile became slightly more genuine as understanding dawned. Not a potential rival, then, just someone connected to the charity.

"That's brilliant," he said, his arm sliding around Y/N's waist in a gesture that was both natural and deliberately claiming. "Y/N's always been passionate about children's causes."

Y/N leaned into him slightly, her body warm against his side. "Dr. Mitchell was giving me a virtual tour of the new facilities," she explained, a hint of amusement in her voice that suggested she wasn't entirely unaware of what had prompted Harry's appearance. "The imaging technology they've developed is remarkable."

"I'd be happy to give you both a real tour sometime," Dr. Mitchell offered, his gaze encompassing them both now. "The children would be thrilled to meet you, Mr. Styles. Many of them are big fans."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for his earlier hostility. "I'd like that," he said sincerely. "And please, call me Harry."

Dr. Mitchell smiled, then glanced at his watch. "I should circulate a bit more before the performances begin," he said. "It was lovely meeting you both. And thank you again for your generosity, Mrs. Styles. The new equipment will make a real difference for our young patients."

With a polite nod, he moved away, leaving Harry and Y/N standing alone in their corner of the ballroom.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Y/N turned in Harry's arms, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"'Y/N's husband'?" she quoted, raising an eyebrow. "I could have sworn we signed divorce papers three months ago."

Harry had the grace to look slightly abashed, though he didn't remove his arm from her waist. "Force of habit," he muttered unconvincingly.

Y/N's lips twitched. "Mmhmm. And I suppose it was also 'force of habit' that had you glaring at poor Dr. Mitchell from across the room for the last fifteen minutes?"

Harry winced, caught out. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Half the room noticed," Y/N informed him dryly. "Subtlety has never been your strong suit, Harold."

Harry sighed, finally releasing her waist to run a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "I know I promised I'd work on the whole jealousy thing."

Y/N's expression softened, her hand coming up to straighten his bow tie, an unnecessary gesture that was more about physical connection than actual adjustment.

"You were jealous of a pediatric surgeon discussing hospital equipment?" she asked, her tone gently teasing.

"In my defense," Harry replied, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips, "I didn't know that's what you were talking about. I can't read lips…and he touched your hair."

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. "He was removing a piece of lint, you ridiculous man."

"Still," Harry insisted, not quite ready to concede the point entirely. "He was standing very close."

"It's a crowded room," Y/N pointed out reasonably. "And you're changing the subject. We were discussing your apparent inability to remember we're divorced."

Harry's expression turned more serious, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of her wrist where he still held her hand.

"Does it bother you?" he asked quietly. "That I called you my wife?"

Y/N studied his face for a moment, her own expression thoughtful. "That depends," she said finally. "Was it just a territorial thing because you were jealous? Or was there more to it?"

Harry hesitated, weighing his words carefully. They'd been taking things slow these past three months, rebuilding their relationship on a foundation of honesty and genuine affection rather than contractual obligation.

"Both," he finally admitted. "I was jealous, yeah. But also...I miss it sometimes. Being able to call you my wife."

Something vulnerable flickered in Y/N's eyes. "Even though our marriage was fake?"

"It didn't feel fake at the end," Harry said softly. "You know that."

Y/N nodded, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. "I know."

A brief silence fell between them, weighted with all the things they'd never properly discussed. How their arrangement had slowly transformed into something real, how they'd both been too scared to acknowledge it until it was already falling apart.

"Mr. Styles?" A voice interrupted the moment, belonging to a harried-looking woman with a clipboard. "We need you backstage in five minutes."

Harry nodded acknowledgment, waiting until she moved away before turning back to Y/N.

"Save me a dance after the performance?" he asked, his thumb still tracing patterns on her skin.

Y/N smiled up at him, the warmth in her eyes easing something tight in his chest. "Of course," she agreed. "As long as you promise not to glare at any more doctors who have the audacity to discuss medical equipment with me."

Harry laughed, the jealousy that had been simmering in his chest dissipating in the face of her teasing. "I'll try," he promised. "But no guarantees if they start touching your hair again."

Y/N shook her head in fond exasperation. "Go," she urged, giving him a gentle push toward the backstage area. "Your adoring public awaits."

Harry caught her hand again, pressing a quick kiss to her palm before releasing her. "The only adoration I care about is yours," he told her softly, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer before he turned to make his way through the crowd.

As he headed backstage, Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the ballroom's ornate mirrors. He looked...lighter somehow, the tense set of his shoulders from earlier relaxed, the scowl replaced by a small, private smile.

He still had work to do on his jealousy—he knew that. It wasn't a trait he was proud of, and it wasn't fair to Y/N to indulge it. But knowing she understood, that she could tease him about it rather than resent it, made him feel like maybe they were on the right track after all.

And if sometimes he still thought of her as his wife rather than his ex…

Well

That was a problem for another day. For now, he had a performance to give and a dance to look forward to afterward. With the woman who, legal documents aside, still felt very much like his in all the ways that truly mattered.

---

The performance had gone well, better than well, judging by the enthusiastic applause that followed Harry and the band offstage. He'd chosen a mix of his more upbeat hits and a couple of slower, more emotional tracks, ending with a new song he'd been working on that the audience seemed to particularly appreciate.

As he made his way back into the ballroom, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from various guests, his eyes scanned the crowd for a particular face. He found her near the dance floor, deep in conversation with a woman he recognized as one of the event organizers.

Y/N looked stunning tonight, her hair swept into an elegant updo that exposed the graceful line of her neck. Her dress, a deep burgundy that complemented her eyes and complexion, clung to her curves before flaring slightly at the knee, the fabric catching the light as she moved.

Harry felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest at the sight of her. It still amazed him sometimes, how thoroughly his feelings for her had transformed from resentment to something so much deeper and more complex.

As though sensing his gaze, Y/N looked up, a smile breaking across her face when she spotted him. She said something to the woman beside her, who nodded and moved away, leaving Y/N free to make her way toward him.

"That was incredible," she told him as she reached his side, her eyes bright with genuine admiration. "That new song especially. I hadn't heard it before."

Harry felt a flush of pleasure at her praise. "Still working on it," he admitted, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back. "But it felt right tonight."

"It was beautiful," Y/N assured him, her expression softening. "Though I'm not sure how the lyrics about being 'chained to a love that feels like drowning' will play with your more romantic fans."

Harry's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Good thing I don't write songs to please other people, then."

"No," Y/N agreed, something knowing in her gaze, "you never have."

The orchestra, which had been playing softly in the background, segued into a slower number, one that Harry recognized with a jolt of surprise.

"They're playing our song," he said, a note of wonder in his voice.

Y/N's brow furrowed in momentary confusion, then cleared as she recognized the melody. "The first dance at our wedding," she remembered, her tone softer. "I thought you hated that song."

"I pretended to," Harry admitted, taking her hand. "Seemed safer that way. Dance with me?" He asked, already leading her toward the center of the floor where other couples were beginning to sway to the music.

Y/N nodded, allowing him to guide her into position, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as his settled at her waist. They moved together with practiced ease, their bodies remembering the rhythm they'd established during countless public appearances as husband and wife.

"I meant what I said earlier," Harry murmured, his lips close to her ear. "About missing it. Calling you my wife."

Y/N's fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, but her expression remained calm. "We agreed to take things slow this time," she reminded him gently. "To build something real, not just convenient."

"I know," Harry acknowledged, guiding her through a gentle turn. "And I'm not trying to rush things. I just...I want you to know where my head is. That I'm in this for real, Y/N. Not because it's good for my image or because we signed a contract. But because I want to be."

Y/N's gaze softened, something vulnerable flickering in the depths of her eyes. "I want that too," she admitted quietly. "To be with you because it's what we both choose, not because it's what we agreed to."

Harry pulled her slightly closer, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization to the music. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said after a moment. "The jealousy thing. I know it's not attractive."

Y/N's lips curved in a small smile. "It's not unattractive either," she confessed. "In small doses. When it doesn't cross the line into controlling."

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprise evident in his expression. "You don't mind that I get jealous?"

"I mind when you act like an idiot because of it," Y/N clarified. "But knowing you care enough to feel jealous? That's...not entirely unpleasant."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "Is that right?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Y/N warned, though her eyes danced with amusement. "There's a big difference between finding it flattering that you're a tiny bit possessive and enjoying when you glare at innocent doctors."

Harry laughed, the sound rich and warm in the space between them. "Noted," he agreed. "Though in my defense, he wasn't that innocent. No man touches a woman's hair just to remove lint."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "If you say so."

They danced in comfortable silence for a few moments, the familiar melody wrapping around them like a shared memory.

"Do you ever wonder," Harry asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful, "what would have happened if we'd met differently? If there had been no contract, no arrangement, just us, meeting as people?"

Y/N considered the question, her head tilting slightly to one side. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But then I think...would we have given each other a real chance? Or would we have let our preconceptions get in the way?"

Harry nodded slowly, understanding her point. "I was pretty determined to dislike you at the beginning," he acknowledged. "Based on nothing but my mother's opinions and my own prejudices."

"And I was equally determined to see you as nothing but a spoiled, entitled celebrity," Y/N countered with a rueful smile. "Maybe we needed the contract to force us to look beyond those initial impressions."

"Maybe," Harry agreed, his hand splaying wider against her back, drawing her imperceptibly closer. "Though I like to think I'd have recognized what was special about you eventually, contract or no contract."

Y/N's expression softened, her eyes warm as they met his. "You're a romantic under all that brooding, aren't you, Harry Styles?"

"Only with you," he told her, the simple honesty in his voice making her breath catch.

The music began to fade, signaling the end of the dance, but neither made a move to separate. Instead, Harry's hold on her waist tightened slightly, keeping her close as the orchestra transitioned into another slow number.

"One more?" he asked, though he was already beginning to move to the new rhythm.

Y/N nodded, her hand sliding from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the hair there in a gesture that was both familiar and intimate.

"One more," she agreed softly. "Though people might talk if we spend the entire evening dancing together."

Harry's smile turned slightly wicked. "Let them," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. "Maybe it'll keep the doctors at bay."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Incorrigible," she accused fondly.

"You like it," Harry countered, his confidence not entirely unfounded given the way she was looking at him.

"God help me, I do," Y/N admitted with a mock sigh. "Though I'm not sure what that says about my judgment."

Harry's expression turned more serious, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "It says you see me," he told her quietly. "All of me. The good and the bad. And you're still here."

Something in Y/N's chest tightened at the vulnerability beneath his words. "I'm still here," she confirmed softly, her fingers gentle against his skin. "And I'm not going anywhere."

As they continued to move together, lost in their private world despite the crowded ballroom, Harry felt the last of his earlier jealousy and tension melt away. He still had his faults, the jealousy chief among them, but with Y/N, he was learning to face them honestly rather than hide behind them or let them control him.

And that, he thought as he guided her through another turn, her body warm and trusting against his, was progress worth celebrating.

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#ghstyles #fwfw #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #one direction #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #read

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rqsie63 · 2 months ago

Text

STORM! - Carlos Sainz Jr.

Carlos remembers his ex Girlfriend's fear of storms, so he simply decides to knock at her door on a scary stormy evening.

🏁: carlos sainz x ex girlfriend! oc (her name is maia☝️😌)

🏁: exes to lovers. angst. very soft sex scene (nothing explicit). i think my english is improving but yeah, still not my first language.

🪻: soooo, first carlos post yasss. honestly i was inspired by another post with the friendly exes trope but i wanted mine to be more like a "okay we should get back together" sort of thing. It's probably the most used plot in this app but honestly I don't care, I wanted to have my own lol. enjoy!

The rain came down in sheets, relentless and loud against the pavement. Carlos stood at Maia's front door, drenched despite the hoodie pulled over his head, fingers curled into a fist just inches from knocking.

He knows he shouldn't be here. Not after what happened.

But the storm was loud —too loud— and he remembered, like muscle memory, how she used to curl into his side during nights like this, asking if he could stay until the thunder passed.

So he knocked.

When Maia opened the door, her eyes widened. She was barefoot, wrapped in a soft sweater. "Carlos?, what—"

"I thought..." He hesitated, suddenly unsure. “You hate storms. I figured you might want… company.”

For a moment, silence. The kind of silence filled with everything unsaid, unresolved. Then she stepped aside.

"You're soaked," she murmured as he passed her, his presence filling the quiet the way it used to. "You didn't have to come."

"I know," he said, voice low. "But I wanted to."

She didn´t ask why, she didn´t need to.

Maia returned from the kitchen with a towel, tossing it gently toward him. "Here. Before you drip all over the floor."

Carlos caught it with a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

As he dried his hair, she hovered by the edge of the hallway, clearly unsure of what came next. He didn’t blame her. The last time they stood this close, they weren’t exes yet.

"I can take the guest room," he offered, almost too quickly. "If it´s okay."

She hesitated. And then, quietly, “There’s a couch in my room that you can take.”

His hands froze, gaze lifted to meet hers. She wasn’t looking at him, not directly. Her eyes were fixed somewhere near the floor, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she was afraid of what she’d just said.

"It´s just... I don´t like sleeping alone when it's like this," she added, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know that."

Carlos swallowed. A hundred words burned the tip of his tongue, but he just nodded.

“Okay.”

Maia turned around, not waiting for him to follow—but he did, his heart beating too loud, matching the rhythm of the storm outside. The hallway felt too short, the space between them too charged.

Her room looked the same. Books stacked unevenly on the nightstand, the lamp casting a warm amber glow, and yes—a small couch tucked into the corner, still covered in the same old throw blanket he remembered from last year.

She pointed to it wordlessly, and he gave her a small, grateful smile as he sat.

But then she stayed standing. Just watching him.

He tilted his head. “What?”

“You’re really just going to sleep on the couch?”

He blinked, startled. “Well, yeah. That was the plan.”

Maia laughed, a nervous, quiet thing. “Right. Of course.”

She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, back turned to him. A beat passed.

Then another. And then, barely audible over the rain: “Good night, Carlos.”

He stared at the ceiling. “Good night, Maia.”

But neither of them slept.

The storm refused to settle. Wind howled outside the windows, and the rain tapped against the glass like fingers desperate to be let in. Carlos stared into the darkness, one arm tucked behind his head, the other curled tightly against his chest like it could somehow hold back everything he wanted to say.

Maia shifted in bed. He could hear it—the rustle of blankets, the sigh she tried to muffle. Then...

A bolt of thunder split the sky, loud enough to make the walls tremble. Carlos sat up instinctively.

So did Maia.

“Okay, no,” she whispered, kicking off the blankets. “This is ridiculous. I’m not sleeping like this.”

He blinked as she padded out of the room, her silhouette vanishing down the hall. A few minutes later, she returned, holding two mugs. Her shoulders were tense, her steps quiet. She handed him one without a word and crawled back into bed.

“Chamomile?” he guessed, sniffing the steam.

She nods, knowing the tea won't help but takes a sip anyway.

Carlos let the silence settle again. Outside, thunder growled, softer now but still menacing. He glanced over at her, catching the way her eyes kept darting toward the couch. Then to him. Then to the bed.

She bit her lip. “Just get in bed, Carlos.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it twice,” she said, a little too casually. “There’s a pillow between us. It’s not a big deal.”

Carlos hesitated, then set the mug on the nightstand and moved slowly toward the bed. He climbed in, careful to stay on his side of the pillow barrier, heart pounding louder than the storm.

For a while, neither of them said anything. Just breathing in sync, lying inches apart like they hadn’t done this a hundred times before.

Then Maia broke the silence. “You’re quiet.”

He swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”

She hummed. “I don’t know. Maybe why you left me?”

Carlos closed his eyes. There it was. No warning. No mercy. Just the question that had haunted him since the night he walked out.

“Maybe it´s a dumb answer but,” He exhaled. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” she asked, voice calm. But her fingers were curled around the edge of the blanket too tight.

“From me,” he admitted. “From this life. The chaos. The distance. The media. I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go.”

She let out a breath—half-laugh, half-sigh. “You know what the worst part is?”

He turned his head, barely able to look at her. “What?”

“You never asked me if I wanted to be protected.”

The thunder rolled again. Neither flinched this time.

Carlos looked up at the ceiling, guilt pressing heavy on his chest. “I’ve felt like an idiot every day since.”

Maia smiled, just barely. “Good. You should.”

At some point in the night, Maia drifted off.

Maybe it was the tea. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion. Or maybe—most likely—it was the comforting presence of the man who used to be her entire world lying just inches away.

She didn’t remember the moment sleep claimed her. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes, the storm had passed.

Soft light peeked through the curtains, casting a pale morning glow across the room. The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle, and everything felt... warmer.

Maia blinked, disoriented for a moment, and then she felt it—an arm draped over her waist, a solid warmth behind her, a slow, steady rise and fall of breathing pressed against her back. The pillow was gone.

She froze, heart thudding, then slowly turned over. Carlos.

Still asleep, his brows slightly furrowed, lips parted in a soft breath. He looked peaceful like this, defenseless in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. His hand was curled loosely near her hip, like it had been there all night. Like he belonged there.

Her breath caught.

She couldn’t stop looking at him. At the messy hair, the faint stubble on his jaw, the warmth of his body next to hers. It was overwhelming—how right it felt. So she did what any emotionally confused person would do.

She pretended to be asleep.

She shut her eyes just in time to hear his breathing shift. A small groan. A soft stretch. Then silence.

Then..., “I know you’re not sleeping.”

Her eyes snapped open on instinct, and Carlos was already watching her, a lazy smirk spreading across his face. “You were staring at me,” he said, voice thick with sleep.

“I was not.”

“You were,” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow. “It was either that or you developed x-ray vision in your sleep.”

Maia covered her face with both hands, groaning into them. “This is so embarrassing.”

Carlos chuckled, warm and low. “You think you´re embarrassed? I’m the one who threw away the best thing I ever had and ended up crawling back during a thunderstorm.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, trying not to smile. “You didn’t crawl.”

“I emotionally crawled.”

She burst into soft giggles, and he grinned like he’d just won something. And in a way, he had.

They stayed like that for a while—facing each other, tangled in quiet and warmth, the morning creeping in too gently for either of them to move.

Carlos brushed a piece of hair from her face, his fingers lingering a second too long. “You look the same,” he said softly. “And totally different.”

Maia raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or a riddle?”

He grinned. “Little bit of both.”

She laughed under her breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Then she rolled onto her back, arms tucked under her head, voice casual—too casual.

“So,” she started, “do you think the storm was, like… a sign?”

He shifted closer, intrigued. “A sign?”

“Yeah. Like, fate pushing us back together.” She turned her head to look at him. “Or maybe we just needed one night to sleep together again, get it out of our systems, and never see each other ever again.”

Carlos blinked. “Wow. Two very different interpretations.”

She shrugged, lips twitching with a smirk. “Just weighing my options.”

He looked at her for a long beat, unreadable. Then, voice low and quiet, “It’s morning, so I don’t know about the one night part.”

Maia’s breath hitched.

He hadn’t moved closer, but somehow he felt closer. The air between them tightened. She could feel the heat of him, the pull, the want.

She swallowed. “That sounds dangerously like you want this to be more than just one night.”

Carlos’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Then slowly back to her eyes.

“Maybe I do.” The room went still.

Maia didn’t move. Neither did he. They were centimeters apart now, her heart in her throat, her breath shaky.

Carlos leaned in, breath warm against her lips, eyes flicking between hers and her mouth.

Maia didn’t move. She didn’t want to move.

And just as their lips were about to meet—boom. A low, distant rumble rolled through the sky, followed by the sudden patter patter patter of heavy rain returning against the windows.

They both flinched just slightly, like the storm had reached between them and tapped them on the shoulder.

Maia blinked, her forehead still pressed against his. A shaky laugh escaped her lips as she pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Well,” she whispered, “that’s our cue, apparently.”

Carlos let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Apparently.”

A beat passed, and Maia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to recover from the moment. The storm outside was steady now—less aggressive, more like a reminder that it was still there.

She turned toward him, softer now. “When do you have to go back?”

His brow furrowed slightly, like the question pulled him out of the warmth of her bed and back into reality. “Tomorrow. My flight’s in the afternoon.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “So you’re still just Carlos for one more day.”

He smiled at that—quiet, grateful. “I guess I am.”

Maia hesitated, then sat up a little, the blanket falling from her shoulders.

“Then stay,” she said. “Just a little longer.”

Carlos stared at her. Like maybe this was the real turning point. The invitation that wasn’t about tea or thunder or couches. This one was about them.

“Okay,” he said, no hesitation this time. “I’ll stay."

Maia padded into the kitchen first, barefoot and still wrapped in the oversized sweater she'd slept in. Carlos followed a few minutes later, his hair a mess, wearing one of her old hoodies—one she forgot she still had, and that looked unfairly good on him.

“I didn’t peg you as a hoodie thief,” she teased as he rubbed his eyes.

Carlos gave a half-smile. “You left it on my side of the closet. That’s practically a dare.”

Maia rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.

The rain still whispered against the windows, the whole apartment wrapped in that soft gray light only stormy mornings could offer. She set a pan on the stove, pulling out eggs and bread while Carlos leaned against the counter, arms crossed, just watching her.

She could feel it—his gaze. Hot. Focused. Like it physically pressed against her back.

“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.

“You’re cooking,” he replied, casually. “It’s hot.”

Maia turned then, raising an eyebrow. “You think me doing pancakes is sexy?”

Carlos smirked. “It’s the whole vibe. Sweater. Barefoot. Looking like a storm woke you up. Dangerous territory.”

She tried to ignore the warmth rising in her cheeks, turning back to the stove with a shake of her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He stepped closer, just enough for her to feel him behind her.

“But you missed me,” he said low, near her ear.

Maia froze. Her fingers tightened on the spatula.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she flipped the pancake with unnecessary precision.

Then—softly—“You have no idea.”

Carlos didn’t move. Just stood there, close enough that his chest nearly brushed her back.

Carlos reached past her, hand brushing her waist as he grabbed a plate from the cabinet.

It was a simple touch. Light. Casual.

But Maia’s body stiffened.

He noticed.

She didn’t move away, not exactly—but she went still. Her hand faltered over the spatula, and her breath caught in a way that wasn’t playful anymore.

Carlos stepped back a little, brows drawing together. Then, a hypothesis forms in his head.

“Maia?” he asked softly. “Are you… seeing someone else?”

She turned sharply, blinking at him like the question had pulled her out of a dream. “What?”

“I just—” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. “You went quiet. And I thought maybe… there’s someone. And that this is just…”

Maia shook her head, eyes wide. “No. God, no, Carlos.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, voice lower now, almost pleading. “Because I can feel something here. And I think you feel it too. But you’re holding back.”

She looked down, her voice tight. “Because I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you,” she said, the words raw and too fast. “Of how badly I still love you.”

That silenced him.

Maia let out a breath, trembling just slightly. “You left once. And I understood why, I did. But it still broke me. And now you’re here and everything feels like before and I—I don’t know how to be the kind of person who fits in your life. I’m not built for that.”

Carlos’s heart ached at the sight of her—the way she tried to sound steady but couldn’t quite pull it off. He stepped closer again, slower this time.

“You were never a burden mi vida,” he said gently. “You were the one part of my life that felt real.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy now. “Then why did you leave?”

“Because I thought I was doing you a favor.” His voice cracked. “And it was the worst mistake of my life.”

The kitchen fell into silence after his confession.

Carlos stood there, open and raw in front of her, and for a moment, Maia couldn’t breathe.

He looked like he was waiting for her to walk away.

But she didn’t. Instead, she closed the distance, slowly. Her fingers brushed his—hesitant at first—then threaded through them like they used to.

Carlos’s breath hitched. “I missed you,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling. “Every single day.”

He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissed her knuckles like she was made of something sacred. “I never stopped loving you.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “Then show me.”

It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

A quiet invitation to close the space the world had opened between them. And so he did.

He kissed her gently at first, like he was afraid she’d disappear. Like he didn’t quite believe he had permission. Her hands found his jaw, pulling him closer, anchoring him in the moment. And when she kissed him back—truly, finally—it wasn’t desperate. It was home.

Somehow, they made it back to her bedroom, their bodies already learning each other again. No rush. Just the quiet unfolding of something that had been buried under silence and hurt for far too long.

He undressed her like she was a secret he’d never wanted to forget. She touched him like she was trying to remember him right this time.

There was no rush in it—just soft gasps, reverent hands, whispered names like prayers.

When he was inside her, everything stilled.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t polished. It was real. It was Carlos and Maia, stripped of titles and fears, holding onto each other in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her shoulder.

“I know,” she breathed, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “You always did.”

They moved together slowly, like the world outside didn’t matter anymore. Like the rain could fall forever and they’d still be wrapped in this moment, in each other.

And when it was over, when their breaths calmed and the storm settled once again, he pulled her into his chest, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Stay,” she whispered sleepily, her fingers tracing circles on his skin.

Carlos held her tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#rqsie63 writes #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 smau #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fluff #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x oc #formula 1 x you

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furioussheepluminary · 2 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab! reader, partners in crime

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: the charity event holds lots of secrets, familiar faces and tense moments Chan and Y/N need to get out alive..

Warnings: TENSION, violence, tiny mentions of Chan's past, in a way

A/n: the plot unwinds here I ain't gonna say much but...pay attention! If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't

previously... next...

The moment Y/N and Chan stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The grandeur of the venue was almost overwhelming an opulent ballroom bathed in golden light, the soft glow from towering crystal chandeliers casting delicate reflections across the marble floors. Everything about the space exuded luxury, from the sheer height of the arched ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing to the cascading floral arrangements decorating every table. The air carried the faint scent of fresh roses and expensive perfume, blending seamlessly with the subtle notes of aged wine and gourmet cuisine.

Elegant couples glided across the room, draped in designer fabrics and priceless jewelry that caught the light with every graceful movement. The hum of polite conversation filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from clusters of high-profile guests. Waiters, dressed in pristine white uniforms, weaved expertly through the crowd, silver trays balanced effortlessly in their hands, offering glasses of the finest champagne and hors d’oeuvres that looked almost too exquisite to eat. To the left, a grand stage stood in the spotlight, framed by velvet curtains and a sleek podium. A large screen behind it displayed images of past charity projects, highlighting the impact of the evening’s donations. Beneath the stage, members of the press loitered subtly, their eyes sharp, scanning the room for anything worth reporting.

The crowd itself was a curated mix of the elite—business moguls, celebrities, influential politicians, and heirs to empires. Men in sharply tailored suits stood in small groups, discussing investments and alliances, while women in elegant gowns adorned with shimmering embellishments whispered secrets behind glasses of imported champagne.

In the farthest corner, a live jazz band played a smooth, rhythmic tune, the soft saxophone melody adding a sultry undertone to the night’s proceedings. There was a certain finesse to the way the guests moved, as if they all belonged to an exclusive, unspoken world where power and wealth were the only currencies that mattered.

As Y/N and Chan took it all in, a faint crackle came through the small earpiece tucked discreetly behind her hair. Jisung’s voice came through, casual but laced with curiosity. “Alright, lovebirds, tell me what’s it like in there? Are we talking stiff businessmen or some Great Gatsby type of madness?”

Y/N’s lips quirked up slightly at Jisung’s question, knowing he’d get a kick out of the details. She subtly turned her head, pretending to adjust her earring as she whispered into the hidden mic, “A bit of both. Picture a ballroom dripping in gold, chandeliers the size of small cars, and enough expensive cologne in the air to suffocate a lesser mortal. Everyone here looks like they own an island or at least know someone who does. It’s luxury at its finest, Ji.”

Jisung let out a low whistle through the comms. “Damn. Sounds like I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my hoodie and ripped jeans.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Yeah, you definitely would. It’s like stepping into a movie.”

There was a pause before Jisung hummed. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” A few seconds passed, followed by the distinct sound of keys clacking in his background. “Logging into the venue’s camera feed now… Got it.” Y/N resisted the urge to glance around for the cameras, knowing it would look suspicious. Instead, she let her eyes flick toward Chan, who was scanning the room with that quiet intensity of his. The moment Jisung had full access, his voice came back over the line, now tinged with amusement.

“Ohhh, yeah. This is straight out of a spy movie. I see you two, looking all fancy. Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice.”

She smirked. “Was there ever a doubt?” Jisung chuckled. “Fair point. Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for anything shady. You two just keep up the ‘happy couple’ act.” Chan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke—his voice low enough that only Y/N would catch it. “You sure you can handle this, Jisung?”

A scoff came through the comms. “Please, this is child’s play. Just don’t do anything that’ll make me have to hack into another system to cover your ass.” Y/N exhaled softly, steadying herself. The night had only just begun.

Jisung’s voice crackled through the comms, his usual playfulness laced with something sharper. "Well, well, well… Look who decided to make an appearance." Y/N resisted the urge to look up immediately, instead reaching for a champagne flute from a passing waiter to maintain their cover. "Who?" she asked, bringing the glass to her lips.

There was a brief pause as Jisung zoomed in on the feed. "Our guy is at the far end of the room, near the bar. And guess what? He’s talking with a bunch of suits. But here’s the fun part—Reynolds is among them."

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the delicate stem of the flute. "You’re joking." Chan, who had been scanning the room himself, stilled. His jaw clenched slightly before he turned his body just enough to look in that direction without drawing suspicion. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened subtly. "I see him," he muttered under his breath.

The same Reynolds who had made their lives hell before disappearing into the shadows. And now, here he was, laughing, drinking, looking completely at ease among the city’s elite as if he wasn’t a snake in a tailored suit.

"This just got a whole lot more interesting," Jisung murmured. "What’s the play? Do we engage, or do we keep our distance?"

Y/N felt Chan’s fingers twitch against her back, a silent war waging within him. Whatever they did next could change the entire course of the night.

Petrov stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he engaged in conversation with the other elites. His sharp gaze scanned the crowd lazily until it landed on her. Y/N had only meant to take a fleeting glance, just enough to confirm Jisung’s intel, but the moment their eyes met, she knew she had made a mistake.

Petrov smirked. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of smirk that made her stomach churn with unease. He took his time raking his gaze over her, eyes dark with amusement as if he could already sense her hesitance. Chan, who had been watching closely, moved in an instant. His arm curled around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into him, his grip just firm enough to make a statement. The shift was subtle, but effective Chan was no longer just an escort or an arm candy date. He was a man who was staking a claim.

Y/N felt the tension roll off him as he leaned in, voice dropping low, meant only for her. "You need to find a way to get him alone." She blinked up at him, taken aback. "Why me?"

Chan exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking as if the answer was obvious. "Because you’re a woman."

She stared at him, incredulous. "That’s it? That’s your whole reasoning?"

Chan gave a small, almost exasperated smirk. "That means no further explanation."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong Petrov was the type of man who saw women as easy distractions, someone to toy with. That was exactly the kind of arrogance they needed to exploit.

Jisung’s voice crackled in her ear. "Damn, Chan, that was the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard also, he’s still staring. Do something before he walks over."

Y/N barely had a second to react before Chan’s hold on her tightened. His arm stayed firm around her waist, his other hand rising to gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes, dark and unwavering, bore into hers.

"I have to kiss you."

Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?!"

Chan didn’t flinch at her reaction. If anything, his grip remained steady, unwavering. "If we want him to come to us, we need to make it look like you're someone worth stealing attention for."

She scoffed, eyes narrowing. "So your grand plan is to put on a little show?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Y/N." His tone was firmer now, a quiet warning. "You have to be serious about this. You saw how he looked at you he’s interested. And the only thing that will make him act faster is competition."

Her lips parted, ready to protest again, but she had nothing to fire back with. Chan was right. Petrov wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. If he saw something—or in this case, someone—he wanted, he’d go after it. And right now, Y/N was about to become his next pursuit.

She inhaled sharply, her pulse racing. "This is a terrible idea."

Chan’s thumb brushed along her hip, his voice low and coaxing. "Then let’s make it count."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Petrov’s gaze landed on her once more. The moment Chan noticed, he wasted no time.

In one swift motion, he pulled her flush against him, his hand slipping from her waist to cradle the back of her neck. And then, he kissed her.

But God, it wasn’t just a kiss. Chan kissed her with a purpose; hot, possessive, consuming. His lips moved against hers like he was proving a point, like he was branding her with his touch. The world around them blurred, the soft hum of music, the murmurs of the gala guests all of it faded into nothing. Y/N barely had a moment to react before she melted into it, fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of his suit. His other hand tightened against her waist, pressing her closer, deepening the kiss like he was daring Petrov to do something about it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were putting on a show. She knew this was for the mission, for baiting Petrov.

But the way Chan kissed her slow at first, then rougher, hungrier made it dangerously easy to forget.

As their lips parted, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath. Chan didn’t move away. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths slightly heavier than before, his hold on her lingering. His fingers stayed at the curve of her waist, his touch warm and possessive.

The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Y/N’s heart pounded, her lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, in a voice low enough for only her to hear, Chan murmured, “Look at him.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who.

“Slowly,” Chan instructed, voice like silk laced with quiet dominance. “Teasingly.”

Y/N swallowed, gathering herself before her gaze slid past Chan’s shoulder.

There Petrov stood, watching. His smirk had grown, intrigue flashing in his eyes. Exactly what they needed. Chan’s grip on her waist subtly tightened, his lips ghosting over her ear as he continued giving quiet directions.

“Now, kiss me again,” he murmured. “Soft. Just a peck. And whisper something romantic. Make me smile.” Her fingers curled slightly against his suit. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tilting her head up and brushing the softest kiss against his lips.

Chan barely reacted, only his hold twitching slightly.

Then, her lips moved near his ear, whispering, “We should do this more often.” She felt the sharp exhale against her cheek, the subtle curve of his lips as he fought back a smirk.

She pulled away, giving him the smallest, knowing smile before finally slipping out of his hold.

And just like that, Petrov took the bait.

Y/N made her way to the bar, her pulse still thrumming with the lingering adrenaline of the kiss. She could still feel Chan’s lips on hers, the heat of his hands at her waist, the way his voice had dropped into something dark and commanding. It had been a kiss meant to lure their target, but it had done something entirely different to her.

She exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as she leaned against the bar, ordering a drink to steady herself. The air in the room felt warmer now, buzzing with the energy of the gala, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses.

As she reached for her drink, her gaze instinctively searched for Chan. He had blended into the crowd effortlessly, now engaged in casual conversation with some wealthy-looking businessman. The way he carried himself—relaxed, confident—made it seem like he belonged in this world, like he wasn’t currently running an undercover mission.

But then, a voice crackled in her ear.

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice was low, but there was an amused lilt to it. “Your guy is on the move.”

She stiffened slightly, adjusting her grip on her glass.

“How close?” she whispered, tilting her head just slightly so it wouldn’t look like she was speaking to herself.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, clearly checking the feed. “About fifteen feet. And closing.”

Her stomach twisted not with fear, but with anticipation.

“I hope you’ve figured out a way to lure him,” Jisung added, and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Good luck.” With that, the comms went quiet, leaving her standing there, heartbeat loud in her ears. She took one last, slow sip of her drink before setting it down.

Then, she turned. Y/N's fingers wrapped gently around the chilled glass, but she barely took a sip. Her heart was still racing from the kiss with Chan. Her eyes flicked across the room until she spotted him. He was blending easily into a nearby conversation, laughing at something someone said, but she could see how his eyes still tracked her through the crowd. Then came the quiet shift. The presence.

“Miss,” a low, accented voice purred beside her.

Y/N turned slowly to find herself face-to-face with Petrov. Up close, he was just as imposing tall, refined, charming in a dangerous way. His suit was custom, expensive, and everything about him screamed power. But it was the glint in his eyes, that predatory edge, that reminded her exactly who he was. “You’ve been catching my eye all night,” Petrov said, stepping closer, his tone smooth. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d let me introduce myself.”

Y/N smiled, soft and shy playing the part. “It seems I’ve caught quite the important man’s attention, then.” Petrov chuckled, eyes raking over her slowly. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re quick with your words. I like that.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “And I like women who aren’t afraid of power.”

She let her lips twitch upward, keeping her breath even. “Do you say that to all the women you meet at these things?” “Only the ones who look like trouble,” he said, sipping his drink. “Who’s the man you were with?”

“Just a friend,” she replied smoothly, brushing her hair back. “Someone who keeps me out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” Petrov said, clearly not convinced. “That kiss looked a little too convincing for ‘just a friend.’” He arched a brow, studying her. “But perhaps trouble is more fun, no?” Her pulse jumped, but she kept her tone playful. “Maybe. Depends on the kind of trouble you mean.”

He smiled at that. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter? I’d love to hear more about you… without all the noise.” In her ear, Jisung’s voice crackled to life. “This is it, Y/N. He’s biting. Keep going let him chew. Just a little longer.”

Y/N gave Petrov a soft, teasing smile. “Lead the way.”

Petrov’s presence seemed to swallow the space around Y/N, but she kept her expression soft, coy—like she was flattered but not overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, Jisung’s voice crackled quietly in Chan’s earpiece. “Hey, you good?” he asked, a note of teasing curiosity in his tone. “That was… some performance.” Chan cleared his throat and subtly stepped away from the small circle of idle socialites. His gaze flicked to Y/N and Petrov at the bar, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, sure you are.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “Alright, focus up—change of plans for you. So quit drinking. There’s a guy two tables from your nine o'clock, navy suit, thinning hair, holding a scotch. He’s got a keycard clipped inside his inner pocket. We need that.” Chan’s eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the man in question. “You want me to pickpocket him.”

“Bingo,” Jisung replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll need that card to access the west wing security panel. You’ve got one chance so make it clean.”

Chan exhaled slowly, brushing his hand down his lapel to center himself, then started moving through the crowd with quiet precision, eyes trained on the mark. Chan drifted through the crowd with practiced ease, a champagne flute in hand and his expression cool, unreadable. The ballroom shimmered with the glitter of crystal chandeliers and opulence, masking the tension that simmered beneath his calm exterior. His eyes landed on the target, a middle-aged man in a dark navy suit, his badge glinting faintly against his lapel. The key card.

“Chan, twenty degrees to your right,” Jisung’s voice whispered through the comms. “That’s our guy. The access badge is clipped to his inner coat pocket. You have a sorta ten-second window while he’s distracted.”

Chan moved in, just another face in a sea of luxury. He approached the man, bumping into him ever so lightly, the clink of glasses a convenient cover.

“Apologies,” he said smoothly, laying a steadying hand on the man's arm while his other slipped into the inner coat pocket with deft precision. A flick of his wrist—clean, practiced, invisible. The key card vanished into Chan’s palm before the man even realized he’d been touched. “Got it,” Chan whispered. “Nice,” Jisung muttered, sounding genuinely impressed. “Tuck it into your belt loop, just in case. Now…”

A pause. “Switching focus. Y/N, Petrov’s leading you somewhere. I’ve got eyes. You’re heading down a private hallway on the east side. Could be a terrace or a VIP room.”

Y/N followed Petrov’s lead, heart still echoing with the memory of Chan’s kiss. Petrov’s presence was commanding, smooth in a way that made her both alert and oddly calm like stepping into enemy territory wearing silk and confidence.

“You handle him like a charm, Y/N,” Jisung said softly in her earpiece. “But stay sharp. If he offers you a drink—don’t take it. And stall as long as possible. We need to find out where he keeps his passcodes.”

Petrov led Y/N with a confident, knowing gait his hand hovering just close enough to her lower back to signal dominance without touching. His cologne was thick and intoxicating, and every calculated step of his reeked of money, power, and danger. She kept her pace languid, careful to play the role, coy but not naïve, inviting but not desperate.

They stopped just outside a private lounge, its door guarded by a sensor. Petrov glanced at her, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t seem like the usual charity types,” he said in that thick accent, tilting his head with amusement. “Who sent you?”

Y/N gave him a subtle smile, stepping closer, allowing the soft glimmer of her gown to brush against him. “A girl can’t enjoy an expensive evening without a reason?”

He chuckled lowly. “You look like you enjoy more than expensive evenings. But you… you’re hiding something, no?” She tilted her head, her lips barely parted. “Aren’t we all?”

Jisung whispered in her ear through the comms.

“Keep him talking. You're doing great. Try to steer him toward Nightfall. Slowly.” Petrov leaned against the wall now, eyes tracing every inch of her face. “Tell me something… Do you believe in noble causes?”

Y/N swallowed subtly, then nodded. “I think the world needs people willing to do difficult things. Unseen things. For the greater good.” He raised a brow. “That sounds like something I once believed.” He paused, staring at her more intently now. “Have you ever heard of Operation Nightfall?”

Bingo.

Y/N hesitated, lowering her gaze just enough to seem cautious but not shocked. “Wasn’t that some old military intel drop or something? A failed coup?”

Petrov gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “That’s what they called it on paper. But in truth, it was something else entirely.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It was an experiment… on loyalty. On silence. On what people would kill to protect. And what they'd destroy if it meant being remembered.”

Y/N's pulse raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

He leaned in, lips near her ear. “Because I want to see what you'll do with it.” Before she could respond, he tapped the scanner and the door opened with a soft click. He gestured her in.

“I’ve got visuals,” Jisung told them. “Chan, you’re clear to approach the west wing once you secure the card. Y/N… keep him talking. Let’s see what secrets our charming Russian might spill.”

Y/N nodded subtly, stepped inside with measured grace—and the real game began.

Chan ducked behind a column, out of sight of the main ballroom. He slid the stolen keycard from his coat pocket and held it up to a wall panel tucked discreetly beside a locked hallway. It beeped once—access granted.

“Jisung?” he murmured, eyes scanning the hallway beyond.

“Yup. That hallway leads to a private server room. That’s where the encrypted drive’s supposed to be. We need a full download of Petrov’s files if we want dirt on Nightfall’s remnants.”

Chan moved fast and low. Inside the server room, ambient red light pulsed over rows of machines. He located the correct terminal, slotted in a tiny black device Jisung had prepped, and tapped the interface.

“Download in progress,” Jisung confirmed, typing on his end. “Keep it running. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Back in the lounge, Petrov poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to YN. He stared at her with growing curiosity, suspicion laced with intrigue. “So tell me…” he said, swirling his glass. “Why do you really care about knowing Nightfall? It’s been buried for years.”

YN took a sip, eyes meeting his. “Because the ones who buried it never paid for the lives they ruined.” Petrov stared at her silent for a beat too long. Then he smiled faintly. “You're dangerous.”

She smiled back. “Only when I need to be.”

Petrov leaned against the velvet wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on Y/N like a panther cornering prey. The low lighting carved his face into harsh angles. Her drink sat forgotten on the ledge beside him as he spoke, his voice smooth but laced with something biting. “You know…” he drawled, stepping slightly closer. “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Not here, of course. Somewhere more… volatile.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten subtly beneath the silk of her dress. Her lips parted, but she kept her smile practiced, soft, flirtatious. “I get that a lot,” she said lightly, brushing a curl from her shoulder and avoiding direct eye contact for just a second too long. Her heartbeat started to race.

Petrov smirked, noting her hesitation. “Do you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because I never forget a face. Especially not ones that make my instincts twitch.” She chuckled, smooth on the outside but screaming inside. “Then I hope your instincts are saying I’m just a pretty face with a taste for expensive wine and dangerous men.”

Jisung’s voice crackled. “He’s testing you, keep your cool. You’re doing good.”

But she could already feel it, Petrov was circling in, mentally, emotionally. Slowly twisting suspicion into something darker. She tried to reel it back with subtle confidence, touching his sleeve lightly, letting her voice drop. “You’re curious. I like that. Curiosity means you’re smart… and smart men, they’re the kind who know things others don’t. Like secrets. Like… what Operation Nightfall really was.”

His expression barely twitched, but his eyes flared like lit gasoline. The air thickened.

The whirr of the data drive hummed behind Chan as he crouched over the rack of blinking servers, fingers moving across the compact keyboard like water, fast, deadly. The room was cold, sterile, dimly blue-lit. “Jisung,” he hissed, “how much longer is this going to take?”

“Couple more minutes. Just keep the line open and stay quiet.”

But then—click clack—footsteps.

Several.

Chan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn, not yet. Instead, he pulled a micro-blade from under his sleeve and slipped it between his fingers, body half-shadowed. Two men appeared in the doorway—security. Heavyset, armored, rifles slung and ready. They stopped when they saw him, confused, then suspicious.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” one barked, stepping forward.

Chan stood slowly, slipping his blade back into his coat and plastering on the dumbest grin he could muster.

“Room service,” he said, gesturing to the servers. “You guys are out of data… figured I’d refill it.”

“Wrong answer,” the taller one muttered and lunged. Chan ducked, instantly pivoting and slamming his elbow into the man's gut. The guard staggered, and Chan used that split-second to swipe the pistol from his hip. The second guard fired but Chan was already moving.

He dropped low, sliding behind a server tower as the bullet cracked through plastic. He returned fire once non-lethal round hitting the second man in the knee. The man crumpled with a cry. The first guard was up again, charging, Chan grabbed a network cable and yanked it hard, whipping it across the guard’s face before driving his knee into the man’s ribs, then slamming his head against the wall with a brutal thunk. The guard collapsed.

“Gee Jisung,” he grunted, sliding the pistol back into his waistband. “Would’ve been nice to know I had company!”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung replied lazily. “The download’s almost done. Try not to die before it finishes.”

Chan exhaled sharply, sweat dotting his temple. He glanced back at the server the drive was at 87%. He turned toward the door, locking it with a quick override, and returned to his crouch.

“Come on… come on,” he murmured. “Y/N better be buying me a drink after all this.”

The echo of heavy boots down the hallway grew louder then came the pounding.

BANG. BANG.

Chan’s head snapped toward the locked door as it shuddered with the force. He muttered, sweat sliding down his temple as he kept an eye on the loading bar on the screen 92%…

“Jisung,” Chan hissed into the comms. “How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?” Static. Then Jisung’s voice, painfully casual.

“Through the door, obviously. Or, you know, out the window—do a little parkour.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “You’re a menace.”

95%… 98%… 100%. The console pinged.

He yanked the drive from the terminal just as the door burst open with a bang. Two armed guards stormed in. “Hey! Hands where we can see—”

But Chan was already moving.

He ducked the first swing, slammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut, sending him crashing against the server rack. The second drew a stun baton, swinging for Chan’s head. Chan caught the man's wrist mid-air, twisting it with a brutal torque that forced the baton to clatter to the floor. He landed a hard elbow to the guard’s throat, kicked him square in the chest and then took a punch to his ribs from the first guy, who’d recovered.

He staggered, wheezing, but used the momentum to swing a spinning back kick into the first guard’s knee, buckling it with a sickening crack.

Blood smeared across his knuckles, pain throbbed through his side, but Chan didn’t stop. He shoved the last man against the server, slamming the butt of the stun baton into the side of his temple, and watched him crumple.

Breathing hard, he stumbled toward the exit, clutching the drive.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Jisung chimed in.

“Fuck you.”

“You good?”

“Peachy. Bleeding, but peachy. What about Y/N?”

The air was warm and musky with aged whiskey and cologne now. Petrov sat back on the plush leather sofa, his fingers idly rolling the rim of his glass. Y/N, she sat next to him now, leaning closer, her knee brushing his, her lips curled in soft intrigue.

“You’re a hard man to get alone,” she murmured, tilting her head coyly.

He grinned lazily. “That’s because I enjoy being chased.” Y/N gave a breathy laugh, masking her nerves. Inside, her pulse was still scattered from Chan’s kiss, her thoughts fractured but her mission came first.

“I heard you were in Havana last year. Around the time of Nightfall?” she asked, feigning ignorance. That hit the nerve.

Petrov’s gaze sharpened—just for a second—before he masked it with a smile. He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You’ve got interesting sources. Not many people even know about that name. Let alone dare speak it.”

Y/N blinked slowly, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. “I like danger.”

He chuckled, letting the silence hang for a moment. Then he leaned back, sipping his drink, eyes never leaving her. “It was a slaughterhouse. That palace… you know the one in Cuba? Belonged to a general’s mistress. They were housing something there something classified. And then someone leaked intel, and boom… everyone died. Friendly and enemy. Fire, steel, and screams. Left no one standing.”

Y/N’s hand froze slightly. That aligned with what Jisung suspected. Operation Nightfall was a setup and someone made sure there were no survivors.

She swallowed. “And you walked out of that alive?”

Petrov smiled wider, colder.

“Barely. But I never forget a battlefield. Or the faces I see there.” His gaze locked on hers. “Like yours.” Her stomach flipped. Shit. The tension snapped in her spine, but she forced a laugh.

“Are you saying I look like someone you left behind?”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe you’re just not as much of a stranger as you pretend.” She covered her pulse with her glass, trying to steady her breathing. And through it all, Jisung’s voice buzzed softly in her ear:

“That was way too close. Stay with him. I think we’ve found the missing link.”

Petrov's eyes danced over her face, predatory and amused. “You have a lovely way of speaking,” he said, voice deep and accented.

Y/N's heart skipped. She let out a soft, throaty laugh and tilted her head coyly. “I get that a lot. Must be the bone structure.”

Petrov narrowed his eyes, but just as he was about to press deeper—

A firm knock. The heavy wooden door creaked open and one of his security men stepped in briskly. His suit was ruffled, and he was slightly out of breath. “Sir,” the guard said in hushed urgency. “There’s been a situation. One of the restricted zones was triggered.”

Petrov’s brows tightened. “Where exactly?”

The guard leaned in, whispering something too low for Y/N to catch.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Petrov straightened with a grunt and set his drink down. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, voice clipped and irritated. “Duty calls. We’ll pick this up later.”

Y/N nodded, feigning a disappointed smile. “Of course. I’ll be right here.” He didn’t wait to respond, already halfway out the door with his guards in tow.

The moment it shut—

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice filtered into her ear. “Time to move. Meet Chan at the eastern balcony third floor. Now.”

She rose, heart still buzzing with the closeness of danger, and silently slipped toward the hallway, heels quiet on the marble as she vanished from the lounge and into the shadows of the corridor.

The air outside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of high-end cigars and champagne flutes discarded by the edge of the railing. Soft jazz floated in from the ballroom below, muffled by heavy glass doors that clicked shut behind Y/N as she stepped onto the marble balcony. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone, slowing when she spotted him.

Chan leaned against the balustrade, slightly hunched, his tux jacket wrinkled and one sleeve stained with something too dark to be wine. His knuckles tinted red, and there was a tear at the edge of his dress shirt where it had clearly been grabbed in a scuffle.

Y/N blinked. “Why do you always end up getting beat up the second I’m not around?”

He turned his head toward her, breath still uneven, but smirked dryly without answering. Instead, he pulled the drive from inside his jacket and held it up between two fingers, its metal case glinting under the city lights. “Let’s just hope this little guy has what we need.”

Y/N stepped closer, her tone dropping. “I managed to get something too.”

That caught his attention. Chan turned to face her more fully, eyes scanning hers.

She kept her voice low. “Petrov mentioned Cuba. The palace. It wasn’t just a base it was a front. Something happened there during Operation Nightfall, and it involved you. He didn’t say what exactly… but whatever it was, it was big enough to make him stop talking when a guard interrupted us.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes a ripple of unease or something buried deeper. He nodded once, jaw tightening.

Just then, Jisung’s voice crackled through their comms. “Okay lovebirds, time’s up. I’ve got cameras blinking red on your floor and guards getting way too curious about who’s missing from the charity bingo.”

Y/N glanced back toward the ballroom. “So what now?”

“Now,” Jisung said, “you leave. Subtly. Because if anyone figures out you’re not here to sip overpriced wine and fund endangered birds, this whole thing goes to hell.” Chan exhaled heavily, slipping the drive back into his pocket. “He’s right.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Y/N looped her arm through his, masking the adrenaline still coursing through her veins with a soft smile. From anyone watching, they were just another power couple leaving early maybe to avoid the press, maybe to steal a moment alone. But beneath the surface, beneath the lights and silk and music, the real mission had just begun.

And the ghosts of Cuba were no longer buried.

😤

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jeonsweetpea · 11 months ago

Text

The Moon Knows Our Secrets (2) - Final

Exes to Lovers!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!OC | Soulmate!AU

genre: angst, smut, exes to lovers, vampire/werewolf hybrid (emphasis on werewolf), soulmates, forced proximity

rating: explicit

description: He doesn’t remember loving you. How could he, when you’re the one who erased his memories? You run into him a year later at a wedding. The year after that he’s reported missing and you go off to find him. Then you wonder: did he ever forget you?

word count: 17.7k

warnings (SPOILERS!!!): tension, resentment, fight scenes (nothing too graphic), Boxer!JK, injuries, blood, spying, drama with exes, arguing, underground cage fighting with ill intentions, OC and JK wrestle for control when he goes into his rut, a magic spell gone wrong, biting, JK and OC's POVs are included, HAPPY ENDING

smut warnings (tread carefully): masturbation (male), JK later goes into his RUT, kissing, unprotected sex, thigh job, oral sex (male and female receiving), scratching, rough sex, face-fucking, standing sex, knotting, creampies, dirty talk, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, hickies, nipple play, tummy bulge, lots of cum, marking, doggystyle, slight breeding kink (no pregnancy), slight dumbification, pain kink, brief mentions of anal, chains, hand jobs

a/n: This is an epilogue for my series Moonstruck (inspired by TVD), but it can be read as a STAND-ALONE! You do not have to read Moonstruck (but it will be more satisfying if you have 😉). This is the most smut I've written in a while and I tried out a new writing style too. I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and asks always make my day, thank you! Or if you prefer AO3, I post there too.

| Part 1 | Part 2

Six Months Later…

Another unknown number. You stare at your phone on the motel bed like the device is an uninvited guest as you step out of the bathroom, scrunching a towel around your damp hair. The clock on the wall reads midnight.

Maybe it’s a client?

The call disappears before you can answer it, reverting to the lock screen—the wedding group picture from last year. You had cropped it where it showcases only you and Jungkook. It’s a tad pixelated from being zoomed in so much, but the same deer-in-the-headlights expression pokes through on both of your faces. He was holding you in a dip position because you had almost fallen. The memory makes you smile every time, and you need a little joy in this dreary room.

You sit on the bed and the phone rings again, as if on cue. The towel is cast aside as you answer it, tapping the button for speaker mode.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss [Y/N]?”

Even your alarm clock can’t get you out of bed this fast. You’re up on your feet, placing the phone against your ear as your heart rate spikes. There’s no way. That deep, smooth voice was unmistakable, especially when it used to whisper the filthiest things in your ear. “Y-Yes, this is her. Who is this?”

As if you don’t already know. “I’m Officer Kim Taehyung, Headmaster Kim gave me your number.”

What’s the latest phone model in store? Because you’re seconds away from shattering the current one in your hands. Or maybe you should redirect your anger around Namjoon’s neck instead. You kept your words steady as you said, “Oh, I see. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m so sorry to call you at this hour, but I’m worried about a… a friend of mine,” he says. His hesitation on the “friend” label piques your interest. “I haven’t been able to reach him in a couple of weeks. I’m worried he’s gone missing.”

Wait. He’s an officer now?

“If an officer such as yourself hasn’t been able to find him, that is worrisome. I’m assuming your friend is supernatural. Because that’s kind of all I do…”

“Yes, of course. He’s a hybrid.”

Your heart is lodged in your throat, unable to force the things you want to scream out. You had to take a deep breath before asking in a low voice, depicting how serious this is, “He’s a what?”

“A hybrid. Do you… know him?”

Do I know him… what a stupid question. You roll your eyes as if he could see you through the phone. “Text me everything you have on him. I’ll find him.”

“How?”

“Are you questioning my skills? I said I’ll find him.”

You hang up after that and collapse flat on your back, the mattress squeaking from your weight. You shouldn’t be so harsh on him; the poor man wasn’t up to date with all that’s happened. It’s not like he would know your history with Jungkook. Or you, for that matter. You made sure of that.

A buzz from your phone snaps you from your thoughts.

KTH: His name is Jeon Jungkook. His last known location was his apartment up north. I’ll send you the address and a picture.

He’s a man of his word, as the next text contains a map with the location marked by a round red pushpin. As much as you want to cremate Namjoon, Taehyung has given you the first lead you’ve had in months. If anything happened to Jungkook, you’d never forgive yourself.

*Bzz*

Well, that’s new. It’s a picture of Jungkook under a white duvet, his arm bent, his head propped on his hand. Most of his body was covered, but the amount of skin showing at the junction between his neck and shoulder lets you know he is naked. Or at most, shirtless. Both are equally hot options if you have anything to say about it.

His lips are pressed together into a coy smile, but his eyes are screaming “fuck me.” Like a personal challenge.

KTH: Oops. I didn’t mean to send that picture.

You: It’s fine. I got the jist of what he looks like.

Why he has such a suggestive photo of Jungkook in the first place was concerning, but not enough for you to press further.

Jungkook’s Point of View

My guard is up as my opponent swings his fists. His moves have zero technique, relying solely on blind rage as he tries to knock me out. Too bad I was quicker than him, playing the defensive first while I decided the best way to secure my victory.

As we shuffle around the caged ring, the burly man in front of me grows impatient, like a bull taunted by a red cape. The more he charged, the more I dodged. He hasn’t gotten a single hit in, which only spurs the crowd to cheer louder for me.

My heart is battering around in my rib cage, excited from the adrenaline rush. Having the spotlight on me, adoring fans, and exerting my muscles makes me feel alive. I don’t focus on anything else. I can’t. If I want to win, I transform whatever turmoil brews inside me into determination.

The rules are simple: no weapons, no biting, only fists and feet. Classic brawl style. We may be wolves, but there are boundaries, or our pride would cause a full-on slaughter.

The guy in front of me is drenched in sweat, and I see how his movements slowed—he was getting tired. It was time for me to go on the offensive.

I launch a kick, aiming for his right side. He caught it without even blinking, earning a choral gasp from the audience. They assume I’m in a bind, but I focus all my strength on my other leg and smack the dude across the face at lightning speed. He fell with a resounding thud, but I don’t wait for him to regain balance.

I hit him with all I got—jab, cross, jab, cross. Right hook, left hook. He cowered in the corner like a bitch and I knee him in the gut. It was like watching a boulder topple over, his pride smashed into smithereens. Throwing my arms up, I circle the cage to pump up morale. The crowd bangs their fists against the enclosure as I roar. The referee begins the countdown from ten.

Another victory added to my streak. Maybe I’ll treat myself and get laid tonight. I can smell the eager ones in the room and when I first got here, I always turned them down to be modest. Fuck that. I’m finally going to do it.

I scan the room for potential suitors when my eyes land on her. It was like tunnel vision where everyone else was blacked out and she was the light at the end. I’m nothing but a moth to her flame, so gobsmacked that I rub my eyes to ensure I wasn’t seeing things.

When I come to, she’s gone. There’s no way.

I worked so hard to get over her. Is my brain so fucked that it’s starting to make me hallucinate? It seems years of therapy did absolutely nothing. Thanks, Jin.

Next thing I know the big guy recovers and tackles me to the ground. He got a good hit in; I tasted blood. There was no time to dwell on a figment of my imagination. My thirst for victory shouldn’t be underestimated as I swing my fist square in his jaw. I wasn’t going down that easy.

Yikes. That’s a doozy.

I’ve been examining my face for five minutes now, hating how he split my lip open. Oh well. It’ll heal soon enough and I sent him home with far worse.

That was the last fight of the night, so I had the locker room all to myself. The staff went home after sending the customers on their way. I go to my locker, type in the combination, and pull out a spare change of clothes and a towel.

I head to the shower, placing my things on the bench. I undress, the first thing being my tank top, which had splotches of blood stained on the white fabric. Most of it wasn’t mine anyway, thankfully. I remove my shorts, discarding them in the same pile as my top.

I enter the shower and close the curtain, turning the water onto the hottest setting. Once it hits my skin, I throw my head back and feel my muscles release its tension as I bask in the warmth. I tilt my head forward to get my hair damp when thoughts of her creep into my mind.

It felt real. She looked real. I remembered everything about her appearance from head to toe even if I only saw her briefly.

Her hair was dyed now to a color that suited her features. She had minimal makeup on that further enhanced her natural beauty. Her body was adorned in black skinny jeans where the seams were in front, matching her black combat boots and leather jacket. Underneath was a short-sleeved v-neck, her cleavage prominent and so inviting. Ugh. I shouldn’t be thinking about her in such a way, but where was I supposed to look? Her push-up bra was doing god’s work.

Man, I’m so pathetic. I shouldn’t lust over her. She left me not once, but twice. What’s worse is she doesn’t know I remember everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept vervain on me that day. Would my life have turned out better?

I dispense some body wash into my hands, lathering it between my palms before rubbing my torso. My hands trail down to my groin area, and I thoroughly clean it because sweaty balls are such a turn-off. But then I wrap my hand around the base of my cock, stroking it slowly.

It looks like I’m washing it, but I already know what’s coming next. Memories of her are like shards of glass I can’t remove, embedded so deep that it scars. I reminisce about our past. How it felt to touch her, kiss her, love her. Her sweet moans, her soft breasts, her addictive scent. I’m palming myself and shuddering. Unlike her, my hands are calloused, but I pretend I have her soft touch.

I close my eyes and fantasize. I’d tear her clothes off with my bare teeth, mark all over her chest with my lips, turn her around, and take her. Indulge in my primitive urges and teach her a lesson. God, I wanted to fuck someone tonight, anyone, but my mind defaults to her.

The soap makes it easy to glide my hand up and down my cock. I’m going much faster now, my breaths more ragged. No one’s here anyway. So I moan. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just need to come and get this out of my system.

I’m about to finish when there’s a gasp outside my stall. My entire body stills and I don’t take a moment to ask “Who’s there?” like the stupid idiots you see in horror movies. I think about what to do next and then commit.

After turning off the water, I pull the curtain back and step out. I glance to my left to see the shower stall at the end has its curtain closed. It wasn’t like that before.

I put on my boxers because I sure as hell wasn’t going to face this intruder naked. I plan to charge in there and drag him out without saying a word. Other than the sound of my footsteps, it’s eerily quiet. I reach my hand out, but as soon as I’m about to grab the curtain, the shower turns on.

I hesitate, wondering if I’m about to be an asshole who’s about to expose an innocent soul out in the open. Before I built my reputation, I was jumped for being the new guy multiple times. That stopped after the third guy went home with three broken ribs though, but I can never be too careful. Some people were sore losers.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Great. I’m not only stupid but polite. I’m sure the person behind the curtain will slit my throat any moment, so I better act fast. I grab the curtain and attempt to pull it, but it’s stuck.

Or rather, someone is holding it still. I yank harder this time, but they refuse to budge. I use both hands, gripping it extra tight, and tug with all my might until the sound of torn fabric echoes in the room, revealing the culprit.

The person I thought I healed from, the one I once thought I would heal with, is standing right before me, her eyes as wide as mine. I can’t think straight, so my body moves without permission as I charge forward, pinning her to the wall face first. I have her arms pinned behind her back, catching my breath when I realized what I had done.

I don’t want her to look at me. Because then I’d have to accept the fact that she’s real.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your Point of View

Where do you start? Do you tell him you tracked him down to the countryside and climbed down a creepy cellar door behind a barn only to find out he was an underground cage fighter? Or explain how you followed him to the locker rooms hoping to get a word with him until you tripped on your shoelaces?

It’s difficult to decide when he’s got your arms twisted behind your back. They were getting sore.

“I–I heard you were missing,” you say, wary of your next choice of words. “Can you please let me go?”

You attempt to move, but he holds your wrists with one hand while using the other one to render your head immobile. He uses enough force to press your cheek against the cold tile.

“I didn’t say you could move,” he warned, his voice laced with venom. “Congratulations, you found me. I’m no longer missing.”

“And you’re a cage fighter?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re cheating. This place is only for werewolves and you’re a—”

He flips you around so quickly you almost get whiplash, your back pinned to the wall while he covers your mouth. He has a murderous glare, his jaw clenches, and the vein near his temple bulges out. “Be quiet. You never know who’s listening.”

Your eyes drink him in, ogling him unashamed because his beauty should have been illegal. His hair was damp, but you can tell it’s cut short now. He didn’t have any piercings in, his natural beauty was enough to make anyone fall to their knees—which is exactly what you wanted to do for him. But you don’t make a sound.

You couldn’t help but notice the glorious sight of his inked sleeve. When did he get that many tattoos? You bet there was a story to each one, but before you can dwell on it, Jungkook shifts his hand from your mouth to your eyes.

There’s a sense of deja vu from his actions. The last time he covered your eyes was to prevent you from compelling him two years ago. Following through with such a heartbreaking decision was difficult, but you believed it was for the best.

As for now? You’re not sure.

“So you stalk me because you thought I was missing, follow me into the showers, and now you’re ogling me like a pervert?”

He got you there. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

“If the roles were reversed, I’d look like some sick freak. You invaded my privacy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Let me ask you something, and I expect you to be honest: Were you listening to me earlier?” He saw you tuck your lower lip under your teeth like you wanted to seal the words shut. “Answer me. And don’t play dumb.”

“Yes,” you say, meek and pathetic. “I heard you.”

You can’t see him, but his eyes are crazed like he doesn’t know how to act around you. “And did you like what you heard?” He closes the gap between your bodies, his bare chest barely brushing against yours. His lips are ghosting across your own as he continues. “You like hearing me get off like some sick freak? Is that what you are? A fucking pervert?”

“N-No…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest.

His hot breath fans across your face. “I didn’t even get to finish.”

You gulp. “I… I could help you finish…”

Before your hand has a chance to sneak over to his lower region, he snatches it. “You aren’t allowed to touch me.”

“Technically, you touched me first.”

“Bratty now, are we? Don’t be flattered. I’d rather touch myself.” He releases your wrist, but his other hand is in the same spot, obstructing your sight. “I’m going to jerk off and you’re going to stand there until I’m finished.”

“What?”

“You heard me. And you’re going to keep hearing me until I’m satisfied. Understand?”

The constant steam from the shower was nearing the point of suffocation, but his words were far deadlier. “Okay.”

“Hands behind your back. I don’t want you tempted. Perverts like you can’t be trusted.”

You have to scold yourself for igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach from his slander, but you obey. Though you can’t see him, you hear the soft smacking sounds of him jerking his cock, surprised at how quickly he was to start.

If you had your sight, you’d be able to see how he is staring at your lips, wishing more than anything he could kiss you. How his eyes trail down to your cleavage and how the droplets of water made them look more enticing. His mind is racing a mile a minute through all his fantasies of how he’d take you, punish you, torment you until you were begging to come. As much as he does want to fuck you, you’re so damn gorgeous that admiring you was enough.

His moans sound like soft sobs the closer he approaches his climax, his hand speeding up. It’s erotic, whiny, and sexy when he’s so desperate. He’s grunting through gritted teeth, panting like he’s running out of breath. You wonder if he makes the same noises when he’s working out.

Fuck, you’d give anything to see him now. But his intentions were clear. You were to be still until he was finished.

“Does this turn you on?” he asks, his voice shaky. He lays his chin on your shoulder, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “I’m close.”

He lets out a choked gasp, whispering “fuck, fuck, fuck” as he pumps himself as fast as he can, reaching his high and submitting to the pleasure. It’s unbelievably erotic and he comes in his hand, catching the spurts of cum. He pulls back and stares at your lips again.

“Open.” Your mouth obeys willingly and he shoves two of his cum-soaked fingers inside. You close your lips around them, sucking them clean and savoring his taste. It’s bitter and slightly salty, but you welcome it. “Good girl.”

The praise brings a grin to your face. He rinses his hand under the water, turns it off, and finally releases his hold on you. You see the large expanse of his back as he walks away, almost drooling at his size. He slips on a loose black T-shirt, sweatpants, and slides.

He looks over his shoulder. “Do you need clothes?”

The question makes your heart swell. “I’m good.”

Jungkook hears you mutter words similar to Latin. He turns around to see your necklace glow when you rub it between your thumb and forefinger. Your clothes dry in an instant, and he chuckles. “When did you learn magic?”

“I’ve had some free time.”

He peers down to your feet, letting out a heavy sigh as he walks over. Getting down on one knee, he ties your shoelace and you can’t help but melt.

“I hope you have some free time now,” he says, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I’m not done with you yet. We need to talk.”

It’s past 3 AM. The air is cool and crisp, carrying a faint scent of hay. Stars are twinkling in the clear night sky while the moon casts a silvery glow, illuminating silhouettes of barns in the distance. It’s quiet since folks are deep in their slumber, so walks home are usually serene.

“Jungkook, wait up!”

Today’s an exception. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

You jog to catch up to his pace on the dirt road. He rolls his eyes but slows his steps, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t you say we needed to talk?”

He stops abruptly, and you almost bump into his mountainous form. “Okay. Talk. Why are you here? You made it clear the last time we met that you couldn’t stay.”

You fumble with your words, as your brain isn’t quite as speedy as your lips. “Well I… I wasn’t in my right mind then.”

“Did I hurt you?” Your expression softens when you see the concern in his features, those brown doe eyes so big and round that you can see your reflection in them. Had he spent all this time fearing the worst?

“No… not in the slightest. I left because I was embarrassed.”

“I don’t believe you. You looked at me like…” He closes his eyes as if the next words would pain him. “Like I was a mistake.”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head. “You are anything but a mistake.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re hiding something?” He invades your space, his large frame towering over yours. “Why are you really here, [Y/N]?”

This is your chance to tell him the truth. With one command, you can make him remember loving you and all the shared memories that came with it. You’re ready to love him the way he deserves, but the thing is… you’re not sure you deserve him. Consequences were in order and pain was inevitable. He’ll hate you. He’ll feel betrayed.

Panic takes charge, forming an excuse for you. “I told you… someone told me you went missing. I was worried.”

He raises an eyebrow, prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue like your answer was unsatisfactory. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook drops his arms to his side. “Wow. That son of a…” He clasps a hand to his forehead, pacing back and forth in utter disbelief. “Guess I have two stalkers.”

“What exactly is Taehyung’s relationship to you?”

He stops and faces you, looking like you had offended him. “There is no relationship. There will never be a relationship, but he doesn’t seem to get that! God!”

You place your hands on your hips. “I don’t understand.”

He decides against elaborating but quickly changes his mind after seeing you use Taehyung to deflect.

“He’s an old roommate. We used to fuck. Okay?” Time seems to stop between you two but for an entirely different reason. You’re abhorred, unable to comprehend the fact your ex fucked your other ex. This must be the universe’s punishment for messing with their memories. Because the Jungkook you know would have never sought him out after everything Taehyung put you through.

You fucked my ex?! The dude who tried to kill you?! The guy who backstabbed us and harmed us?! Are you insane?!

You have to bite your tongue before the house of cards collapses.

“I was experiencing my first rut. It was overwhelming. Not like I could fuck a human without hurting them. Permanently,” he adds, watching how your face morphs into one lost in thought. “What’s up?”

You snap out of it. “Oh. Nothing. Before Taehyung, I went west because there were rumors of the ‘Cervix Splitter’ and thought…”

He stares at you, mouth agape as he points to himself. “You thought that was me?!”

“I don’t know!” you say, holding your hands out with your palms up. “I think they might have a serial killer loose… damn.”

“Can we please stick to the subject?” he asks, exasperation coating every word. You nod and gesture for him to continue. “Anyway, he and I ran into each other and one thing led to another. We were both hybrids with needs. It was a good arrangement, but then he got obsessive. Wanted a relationship. I said no.”

You give him a look of sympathy as you recall how Taehyung reacted when you broke up with him. Even though you erased your existence from his mind, it seems his obsessive tendencies lingered. Some things never change. “He didn’t like that very much, did he?”

“What do you think? I ran away, so he’d leave me alone. It worked for the past few months until you showed up.” He narrows his eyes into slits. “Did you tell him I was here?”

“No. He keeps texting me though.”

He points an accusatory finger at you. “You’re not going to tell him anything. Got it?”

“I won’t. But if you keep that tone up, I might reconsider,” you warn.

“And how would that benefit you? Do you know Taehyung?”

Unfortunately. “It’s my job to help those in need in the supernatural community.”

“What are you, the Scooby Doo gang?” He steps back to laugh. “Is this what you’ve been up to since you’ve left?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you scold. “Helping is what I do. I’m good at it. It clears my mind.”

“Okay. Then you can ‘help’ yourself out of here. Tell Taehyung you didn’t find me while I go home and rest. I’m exhausted.”

He dashes off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. You follow at once and encounter a quaint cottage surrounded by forestry. Jungkook waits at the front door, folding his arms across his chest.

“Do you need something else?” he asks. You swear you can see the cogs turning in his mind, unable to figure out what’s your angle.

“Are you going to continue fighting?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. It’s a great stress reliever. Keeps me from…” His eyes flit to your lips for a brief second. “... overthinking. Plus I get great perks. Respect. Fans. Money.”

“You don’t need money.”

“I know, but it’s a power trip having it. Besides, people bet on me. I’d hate to let my loyal benefactors down.”

You mirror his stance, folding your arms as displeasure passes your face. “You’re a hybrid. It’s a given you’ll win every fight and that’s not fair to their pack.”

“Only if they find out.” You’re about to counteract his argument, but he beats you to it. “Look. Boxing’s my thing. I enjoy the rush it gives me. Exerting my muscles, feeling that sweet burn, and fighting until my body gives out—it’s addicting. I feel alive.”

His eyes shimmer with every word he speaks like he was putting on a speech to inspire high school kids. It only brings you more dread when there’s a confession on the tip of your tongue.

“Well… do you have to box here?”

“I like it here. Now if you don’t mind…”

He pulls out his keys, turns around, and inserts them into the lock. You nibble on your thumbnail, scrambling to come up with another excuse. Once he enters, you use your enhanced speed and invite yourself in.

“Can I stay?” you ask, quick to shut the door. He chuckles, impressed by your tenacity.

“What is with you? Don’t you have a Cervix Splitter to catch? Please leave.”

The words bubble up in your throat, forcefully coming to the surface like word vomit. “You can’t stay here!”

The outburst garners his undivided attention as he stares at you dumbfounded like there is Wii music playing in the background. “Why?”

“There’s some people who know you’re a hybrid…” you reveal, your voice reduced to a mere squeak.

“What did you say?” he asks through gritted teeth. You don’t reply and he repeats himself, this time with a lower volume, which spooks you more than if he was shouting. “What did you do?”

“When I came here to find you, I asked if anyone saw you. I showed them a picture and told them you’re a hybrid. Thought it’d make it faster…” You let out a small laugh. “I was kinda right…”

Jungkook looks like he’s at a crossroads of whether to hate you or murder you. Or both. “Why would you expose me like that?”

“I didn’t know it was a secret.” He lifts his fist at an angle toward the door, and you wait for him to slam it down in anger. However, he sighs and lowers his hand slowly, splaying his fingers against the wood. You blink twice, choosing your next words carefully. “I don’t understand. Why would you hide the fact you’re a hybrid?”

He holds onto the sides of his head like he is about to rip his hair out. “Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm is dripping in every word. “Did you forget how your grandparents tried to kill us when they discovered your existence?”

What did he say?

His hands drop down by his side as do yours. Realization dawns upon you two, the world coming to a screeching halt. Shock renders you immobile as the gears in your head try to turn, but they’re overwhelmed by the million questions plaguing your mind. He shouldn’t know that. He shouldn’t remember that. Unless… he never forgot.

“You remember me… You remember everything,” you say in a breathy tone. You should’ve seen it coming, especially with how he acted at the wedding. “How do you—“

“I had vervain on me,” he confesses without the slightest remorse.

You take a small step back, almost stumbling. “So this whole time… you never forgot me? You knew what I did and didn’t say anything? You slept with Taehyung?!”

“That’s what you got from this? That’s what you choose to focus on?” His question pins you for a fool.

“Because that’s the stupidest thing you could’ve done! I erased his memories so he could start fresh. Same with you!”

“What difference does it make? I asked, no, I begged you not to erase my memories and you did it anyway.”

You steel yourself to remain calm. “Because I didn’t want you burdened by me anymore. I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

He tilts his head, his eye slightly twitching as he raises a finger like he is about to lecture you. “Stop. Stop saying it was best for me when the reality was, you were only thinking about yourself.” He takes a sharp inhale. “You wanna know why I got with Tae? Because I was a mess when you left. Devastated. Broken people look for broken people, [Y/N].”

You threw your head back. “Oh my god... This is precisely why I wanted you to forget.”

He almost snarls. “You don’t get it, do you? You always do this. You make decisions without my consent. I never asked to be a hybrid, I never asked for any of this shit.”

You place a hand on your chest, offended. “I’m sorry, you’re upset I turned you to save your life?”

“You turning me was what started this whole mess,” he spits out, revulsion apparent. “I was sired to you, I fell in love with you, I went through hell and back only for it to not matter in the end. You left me. I could forgive you the first time, but not for the second.”

There aren’t any words you can say to combat this.

“I remember everything about you. About us,” he says, the look in his eyes resembling a kicked puppy. “I remember what you said the day you tried to compel me.”

“Don’t,” you plead. He throws your words back at you in a rather snarky manner.

“‘When I’m ready, I’ll come to you and you can decide then if you’ll have me.,” he quotes. “I used to think I’d be okay waiting for you to come around… but that was incredibly stupid. You came back only to abandon me again and for what? To go around playing vigilante?”

“Jungkook…”

“No, I’m not done.” He starts to pace back and forth. “Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted? Of course not. Because in the end, it’s all about you. You should’ve erased everything. What was the point of only erasing my love for you, huh?”

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, fighting back tears.

“I want you to tell me the truth. You erased Taehyung’s memories of you because he was a psychopath but spared me the smallest glimpse. Why? Why not erase it all?”

“Because I love you!” you exclaim. He stops pacing, shooting you a skeptical glare. “And knowing that you still remembered me, even a tiny part of me, was comforting enough to help me move on. I needed space.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet? But I’m not your safety net, [Y/N].” He walks over to his front door and pulls it open. “Get out.”

You shake your head. “Jungkook, please.”

“Either you get out or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and force you out.”

The resentment he had must’ve grown exponentially over the years. If you push him further than you already had, he might snap. So you exit his house but go for one final attempt at whatever relationship you can salvage with him.

“Please let me stay. I can protect you from those cage fighters if they decide to get even.”

“No. You’ve done enough.”

“Jungkook—”

“Enough!” His voice carries, causing birds to flutter their wings and find solace in another tree further away. You watch as he towers over you again, but beneath his icy glare is a heartbroken man. “Since I first saw you, I have belonged to you completely.”

He tightens his fists, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before saying the next part.

“I have always belonged to you. And for that, I suffered. I came here to escape, to heal, and it worked. I was at peace and you waltz in here, stirring up chaos in my life where it’s not welcomed.” His eyes never waver and you don’t dare look away. “And what’s funny is how you expect me to do what? Take you back?”

“I… I don’t know. I thought…”

“You thought wrong,” he finishes for you. “Do you think it’s easy seeing you? I’m angry, [Y/N]. You make me so mad I can’t even think straight.”

“Then yell at me! Don’t push me away.”

“I’m pushing you away because I know you. And I know what hurts you the most.” He caresses your face longingly, slowly, like it’d be the last time. His fingers ghost the surface of your skin, and you lean in, desperate for more. But he pulls back. “Either you choose me or you lose me. And it’s too late to choose me now. Goodbye [Y/N].”

“No,” you say like a stubborn child. “I don’t want to leave you. I’m afraid to lose you. Please.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he shakes his head. “I suggest you face your fears. It’s not like this is the first time.”

The last thing you see is the door being slammed in your face.

Jungkook’s Point of View

That was the worst sleep of my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how I left her. She deserved all my venomous words, but empathy made me regret everything. Why do we even need such an emotion when all it does is make us feel like shit?

It’s pitch black in my room. The low-pitched sound of the air conditioner is my only companion. I enjoy being alone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely. I shouldn't get used to missing her, but I’m used to it again. I wish she were here.

I decide to get dressed and quickly leave the house. For once the angel and devil on my shoulder agree, pressing me to find her but for two different reasons. One says to forgive and forget, the other craves to deliver punishment and commit sins.

I tell myself I’m going hunting instead. Rabbits and squirrels fall prey to my clutches and I feel a pang in my heart when I drink their blood, but I have to survive somehow. Before I knew it, it was dark outside and the moon looked lonely, almost like it was crying in the night sky.

I couldn’t find her. I searched all day, but the countryside is vast, and I’m drenched in sweat. Checking the time on my watch, I see I’m late for my next fight.

Shit.

It’s fine. She’s an Original Hybrid and can take care of herself.

Rushing back to the barn, I circle to find the angled cellar door. I pull the handle, descend downstairs, and run into one of the bouncers. Aside from cage fighting, the underground establishment is used for clubbing and drinking most days of the week. I hear the heavy bass from the music, feeling the ground shake from the vibrations. I greet the bouncer with a handshake, but he stares at me like I had pissed in his thermos.

“Ms. Lim wants to see you,” he says, his voice gruff. He gestures his bald head towards the door that says “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” on the right, so I head there. There’s a narrow hallway and at the end of the corridor is her office. I slowly open the door.

“Jungkook,” Her nasal voice already has a trace of annoyance as I poke my head in. She’s sitting behind her desk with two henchmen about twice my size, both dressed in suits with their hands clasped in front. “Come in please.”

I do what she says and she points to the chair in front, so I sit. “Hello, Ms. Lim. I know I’m late, I’m sorry. Can I have the next fight?”

Her mouth twitches. “No. We need to talk.”

She snaps her fingers and the two bodyguards stand on either side of me, each placing a firm hand on my shoulders. When I squirm, they hold me tighter as if cementing me still. I let out a nervous laugh, feigning innocence. “What’s going on?”

The middle-aged woman adjusts her thick-rimmed glasses, scoffing like I was being impolite in the presence of royalty. “I run a tight-knit business, Jungkook. My wolves… They follow me. They listen to me. Because I’m honest and upfront. I don’t dish out bullshit.”

She stands, placing her hands behind her back as she circles the front of her desk, closing the gap between us.

“Wolves like to fight. It’s in our nature to have some aggression. Here you can release it in a healthy, controlled environment,” she says. “When you first arrived, I liked you right away. The sheer arrogance you had, the drive to win—you were a natural for the ring. People bet on you because you never let them down.” She leans against her desk, lowering her glasses onto the tip of her nose bridge to look at me. “You don’t want to let people down, right?”

The bait can’t be more obvious, but I indulge her anyway. “Of course not.”

My answer seems to placate her and she puts her finger under my chin, tilting my head up. “Then I need you to tell me the truth. What are you, Jungkook?”

“I’m a wolf. Just like you, ma’am.” Not like that was a complete lie. I am a wolf. Half.

She grips my chin harder, her pupils blown so wide that they overtook her irises. “Is that all?”

“Look, it’s clear you know something so why don’t you…” She whips out a pistol from underneath the slit in her long dress and I stare down the barrel without moving a muscle.

“There’s no fear in your eyes. Probably because you know and I know that this crummy little thing won’t kill you.” She pulls the trigger, but the shot is empty. I try my best not to scowl as she puts it away. “One of my men ran into a strange girl yesterday. She was hysterical, almost aggressive in asking about you.”

“Make your point.”

“She told me you were a hybrid. Is that true?”

I lean back against the chair, my shoulders less tense now that the secret is out. “Yes. So what? I’m still part wolf.”

“You’re half-wolf,” she corrects. “I don’t give a damn about you being a hybrid. But I do care that you weren’t fully transparent with me. And people talk. Word gets around I’m letting a hybrid take all the winnings and my business is done.”

“No one has to know.”

“Oh darling… she blabbed all over town about you. I’m sure everyone already knows. But I have a deal for you if you want to stay.”

Judging from her toothy smile, the chances of this deal being more beneficial for her than me are high. “What deal?”

“Do you know how much money I can make if I put two hybrids against each other?” she asks, flashing a smirk. “Especially with a pretty little thing like her against someone like you. The crowd would go wild.”

I shake my head. “I’ll pass. She’s not into cage fighting and I don’t hit women.”

“Who says she’s not?” I don’t like her tone and the insinuation behind it. “Darling, who do you think is taking your place right now?”

“What?”

“[Y/N] is fighting her heart out at this very moment. The wolves adore her. Probably because I said whoever beats her gets to breed her.”

This time I force myself to stand, knocking out both men when they attempt to grab me again with a one-two combo. They collapse with a resounding thud, and I head straight for Ms. Lim. I’m holding her dress collar and lifting her in the air, but she remains unphased.

“Where is she?”

“I see she’s important to you.”

“Where is she?!” I shout, not caring that I spit on her.

“She turned you, right? How’d she do it? Did you two have sex?”

“I’m not asking you again,” I warn. She wraps her hand around my wrist, her irises shifting to a muted gold as she pries my hold off her, dislocating my hand. I curse in pain, fully prepared to retaliate, but she snaps her fingers three times.

I hear footsteps from behind me and the door opens with a loud slam. Looking over my shoulder, I see about fifty men in black suits who are bigger than me enter the room. They all bear matching stoic expressions, but their fists are up and ready as their pointed glares shoot in my direction.

“There isn’t much information on hybrids and experimenting on an Original is too good of an opportunity to pass up. I’m sure my boys would love to breed her. Then business would be booming with hybrid fighters at my side!” Ms. Lim cries.

My blood is boiling and I swear I’m seeing red. I snap my wrist back into place without breaking eye contact and backhand her across the face. She falls to the floor, stunned, holding the side of her cheek. “I thought you said you don’t hit women!”

“My apologies. I meant beautiful women.”

Three men grab me—one at each arm and the last holding my waist. The others line up, each taking a jab at me. The first punch is aimed at my stomach. One breaks my nose. Another hits me square in the jaw. I see stars by the time Ms. Lim stands, holding her hand up for them to stop.

“How dare you? Oh, I’m going to make sure your little girlfriend is knocked up. Poor thing has no clue what plans I have for her.”

I muster enough strength to spit at her, flicking droplets of blood onto her face. She shrieks in disgust and slaps me in return. I only laugh like a madman.

“Good luck… she’s infertile…” I say, trying to find my breath. “And my girl can take care of herself. She won’t lose.”

“It’s okay. I can still find plenty of uses for her. If my boys can’t breed her, they can still fuck her once they’re done with you. I bet she screams pretty,” Ms. Lim says.

“You’re lying!”

“Am I?” She snaps her fingers again, prompting the last man who punched me to step forward. He pulls out something gold from his pocket, dangling it in front of me like a carrot for a rabbit. My face falls when I recognize the double moon charms. “Mr. Ahn here is the first one that defeated [Y/N]. He’ll get to have her first.”

The douchebag has a devilish grin as he slips the necklace over my head. He pats my cheek twice before smacking it hard on the third. I bare my teeth, more than ready to kick his ass, but other men are holding me still.

“I’m going to check the status of our beautiful prize and see if she’s ready for Mr. Ahn,” Ms. Lim declares, exiting the room with the sleazy bastard. Right before she closes the door, she sticks her head in and adds, “Whoever gets that necklace from him gets to have her next.”

The door shuts and I’m shouting curses at her until my throat is hoarse. All sense of self-control goes out the window as I unleash my wrath, my anger blinding me as my fists take control. In cage fights, I’ve had to hold back. But now? I’m ready to demolish anyone who gets in my way.

Your Point of View

After Jungkook kicked you out, you roamed the area for a place to stay. With your abilities, you had endless options: an inn, a motel, a farmhouse, or even the forest if you prefer. Heartbroken, you planned to wolf out until a middle-aged woman found you on the side of the road.

She drove beside you, parked her car, and rolled down her windows. Your first instinct was to walk away, but she mentioned Jungkook and how she was his boss. She told you how her place wasn’t too far away, offering a place for you to stay the night.

Questions kept pouring out of you, but she wouldn’t answer until you agreed to her offer. Your guard was up the whole night despite the fact she was a werewolf too. She doted on you with tea and snickerdoodles, but you didn’t dare take a bite until after she did.

Though you were on edge most of the night, her aura was warm, like a grandmother’s love or what you could only imagine as such. Your grandparents tried to eradicate you for being a hybrid, believing that your existence was an abomination. It’s funny how Ms. Lim, someone not blood-related, treated you far better than they ever did.

She answered your questions about Jungkook, but you didn’t dare overshare about your relationship with him. She persuaded you to join her the next day at work, offering the gym and free training sessions with her best fighters. You weren’t sure at first, but then ultimately gave in.

The next day Ms. Lim gave you a tour of the underground cellar and you couldn’t believe how massive it was. Everyone you encountered greeted you like one of the family, and you got to learn new fighting techniques with her bodyguards.

When it was nighttime, Ms. Lim suggested you fight for real. You worried it’d be unfair, but she assured you the opponents were more than willing.

Your first opponent is a man who looks like the descendant of a Viking. His muscles are so large you can see the veins bulging underneath his skin. He gives you a crooked smile, which you would’ve found somewhat attractive if he hadn’t made a sexist comment the next second.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in the ring? Hasn’t no one swept you off your feet and wed you yet?” You make the first move and use his words against him, sweeping him off his feet with your leg. He falls flat on his back and laughs while the crowd cheers. “It’s a shame. You’d make a great mother.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, sounding extra snarky.

“Come on. You know you can’t beat me.”

The man got back up only to be taken down again with a skillful spin kick, causing his back to slam against the cage. You smirk as his expression shifts to anger, and he tackles you to the opposite side like a mad bull. Grunts come from both sides as you use your elbow, jabbing the top of his head until he lets go.

You jump high and hang from the top of the cage, using your strong thighs to hold his head hostage. His oxygen depletes as his face turns purple, clawing at your legs but you don’t let up. His hands fall to his sides before his body collapses. Only then do you let go and land in a cool pose, feeling like a superhero.

The crowd goes wild and you jump up and down like a kid who scored the winning goal. “I did it!”

You see why Jungkook loved this place so much. It’s an indescribable feeling, a rush of exhilaration as glory consumes you.

Once you see Ms. Lim and her main bodyguard, you step out of the ring and greet her. “Ms. Lim, did you see? I won!”

She wraps her arm around your shoulder, giving you a toothy grin. “I know. I told you you’d do well. Let me show you your prize.”

You gasp. “I get a prize?”

She leads you through the sea of fans. “Of course. Everyone gets compensated.”

You enter a door that leads you to a narrow hallway. The lights were dim, but it was enough for you to see something horrific. From where you stand to the door at the end are unconscious bodies strewn across the floor. Some are slumped against the wall, others are flat on their back or stomachs, each carrying some deformity. There’s blood splattered on the floor, but it wasn’t gorey enough to be deemed a bloodbath (though the sight was still alarming).

“What the fuck happened?” you ask. Ms. Lim screams in shock when she steps in, covering her mouth as she stumbles back. If not for Mr. Ahn, she probably would’ve fallen.

The door at the end of the corridor opens and you hear ragged breathing. There you see Jungkook stagger out, barely able to hold himself up with one arm. He has cuts on his face and a black eye, so his vision is halved. His tank top is in shreds, the fabric hanging by a thread as it dangles from his bruised body.

He regains part of his strength once he sees you. “[Y/N]?”

You rush over to catch him before he falls. “Jungkook, what happened?!”

He’s putting his entire weight on you, close to fainting. But one look at Ms. Lim and he’s fired up. “That bitch… I’m gonna kill her…”

Ms. Lim wastes no time, urging Mr. Ahn to run away with her while you’re left bamboozled. “Ms. Lim?”

“She’s going to pay… She’s going to…”

Jungkook can’t fight his body’s limits anymore. The last thing he sees is darkness.

Sunlight pours through the window, stirring Jungkook from his slumber. He slowly opens one eye, surprised to see snow-covered trees and clear skies outside. In a daze, he sits up, holding his side as a sharp pain shoots through his body. He’s quick to notice his upper body has been covered in gauze and bandages.

Whoever did it was meticulous. His chest and shoulders are tightly bound in layers, protecting his battered torso. The bandages crisscrossed over his ribcage, some were wrapped around his biceps, with the gauze extending down to his forearms. Bloodstains seeped through while he was asleep, but they don’t warrant any concern for now.

Jungkook touches his face, finding the cut on his cheek and upper lip taken care of. His other eye is no longer swollen, allowing him to observe his surroundings. He sees he’s in a cozy room, the wood ceiling and floors making him believe he’s at a lodge. There’s a large window to his right as well as a nightstand. The lamp sitting atop casts a warm golden glow, and Jungkook turns it off by pulling the string.

There’s a gentle knock on the door. “Jungkook? Are you awake?”

He lays back down, covering his body with the duvet and closing his eyes as if he had never woken up. The doorknob jostles as you enter the room, holding a cup of water. You see his state and tip-toe closer, setting the mug on the nightstand.

Staring at people while they sleep is creepy, but Jungkook looks angelic. Even if his face was marred, it didn’t stunt his beauty. If anything, his injuries made him more beautiful, the bandages being proof of his protectiveness. What he was protecting, you don’t know.

“When you wake up, we seriously have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, pulling a nearby stool to sit on. “I don’t know why you did what you did. Ms. Lim and her men were so nice to me. She let me stay at her place after you kicked me out.”

You stick your tongue at him like a brat but end up giggling at your immaturity.

“You were right to kick me out though,” you say, sighing. “Even with the best intentions, I can’t make things right. I’m sorry. Trust me, no one is more frustrated with me than me. That’s why when Ms. Lim suggested for me to fight, I didn’t hesitate.”

You ball your fists. “But it was so fun. I won my fight like bam! Bam! Bam!” You punch the air at each onomatopoeia, and Jungkook has to refrain from laughing. Why were you so cute?

“I get why you do it now. I’ve always had to fight for survival. I didn’t think it could be… gratifying. Anyway, I support your cage-fighting career,” You purse your lips. “But I guess you don’t have one anymore, considering what you did back there. I’m honestly confused. Why did you hurt them? I chased after Ms. Lim and uh… well, she burned your house down.”

You wait a second as if he’d respond. “She told us to never come back with no explanation… I didn’t even get my prize for winning,” you huff.

Jungkook grunted, almost like he didn’t like what he was hearing. He turns onto his side, so he’d be facing away from you and wraps himself in a blanket burrito. The spot where he once lay had something gold in it. You carefully pick it up and caress the double moon charms with your thumb.

“My necklace…”

You stare at the back of his head, the gears in your head turning as you try to put the puzzle pieces together. Upon closer inspection, you notice faint bloodstains on the back of the charms and some on the chain.

“Did one of those men have my necklace? You beat up thirty men for it?”

“It was around fifty, but who’s counting?”

Your breath hitches, wondering if you were hearing things. Jungkook slowly sits up, resting his back against the headboard and flashing a cheeky grin. Heat spreads to the apples of your cheeks.

“Were you awake this whole time?”

“Maybe.” He gives you a quick once over. “Are you hurt? Did anyone touch you?”

“Hmm? I’m fine. I should be asking you that. You took a beating and I’m still confused as to why.”

He slumps against the headboard, sagging like a dramatic blob. “God, you’re dense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? My necklace is all bloody… was this the prize Ms. Lim intended to give me?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes so far back they might as well get stuck. “Ms. Lim’s prize wasn’t the necklace. It was you. You were her men’s prize after the fight. She planned to let them have their way with you.”

Your eyes fall to the ground, your heart heavier than an anchor in a bottomless sea. Jungkook sees how you clutch the necklace in your fist, wishing he hadn’t revealed the truth so bluntly.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” he begins. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No. I was naive. After what happened with my grandmother, I thought Ms. Lim was different. Anyway,” you say, changing the subject. “That’s why you did what you did?”

“I thought she had you trapped somewhere. Or that without your necklace, you were at a disadvantage. She told me Mr. Ahn defeated you and I just went berserk at the thought of something happening to you.”

It’s hard not to see the love he has for you in those beautiful eyes of his. “I never fought Mr. Ahn, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve won. I’m freakin’ awesome in the ring.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I know. I never doubted your skills. She riled me up and I assumed the worst.”

“Well… Thank you for looking out for me. I’m glad to have my necklace back. I thought I lost it for good.”

“I thought I lost you.”

Time comes to a standstill. No more words are shared, yet so much is being said through simple eye contact, an unspoken language only the two of you understand. Your hearts are burning, aching with desire, but you don’t dare act on it. You don’t deserve him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself to maintain restraint.

“Can I put it on you?” he asks, pointing to the piece of jewelry in your hand.

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” A white glow emits from your fist and when you open your palm, Jungkook sees the necklace is spotless. You hand it to him and shift positions, so your back is towards him. He scoots closer, his legs now dangling off the bed.

When he brushes your hair away, your body tenses up. You see the gold chain from above before it settles on your collarbone. Jungkook leans in, getting a better view of the clasp but struggles to attach it. Seconds tick by like hours, but you don’t mind how long he takes. His hot breath on the nape of your neck is distracting you anyway.

“Almost got it…” he mumbles. And thank goodness too because you didn’t realize you were holding your breath the entire time. Once he’s finished, he leans back but you turn your head to the side and almost end up kissing him.

“Oh sorry, I—” You move away, but he places his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Stay.”

Stay still? Stay with him? Whatever he meant, it sounded like a command, a challenge, a test. You’re entranced by how close he is, your nose about to touch his, and his lips—fuck. They’re drawing near, but he stops a centimeter away and smirks like a damn tease. You swear you’re on fire, the heat radiating off his body further exacerbating things.

His eyes droop down, but it’s not to your lips. Rather, he takes his free hand and holds the double moon charms between his forefinger and thumb, sliding it until it’s positioned in the center.

“There,” he says, still far too close. There’s a deep yearning in his eyes, a passion he longs to share with you, but he’s holding himself back. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You pout. “What, suddenly you’re okay with me around?”

“Seeing you drives me mad, but not seeing you makes me insane,” An aw almost slips out of you, but you nod instead. “I’m trying so hard to hate you…” he whispers.

You match his volume. “Why?”

“Because it’s easier than admitting the opposite.” He finally releases his hold and leans back, allowing you to regain a semblance of sanity. “So where are we exactly?”

You fiddle with your necklace and try not to dwell on his words. “I used a teleportation spell and it took us here.”

“Randomly?”

“No. I didn’t know what to do, so I cast a spell to take me to Professor Jin. He’s here with Namjoon. They’re on vacation.”

All of a sudden Jungkook groans and he’s clutching his abdomen. “Ah fuck...”

You jump out of your seat to examine him closer. “What’s going on?”

Sweat forms on his upper lip, his body temperature rising steadily as if someone turned on the heater to its max. It’s an all too familiar feeling. He laughs at the horrid timing, but it exacerbates his pain.

“I’m going to need you to learn a new spell,” he says, panting so much you fear he’d pass out.

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to go into a rut,” he answers, glaring at you like you’ve made a grave mistake, “and I don’t have boxing to distract me anymore.”

“Do you want me to help—”

“No,” You can’t help but feel offended, and undesired, but he adds, “I don’t want to take advantage of you. It’s not right.”

“Okay…” You rub your arm and like the keen observer he was, he tacks on another thing and you’re not sure if he’s trying to make you feel better or himself.

“I don’t give consent because it’s out of my control. Our time together shouldn’t be influenced or pressured because of other circumstances.”

You almost laugh at the hilarity of that statement. “Isn’t that the whole basis of our relationship? Everything always comes with a condition. This is exactly why I left…”

Jungkook’s pained expression morphs into something worse—dismay. You go for damage control, wishing you could take those words back and shove them far into the depths of your mind where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

“I’m sorry,” you say, full of regret, “I shouldn’t have said that. If you say no, I understand. It’s a no.”

“It’s fine. Not like you’re wrong. Can you go get Jin please?”

Jungkook’s Point Of View

I want to tear these bandages off. And then my skin. It’s too damn hot and the timer on my sanity is dwindling. The snow outside looks inviting and is the only blanket I want covering me.

A knock on the door garners my attention and [Y/N] rushes in, carrying something silver between her fingers.

“Sorry for the wait, I got it!” Fuck, she smells incredible. There’s nothing on Earth that can compare to her delicate, sweet aroma. It’s my Kryptonite, my guilty pleasure. Once she draws near, I pin her to the bed, ignoring the soreness of the muscles I was supposed to be recuperating. “Jungkook?”

I snuggle into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent like some deranged pervert as I squeeze her hip. The closest description is like a honey-sweet fruit, ripe for picking. But fruit bruises easily when they fall into the wrong hands. And now she’s in mine.

She whimpers softly, and it only further fuels my arousal. “It shouldn’t be this easy yet your hold over me is… pathetic.”

I hover over her face and bring a hand up to squeeze her cheeks, forcing her lips to pucker. Cute.

“Do you know what filthy things I want to do to you? I’ve been fantasizing for years about this moment,” I say, unable to contain my smirk. Her chest heaves against mine and the panic that flashes across her face is adorable. I loosen my grip a bit so she can reply.

“Tell me then,” she breathes and I chuckle at how wobbly her voice sounds.

“I wanna fuck you like I hate you. It’s not going to be that tender bullshit, I’m going to be rough. I’m going to use you and all your holes until you’re screaming and I’m the only one that occupies your thoughts, so you can see the hell you put me through when you left. I’m going to bring you to heaven only to drag you back down to Earth and make you sin harder.”

I can smell much more than fear coming from her silence. Her fingers are clutching what I can now see is a silver body chain. She’s fast, but I’m faster as I pin her wrist down before she can put it on me. Her hand is hanging over the edge of the bed and I grip her wrist, upping the pressure and twisting slightly until she groans in pain, dropping the chain. It falls with a soft clink and I give her an amused grin.

“Was that mediocre thing supposed to quell my urges?” I taunt.

“Ideally, yes,” she remarks, unable to hide her bratty attitude. “Let me put it on you.”

“No.”

She gives me a look like I’m a bad child about to be put on time-out. Maybe I want to be bad. “Jungkook.”

“Come on… you said it yourself. You want to help,” I use my thigh to part her legs. “I’m in desperate need of it.”

She scoots her body upwards to get away, but like a parasite, I latch on and follow, pressing my entire body weight on her. “Jungkook, no. You said no. This isn’t you.”

“Oh, but what if it is?” She stops squirming and my eyes widen like I’ve gone insane, glad to have her attention. “What if this dark, twisted, horny part of me is who I am? What if I want to ravage you and my rut is simply pushing me to finally not hold back on loving you?”

“You… love me?”

Somehow that question pulls me from the depths of lust for a split second. “I never stopped.”

There’s a silent period where we stare at each other. Sometimes I think we’d hold the world record for how long one can zone out, lost in a world of our own. But my needs resurface, clouding my mind with crazed lust. I’m corrupted by something I can’t control and no matter how hard I resist, she’ll be in the crossfire.

She must have noticed her small window of opportunity because she pushed me off with her inhumane strength. I bounce on the mattress when I land on my back as she scrambles to grab the chain off the floor. She makes a break for the door, but I block it, tackling her to the ground so I can feel her soft body against mine again.

We tussle and roll around like animals, the chain flying across the floor during the scuffle. It’s a wild game of Capture The Flag, each of us diving for the coveted item. She’s on her stomach, crawling towards it until I take her ankles and drag her backward, cackling like a madman. And like in horror movies, she screams and squirms, kicking me until I let go.

She drags her body forward, snatches the chain, flips around, and clamps her thighs around my head. Her strong muscles could probably break a watermelon, but I welcome the constriction.

“Ooh, yes, make it hurt,” I choke out, wheezing out a short laugh. Revulsion in her scowl, she cages me in tighter, and I pull back so she slides towards me. Using my remaining strength, I lift her so she’s now perched atop my shoulders, her sweet pussy right where I want it. I dart my tongue out to lick a stripe, the barrier of her leggings so thin that she yelps from the contact.

I’m on my knees and I move forward, pressing her back against the wall. It supports her weight and I pin her hands down, so she can’t sneak the chain on me. She’s shouting at me, but I only hum in return, so she can feel the vibrations of my lips close to her lower ones.

“Jungkook, let me go!”

“I can already taste you… such arrogance to think you can handle me.”

I look up through her thighs, earning a sharp inhale from her. “Trust me… I’ve been holding back.”

She chants foreign words under her breath and my ears soon discover a sharp ringing noise, making my brain feel like it’s being shredded by a cheese grater. I hold my head with both hands, toppling over and releasing her as we both fall to the floor. When the cacophony subsides, I see she’s standing above me with the lamp. She’s ruthless as she smashes it against my head, the glass shards scattering everywhere.

I lay on my stomach, dazed, and she put the chain on me hastily. It glows as it erases all forms of rage and lust, and my mind clears while my soul aligns. That’s when the painful sensations of my injuries I had ignored earlier hit me in full force.

With impeccable timing, the door to our room swings open, and in comes Jin and Namjoon. Jin has his arms up in a fighting pose, his hands encasing two pink orbs prepared for attack. Namjoon has his crossbow gun pointed at me until [Y/N] waves him off with a dismissive gesture.

“You’re a bit late. Put it down.”

The orbs flicker out and Namjoon lowers his weapon, being the first to speak. “What happened?”

“Things got… rough. I put the chain on him. He’s fine now.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “Can someone please get the first aid kit? I’m bleeding again…”

Your Point of View

Jin’s making it a point to be hospitable. He dragged you around the lodge, indulging you in all the amenities the lodge offers. From paying for your food and drinks to complimentary snowboarding, it was almost like he was overcompensating.

While he was gracefully swerving down the hill, you spent most of your time falling face-first into the snow, frustrated at the bulky clothes you had on. You called it quits and he finally yielded to your pleas.

Back at the lodge, you shed yourself of your multiple layers, feeling like an onion. At least now you can caramelize by the fireplace in the lobby while sipping on a piping-hot cup of cocoa.

Jin makes his presence known, plopping himself onto the same futon where you sat with a refreshed “Ah, hot cocoa. Delicious!”

You roll your eyes when he holds his mug out, but you clink your cup against his anyway. “I hope you and Namjoon had your fun in the shower. That’s a nasty hickey.”

He coughs, adjusting his turtleneck to cover up said blemish. “Sorry. I didn’t know you would need me.”

“It’s fine,” you say, glancing around for any unwanted spectators. You whisper the next part. “I grabbed your spellbook and did it myself.”

He bears a proud smile, looking like he is about to deliver well-deserved praises when suddenly, his expression falls. Setting down his beverage, he seemed rather pale despite being near the fireplace. He looks up at the night sky and you follow his gaze. “Oh shit…”

You set down your drink too, paying no mind as it sloshes enough to spill over. “Jin… what’s wrong?”

“It’s a full moon…”

“Yeah. And?”

He shoots up like a rocket and sprints upstairs to his room. You follow at once, off-put by his erratic behavior. He’s found his spellbook on the bed where you left it, flipping through the pages so quickly, you thought they’d rip. Once he settles on the desired section, he shoves the book in your face.

“Is this the spell you used?!”

You eye the page in its fancy script, seeing the same picture of a wolf howling under the moon. “Yes. It says Binding Chain at the top and I read it. It suppresses a male’s rut.”

“Did you see the fine print?”

“There’s a fine print?” you echo. Skimming the page, you squint at the very bottom to see an anecdote at the bottom marked with an asterisk. You read it out loud. “On the night of a full moon, the binding chain’s powers are reversed. Rather than suppressing a rut, the male’s urges will be amplified…”

The book shuts and you’re greeted by Jin’s stern look. It’s the same one he gave you that time you set his hair on fire by accident. “The closer it gets to midnight, the more unhinged Jungkook will be. This is why you should’ve asked me for help.”

“How was I supposed to know? He was in pain and you were bumping uglies with Namjoon!”

“Spells like this are tricky, especially for novices. We don’t even know if you did it right.”

“Gee, thanks for the bode of confidence.”

A concerned voice from the doorway calls out to you and Jin. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?”

You both turn to see Namjoon in his winter gear, covered in snow like he was a dessert dusted with powdered sugar. Jin walks over and brushes some off his furry hat. “[Y/N] used the wrong spell for Jungkook. His rut is about to come back tenfold and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s not my fault,” you argue. “If you and he weren’t fucking each other, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Okay… this is horrible timing,” Namjoon says with a forced awkward laugh. Jin holds him by the shoulders.

“Honey… where’s Jungkook?”

“I… lost something important when we got here. Jungkook and I went out to look for it. I gave up, but he’s stubborn and is still out there.”

You look out the window and see the snowfall getting heavier, each flake larger and more frequent as it piles on the thick blanket that already covers the ground. Visibility was diminishing and you could barely see the outline of the moon in the sky.

“I’m going to get him,” you say, determined. They look at you like you have three heads. “I’m the only one who can handle him on a night like this.”

“It’s dangerous. The snow is getting worse out there,” Namjoon warns.

“Yeah, and whose fault is it that he’s still out there? He may be immortal, but he has limits too.”

Namjoon recognizes your stubbornness; you share that with Jungkook. He pulls out his phone, hastily texts something, and sends it, which triggers a chime on your phone.

“There’s a cabin out there that I use on my missions sometimes. You’ll find a cage in the basement that can hold Jungkook for the night. Food, water, clothes, sedatives, weapons—you name it.”

He offers you his crossbow gun, but you decline. “I can get through to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But… It doesn’t feel right to hurt him. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Stay safe. We’ll come find you in the morning.”

Winter is the superior season, some would say. Because with the cold, you can layer clothes nonstop until you’re warm. Newsflash: that’s a lie. You’re freezing your ass off despite your best efforts to combat the frost, but Mother Nature couldn’t resist challenging your limits.

The weather has taken a turn for the worse as snow swirls around you, making it difficult to see or hear anything. You trudge through it, the flame in your palm being the only source of light and heat as harsh gusts of wind threaten to extinguish it.

Your magic was technically infinite, considering your necklace was a conductor for it. The jewelry siphons the magic from your hybrid body and allows you to use it like a witch would. However, like with most things, if you overdo it, it drains your energy and weakens its potency.

When you reach the forest, the wind howls through the trees as your breath comes out in heavy puffs. Each step you take sinks deeper than the previous one until you’re knee-deep in snow. The ground is uneven and your steps slow because even the slightest misstep could be your last. With no one around for miles, this was not the way you wanted to go out.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but the flame flickers until darkness remains.

“No… no… please…” You wrap your arms around yourself, the biting cold unforgiving. A rustle in the distance alerts your fight-or-flight and you scan your surroundings, seeing a dark silhouette who you can only assume is… “Jungkook?”

Whoever it was burst into a sudden sprint in the opposite direction. Your body has a mind of its own, chasing him down without hesitation. You reach a clearing where his broad back faces you, the moon casting a soft glow behind his figure. He turns around, revealing his ruby red eyes with streaks of gold, which sparkle like luster dust in water.

His face is unreadable until you risk a step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” he barks, startling you to retract back. The hurt in your eyes breaks him, but he couldn’t bear to be a burden for you to shoulder. “I feel like I’m going crazy. You shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s the full moon. The body chain is making things worse. I can—”

“No!” He bares his teeth and bends his knees as if preparing to pounce. “You need to leave. Now!”

Falling onto all fours, he lets out a strangled groan, cursing like there was no tomorrow. His bones snap, pop out of place, and lengthen to create a new foundation for his werewolf form. It was like all his organs were set ablaze, the searing pain shooting throughout his body. You deny his request and take another step.

“Stay… away!” he orders, his voice roughed and strained.

His head hangs low, clawing the snow beneath him. Though shapeshifting was a great distraction, doing so during a rut could have unpredictable circumstances. It was far too dangerous; he knew better but was desperate for relief.

“Run…” he breathes, lifting his head. Your legs tremble from his unwavering, lethal gaze. “Run!!!” His canines peek through when he growls at you once more and you are hit with the severity of the situation. Fear strikes through you like a javelin and combined with your rush of adrenaline, you escape the premises.

Everything is a blur as you zig-zag through the snow-capped trees in the forest. You don’t stop running until your lungs burn to the point where you’re about to vomit. Despite how numb your fingers are, you check your phone, looking up the location of the cabin. It’s not too far away and if you can manage to lure Jungkook there, he’ll be safe for the night.

An eerie howl startles you and you trek forward, looking over your shoulder every so often. It’s not until you come across a line of forestry, where there’s a gap in the middle of two trees. Upon closer inspection, you squint at the darkness that sits between them, and two glowy orbs greet you.

A low snarl sends chills up your spine as two black paws emerge into the moonlight before their true form follows. You’re face to face with the big black wolf, its eyes glowing with feral intensity. The body chain’s magic allowed for the accessory to enlarge, accommodating Jungkook’s new size.

“Jungkook…”

He doesn’t respond, almost like that name was foreign to him. All he does is crouch, and you start to regret not having a weapon. With a growl, he lunges at you, powerful muscles rippling under his fur. You barely dodge in time, but his claws graze your arm, ripping through my coat and drawing blood.

Damn. I’m getting sloppy. I need blood.

You clutch onto the wound, hissing at him as your eyes shift to fiery gold. “Stop! Jungkook, it’s me!”

He circles you like a shark, instilling more fear before he pounces again. His heavy weight forces your body to topple backward, the snow cushioning your fall, and soon stained a vivid crimson. Jungkook had bitten your shoulder this time, his fangs sinking deep.

Not even your blood-curdling scream dissuades him from prying his jaw off. You feel the prick of tears behind your eye, but you push through it, using your remaining good arm to punch him. The wolf is hurled about twenty feet away and you force yourself up.

“Okay… it’s clear you’re more beast than man right now…” you say, panting as more blood trickles onto the snow. The wolf shakes its head and slowly rises, its predatory gaze stripping you of your fortitude.

Just then a deep rumble beneath your feet alerts you to look up, where the heart of the mountain was. The signs are there: the snowpack drifting, ominous cracks in the ground, and a thunderous roar as snow cascades down the landform.

“Shit…” you say, running in the opposite direction. “Come on! Chase me!”

Thankfully you don’t have to ask twice. Jungkook’s hot on your trail as the snow is on his. The ground continues to shake, the avalanche's roar deafening, drowning out all other sounds. Both your lives are at stake and you run to the cabin up ahead, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

As you reach the door, you swipe the keycard Namjoon lent you, the faint click giving you a moment of reprieve. You throw the door open at the same time Jungkook tackles you from behind. You stumble forward, his weight crushing you as he slashes your back with his sharp claws.

Now you’re pissed.

You flip onto your back, clutching his paws while his jaw snaps towards your face, spit flying everywhere.

“God, Jungkook! Get a grip!” You grunt as you exert your muscles, throwing him into the living room area. A wooden table is smashed into bits and the TV screen has a crack down the middle, but you don’t care. You kick the door shut just as the avalanche slams into the ground outside, its force shaking the cabin walls.

The noise is overwhelming, but it distracts the beast long enough for you to search for the basement. The cabin’s small space makes it easy as one narrow door sits in the corner, so you try your luck. There’s a set of steep, wooden stairs and you descend quickly, seeing dim recess ceiling lights that cast a soft yellow glow.

Unlike the cabin, the basement was underground and wide, with ample space for the cage Namjoon had promised. It’s in the furthest left corner with thick chains attached to the floor and ceiling. A workbench greets you once you reach the last step, filled with various weapons and tranquilizers you were all too familiar with.

Due to his hybrid nature, your best bet is to grab the syringe with vervain and wolfsbane. Reassurance is but a fleeting moment when Jungkook descends the stairs too, determined to finish you off.

He bites your leg this time, and you jam the syringe into his neck simultaneously. Once the wolf loses consciousness, you stumble backward and hit your head on the edge of the workbench, drifting into darkness.

Jungkook’s Point of View

Something wet touches my fingers and it stirs me awake. My muscles are screaming, feeling like I have been hit by a semi-truck. I open my eyes, forcing myself to sit up and look at my hands.

“Oh my god…”

Red is all I see. I’m covered in it. My lips taste it. But I don’t remember how it got there and that scares me. However, I look over to see [Y/N]’s unconscious body next to me. The blood is hers, pooling from her head and her body looks like a corpse from a crime scene. I’m terrified now, crawling over to her while my body shakes.

“No… please.”

I saw the gruesome claw marks on her arm, the nasty bites on her shoulder and leg, and her head wound that was still bleeding. I lift her head first, then her back, seeing the scratches there too. I don’t know what to do other than hold her close, listening for signs of life. It’s faint, but she’s breathing.

“Who did this to you?” I breathe, but the question is stupid. I’m covered in evidence of my crimes, a sin with no solution. Her face looks sickly, so I bite my wrist and put it against her lips, forcing her to drink my blood for sustenance.

I choke out a sob when I don’t see a difference.

“I’m so sorry…” I kiss the top of her head, praying to anyone who hears it, to bring her back to me.

“Jungkook…”

I thought I was hearing things until she calls for me again. It’s a fucking miracle. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shh… haven’t you heard of kissing a person’s boos-boos?” Her lips curl into a faint smile and I’m thrown for a loop. How can she speak so lightly about the horrors I’ve committed?

“You must have a concussion. I need to patch you up.”

“No. Kiss my wounds, silly. Just like you did to my head.”

I was too distraught to realize, but the blood on the rug we were on had vanished. Her hair no longer smells of iron either and realization dawns on me.

“Okay. Let me help you get out of your clothes first.”

It’s not a smooth process, but she handles it like a champ as I maneuver her coat, shirt, and tank top off. I pause every so often when she winces, making sure she’s comfortable before I move on. Her boots come off next and then her leggings, leaving her only in her undergarments.

Lying her flat on her back, I get on top and kiss her shoulder area first. It’s a magical sight watching the wound seal itself as new skin regenerates while the blood evaporates. She coos at the relief, giving me a warm smile.

“That feels nice.”

I head for her arm next, giving it several smooches to cover the claw marks. Each one repairs itself the same way. I lean back on my knees, holding her leg up until it reaches my lips and I leave another kiss there. Her eyes shimmer in excitement as do mine when the bite heals.

“Can you turn around for me?” I ask. She gets on all fours, exposing her back to me. It was the nastiest injury yet, the laceration deep and red. I don’t care and kiss every inch of her skin until it goes away, noticing how she shivers each time.

Once she’s fully healed, I see a cage in the corner and eye the chains inside. I get up and head there, frantically trying to get the cuffs on. She follows me and I curse at my shaky hands for being too slow.

“What are you doing now?” she asks as if it’s not obvious.

“Damn it all, why can’t I get this on?!” She places her hands on mine, steadying them until they stop trembling. “[Y/N], please. I need to be chained up. It’s dangerous for you to be here, I almost killed you!”

“But you didn’t. I’m fine. I knew the risks.”

“Why didn’t you beat me senseless? I deserved it.”

She shakes her head, still able to give me a soft smile as if I didn’t try to maul her to death however long ago. “Because your rut… it’s not easy to deal with. And I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you. Besides, I messed up on the spell.”

She points to the body chain on me. “On a full moon, it amplifies your rut. Not suppress it.”

I drop the cuffs and grab the body chain instead, ready to yank it off when she snatches my wrists.

“Don’t,” she orders. “I want it on.”

My eyes widen. “This thing almost got you killed.”

“It’s hot on you.”

“Are you okay? Is your head fully healed? Why are you—”

She pecks me on the lips to shut me up. It’s cute, sweet, and simple. Sometimes I wish we were simple.

“Jungkook… ever since I saw you at the wedding, I haven’t been able to heal properly,” she confesses.

My hands drop to my sides. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure. But whenever I got a cut, it healed but not as fast as it usually did. And I thought about when I got hurt at the wedding, how you kissed my hand, and how fast it healed then. This has never happened to me before, but I realized… I can’t be without you.”

She caresses the side of my face and I shiver at her gentle touch, placing a chaste kiss on her palm. “No… you were right to leave. I’m dangerous.”

A finger comes up to my lips. “Shh… our fates are entwined whether you like it or not, you stupid bastard,” I can’t help but chuckle and she giggles. It lights up my world. “When you said you never stopped loving me back at the lodge… were you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Her expression is teetering between fondness and confusion. “Sorry, that’s not romantic, huh?”

“It is to me. I love you too.”

Her confession triggers something in me. It's a carnal, animalistic need and I realize my rut is surging back with renewed intensity.

“My love, I need you to make a choice,” I say with labored breathing. Sweat coats my hair, matting it to my forehead. My body feels like I’m being incinerated inside out. “I want you permanently. Not temporarily. Body and soul. Your devotion. If you stay…”

“I’ll stay. I promise,” she says without a trace of hesitation. But I can’t help but be reminded of the past.

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

She ponders her answer but then says, “Because when I’m not focused on my future, I’m focused on ours.”

It brings me immense joy, but my lust drowns it out.

“Okay. We’re going to need a safe word. Or you need to promise you’ll defend yourself against me by any means if it becomes too much.”

“Jungkook—”

“I mean it. Because everything I said at the lodge was true. Everything.”

She wets her lips at the memory, which tempts me with depravity. “Are you okay if I’m still infertile?”

“I never minded it. Because I’m going to fuck you like I’m gonna breed you anyway.”

She nods. “... Red.”

“Red,” I repeat and then I’m all over her.

Your Point of View

Jungkook lunges at you, his movements a blur of desperate need. You’re pressed against the iron bars of the cage as he kisses you like he’ll devour you whole. His hands roam your body to tear off your bra and panties, and you gasp, but he swallows it by kissing you deeper.

His hands are greedy, kneading your breasts in circular motions. He twists one of your nipples with his forefinger and thumb, the sensation borderlining pain and pleasure, but you succumb to it. Especially when he stops kissing you to lower himself, sucking on your other nipple. He doesn’t hold back and tugs on it between his teeth, earning a mewl from you.

When he pulls back, he releases it with an audible pop before giving the other one the same treatment. Your hands run through his hair, gripping hard enough to make him moan with hunger. He pushes your breasts together, so he’s able to suck both nipples simultaneously. The sight enraptures you, and you swear he’s the most attractive man alive.

“I can’t wait, I need you now. I need you many… many times tonight,” he says after he’s left several purple constellations in his wake. You’re turned around, holding onto the bars for support as his bicep slithers around your neck. His lips find purchase on the shell of your ear. “God, I want to destroy you.”

He slips his thick cock in between your thighs, feeling the copious amount of slickness between your folds. He thrusts back and forth and you rock your hips in tandem, appreciating his restraint. Each time his tip brushes against your clit, you moan to the ceiling while he groans against your neck.

You’re sensitive, on the brink of an orgasm, but Jungkook comes first. White spurts of cum spill out from his tip, and he shudders when you use your hand to coax out more.

“Fuck, I can’t hold on anymore. I’d do more to prep you, but I can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Despite coming already, Jungkook was still fully erect. You swore he might’ve even gained an inch. He was deliciously massive, blessed in both girth and length.

“It’s okay. I can take it,” you assure.

“If it’s too much?”

“I say red.”

Jungkook holds onto your hips and pulls you back, your body now parallel to the floor at a ninety-degree angle. You arch your back and stick your ass out for him, even going far as to shake your peach to tantalize him. Without needing to guide it, he slams his dick into you with such violence that it leaves you winded.

He wastes no time thrusting, his pace desperate, rushed, and greedy to satisfy an insatiable hunger. You’re holding onto the bars for dear life as he fucks you like it’s his last day on Earth. There’s a burn that comes with not having time to adjust to his inhumane size, but you endure. Lust covers a world of hurt and the stretch ignites a fervor.

The basement is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin and unabashed moaning. Jungkook grips your hips so tight, they bruise. He smacks your ass multiple times, each sting resulting in a tighter clench from your soaking pussy, which drives him wild. You love how he stretches you out, how he’s using you like a dumb fucktoy for his cravings. You want to please him because it pleases you.

Without warning, he pistons into you faster, and you can barely see straight. His last thrust is sharp and calculated, a rough grunt escaping him as he empties himself into you. Your legs are trembling when he pulls out, admiring how his cum oozes out of you.

Sliding down to the ground, you rest your back against the cage and close your eyes to catch a break. However, Jungkook smacks your cheeks a couple of times to get your attention. He’s erect again, no surprise. You swear with each orgasm, he’s getting bigger.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He places a hand on your head, guiding your lips to his throbbing cock. It’s coated in shared body fluids, but you open your mouth like an automated response until he slides himself in. You gag when he hits the back of your throat and he pulls out, but not all the way. You have to mentally prepare yourself for what comes next as he grabs ahold of both sides of your head, fucking your face as he pleases.

You’re choking and saliva dribbles down to your breasts, your eyes sting with tears, but he keeps going and you take the abuse. He doesn’t hold your head lovingly. Rather, his hand cages you in, guiding you however he sees fit. Your jaw is sore, but that’s a small price to pay when you have the most gorgeous man throwing his head back in bliss because of you.

Once his hips stutter and he comes again, you swallow the slightly bitter fluid and he releases you.

“Get up.”

You’re a bit dizzy, so he helps you to your feet. You see him squat and bring your legs atop his shoulders. In one swift motion, he stands with you perched atop and you squeal, holding his head in fear of falling.

“Jungkook!”

“Hold onto the cage.”

You don’t question him and do just that, thinking about how this was the same way you took down your opponent back at the farm. However, the only danger here was Jungkook having you right where he wanted you.

He sticks his tongue out and begins lapping up your juices from earlier. You’re unable to process being suspended in the air while getting eaten out at the same time. It’s thrilling, and you almost sob when he invades your walls and tongue-fucks you. The slurping noises that leave him are obscene. It’s as if you were his last meal, which only coaxes out more arousal. It’s too much when your orgasm nears, but he grabs your ass tighter and everything snaps.

You’re screaming his name, rolling your eyes in the back of your head. Your ears ring, your toes curl, and you shut your eyes to ride the waves of bliss. You don’t even realize when you’re back on the ground because it feels like you’re not even on the same planet anymore.

And suddenly you’re in the air again. Jungkook grabs the underside of your thighs and lifts you, your legs perched around his waist and your hands around his neck. He uses one hand to guide his tip to your entrance, and your breath hitches.

“We’re not done yet.”

“I never want you to be. Use me.”

He sinks you onto his cock, bouncing you like a rag doll. You hold each other close, staring intensely into each other’s eyes. Everything burns inside Jungkook’s body. His thighs, his arms, his heart—but that pain fuels him to fuck you harder. You kiss him first this time, inserting your tongue and sliding it against his. It’s sloppy but erotic, and he only ups his speed.

He doesn’t last long and comes again, but you wait until he decides to put you down. You’re on your back now and he places a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“God, I wanna fill you up again. Breed you until you’re exhausted.”

He has hold of your ankles, bringing them up high until your knees hug your chest as he inserts himself again. You can see his fat cock going in and out of you, his cock creamy and white from your slick. Your tummy bulges with each thrust, but the nightmarish visual is, somehow, incredibly sexy. He makes you feel full, yet you can’t seem to get enough.

“Fuck, how are you still going?” you whimper. He chuckles like he’s flattered, lowering your legs so he can lay flat on top, chest to chest. You’re both sweaty and reek of sex, but it feels right.

“Because you’re my soulmate. I’m going to ravish you.”

Hours pass. He’s more beast than man at this point, almost unrecognizable. This wasn’t making love. He was determined to fuck your brains out.

Every position imaginable, no part of your body went unexplored. If you were a country, he was a sergeant invading every part of you. You’re bruised and full of bloody scratches, but so was he.

Whenever you were nearing the possibility of passing out, he found a way to give you a break. Whether by humping your thighs again or using your hands, he didn’t care. You’re soaked in his cum, a sticky, filthy mess that he deemed beautiful. He took pride in his work like you were his canvas for a Jackson Pollock painting.

His boundless energy inspired him to get creative, making use of the cage’s chains. He had you dangle from the ceiling as he fucked you from the front. From the back. In your ass.

If he thought you were tight before, your ass was a whole other story. You’d never taken something so big. It took a while for you to relax and though lube was ideal, the copious amounts of cum he filled you with earlier worked fine. More than fine. Something about him shoving his two fingers in you to draw out his cum to finger your asshole felt lecherous. You swore you were going to tear in half, but when his tip brushed sweet spots you didn’t know existed, you came harder than the previous times.

Now you are on all fours, his hand in your hair, locking you in the humiliating position. He penetrates deep inside, loving the way your ass jiggles every time your bodies meet. You’ve been reduced to a moaning mess, unable to think about anything but his cock.

You’re saying “Yes, yes, yes!” but the words are slurred, reduced to pure nonsense, thanks to his brutal movements. His thrusts are merciless, repeatedly hitting you in that sweet spot with no signs of slowing down unless he changes positions.

“Fuck, this is it,” he grunts. He carefully pulls out, lies on his side, and brings you close so you’re on your side too. Lifting your leg, he slides into you again and resumes penetration. This time when he comes, you can see your belly expand from how much he fills you up. His monstrous cock swells and you whine from the discomfort, feeling like you’re about to pop.

“It hurts,” you cry. Jungkook cuddles you as his knot takes form, ensuring no cum spills out.

“I know, love. It’ll be okay.” He litters your neck with kisses to distract you from the pain until you’re used to his new size. You’ve never felt so full and can’t believe you’re stuck like this for who knows how long. It’s a phony moment of reprieve, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once the pain subsides, you lay there as he hugs you, feeling his chest on your back. He holds your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours. You take this chance to look at his tattoos, noticing one stand out in particular.

“What’s this?” you ask.

You’re pointing to a tattoo of a lake with mountains that have a full moon situated between them on his forearm.

“Oh, that? It’s where I first fell for Namjoon when he sparred with me.” His playful lilt makes you pout.

“Hey…”

Jungkook kisses your shoulder and grins. “That’s where I first fell for you, silly. And where I fell for you again the night of the wedding. I contemplated getting rid of it, but… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Aw…” A question pops into your mind that you’ve been dying to ask. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why did you have vervain on you that day? Why carry the burden of knowing?”

He hums like he was expecting that question. “Because I know you too well and maybe… I wanted to keep that pain because it was my last link to you. I couldn’t give that up.” He turns your face so you’ll look up at him. “I love you, [Y/N].”

Saying those three words back again didn’t feel like enough. He was your one and you wanted to spend eternity with him.

“Mark me. Make me yours for good.”

His doe eyes form an OJO face, which earns a laugh from you. Despite all that’s happened, this manages to surprise him.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, and you allow him to mark you as his.

The next morning you and Jungkook are cleaned up, cuddling by the fireplace in the living room area.

“Why is there a saxophone over there?” you ask, pointing to the random instrument near the door.

“You know what… I’m not sure.” Jungkook gets up, walks over to it, and picks it up. The face he makes while examining it is endearing, but you’re curious when he reaches his hand in the bell of the instrument. “I feel something.”

He pulls out something small, but you recognize the diamond instantly. “Is that a wedding ring?”

His face morphs into panic. “It’s not for you,” he blurts. You giggle and approach him, swiping the ring.

“I know that, silly. You wouldn’t propose to me here.”

He visibly relaxes, rubbing the back of his nape, cheeks flushed. “It’s Namjoon’s.”

“Oh! Is this what he asked you to help him find? Is he going to propose to Jin? How sweet!”

A strange hissing noise distracts you two, and you turn your attention to the window. The snow from the avalanche is melting rapidly and soon, the door opens, revealing the couple you were just talking about.

“We’re here!” Jin shouts with his arms out in a ta-da position.

“Again… you’re a little late,” you tease. Namjoon strides in, taking a look at the damage you two inflicted in the small space.

“Geez… what did you two do?”

“What didn’t we do?” Jungkook says, giving you a wink. You can only laugh as you playfully hit his shoulder.

The clothes the cabin had were a size too big on you, so they drooped on your small frame. Namjoon and Jin are quick to notice the bite mark on your exposed shoulder and how it solidified into something akin to a tattoo.

“Oh… Oh,” Jin says, realization hitting him as his ears turn red. “Congratulations!”

“Well, we should congratulate you too,” Jungkook says, giving Namjoon a pointed look. The man is confused at first, but then nods once he feels you slip the metal item into his palm. He’s ecstatic and immediately grabs the saxophone. You and Jungkook grin while his rather awkward proposal plays out, with Jin mostly unaffected and choosing to criticize his partner’s clothing choices instead.

“Hey! I practiced hard for you and you only talk about my clothes?!” Namjoon says, but the smile he wears lets you know he’s not hurt. Jin laughs and hugs him.

“I’m touched!”

Namjoon finally gets down on one knee and pops the question. “Will you marry me then?”

Now Jin’s entire face is flushed. “Oh my god… of course, my gentle giant.”

Jungkook and you give each other a knowing look, wondering when your turn will come next. He holds your hand and you lay your head on his shoulder.

“That’ll be us someday,” he says.

“I know. But I’m not in a rush. I’m already yours.”

General A/N: Hello!!! Thank you for reading until the end. I appreciate reblogs and asks if you wanna share your thoughts. 💘

Moonstruck Readers A/N: So for those who are curious, I was going to include NamJin’s wedding where Taehyung shows up and he sees OC and JK together. And that could lead to a whole other spiral of feelings. ;) But I’m not promising to write it. This is their happy ending and OC and JK do get married eventually.

Or if you’re like my friend who keeps saying TaeKook should both be with OC, well, that’s in another universe I guess. LOL!

#ggukienet #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #my scenarios

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leclerc-hs · 2 years ago

Text

lucky - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: in which you and your childhood best friend, are most definitely in love, but it's too complicated. Warnings: BAD FRENCH??? (I don't speak French...please correct me so I can make some edits!!! Would be greatly appreciated), angst!!!!!, no smut but maybe if I make a part 2? Word Count: 1,332 Author's Note: I'm thinking I want to make another part to this maybe??? Idk what do we think. It was just a random thought that came to mind. I didn't edit or proofread. Please fix my French if you can!!! xo UPDATED FRENCH: edits thanks to @dannyramirezwife!!!! PART 2 BONUS

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Ah, merde!" You exclaimed, dashing up the stairs of your apartment building. As usual, you were running late, but this time it was for your own dinner party. Your hands were full, and the constant vibration of your phone in your coat pocket suggested your friends were wondering were you were.

In the home stretch, you reached your door, ready to unlock it. To your confusion, the door swung wide open just as you approached. Charles leaned against the frame, a hand towel casually slung over his shoulder, like he owned the place.

"Où étais-tu tout ce temps-là, Lucky?" Where have you been all this time? Lucky. Your childhood nickname. His lucky charm. It warmed your heart to hear.

His eyebrows were scrunched as you stepped through the doorway, brushing past his shoulder and into the living room where all your friends sat chatting loudly. A small speaker played music in the background softly while your friends all chatted and laughed. It took a moment for them to notice your arrival.

"She's here!" "Mon dieu, finally." "I am so hungry." echoed through the room as your friends expressed their relief and hunger. Their flushed cheeks suggested they had indulged in heaps of wine while waiting for your arrival.

"See Charles, no need to have an aneurysm. I knew she would show up soon," Joris teased, winking in your direction before casting a glance over your shoulder. No doubt, Charles towering over your frame behind you.

"Je suis désolé," I'm sorry. You apologized repeatedly, sensing the tension. After urging everyone into the dining room with a wave, you added, "Sit, please," prompting your friends to take their seats. You hurried into the kitchen, dropping your bags by the kitchen table.

"Où étais-tu?" Where were you? You felt his hands on your hips as you opened the wine fridge to grab more bottles of wine for the table.

Butterflies. The warmth of his hands made your stomach flutter.

"Got caught up at work and missed the bus," You explained in a huff. "I had to walk all the way back here."

His hands tightened on your waist, turning you around to face him. His eyes were darker than normal, eyebrows still furrowed. "Mon dieu! Why didn't you call me?" My God. He seemed frustrated even more so now. The tone in his voice was rather sharp. "It's freezing outside."

"Ca va, Cha." I am fine. You reassured him, gently moving away from his embrace. You carried the bottles into the dining room and placed them on the table. Charles following, a large pasta dish in hand for the table that everyone immediately dug into as soon as it hit the table.

As the guests eagerly dug into the meal, you settled into your seat, intending to fill your wine glass. However, Charles beat you to it, taking the last seat beside you and topping off your glass, his actions notably conspicuous.

The dynamic between you and Charles was far from straight-forward. Best friends since childhood, who also hook up, who also don't tell their friends about it? It was complex for sure.

You both didn't look at it as an exclusive thing either though. You both go on your fair share of dates. More Charles than you. Yours never went further than a few dates for fun.

Since Charles and his ex-girlfriend last broke up, he has been more needy and more possessive of you. You figured he would get back together with her at some point, like he always did. It was just a ticking time bomb at this point. You, counting down the days until he takes her back.

"Hot date?" You heard Arthur ask from across the table, winking at you. "How was it?" You felt Charles hand slip to your thigh under the table, gripping it tightly.

You truly were coming from work tonight. But you did have a date last night. One that you didn't need Charles to hear about.

"Non," No. You felt your cheeks redden, a dead giveaway that you in fact did go on a date. "I got stuck at work, imbécile," you stuck your tongue out playfully at Arthur. Everyone laughing immediately, except Charles.

Charles squeezed your thigh again, clearly wanting your attention. You turn your head to him giving him a pointed look. Saying stop. Saying please wait until later. He understood, slipping his hand off of your thigh and faking a smile for the table as he falls into conversation with the rest of the table.

After a few hours, with everyone in a cheerful state of inebriation and satisfied bellies, the apartment was finally cleaned up and emptied. The lively chatter had faded away, leaving behind a quiet space. The only person lingering was Charles, sprawled comfortably on your couch, waiting.

You weren't privy to the excuse he had given to avoid going home with the others, but at the moment, you didn't care. No one seemed to question or pay much attention to him staying behind, as if it were a routine occurrence.

"Qui c'est?" Who is it? He sat like he was on his throne. Except it was your couch. Looking at you, like you owed him every explanation.

"Cha, s'il te plaît," please.

You could feel him getting more frustrated by the minute. You loved him to death. He was your best friend. Your person. You fought like siblings sometimes. But, you also fought like lovers.

You didn't want to get into who you were going on dates with. It was casual. Just for fun. It's not like Charles is officially yours.

"Non, dis-moi." No, tell me. You noticed him clench his hand into a fist just slightly.

"It was just a date, no one important." You waved him off. Taking a seat beside him on the couch. Silence followed. As if he was lost in his own head.

"Merci," you thanked him. For setting up dinner. He is the only other person with a key to your place after all.

His eyes flicked from you to the TV. He couldn't look at you while he said these next words.

"I don't want you to date."

It was unfair. And he knew it too. Which is why he couldn't look you in the eyes as he said it. He doesn't deserve to tell you that. He doesn't deserve to feel this way.

You let out a loud sigh, "Cha. You can't say things like that." You wanted to cry honestly. "Let's keep this simple, oui?"

You both were too blind. Blind to see that no one else would ever make you happier. But, you both were too scared to fully commit. Because you knew once you did, that was it. There could be nobody after you. There could be nobody after him.

"J'en ai marre," I'm sick of it. You felt him stand up from the couch. He was now pacing in front of you, the sound of the TV barely heard as he raised his voice. "J'en suis malade de mentir," I am so sick of lying.

You knew what he meant. You felt that way too. But it wasn't time. You both weren't ready to make it official. It was too scary.

"Assez!" Enough. You exclaimed. You couldn't handle this right now.

"Just go home," you felt shut down. You were not ready for this conversation. You knew Charles patience was wearing thin. But it was unfair. Just because he thinks he is finally ready, does not mean you need to be.

Charles felt as if he could rip out all of his hair. He wanted to pound his fists all over the place, just to get you to give him something. You were completely shut down. He wanted a reaction. He wanted a confession. Nothing you would provide at the moment.

"C'est pas croyable ça," Unbelievable. He said bitterly with a small laugh. "Have fun on your dates."

And with that, he was out the door. Slamming it hard enough that the walls of your apartment shook.

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #lucky

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pmamtraveller · 7 months ago

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VASILI VLADIMIROVICH PUKIREV, THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE, 1862

The scene resembles a highly theatrical moment in a play; the church's light casts upon the three central characters in the artwork; the bride, highlighting her sorrowful and lovely form, the aged and weary-looking groom, and the bent priest. Around the couple are different attendants and spectators whose reactions vary from apathy to intrigue.

The bride is positioned on the right, wearing a classic white wedding dress and a veil. With a downcast face and a solemn look, she holds a lit candle in her hand. In sharp contrast, the groom, an older serious-looking man, stands on the left, wearing formal clothing with a medal on his chest, holding a matching candle, and gazing at his future bride.

The inspiration for the painting originated from a specific true story; Pukirev’s acquaintance, Sergei Mikhailovich Varentsov, a young merchant, was deeply in love with a twenty-four-year-old woman named Sofya Nikolaevna Rybnikova. However, her parents believed it would be more advantageous for her to wed a wealthier and more accomplished man, a thirty-seven-year-old named Andre Aleksandrovich Karzinkin. Sergei was compelled to attend the wedding and witness his beloved wed another for family reasons; his brother Nikolai had married Karzinkin’s younger sister. Sergei subsequently expressed concerns about Pukirev's painting, prompting the artist to alter the artwork. Pukirev ultimately positioned himself behind the bride.

The artwork is filled with symbolism that enhances its story, in the backdrop of the ceremony, among the spectators, two older women wearing wreaths resembling that of the bride (one behind the groom to the left, and the other on the far left barely visible behind the priest), with one of them depicted in white garment. The woman is barely visible and is adjacent to the priest, a rare arrangement since regular guests aren’t allowed to stand beside the priest during the ceremony. This might imply that these women are not physically present but instead represent the deceased ex-wives of the groom.

"The Unequal Marriage" created a stir when it was initially displayed at the yearly academic exhibition in 1862. Both critics and the public were impressed by its impactful social critique and deep emotional resonance. The artwork's bold depiction of the disparity in arranged marriages struck a chord with audiences, igniting conversations about social conventions and the treatment of young women.

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piastrisun · 5 months ago

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rings and regrets.

pairings: oscar piastri + ex fem reader.

summary: on the night of your engagement party, as you glide through the celebration, the last person you expect to see is oscar—your ex who broke your heart.

genre: angst.⠀word count: 3.7k.⠀ warning: none.

request: could you do an oscar x ex!reader where reader is engaged to another person and oscar comes to the engagement party to talk with reader while they slow dance. just something super angsty with fluff. thanks so much!

notes: so so happy it’s a request!! i hope it’s what you imagined and that you enjoy it a lot. <3 thank u thank u

you never thought it would end like this—your life divided between a past you can’t quite forget and a future you’ve been building, piece by piece. your relationship with oscar had been everything once. there were days when it felt like the two of you were invincible, everything falling into place: shared memories, laughter, plans for the future. but when it came down to the most important thing, the thing that made you want to take that step forward, he faltered.

oscar hadn’t been ready for marriage. you’d known it for a while, but hearing him say it out loud was still a shock. the words cut deeper than you’d expected. “i love you, but i’m not sure i can do this yet,” he had told you, his voice shaking, as if admitting that to you was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

you had tried, you really had. you gave him space, waited for him to come around, but the longer you waited, the more the silence between you two stretched. eventually, you understood that no matter how much you loved him, he wasn’t going to change. the engagement ring you had imagined slipping onto your finger now felt like a distant dream.

you left. the apartment you once shared became a hollow reminder of what could’ve been, and you never looked back.

months passed, and you moved forward. it wasn’t easy—how could it be, when your heart still carried pieces of him? but you found someone who was ready. someone who didn’t hesitate when you spoke of futures or building a life together. your fiancé, thomas, was steady and warm, the kind of man who held you without hesitation, who showed you what it was like to trust again.

and now, here you are. engaged to him. a soft smile on your lips as you stand beside him at your engagement party, your hands intertwined as the music swirls around the room. it’s a celebration of a love that’s been growing, blooming in ways that feel solid and right. you’ve known thomas for a while now. he's kind, dependable, everything you ever thought you wanted. he’s a man who thinks ahead, plans for the future, and dreams of stability. he was everything oscar wasn’t—and for that, you’re grateful. he’s everything you wanted, and more.

still, there’s a knot in your stomach that you can’t quite shake. it’s as if the past is lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface.

the night is supposed to be a celebration. the air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as guests gather to toast your engagement. it's a moment that should feel like a dream come true—your friends and family, your fiancé at your side, all gathered to mark this new chapter in your life. the venue is elegant, soft golden lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the carefully arranged tables. the sound of music drifts through the air, setting a light, joyful tone.

thomas holding your hand tightly as he grins at the guests, proudly showcasing the ring on your finger. you smile back at him, a genuine smile, even though your chest feels a little tight. everything is falling into place. or at least it should be.

the soft glow of string lights casts a warm, intimate atmosphere over the engagement party. couples move fluidly across the dance floor, and you’re among them, your fiancé’s hand resting lightly on your waist as the two of you sway to the rhythm of a slow song. your dress feels heavy—not from its weight but from the pressure of the moment. the words fall flat, lost in the noise of your own thoughts.

that’s when you see him—oscar. he’s standing at the edge of the room, his suit tailored to perfection but slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through his hair too many times. his gaze locks onto you, and you feel the air leave your lungs. it’s been years since you’ve seen him, but the storm in his eyes is achingly familiar.

you try to ignore it, thomas’ hand gently tightens around your waist as the music slows, pulling you closer into the embrace of the dance. “you okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing the side of your ear, but you can’t answer. your eyes are locked on oscar, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t even tried to blend in with the crowd. he’s watching you, and you feel the familiar ache inside you, the one that never quite went away.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, too quickly, but thomas doesn’t seem to notice. he murmurs something else about how beautiful you look tonight, and you smile, the motion automatic, but distant.

oscar’s gaze burns through you. it’s not a look of anger, not even regret—no, it’s more complicated than that. you’ve seen that look before, in the quiet moments between you both, when he used to be afraid to let his guard down. the same expression that haunted your dreams, even after everything.

oscar approaches, weaving through the crowd until he’s close enough that you can feel his presence, though he doesn’t say a word at first. when he finally does, his voice is quiet but weighted.

“may i have this dance?” oscar asks, his tone gentle, almost formal, but there’s an undercurrent of something raw beneath it.

your fiancé looks at him with polite curiosity, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. he glances at you, a soft smile on his face. “do you know him?”

you hesitate, your throat tightening. “an old friend,” you manage, the words tasting strange on your tongue.

thomas nods, his smile never faltering. “go ahead. i’ll grab us some champagne,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple before stepping aside, oblivious to the weight of what he’s just allowed.

you hesitate, your heart hammering as you meet oscar’s eyes. “this isn’t the time,” you murmur, but he’s already extending his hand, waiting. despite every alarm in your head screaming at you to walk away, you take it. the moment his hand touches yours, a jolt runs through you, the kind that feels like both a spark and a wound reopening.

the music swells around you as he leads you to the center of the dance floor. his hand finds your waist, his touch familiar but tentative, while the other clasps yours gently.

“can we talk?” oscar’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge of desperation you hadn’t expected. he looks at you, and for the first time in a long while, you see the vulnerability in him.

your steps falter, but you force yourself to keep moving, your hand trembling slightly in his. “not now,” you reply, your tone sharper than you mean.

oscar doesn’t back down. if anything, his grip on you steadies, his jaw tightening. “please, just five minutes,” he murmurs, quieter this time, but no less intense.

the air between you feels charged, and you glance toward thomas at the edge of the room, standing with a champagne flute in each hand, waiting for you with the ease of someone who trusts you completely.

your stomach twists. “we shouldn’t do this here, i can’t,” you say under your breath, though your voice trembles as much as your hands.

oscar nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “then let’s go somewhere else. just for a moment. please.”

the finality in his tone makes it impossible to refuse. you glance at thomas again, guilt pinching at your chest, but when you meet oscar’s eyes, there’s something in them that pulls you in, something you’ve never been able to resist.

you exhale shakily. “we’ll talk outside,” you whisper, breaking the spell for a moment.

the sharp night air bites at your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest. as you step further into the quiet, away from the glow of the party, your steps grow quicker, more urgent. your heels sinking slightly into the manicured grass with every hurried step. oscar follows, his footsteps steady but urgent behind you. the laughter and music from the engagement party grow faint, replaced by the erratic pounding of your heart.

you spin around once you’re far enough away, the soft glow of garden lanterns casting a pale light over his face. “what are you doing here, oscar?” your words come out harder than you feel, a defensive shield against the way your chest aches at seeing him again.

he stops a few feet away, his hands still buried in his pockets like he’s trying to keep himself together. “i needed to see you,” he says, his voice tight. he shoves his hands into his pockets, his movements restless. “i heard about the engagement, and i—” he stops, dragging in a shaky breath.

his words catch in your chest. “you’re too late,” you whisper, though you wish, just for a second, that he hadn’t come. “you made your choice, oscar.”

“i made a mistake.” his voice cracks, and he takes a hesitant step closer, as if he’s unsure whether or not he should cross the line. “i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want to make it right.”

"and? what exactly do you think this is going to accomplish?" you gesture around, your voice rising with a mix of anger and disbelief. "crashing my engagement party? making a scene in front of everyone i care about? do you think this is some kind of grand gesture that's going to fix everything?"

"i just—" his voice falters, but he holds your gaze, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. "i couldn’t just let this happen without saying something."

your heart hammers in your chest, but you cross your arms, the gesture more to steady yourself than to push him away. “you couldn’t let this happen? what, me moving on? finding someone who—” you swallow hard, the words catching. “someone who actually wanted me?”

his face contorts, pain flickering across it. “don’t say that. you know that’s not true.”

“isn't it?” your voice wavers, and you hate yourself for it. “you left, oscar. you said you weren’t ready, and i waited for you to change your mind, but you never did.”

“i know.” he steps closer, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “i was scared. i thought i had time, but seeing you now… i can’t lose you. not like this.”

“what were you hoping for—that i’d just drop everything and run back to you?”

“is that so impossible?” his voice sharpens, his composure cracking. “after everything we’ve been through, is it really so crazy to think you might still care?”

“care?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. “of course i care, oscar. i cared when i waited for you for years, hoping you’d finally be ready. i cared when you told me you weren’t, and i had to pick up the pieces of myself that you left behind. what about you, huh?” your throat tightens, and you shake your head, stepping back.

he flinches, his jaw tightening. “you think i didn’t care? that it didn’t kill me to walk away from you? i thought i was doing the right thing, giving you a chance to find someone who could give you everything i couldn’t.”

“don’t you dare act noble,” you snap, your voice breaking under the weight of your anger. “you didn’t leave for me, oscar. you left because you were a coward.”

the word hangs in the air between you, cutting deeper than either of you expected. he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “maybe i was,” he says, his voice softer now but no less intense. “but i’m here now. doesn’t that count for something?”

“no, you don’t get to do this now. not when i’m finally…” the words falter because you don’t know if they’re true. are you happy? or are you simply surviving without him? you shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “you don’t get to show up now and act like you’re the hero of this story. i’ve spent so long trying to move on, trying to be happy without you, and now you want to rip it all apart?”

“i’m not trying to ruin your life,” he says, his voice rising again. “i’m trying to fix what happened. and you—” he stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “you’re still it for me. you always have been.”

your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in them slicing through your anger like a knife. “you don’t get to say that,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“why not?” he challenges, his gaze locking onto yours. “because it’s the truth? because you know it’s still there between us, no matter how much you try to deny it?”

“i’m not denying anything.” you snap, your emotions boiling over. “but it’s not that simple, oscar. you left me. do you have any idea what that did to me? how hard it was to piece myself back together, only to have you show up and try to pull it all apart again?"”

he steps closer, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. “i know i hurt you. i know i don’t deserve anything from you, but i can’t stand the thought of losing you forever.”he sees the crack in your armor, and his voice softens, filled with desperation. “do you love him?”

the question hits you like a punch to the stomach. you look down, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “don’t ask me that,” you whisper.

“why not? because you don’t want to lie, or because you can’t tell me the truth?” he steps even closer now, and you can smell the faint cologne he always used to wear. it’s maddening, pulling you into a past you’ve tried so hard to bury.

you glance back at the dance floor where your fiancé waits, his eyes scanning the crowd. he’s everything you wanted—stable, kind, ready to commit. but oscar is everything you lost.

“i can’t do this,” you finally say, your voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have come.”

“please, just tell me—do you love him?” his question knocks the air out of your lungs.

you look away, your throat tight, your mind a mess of conflicting emotions. “why does it matter?”

“because it’s the only thing that matters to me,” he says, his voice breaking. “if you love him, i’ll walk away. i swear i will. but if there’s even a part of you that still loves me…”

“stop it,” you whisper, shaking your head. “you don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.”

“i’m asking you to be honest with yourself," he says, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. “do you love him the way you loved me?”

the words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. you feel the tears spill over, hot against your cold cheeks. “why are you doing this to me?"”

“because i can’t let you go without fighting for you,” he says, his voice trembling. “not again."”

you let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to hold yourself together. “you should’ve fought for me when it mattered.”

his expression crumples, the weight of your words hitting him like a blow. “you’re right,” he whispers. “i should have. and i’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that i didn’t.”

his shoulders sag, but his gaze remains on you, raw and pleading. “if you can tell me you don’t love me anymore, i’ll walk away. right now. i swear.”

the sound of voices and laughter from the party drifts faintly through the garden, a cruel reminder of the life you’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. you glance back toward the lights, toward your fiancé waiting inside, then back at oscar, who looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

your breath hitches. the weight of the moment presses down on you, and the music in the background becomes a distant hum. you open your mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. instead, a single tear slips down your cheek, and that’s answer enough.

oscar watches you, his face softening as he steps closer again, his hand lifting but stopping just shy of touching you. “i never stopped loving you,” he says quietly, his voice almost breaking. “even when i tried to move on, it was always you.”

his words shatter something inside you. “oscar…”

you look back toward the golden glow of the party, the life you’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. thomas is waiting inside, kind and dependable, offering a love that is steady and certain. but when you turn back to oscar, all you see is the man who once made you feel like the world could catch fire and you wouldn’t care as long as he was holding you.

“i can’t do this,” you finally say, your voice breaking. “i can’t keep breaking my heart over you.”

oscar’s hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but knows he shouldn’t. he exhales shakily, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment before he pulls back. “i’ll wait for you,” he says, his voice breaking. “even if it takes forever.”

your fingers close around his instinctively, a fleeting, fragile connection that neither of you is ready to let go of just yet. “you can’t just wait for me,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “that’s not fair to you.”

he smiles faintly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “life’s not fair. but you’re worth it.“

for a moment, the world seems to stop. the sound of laughter and music fades completely, and all that exists is the way he’s looking at you—raw, hopeful, and utterly unguarded.

you pull your hand back slowly, your heart breaking all over again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, your voice cracking.

oscar steps back, his gaze never leaving yours, as though he’s memorising every detail of this moment. “take the time you need,” he says softly. “but don’t think for a second that i’m going anywhere. i’m here, no matter how long it takes.”

and with that, he steps away, leaving you standing there under the stars, torn between a future that feels safe and a love that burns like a fire you’re not sure you can survive.

you glance back toward the glow of the party, then down at your hand, where his warmth still lingers. for the first time in a long time, you realise that love, even the messy kind, has never truly left you. and that scares you more than anything else.

the sound of oscar’s retreating footsteps stings, every step pulling him further away from you, further into the shadows of the garden. you should let him leave—should stay rooted where you are, let your choice carry you forward. but something inside you stirs, refuses to let this be the end.

“wait,” you call softly, barely audible over the hum of the music. but he hears you. he stops mid-step, his back stiffening as though he doesn’t dare turn around, afraid of the hope that might break him.

when he finally turns to face you, his expression is a mix of pain and something else—something fragile but enduring. love.

“i hate you for this,” you whisper, but your voice trembles with something softer than anger. “i hate that you still make me feel this way.”

oscar lets out a shaky breath, a flicker of something like relief crossing his face. “i don’t care if you hate me, as long as you don’t stop feeling something for me.”

you shake your head, your tears falling freely now. “you ruined me, oscar. and then you left.”

“i know,” he says, stepping closer, his hand lifting tentatively toward your face but stopping just shy of touching. “and i’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it, if you let me.”

the weight of his words presses against your chest, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, caught in the pull of him, of everything you once had and could never fully let go of.

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmur, your voice almost breaking.

“why not?” he asks softly. “because it’s true? because i love you?”

his words make your breath hitch, and for a brief moment, the world around you blurs. you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but then you feel his hand—gentle, warm—slip over yours. it’s hesitant, like he’s asking permission with the simplest touch.

you don’t pull away.

“i can’t walk away from you again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “not without knowing if there’s still a part of your heart that has my name on it.”

your chest tightens, and when you look up at him, there’s a softness in his eyes that undoes you completely. you’ve seen that look before, years ago, in moments you thought you’d forgotten. it’s the look that made you fall in love with him the first time.

for a moment, you don’t think. you lean in, just enough to rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling in the cold night air. “you’re impossible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

“and you’re everything,” he whispers back, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

you stay there, suspended in a moment that feels too delicate to break. and when you finally pull back, your heart feels just a little lighter, even as the ache remains.

“go,” you say softly, your voice barely audible. “i need time.”

oscar nods, though you can see the pain in his eyes. “i’ll give you all the time you need,” he says, his voice steady despite the crack you hear beneath it. “but i’ll be waiting, always.”

he presses a fleeting kiss to your knuckles before stepping back, his warmth lingering even after he’s gone. you watch him disappear into the night, your heart torn but beating with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

as you turn back toward the lights of the party, you catch your reflection in the glass doors, your tear-streaked face and trembling smile staring back at you. you’re not sure where this path will take you, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like you’re finally letting yourself choose.

#piastrisun: work #piastrisun: one shot #piastrisun: requests #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine

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hambiichu · 1 month ago

Text

Mingled relationship

Sumarry: You and Levi ended your relationship back in high school, and a few years later, on a fateful Christmas, Levi decided to reach out to you

Ao3

Divider by @/notaorbital

Tags: Comfort, Female! Reader, Levi in despair, comeback, exes, past relationship, mingled, regret, modern au, Kuchel

Today is Christmas, and a gentle blanket of snow covers the ground outside, transforming the world into a winter wonderland. The warm glow of decorations spills from every window, casting a cheerful ambiance that fills the air with the holiday spirit. The table is elegantly set, adorned with a feast of delicious foods—roasted meats, savory sides, and an array of desserts waiting to be savored. Spoons and forks gleam under the soft lights, while festive plates hold an assortment of culinary delights.

People have gathered around the table, their laughter mingling with the joyful sounds of Christmas carols wafting in from outside. As children sing and shake their bells, the scene is alive with happiness, reminding everyone of the warmth and love the holiday brings. Families unite, sharing stories and jokes, while the crackle of the fireplace adds to the cozy atmosphere of joy reminiscent of the season.

Yet, not everyone shares in the merriment surrounding them. Levi sits apart from the vibrant gathering, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his phone, absorbed in a digital reverie filled with old messages and photos.

Each scroll reveals memories that tug at his heart, stirring up a bittersweet mixture of nostalgia and yearning. He finds himself contemplating whether to reach out to you, the thought lingering like an uninvited guest. Years have passed since you last saw each other, yet the echoes of your high school romance continue to resonate within him, haunting his thoughts, especially at this time of year.

Kuchel, his mother, has never truly understood the reasons behind your breakup. To her, you were more than just a girlfriend; you were like a daughter-in-law, someone she envisioned as a perfect match for her son. She often reminisces about the days when Levi first introduced you to the family, her eyes sparkling with pride as she recounts how happy he seemed in your presence.

Those cherished moments now feel like fragmented whispers of a long-forgotten dream. Pensive, Levi gazes out of the window, lost in thought, and wonders if reaching out might reignite the flame of what was once a beautiful connection or if the chasm of time and hurt between you has grown too wide to bridge.

Deep down, Levi knows he can’t absolve himself of the blame for the relationship’s collapse. He reflects on how foolish and immature he was, a first-time lover grappling with overwhelming emotions.

In his naivety, he neglected you, failed to support you when you needed it, and, at times, acted with an unkindness that still stings with regret. The shame washes over him as he grimaces at his past self, recognizing how his actions contributed to the heartache that severed your bond.

He hated himself.

He blamed himself everyday and every year.

You have every right to feel a profound anger toward him — to cut ties and seek out someone new, all while he remains here, adrift and still unmarried, without a family to call his own. In the quiet moments of his day, when the world falls silent, he is haunted by memories of you. The weight of his past mistakes presses heavily on his heart, creating an unending cycle of shame that he cannot seem to escape. It’s as if he is a prisoner in his own mind, yearning for a chance to make amends, yet paralyzed by the fear that the opportunity has slipped through his fingers forever.

Kuchel speaks of you often, mentioning your name with a fondness that pulls at Levi’s heart, tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. Each time your name escapes his mother's lips, it strikes a painful chord within him, a constant reminder of his failures and the secret he keeps buried deep. He finds himself weaving a web of excuses, telling his mother that you are simply too busy or that you’ve chosen not to contact him, all the while knowing that she can see through the mask he has crafted. The guilt festers inside him, gnawing at his conscience and causing him to feel like a disappointment in her eyes.

As the seasons change, ushering in a flurry of memories and emotions he has tried to suppress, Levi resolves that this time he will not hide behind excuses or lies. With newfound courage coursing through him, he retrieves your contact information from his phone and hesitates for a moment, unsure why he kept it all this time. A part of him had always held onto the hope that he would reach out eventually, and today, that hope is blossoming into action.

He presses the phone to his ear, his heart pounding as a knot of anxiety forms in his stomach. He glances down at his trembling hands and takes a deep breath to steady himself. In his other hand, he pulls out a small, delicate silver ring he has kept all these years—a promise ring, once a symbol of the vow he made to you that no matter what life threw at him, you would one day become his spouse. Now, that ring feels more like a relic of a shattered past, buried beneath layers of regret and longing.

Levi twirls the ring between his fingers, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his memories. He thinks about how time has changed everything, yet the feelings that stirred within him back then remain as potent as ever.

Suddenly, his heart leaps when he hears your voice on the other end, and time seems to freeze. There’s no hesitation as you answer, "Levi?" The sound of your breath, a bit shaky and uncertain, sends a rush of emotions surging through him. "You called."

Levi swallows hard, his heart racing as he instinctively pockets the ring. He wipes his clammy palms on his shirt, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah, I… I know it’s unexpected, but I've been wanting to reach out." He responds, his voice more confident than he feels.

Levi realizes just how much he has missed this connection. It’s as if he had forgotten the sound of your laughter, the way your voice could light up a room, and now those memories flood back with an overwhelming rush of nostalgia and sadness.

"I.... I’ve been wanting to reach you too," you admit, and he hears a small sneeze break the delicate tension between you. He can almost picture you shivering, layered in winter clothes, trying to ward off the chill.

Levi's heart begins to race at the realization that you, too, have a desire to reconnect. Yet skepticism tugs at him; he hesitates to let his hopes soar too high.

A smile involuntarily lifts Levi’s lips. "Are you okay? You’re sneezing," he asks, genuine concern creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I’m just stuck on this bus," you explain, your frustration evident. "I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and nothing’s moving. I’ve used almost all my data to call my mom, but when you called, I had to answer."

"Do you want me to come pick you up?" he offers, warmth threading through his tone.

“Levi, that’s sweet, but I’m fine,” you reply, though there’s a hint of reluctance in your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“No, you’re not," Levi insists, a sigh escaping him. He can feel the urgency in his own voice as he speaks. "You’ve been stuck at the bus stop for over an hour, right? Let me come get you. I’ll grab my keys now."

"Le—"

"Please."

It was a surprise to realize that Levi never hesitated to act when it came to you. In your memories, if something had ever happened to you, he would have charged forward without a moment's doubt—without a hint of hesitation. This was the man you had fallen in love with, a man who captivated you not just with his striking features and intense gaze, but with his genuine care and unwavering commitment. He would have done anything for you. Yet, as your relationship progressed, a painful shift occurred. He began to neglect you, fail to support you in your times of need, and, at times, display a rough, unkindness that pierced your heart.

Witnessing this transformation was undeniably cruel. It hurt to see the man you thought would care for you forever drift away into someone unrecognizable. But you couldn’t blame yourself; you were just high school sweethearts, young and inexperienced in the complexities of love. As hard as it was, a part of you understood that sometimes, parting ways was necessary for growth.

Even after all these years, you still carried a deep love for him; he was your first boyfriend after all. You felt like you understood him better than anyone else ever could, and you had always been there for him. Throughout the years, you hadn’t found anyone else who could take his place in your heart, nor had you considered marriage. Your heart remained firmly attached to Levi Ackerman.

Years passed, and this year, out of the blue, Levi reached out to you. You’d thought about contacting him, but fear held you back—fear that he’d once again be the man who hurt you. Yet, something in you sensed he had changed for the better. When he called, your heart raced. You hesitated initially, but in a moment of courage, you answered, listening to his familiar voice after so long. It resonated with a mix of sadness and nostalgia, bringing back memories you had tucked away.

As you began to explain your current situation, Levi insisted on coming to pick you up. You felt a reluctance but Levi, being his determined self, simply grabbed his keys and told you he would be waiting for you at the bus stop.

The ride to his home was enveloped in an uneasy silence, punctuated by the soft crunch of snow beneath the car tires. The headlights illuminated the dark road ahead, casting fleeting shadows outside. You glanced at Levi from the corner of your eye. He seemed like the same man you once knew, but upon closer inspection, you could see the marks of maturity etched into his features. He had clearly learned from his past mistakes, even though both of you felt the tension of two exes meeting again for the first time after so long.

Wanting to break the silence and ease the awkwardness, you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got lodged in your throat. Instead, the silence wrapped around you both, heavy and suffocating. When you finally reached his home, stepping out into the cold air, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Memories flooded back of the first time you had visited Levi’s house and met his mother, who had welcomed you into the family with open arms.

As Levi opened the door, his mother, Kuchel, looked up from the living room, her eyes widening in astonishment. Without any hesitation, she rushed toward you and enveloped you in a warm embrace. The comfort of her presence was something you had missed dearly over the years. She gently released you, her expression brimming with love and concern.

“Oh! It’s been too long since I last saw you. You’ve grown so much! I’ve missed you terribly. Levi says you’ve been busy,” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of joy and warmth.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Levi standing beside you. He looked away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he mumbled, “Mother, please, can she come inside?”

Kuchel’s eyes sparkled with hope. “Will she stay here for a while?” she asked eagerly. You found yourself nodding in agreement. Although you hadn’t envisioned staying, Levi had brought you here, and with Christmas upon you, it felt oddly right to accept this invitation.

"Come, come! We have turkeys and all sorts of delicious foods," Kuchel exclaimed, her warm smile lighting up the room as she gestured towards the table. The table stretched out before you, adorned with an array of plates filled with festive dishes and neatly arranged utensils. It was a bit long, but it felt cozy, especially since it was just you, Levi, and his mother for the moment. Other relatives would be joining soon, but for now, the atmosphere was intimate.

As you settled into your seat, Levi slid into the chair beside you. The two of you began to eat, enjoying the savory flavors of the turkey and all the trimmings, while Kuchel returned to the living room, her focus shifting back to the decorations and gift-wrapping for the upcoming celebrations. It was a relief that she didn’t pry into your life with intrusive questions; after all, she hadn’t seen you for years until this reunion.

“Sorry about that,” Levi suddenly said between bites, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He was munching on a crispy piece of turkey skin, a hint of guilt in his expression. “I told my mom that you were busy, and... I lied to her. She always mentions you and asks how you’re doing, all that stuff.”

You looked at him, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the slightly awkward situation. It warmed your heart to know that Kuchel still thought of you after all these years. You had assumed she had long forgotten, but hearing it from Levi made you realize he had carried a burden of keeping the truth from her, perhaps feeling guilty himself.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged nonchalantly, trying to ease the tension. “I’ve done the same with my mom whenever she asks about things she shouldn’t.”

A shy smile broke across Levi’s face at your admission, and you both finished your meal with a sense of camaraderie. When you moved to the kitchen to wash the dishes, you removed your gloves and set them on the countertop. Levi stood beside the fridge, leaning against it with wide eyes as he watched you attentively.

“You still wear the ring I gave you?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You paused, your hand hovering over the ring on your finger. A blush crept across your cheeks as you took a deep breath in preparation for his question. “Yeah... I still do. It’s your gift, and I didn't want to just throw it away. I mean, I know we haven’t seen each other in years, and I thought you might have thrown yours away, too.”

He shook his head, pulling his own ring from his pocket to show you. Both rings twinkled in the soft light of the kitchen, a shimmering symbol of the connection you once shared. “I never did. I always kept it,” he replied, his voice trailing off as a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. Regret was etched in his features, a clear indication of the weight he carried from the past.

“I regret what I did to you every single day. I’m so sorry,” Levi continued, his voice thick with emotion. “We were just young and foolish, naive high school sweethearts. I was a complete fool for letting my shit affect you.”

As he clutched the ring in his palm, his hands trembled with anger at himself. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and it was clear that the memories of hurt lingered painfully in his mind. “I never found someone else, nor did I ever get married. I blame myself for what happened between us every day, and I truly hate myself for it.”

His deep sigh seemed to echo through the room as he spoke your name softly, sending warmth through you, breaking down the walls that had built up over the years. “I know we’re just exes, and I have my doubts about whether there's any hope for us, but I can feel that you still resent me.”

Unable to bear the sight of his pained expression, you walked up to him and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks—a surprising gesture that caused his gaze to widen in astonishment. You cupped his face in your hands, and for a fleeting moment, he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as he let out a shaky sigh. To your surprise, he pressed a soft kiss to your palm, the very spot where your ring once rested.

Oh, how he truly missed you.

The warmth spread through you, and you couldn’t help but blush again as you smiled back at him. “I don’t resent you, Levi. I’ve loved you this entire time. I’ve never married or found anyone else. You were my first boyfriend, and no one else holds my heart like you do.”

As Levi opened his eyes, tears began to flow, and you saw a vulnerability in him that was rarely displayed. The stoic man you had known and admired was laid bare before you, Levi is weak and vulnerable only to you.

Only to you.

Just as you both leaned in closer to share a kiss, the door swung open, and Kuchel walked in unexpectedly. You and Levi sprang apart, faking coughs to mask the palpable tension between you.

“Levi! Your relatives are here!” she called out cheerfully. “Come on, both of you! I want you in the living room right away!”

With a light giggle, she exited, clearly oblivious to the moment that had just transpired. You and Levi exchanged a sigh of relief, your eyes locexistsfor a brief moment filled with unspoken promises. Instared shared glance, the love between you felt rekindled, kindledg at the relationship renewed.

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thebunnednun · 5 months ago

Text

Toast 5.

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

Katsuki talks to the daughter he never knew he had.

Summary:

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

Songs:

Like Him Me and your Mama

“Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five more minutes to dream about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t enjoy it.

At least, not right now.

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

Katsuki.

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

"Have you ever thought about dating again?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yeah, that would be a good idea.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, she would ask you about her father.

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

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

Now matter how much she wanted to burn everything down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You monster!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully.

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

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

Mina chuckled. "Sounds like a blast. Just don’t go easy on your mom about the tapes. She’ll want to sit and watch them with you."

Asuna grinned, the thought of sharing those moments with you making her heart warm. The table was set, and she stepped back to admire their handiwork, her stomach already growling in anticipation of the meal. Mina ruffled her hair affectionately. "Good job, kiddo. Now, let’s get some breakfast in you before your day starts."

Asuna beamed, her mind already spinning with the plans for the day ahead. She loved mornings like this—filled with lighthearted banter, the scent of breakfast in the air, and the comfort of family all around her. She watched Mina carefully, noting the way she hummed softly, her bonnet still snugly in place, protecting her hair as she moved deftly around the kitchen.

The scent of breakfast wafted through the room, but it did little to settle the uneasy feeling brewing in Asuna’s stomach. She swallowed hard, glancing down at her hands before gathering the courage to speak.

“Hey, Minnie?” she called softly, using the nickname that had become their playful norm.

Mina, ever the multitasker, didn’t miss a beat as she filled a bowl with eggs and sausage bits. "Yeah, Mickey?" she replied, a smile tugging at her lips as she focused on plating the food.

There was a pause, one that stretched long enough for Mina to glance up, her brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. Asuna took a deep breath, her fingers curling into the hem of her oversized sweater.

“What do you know about my dad?” she finally asked, her voice just above a whisper.

The clatter of the spatula hitting the floor was lost beneath the sudden, deafening crash.

The porcelain pancake bowl slipped from Mina’s grasp, shattering against the tiles with a sharp crack that echoed through the kitchen. Mina’s eyes widened, her usual composure faltering as she stared at the fragments scattered across the floor.

"Asuna," Mina stammered, her voice tight with surprise and something else—something deeper. "I-I... I didn’t mean to—”

Asuna was already moving, her heart pounding as she rushed to help. "It's okay, it’s okay," she said hurriedly, crouching down to gather the broken pieces. In her haste, her palm caught a jagged edge of the shattered bowl, slicing through the skin with a sting that made her gasp.

" Shit! " Asuna recoiled, blood welling up from the cut almost immediately.

Mina’s reaction was instant. “Oh no! Come here,” she said urgently, her hands gentle but firm as she guided Asuna to the sink. She turned on the water, letting the cool stream rush over the wound to flush out any debris. Her touch was careful, her concern evident in the tight set of her jaw.

As the water ran pink with diluted blood, Mina kept her focus on Asuna's hand, her voice softening. "Let’s get this cleaned up. We don’t want anything getting infected," she murmured, reaching for a clean towel to press against the wound once it was thoroughly rinsed. Asuna watched her in silence, biting her lip as the initial sting faded into a dull throb. Mina’s hands moved with practiced ease, but Asuna could sense the underlying tension in her movements.

Once the cut was wrapped, Mina turned back to the mess on the floor, sweeping up the shards with careful efficiency before discarding them. The kitchen returned to its usual quiet, save for the faint sound of the water running and the hum of the heater.

Mina finally leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded Asuna with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Why do you want to know about your dad?" she asked gently, the weight of the question hanging in the air between them.

Asuna hesitated, shifting her gaze to the floor. "I just... I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. I don’t know much, and I guess I just want to know more about who he was. What he was like."

Mina’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Asuna’s shoulder.

“I understand,” she said quietly, her voice steady but laced with a hint of sadness.

“But, Asuna, some of those answers... they’re not easy to give.”

Asuna nodded slowly, her mind racing with questions she hadn’t dared to ask before.

“I know. But I’m ready to hear them.”

Mina offered a small, reassuring smile, her thumb brushing lightly against Asuna’s cheek. “We’ll talk, okay? But let’s wait until your mom’s out of the shower. She’ll want to be a part of this too.”

Asuna nodded again, her heart still heavy but comforted by Mina’s presence.

“Okay,” she whispered.

They stood together in the kitchen, the quiet hum of the household around them better company than the unspoken weight of the conversation yet to come.

Mina moved with her usual grace as she set Asuna’s plate in front of her, the aroma of warm waffles and syrup wafting up to fill the room. The scrambled eggs, sausage bits, and perfectly golden waffles were arranged neatly, a small pool of syrup glistening at the edges. She served your plate next, her movements thoughtful, before setting her own meal at her spot on the counter.

“Eat up, Mickey,” Mina said softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Asuna’s forehead. The gesture was familiar and comforting, followed by a gentle hug that seemed to envelop Asuna in warmth. “I’m gonna get dressed now,” Mina added, pulling back just enough to look into Asuna’s eyes.

“Don’t be afraid to ask your mom, okay? She’ll understand.”

Asuna nodded, though the growing pit in her stomach made her feel heavier than she had moments ago. Mina’s reassuring smile lingered as she turned and disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps fading into the distance.

The house fell into a momentary stillness, the only sound the soft hum of the oven and the clinking of cutlery as Asuna absentmindedly picked at her food.

The kitchen felt warmer than usual, a subtle indication of the lava quirks’ effect on the room’s temperature. It made sense; emotions had a way of influencing the environment, and the slight rise in heat wasn’t lost on Asuna. She gazed at the plate before her, but her mind drifted to another time, another place.

She remembered being little, living at Grammie Rita's house before you moved out and got your first apartment together.

Everything in the city had been so different from the quiet, familiar life in the country. She’d been so excited at the prospect of having her own room, decorating it with her favorite colors and toys, imagining all the new adventures she would have.

But that first night, as the shadows stretched long across the unfamiliar walls, her excitement waned, replaced by a sense of overwhelming homesickness. The city sounds were foreign, the constant hum of traffic and the occasional siren a stark contrast to the soothing chirps of crickets back home.

She had cried, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, her small body curled up under the covers. You had come to her then, your face soft with understanding as you knelt beside her bed.

"It’s okay," you had whispered, smoothing her hair back gently. "It’s a big change, but we’ll get through it together."

You’d suggested she sleep in your bed, just for the night, to help with the move. It had been a simple offer, but one that spoke volumes. Now that she was older, Asuna realized it had been one of those parenting tricks you were always reading about.

Even then, though, it hadn’t been enough. Sleep had eluded both of you, and eventually, in the quiet hours before dawn, you had packed a small overnight bag and made the long drive back to Grammie Rita’s house.

That night, she had slept nestled between you and Rita, the familiar scent of lavender and the warmth of home surrounding her. She remembered the comfort of being cocooned between the two of you, the rhythmic sound of your breathing lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. The safety, the warmth, the undeniable sense of belonging—

It had been everything she needed.

Asuna hadn’t thought about that memory in a long time. It came rushing back now, unbidden, stirring a mix of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face. She blinked, her gaze returning to the present, to the plate of breakfast in front of her. The warmth of the kitchen, the comforting scent of food, and the distant sound of your shower running—all of it familiar to her,

But that pit in her stomach remained.

Asuna sat at the kitchen counter, the warmth from the heating system making the space feel almost too cozy. She took another stab of her waffle, savoring the sweet scent, but her mind wandered. She wanted to feel warm, the kind of warmth that wrapped around her like a familiar blanket on a cold day—not the stifling heat that made her sweat or brought on an asthma attack.

Those moments, rare as they had become, still lingered in the back of her mind like a shadow she couldn’t quite shake.

She glanced toward the hallway where Mina had disappeared, the memory of her words offering a fragile reassurance. The kitchen, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt tinged with the weight of her thoughts.

Asuna shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her plate. She thought about how far she had come, how much she had outgrown that terror of suddenly feeling like an elephant was sitting on her chest, crushing the air out of her lungs.

Those nights had been terrifying—the sensation of not being able to breathe, the frantic gasps for air that wouldn’t come, the rush to the hospital. She remembered the cool plastic of the oxygen mask, the sterile smell of the emergency room, and the reassuring but anxious faces of the doctors and nurses.

Even now, the oxygen tank sat in her closet, its silent presence a reminder of those moments. It was tucked away with its refills, each one a testament to your meticulous care. You never missed a doctor’s appointment, never let her go without her asthma pump. The routine was part of your life, a constant vigil over her health.

But it wasn’t just you.

Shinsou had been there too, from the very beginning.

He was her biggest comfort through those episodes, his calm presence a balm to her anxiety. Whenever you had to leave her side—whether for work or errands—Shinsou was right there, holding her hand, his eyes steady and reassuring.

He’d given her a llama plushie once, a quirky little thing with soft fur and big eyes. “To keep you safe,” he’d said, his voice low but earnest. She had clung to that plushie during those scary moments, its presence a small but significant reminder that she wasn’t alone.

Whenever she was playing and that familiar tightness crept into her chest, Shinsou had always been the first to notice. His calm voice guided her through the breathing exercises, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he helped her calm down. He never panicked, never made her feel like she was a burden. He made her feel safe.

Some nights, she only wanted him.

The tears would come, the fear would grip her, and all she could think about was hearing his voice. You would call him on FaceTime, and no matter where he was or what he was doing, he would stop everything to be there for her. His face on the screen, his voice steady and soothing, always had a way of making the panic subside.

Asuna sighed, her fingers now resting on the countertop, the warmth of the kitchen pressing in on her.

The memories stirred something deep inside, a blend of gratitude for Shinsou’s presence and the persistent ache of unanswered questions. She looked down at her plate, the waffle now cold, and felt that familiar pit in her stomach deepen.

When she was little, she had been confused about the relationship.

She thought he might be your husband at first, the way he was always around, always there when she needed him. But she knew he wasn’t her dad, not her father. That role remained an enigma, a figure that loomed in the distance of her thoughts, faceless and undefined.

Asuna had been younger then, barely understanding the complexities of relationships. She had watched the way Shinsou moved around you, always there, always ready to help.

It was natural for her to assume, in her childlike innocence, that he must be something more than just a friend. The day she gathered the courage to ask, her small voice filled the quiet living room.

"Is Toshi your husband?" she had asked, her wide eyes blinking up at you with all the seriousness her little heart could muster.

Your reaction had been instant.

Your eyes widened so much she thought they might pop right out of your head, and for a moment, you were utterly speechless. Shinsou, sitting next to you, had let out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his head with a sad grin. The two of you exchanged a glance before you turned your attention back to her, kneeling down to her level.

"No, sweetheart," you had said gently, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Hitoshi isn’t my husband. He’s my best friend, like how Auntie Mina is my best friend."

Asuna had tilted her head, thinking about it. Best friends, she could understand. Eri was her best friend. Auntie Mina was always around, laughing and joking, just like Shinsou. She had nodded slowly, processing the information with the seriousness of a child trying to comprehend the adult world.

"Okay," she had replied thoughtfully. Then, after a pause, she had looked back up at you, her small brows furrowed with curiosity.

"Then... who’s my dad?"

The room had fallen silent. You had taken a deep breath, trying to find the right words. The weight of the question settled between you like an invisible presence. Finally, you offered her a soft smile, your voice gentle but clear.

"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure," you had said, a small laugh escaping as you reached out to squeeze her hand.

"It’s not Uncle Toshi."

Asuna had giggled at your playful tone, the tension in the room easing. But even as she laughed, you could see the flicker of curiosity still in her eyes, the unspoken questions she didn’t yet have the words to ask.

You had known this day would come, and while you had been prepared for many questions, hearing it from her little voice had hit differently.

"Can you tell me more?" she had asked softly, her gaze earnest.

You had exchanged another look with Shinsou, his supportive nod giving you the strength to continue. Gathering her in your arms, you had guided her to the couch, and tried to navigate the delicate path of honesty and protection.

Humming, Asuna flexed her fingers from resting on the countertop, the warmth of the kitchen slightly suffocating her. The memories stirred something deep inside, a blend of gratitude for Shinsou’s presence and the persistent ache of unanswered questions. She looked down at her plate, the stabbed bits of waffle now cold, and felt that familiar pit in her stomach deepen.

The sound of your work bag and boots thudding softly against the floor near the doorway echoed through the house, a familiar and comforting routine signaling your return. Asuna smiled at the sound, a brief moment of peace washing over her.

It was fleeting.

A sudden, searing pain flared across her left hand, sharp and insistent, sending a shockwave up her arm.

Her smile vanished, replaced by a grimace as the fork she was holding clattered onto her plate, a muffled cry escaping her lips.

She quickly pressed her hand against her chest, trying to stifle the sting, but her gaze was drawn downward to the crimson vines blooming beneath her skin, vivid and raw against her veins, like fiery tendrils weaving their way down her arm and pooling at her fingertips to where the pain was most intense.

This was familiar, painfully so.

She had seen those molten streaks before—on you. You, Pro Hero Obsidian, who wielded lava with effortless control. Your body could conjure and manipulate molten rock, transform into its various forms, and encase yourself in it as though it were a second skin. Asuna had grown up watching your mastery with this element, your quirk a powerful extension of who you were.

But this...

This wasn’t supposed to be her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the angry, red-hot veins, the vivid reminder of her lack of control. She didn’t have your quirk. Her abilities were a strange fusion of energy manipulation, capable of many things. But not lava.

And certainly not ' that' .

She clenched her hand, forcing herself to breathe slowly, deliberately.

Her mind raced back to the times when these hot explosions had spiraled out of control. The memories were sharp, vivid. The baseball field she had scorched during a heated argument, her first asthma attack in the old apartment that left their surroundings charred, and the terror of that afternoon when a villain had chased her home, leaving her powerless and panicked, the resulting blaze a beacon of her fear and fury.

Asuna hadn’t told you about these red veins, about the heat that now seemed to pulse through her body when she was upset. She had hidden it well, bundling herself in long sleeves and hoodies, pretending it was for the weather or fashion.

It has worked so far.

You haven't suspected anything, busy as you were with hero work and managing everything else.

But now, she only had a few minutes before you walked into the kitchen. She could hear the soft thud of your footsteps drawing nearer, the anticipation of your presence making her heart race even more.

With a determined breath, she pushed herself up from the chair, her legs feeling heavier than usual as she made her way to the fridge. She pulled it open, the cool air brushing against her flushed face as she reached for an orange popsicle.

It was a small comfort, a familiar taste that might help ground her. She unwrapped it hastily and sat back down, her posture forced into calmness as she took a bite, the cold sweetness contrasting sharply with the burning heat still simmering beneath her skin.

She glanced at the doorway, waiting, her pulse pounding in her ears. You would be there any second, and she needed to keep everything hidden, for now.

"Hey, pretty girl!"

Your voice, warm and full of affection, filled the kitchen as you appeared not two seconds later. Asuna's gaze lifted to meet your smiling face, her heart lightening despite the heat pulsing through her hand.

You had changed into your sleek black athletic pants, the fabric hugging your legs comfortably. A tight-fitted cropped jacket adorned your torso, accentuating your form while offering a casual yet put-together look.

Your hair, freshly redone into softer braids sectioned into fours, framed your face beautifully, adding an extra layer of sophistication to your relaxed demeanor.

Dark, moody lip gloss highlighted your smile, the subtle sheen catching the light as you moved. Your eyeliner was subtle, yet sharp, wings drawn with precision, giving your eyes a striking intensity.

Around your neck, a matching chain to Asuna’s rested, a small but meaningful symbol of the bond you shared. On your wrist, your watch glinted faintly under the kitchen lights, its sleek design complementing the gold anklet that adorned your left ankle, a delicate accessory that added a touch of elegance to your casual ensemble.

You stretched your arms over your head, a soft sigh of relief escaping your lips, the motion causing the gold anklet to shimmer faintly. With a flick of your wrist, you turned on the kitchen fan, the gentle hum filling the space. The cool breeze it provided swept over Asuna, offering a reprieve from the warmth that had begun to suffuse the room.

‘Thank Kamisama,’ she thought, feeling a bit more at ease as the chill from her popsicle worked to combat the heat radiating from her hand.

Despite her attempts to relax, your keen eyes noticed the new bandage wrapped around her hand. Concern flickered across your features as you tapped the edge of the bandage lightly with the back of a spoon, the gentle tap drawing Asuna’s attention.

"What's this?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of worry as you handed her a pair of Hello Kitty chopsticks, the familiar pink utensils a small distraction in her hands.

Asuna hesitated, her fingers curling around the chopsticks as she avoided your gaze for a moment, focusing instead on the melting popsicle in her other hand. The cool, sticky sweetness was a welcome distraction, but she knew she couldn’t dodge your question for long.

"Aunty Mina dropped a bowl by accident. She cleaned my hand up," she explained, her voice light, as if it were no big deal. Asuna shifted in her seat, trying to maintain a casual air as she spoke.

You tilted your head slightly, giving her a thoughtful, " hm, " before nodding.

"Let me see," you asked gently, extending your hand toward her.

Without much hesitation, Asuna extended her hand, the motion casual and unbothered. Her bandaged palm faced up, the soft cotton wrap obscuring the majority of the red marks that had blossomed there earlier.

You took her hand in yours, your fingers warm and familiar against her skin. Your eyes briefly scanned the bandage, noting its neatness, and a soft smile played at your lips as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to the center of her palm.

"How did you sleep?" you asked, pulling a chair up next to her. Your tone was soft, laced with genuine concern, as you sat down, turning slightly to face her.

Asuna hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying,

"I slept fine."

The words were smooth, but the underlying truth was evident in the way her eyes shifted briefly, betraying her unease. She returned the question quickly.

"How about you? How'd you sleep?"

Your smile faltered slightly, though you kept your voice light.

"Fine," you answered, a mirror of her lie. The reality was far different. Sleep had been elusive, your mind too preoccupied with responsibilities and the day's demands.

Standing, you moved toward the coffee machine, flipping it on with practiced ease. The soft hum of the machine filled the quiet kitchen as you reached into the cabinet above. Your hand hovered briefly over Mina's Celine Dion mug, the familiar design bringing a small smile to your lips as you placed it under the coffee spout.

As the coffee began to drip, you reached for two more mugs, your movements fluid and precise. Eri's mug, a deep red apple design, was next. You placed it beside yours—a gift from Mina—a mug with a volcano that changed color based on the temperature of the drink inside. A small but clever trick that never failed to amuse you.

Your eyes lingered on the shelf as you mentally cataloged the mugs.

Aizawa's black mug with the cat paw print on the bottom came to mind. Shinsou’s Venom mug, tucked away in the very back, was currently on ‘ time out ’. Elle, your manager, had a Cinderella Story mug featuring Hilary Duff. Lastly, there was Grammie Rita’s " #1 Original Gangsta " mug.

You reached for her mug, filling it with coffee as the machine finished its cycle. But as you poured, a sudden realization dawned on you. Your hands stilled, the coffee pot hovering just above the rim. Your gaze drifted out the kitchen window, the view blurring slightly as your thoughts took a sudden turn.

Setting the pot down with deliberate care, you inhaled deeply, the aroma of fresh coffee grounding you momentarily. With a soft sigh, you picked up both mugs and placed them in their designated spots on the counter. Your movements were slower now, more deliberate, as if each action required careful thought.

Asuna watched quietly, noting the subtle shift in your demeanor.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

You turned to her, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I will be," you said, your voice calm yet sincere.

"How’ve you been holding up?"

Asuna shrugged slightly, fiddling with the stick of her popsicle as she considered her answer. "Fine," she said, her tone steady but with an undertone of contemplation. "I miss Grammie Rita… but she was sick for a while. So… her being able to rest now probably gives her peace." Her words were quiet, thoughtful.

Your smile softened, a warmth touching your eyes as you reached out to gently brush a hand over hers.

"That’s a very mature mindset and attitude about it, Asuna," you said, pride evident in your tone. " But ," you continued, leaning in a little closer, your expression turning serious, "it’s also okay to feel sad about it. Losing someone you love is hard, no matter how much sense it makes."

You held her gaze, ensuring she saw the sincerity in your eyes.

"I’m here to talk, whenever you need. And if you ever feel like you need someone else to talk to—a therapist, someone who can help you work through your feelings—we can make that happen. Whatever you need or want, I’ll be here to provide it for you. You just have to ask."

Asuna took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the popsicle stick.

Moments like this—the tenderness, the unwavering support you showed her—played over and over in her mind. They were her anchors during tough training sessions, exams, or even during the quiet moments when she was just living life. You had always been her first best friend, her constant.

She couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t been there for her. Birthdays, holidays, school events, quiet nights at home—whatever she needed, you provided, often before she even realized she needed it.

Which is why what she was about to ask made her feel sick to her stomach.

Her chest tightened, a weight settling heavily as her mind raced with the implications of her next words. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to summon the courage to speak. The thought of disappointing you, of disrupting the perfect balance you had created in their world, made her hesitate.

She glanced down at her hand, the red lines barely hidden beneath the bandage. The warmth from earlier lingered faintly, a reminder of her growing inability to control this part of herself. Gathering her resolve, Asuna looked back up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and fear.

"I… need to tell you something," she started, her voice trembling slightly.

You set your fork down gently, the clink of metal on porcelain resonating softly in the quiet kitchen. Turning fully toward Asuna, you rested your elbows on the kitchen island, your gaze steady and open.

"I'm here, 'S una. Talk to me," you said softly, your voice warm but attentive, carefully observing her every move. You knew Asuna well—too well to miss the subtle shifts in her demeanor. She was always a straightforward child, seeing the world in stark contrasts, much like… well, like her… yeah.

Some traits are simply passed down, as natural as breathing.

Asuna’s fingers trembled slightly as she placed her popsicle on the edge of her waffles, her focus now solely on you. Her crimson eyes, those precious blood diamonds you cherished so deeply, met yours. You’d memorized every starburst and flicker in them over the years, each gaze a reminder of your bond.

"I have something I need to ask," she said, her voice wavering, betraying her internal conflict. Her hands twitched, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from her, a familiar sensation when her emotions surged.

"Go ahead, shoot for the moon even if you're gazing at stars," you encouraged gently. It was your way of telling her that, despite the distraction evident in her expression, you wanted her to be upfront, honest, unburdened. You watched as a bead of sweat formed on her brow, her skin flushed, her breaths shallow.

The room seemed to grow warmer, almost stifling. Your brows knitted in concern, and you reached out, taking her hands into yours, feeling the warmth emanating from her palms.

"Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" Your tone shifted, the warmth now edged with a protective sternness, memories flashing back to the terrifying moment with that villain.

The explosion, the flames licking the sky—you and Shinsou had barely arrived home in time to witness the chaos. Your gut had clenched with fear, knowing it was Asuna caught in the midst of it all.

Asuna shook her head quickly, blinking hard as if trying to clear the haze.

"No, no, Mom, I’m fine," she started, her words rushed and defensive. But then, she paused, her body tensing as if realizing the weight of what she was trying to convey. "Actually, no," she corrected, her voice quieter but firm.

"I'm not fine."

Her admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. You squeezed her hands gently, grounding her, silently urging her to continue, to let it all out.

"I need to ask you about my father."

Her voice is steady, direct. It was such a quintessentially Asuna moment—honest and to the point, without a hint of hesitation. That was your Asuna.

Your Asuna.

You didn’t blink. You didn’t breathe.

The words hung in the air like an unspoken storm, one you had always known would come, yet had never truly prepared for. The girl sitting across from you now, with her determined gaze and the weight of years of questions in her eyes, didn’t look like the fierce, 16 year old hero in training she had become.

No, as you looked at her, time rewound itself in the corners of your mind.

In an instant, she was three years old again. Her hair was pulled into space buns, adorned with those little flower clips and beads she had been so fond of. You could almost hear the soft click-clack of the beads as she ran, her small feet padding across the floor. She was at the dining table, making hand turkeys with the same focused determination she now channeled into her training. The memory of her laughter echoed faintly as she asked for, " pasgetti ," chasing after Grammie Rita’s long braids as they nearly skimmed the floor, her tiny hands reaching out to grasp what felt like magic to her young heart.

Then, she was five, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her small brow furrowed as she sternly corrected Shinsou on how to play dolls properly. You could still see the exaggerated expression on Shinsou’s face, hear the high-pitched, falsetto voice he put on, following Asuna's instructions with a smirk. The memories tumbled forward, flashing like scenes in an old film reel.

She was ten, sitting across from Aizawa, confidently debating quirk theories as though she were his equal. She had always been so perceptive, so bold, even back then, telling him that if he didn’t take better care of himself, his body was going to give out. Her arms crossed, the same determined stance she had now, softened only by her concern for him.

At fourteen, she had been ecstatic to ride in her first limo, sitting beside you and Elle, her excitement infectious. It had been late, after a hero event, but you had wanted her company, needing her warmth to combat the long hours. At fifteen, she had her first set of nails done with Mina, the two of them matching charms and colors, giggling like the teenagers they were.

And now, she was sixteen. Training relentlessly with Eri, pushing herself beyond limits. You recalled the evenings spent with flashcards in hand, reading out questions as she dodged oncoming attacks, trying to train her mind as much as her body, always striving to be better.

She was your Asuna.

Soft and lovely, fierce and brilliant.

Every version of her etched deeply into your heart, forming a mosaic of who she had been and who she was becoming. But now, those precious eyes—eyes you had traced a thousand times—held something else. They held the question you had known would come but had always hoped to postpone.

The question of her father.

Your hands, still holding hers, tightened ever so slightly. You felt the tremble in your fingers, the memories and emotions swirling together in a chaotic dance. This day was inevitable. You had always known that.

Only, you thought you had more time.

Time to find the right words, time to craft the perfect explanation. But after yesterday, the weight of everything crashing down, you realized how foolish that hope had been. Of course, she would ask now. Of course, she would seek the answers she was owed.

Asuna watched you closely, her eyes scanning every flicker of emotion across your face.

She was patient, waiting, not with the impatience of a child but with the resolve of someone who understood the gravity of what she was asking. She had every right to know, every right to ask. And you, her constant, her anchor, owed her the truth.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself. Your voice, when you finally spoke, was soft but unwavering.

"Asuna, there’s so much I want to say, but more than anything, I want you to know that I’m here. Whatever you need to know, I’ll tell you. I won’t hide anything from you." You paused, squeezing her hands gently, grounding both of you. "You’ve always been brave, always faced things head-on, and I’m so proud of you for that. I’m proud of you for asking."

Asuna’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes locked on yours as she inhaled deeply.

The kitchen around you seemed to hold its breath, the morning light filtering through the windows casting a soft glow over the space, highlighting the quiet tension in the air. The hum of the coffee machine was the only sound, a subtle reminder of the mundane amidst the profound.

Her hands, clasped tightly in yours, were warm, slightly damp from sweat, but you didn’t let go. You held on, anchoring her to the moment, grounding her in the reassurance that you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

"What does he like?"

Asuna asked, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability.

"What does he dislike? Is the story about how you two met real?"

You nodded, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a soothing motion. "Yes, the story I told you is real. We met during school—he was smart, and had a strong sense of justice. He loved books. He has a quiet demeanor but a sharp wit, always keeping people on their toes. He hates dishonesty, more than anything, and he has a soft spot for sharks."

Asuna absorbed your words, her eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined before lifting again, her gaze searching.

"Is he Japanese? American? A foreigner?"

"He’s Japanese," you answered softly. "Born and raised here, though his work sometimes takes him overseas. He was always curious about the world, eager to understand different perspectives."

Her brow furrowed slightly, her fingers tightening around yours.

"Does everyone else know him? I mean, do... do they know about him? Why didn't your classmates know about me?"

You took a moment before answering, wanting to choose your words carefully.

"A few people know him, yes. But he’s very private, always has been. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe from the dangers that came with my work. So, not many people know the full story."

Asuna nodded slowly, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and questions.

Her eyes glistened, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to process the onslaught of information. She took a shaky breath, her gaze drifting momentarily to the kitchen around her.

The familiar setting felt strange now, as if it had shifted just slightly in light of everything she was learning. The coffee mugs on the counter, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint scent of waffles in the air—all these everyday details seemed to take on a different significance.

Asuna’s next question came with a slight tremor in her voice, her eyes brimming with unspoken emotion.

"Does he... does he know about me?"

The room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of her question settling over you both. You could see her throat working, her breath shallow as she waited, hope and fear mingling in her expression. You squeezed her hands gently, leaning in slightly.

"Asuna, listen to me. He—"

Before you could answer Asuna’s pressing question, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the tension. Mina burst into the kitchen, her vibrant energy filling the space. "We're late!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of urgency and her usual upbeat tone. "With traffic, it’s gonna take almost forty minutes to get to school and work on time!"

You and Asuna both jumped at her sudden entrance, the heavy atmosphere disrupted in an instant. Mina, mid-rush, froze as she took in the scene before her—Asuna with her hands resting on the counter, your fingers still lightly wrapped around hers, both of you looking a bit shell-shocked. She blinked, her eyes flicking between you two.

"Am I intruding?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but Asuna beat you to it. Her voice was even, but there was a subtle edge to it, a deliberate choice to maintain the moment’s privacy.

"Nope. Let's take the food to go." She grabbed her plate, turning toward the cabinet where you kept the Tupperware.

Recognizing her desire to put a pause on the conversation, you nodded slightly and turned to Mina with a small smile. "Looks like it’s breakfast on the road today," you said, slipping back into a more casual tone. Together, you and Mina began cleaning up the plates. The rhythmic clink of dishes and the hum of the coffee machine became the backdrop to your resumed lighthearted banter.

"You’d think with all your hero training, you’d master the art of punctuality," you teased, giving Mina a playful nudge as you rinsed off a plate.

"Hey, I run on Mina time," she grinned, taking a swig of her coffee. "Which is way more fun and adventurous!"

Asuna returned, handing a Tupperware to Mina for her own breakfast. "Here, take this. I know you’ll just end up snacking on something unhealthy otherwise."

"Aw, thanks, 'Suna!" Mina accepted it gratefully, then glanced at her mug. "I’ll bring this back later, promise," she said, raising the mug in a mock toast before adding it to her haul.

Meanwhile, you grabbed your own coffee, sipping quickly, knowing you wouldn’t have time to fully enjoy it. Mornings had never been your strong suit, especially since your pregnancy with Asuna. Eating early in the day always felt like a chore, your appetite preferring a hearty lunch and an even bigger dinner to compensate. It had just become routine.

With breakfast packed, the three of you shifted into the familiar flurry of getting ready. Asuna tugged on her sneakers, her expression focused as she adjusted her laces, while Mina hopped around, wrestling with her boots. You grabbed your purse, work bag, and the distinct red book bag that Asuna never left behind. Your fingers instinctively reached for the keys tucked securely in your bra, a habit born out of convenience.

"Everyone ready?" you called, herding the group toward the door.

"Ready as we’ll ever be!" Mina chimed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Asuna, already at the door, held it open, her earlier intensity softened but still present in her posture. You ushered them both out, locking the door behind you, the morning sun shining down as you all piled into the car, the day's routine pulling you back into its familiar rhythm.

The ride to U.A. was unusually quiet.

Asuna sat in the back of Mina's bright pink Jeep, her breakfast in her lap, her movements stiff and deliberate. Each bite she took seemed more out of frustration than hunger. She chewed aggressively, her thoughts swirling around the conversation that had been interrupted earlier. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn't asked the right questions—at least not the ones she truly needed answers to about her father. Her grip on the fork tightened as her mind raced, her gaze fixed out the window at the blur of city streets.

Her hand, wrapped in a bandage, caught her attention. Slowly, she peeled it back, revealing the angry red scab beneath. It itched like hell. She pressed a finger gently against the edges, wincing slightly.

" Great ," she muttered under her breath. The sight of it only added to her simmering annoyance, but she didn’t want to dwell on it.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone, scrolling mindlessly through her feed, hoping for a distraction. But nothing seemed to hold her attention. After a few minutes, she gave up, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes, and let the sound of your conversation with Mina fill the car. The cheerful chatter mixed with the low hum of the engine and the upbeat energy of Present Mic’s radio show playing softly in the background.

Asuna used to hate that station, the relentless enthusiasm grating on her nerves. She even told Present Mic as much during her first orientation at U.A., much to the pro-hero’s amused surprise.

Time seemed to warp as she drifted between half-consciousness and thought, the familiar rhythm of the morning commute lulling her into a semblance of calm. Before she knew it, the Jeep slowed to a stop in front of U.A.'s imposing gates.

You turned in your seat to look at her, your eyes filled with concern.

"Asuna," you said softly, handing her a red coat. "Here, put this on. It’s freezing out." You watched as she slipped it on, pulling the collar up against the chill in the air. Stepping out, you came around to her side, straightening the coat and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Are you sure you’re up for today? You can skip if you want. I won’t tell anyone," you offered, your voice gentle, a hint of worry seeping through your usual firmness.

Asuna hesitated for a moment, her fingers fiddling with the zipper of her coat. The thought of skipping was tempting, especially with everything weighing on her mind, but her sense of responsibility won out. She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Nah, I’ll be fine. Don’t go getting all soft on me, old lady," she teased, leaning in as you kissed her cheek.

You chuckled, watching her as she adjusted her bag and waved. "Bye for now," she said, her voice carrying a note of resolve as she trudged toward the school. The cold seemed to bite at her, the temperature hovering at a frigid 28 degrees. The clouds overhead were thick and heavy, threatening snow that just wouldn’t fall.

You stood there, watching her all the way to the gates, a proud smile on your face despite the ache in your chest. As you turned to head back to the Jeep, the sound of quick, heavy footsteps made you pause.

Before you could react, you were wrapped in a tight hug from behind, strong arms circling your middle. Your hands instinctively rested over them, the warmth of the embrace chasing away the cold for a brief moment.

"Talk to you later, Mom!" Asuna’s voice was bright, and before you could respond, she had already dashed off, her figure disappearing into the school grounds.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you climbed back into Mina’s Jeep. She glanced at you, her curiosity evident.

"So... was that the 'Katsuki talk'?"

You sighed, the weight of the morning settling on your shoulders.

" Kinda ," you admitted, your eyes lingering on the school as Mina pulled away. The world outside blurred past, but your thoughts remained anchored to Asuna, replaying every word and glance, each moment etched into your heart.

—

Katsuki and Kirishima made their way through the busy city center, their patrol a familiar routine amidst the city's controlled chaos. The morning buzz filtered through the buildings, store staff setting up Christmas displays, long strings of lights danced along the pavement. Despite the noise of the city, their walk was a comfortable silence.

The pair turned a corner, the scent of freshly brewed coffee pulling them towards a quaint café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. It was a cozy spot, a recommendation from Todoroki and Momo, who apparently frequented it enough to have a photo mounted on the wall. The picture of the two heroes eating in their uniforms, both sporting startled expressions, was labeled, ‘ Best Customers .’

An accolade that Katsuki found mildly amusing.

Katsuki hummed to himself, pulling out his phone to check a notification. Your response to his earlier voicemail—a simple thumbs-up emoji—had his stomach flipping in a way he found irritatingly distracting. He slid the phone back into his pocket, trying to suppress the grin threatening to surface.

"You want anything else, man?" Kirishima’s voice cut through his thoughts as they reached the counter.

"No," Katsuki replied, reaching for his wallet. Before he could even open it, Kirishima had already thrown his card into the slot, grinning widely.

"My treat," Kirishima said, turning to the barista with a friendly smile. He tipped her twenty dollars, waving off her surprised gratitude with a casual "Keep it. Thanks for the great service."

The barista, a young woman with bright eyes and a cheerful demeanor, thanked them profusely and gestured toward the seating area. "Feel free to sit while we finish brewing your order."

Kirishima nodded, following Katsuki to a corner table near the window. The café was warm and inviting, the soft hum of conversation and gentle clinking of cups creating a serene ambiance. The decor was a mix of rustic charm and modern aesthetics—wooden beams, exposed brick walls, and sleek furniture. Potted plants were scattered throughout, adding a touch of greenery to the space.

Katsuki settled into a chair, his eyes scanning the room as he drummed his fingers on the table. "You didn’t have to pay, you know," he muttered, still a little put off by the gesture. Kirishima shrugged, his easygoing smile never wavering. "I wanted to. Besides, you always get me back later."

A comfortable silence fell between them until Kirishima leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, how’s everything with her? You know, after ‘Hit ‘em up’ ?" He chuckled, referring to Asuna’s fiendish display of giving them both the middle finger. Katsuki scowled, his face contorting in irritation. "What about it?"

Kirishima’s laughter grew louder, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It just reminded me of you back in high school. The way she did it, with that same fiery attitude—it’s totally you." Katsuki’s frown deepened, his voice rising in protest.

"What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t like that!"

Kirishima leaned back, his hands raised in mock surrender, trying to calm his friend. "Shush, man. You're gonna scare the other customers." His grin softened. "I mean it in a good way. She's got your spirit, you know?"

Katsuki’s scowl softened marginally, though he still looked unconvinced.

"Tch. Whatever."

Before they could delve further into the topic, the soft chime of the café’s doorbell drew their attention. Katsuki glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as a familiar figure with violet hair stepped inside. The newcomer’s gaze swept the room before landing on them, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

It was none other than Hitoshi Shinsou.

Katsuki’s eyes met Shinsou’s, and for a moment, the world outside the café seemed to fade away. Shinsou made his way toward them, his casual stride and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension Katsuki suddenly felt creeping up his spine.

"Mind if I join?" Shinsou asked, his voice low and smooth as he reached their table.

Kirishima grinned, gesturing to the empty seat.

"Sure thing, man! Grab a chair."

As Shinso settled in, Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his mind already spinning with questions about why Shinso was here. The café, once a peaceful retreat, now felt like the stage for an impending confrontation, the undercurrents of past interactions simmering just below the surface.

Kirishima remained blissfully unaware of the tension simmering beneath the surface, his usual bright demeanor shining as he glanced between Katsuki and Shinso. The redhead’s easy smile faltered slightly as he took in Katsuki’s stiff posture, the way his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. Kirishima wasn’t sure what had Katsuki so worked up, but it was clear that Shinso’s presence was far from welcome.

Shinso, for his part, seemed unfazed. Dressed casually in a dark hoodie and jeans, he exuded a calm confidence as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes flicked from Kirishima to Katsuki, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he broke the silence. "Just picking up a few orders of red bean paste buns and some bagels," he said casually. "Figured I'd grab them before the place gets too crowded."

Kirishima nodded, his gaze shifting between the two men. He could feel the unease in the air, though he couldn't pinpoint its source. "Sounds good, man. How’s your morning been?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Not bad," Shinso replied, his tone easy. "Just a quiet start before my next shift. Planning to catch up on some sleep after this, then switching to day shifts until Christmas break."

Kirishima’s eyes lit up at the mention of the holidays. "Christmas break, huh? That sounds nice. I'm looking forward to it, too. Got some whale blubber for my mom to cook up—can’t wait to be home and relax a bit." Shinso chuckled softly, nodding.

"Yeah, it'll be good to spend some time with family." His words were casual, but there was a glint in his eye that Katsuki didn’t miss.

Kirishima’s enthusiasm didn’t waver as he kept the conversation going. "You got any big plans for the break?"

Shinso shook his head. "Just the usual family stuff. Nothing too crazy."

As the conversation continued, Kirishima noticed the way Katsuki’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table, his eyes locked on Shinso with a steely intensity. It was as if Katsuki was holding himself back, his muscles taut beneath his hero jacket. The café's warm, welcoming atmosphere felt incongruent with the silent storm brewing at their table.

Trying to diffuse the tension, Kirishima turned to Katsuki with a cheerful grin. "What about you, bro? Got any plans for the break?"

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held Shinso’s gaze, the silence stretching uncomfortably as he seemed to weigh his response. Finally, his voice came out low, measured, and full of unspoken warning.

"No plans worth mentioning, ta you."

Kirishima blinked, taken aback by the curt response. He wasn’t used to seeing Katsuki this wound up unless something serious was going on. Glancing at Shinso, he noted how the man seemed utterly at ease, sipping on a cup of tea that the barista had just placed in front of him.

He leaned back slightly, his mind working to piece together the puzzle. Kirishima sensed there was more to this interaction than met the eye, but for now, he let it be, focusing instead on the comfort of the café. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, the soft murmur of other patrons providing a backdrop to the tense scene unfolding at their table.

The barista called out Shinso’s order, and he stood, casting one last glance at Katsuki.

"Well, guess that’s my cue. See you around."

Katsuki didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he watched Shinso leave. Kirishima waited until the door chimed shut behind him before turning to Katsuki, his concern evident.

"You good, man? You seem... tense."

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’m fine," he muttered, though the rigidity in his posture suggested otherwise. Kirishima didn’t press further, instead offering a reassuring smile.

"Alright, if you say so. Let’s finish up here and get back to patrol. Maybe some action will take your mind off whatever’s bugging you."

Katsuki nodded, though his eyes lingered on the door, his thoughts far from the cozy confines of the café.

—

Asuna sat cross-legged on the edge of Aizawa’s desk, her lunch tray balanced precariously as she poked at the contents. The chicken salad and bright red and yellow bell peppers glistened under the soft overhead lights of the classroom. She twirled a piece of lettuce around her fork absentmindedly before letting it drop back onto the plate, her appetite waning. Across from her, Aizawa sat in his chair, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest. His head tilted back, eyes closed, the usual stern lines of his face softened in repose. Despite his relaxed demeanor, his voice still carried a hint of dry amusement as he commented,

“It’s a miracle your stomach hasn’t given out yet with the way you eat.”

Asuna smirked, picking up a slice of pepper and crunching down on it noisily. “My stomach’s made of steel, Gramps. I could eat nails for breakfast.”

Aizawa’s eyes opened just a sliver, one brow arching before he closed them again, mumbling,

“Please.. don't.”

The classroom was quiet save for the distant hum of students in the hallways. Posters of pro heroes adorned the walls, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the subdued tones of the wooden desks arranged in neat rows. The windows along the far wall let in the muted gray light of the overcast day, casting long shadows across the room.

Asuna’s fingers tapped rhythmically on her phone screen, her attention divided between her lunch and the small blinking dot on her location service app. She felt the slight weight of guilt press down as she watched the dot move steadily through the city center. Slipping the tracking bracelet into your jacket pocket during the morning hug had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Was it wrong?

Absolutely.

But Asuna had convinced herself it was a necessary measure.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, the plan forming in her mind. She knew you were meeting Katsuni—“Kat-sui” or something, around noon. The prospect of seeing this encounter unfold tugged at her curiosity. If she could just convince Rumi to take her to the city center park, she could “ accidentally ” get lost in the crowd and stumble upon the meeting.

The thought made her stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She bit her lip, eyes darting to Aizawa, who was now humming softly, his foot tapping lightly against the floor. His calm presence was both a comfort and a challenge. Asuna knew he had an uncanny ability to sense when something was up, but he seemed content for the moment, resting in the calm between lessons.

“Gramps?” she ventured, her voice light, testing the waters.

“Hmm?” Aizawa turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open to look at her.

“What’s your stance on spontaneous adventures?” she asked, feigning nonchalance as she twirled her fork in the air.

Aizawa’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his posture remained relaxed.

“Depends on the adventure. Why? Are you planning something?”

Asuna shrugged, setting her fork down and leaning back on her hands. “Just thinking about the weekend. Might ask Rumi to take me to the city center. You know, fresh air, some exercise. Maybe get a little lost.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“Getting lost doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

“Not really lost,” Asuna amended quickly, waving a hand.

“Just... exploring .”

He hummed again, a knowing look in his eyes as he studied her.

“Exploring, huh? Just don’t get into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble? Never .” Asuna grinned, picking up another pepper slice and popping it into her mouth.

Aizawa sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes once more.

“Whatever you’re planning, keep it safe.”

Asuna nodded, more to herself than to him, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone. The plan was set. Now, all she had to do was convince Rumi.

Finally, after more boring hours of sitting and being bored, the final bell of the day rang out, its resonant chime echoing through the hallways as students flooded out of their classrooms, eager for the freedom of winter break. In Aizawa’s dimly lit room, the atmosphere was more subdued.

The faint clatter of chairs being pushed back and the hum of conversation faded as the last student left, leaving Asuna and Aizawa in a pocket of calm amidst the departing chaos.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes following Asuna as she methodically gathered her things. He cleared his throat, causing her to glance up from where she had been stuffing her lunch container back into her bag.

"Heading home with me and Eri?" he asked, his tone even but expectant.

Asuna shook her head, offering a small smile. "Rumi’s picking me up today," she replied, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Aizawa nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. He motioned toward the desks, silently asking for her help. Asuna set her bag down and began tidying up, stacking chairs onto desks and erasing the lingering notes on the whiteboard. The familiar routine brought a sense of normalcy, the quiet rhythm of their work a balm to the nerves that buzzed just beneath her skin.

"How’s your quirk been?" Aizawa asked casually as he wiped down his desk. His tone was light, but there was an edge of concern in his voice, a careful probing.

Asuna paused, her fingers trailing over a stray piece of paper.

"It’s been fine," she said, her voice soft.

"No major issues."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he pivoted to a different question, one that made Asuna stiffen slightly.

"Have you told her about the most recent incident?"

The weight of his gaze settled heavily on her, and she fidgeted with her sleeves, the fabric crumpling under her fingers. She didn’t meet his eyes immediately, focusing instead on straightening a pile of textbooks.

"I’m getting around to it," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aizawa’s brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his chest as he regarded her with a mixture of patience and concern.

"It’s important she knows, Asuna."

Asuna nodded, her mind drifting back to the incident.

Her day had begun like any other, filled with the usual bustle of school life. She’d been tasked with delivering some papers to the office, a simple enough chore that offered a brief reprieve from the suffocation of her classmates. She was lost in her thoughts, her fingers brushing lightly against the folded papers in her hands as she walked the quiet halls. However, the tranquility was short-lived.

In the office, as she handed the papers over, a boy from her class, whom she barely noticed until then, caught sight of the forms she carried. His eyes quickly scanned over the lines, lingering on the space labeled "Second Parent."

There, the field was blank. Usually, Asuna would fill in "Grammie Rita" or occasionally mention Aizawa, Mina, or even Shinsou, and recently, Rumi.

But this time, there was only one name: yours.

Curiosity flickered in his eyes as he asked, his tone neutral enough, "Why's that blank? You usually fill it in." Asuna, feeling no need to hide her intentions, replied with a small shrug, "I meant to put only my mom’s name this time."

At first, his response seemed fine. He nodded, and they went about their day.

It wasn’t until training later that his true colors emerged.

The gym buzzed with the usual energy of students ready to test their limits. Asuna stood at the edge, her hair neatly pulled into a bun, eyes focused on the task at hand. She was bracing herself for the physical demands ahead when she felt a sharp tug at her hair. She turned just in time to hear the boy sneer, his voice laced with venom,

"Fatherless bitch."

For a moment, everything stood still.

The words hung heavy in the air, sinking into her chest. The snickers from a few nearby students echoed in her ears, but her mind honed in on the insult, each syllable striking a nerve she didn’t know was so exposed.

Her breath hitched, a fiery rage bubbling up from within. Asuna was no stranger to insults, but this—this was different. Her fist clenched at her side, trembling with barely contained fury. Without a second thought, she spun around and punched him square in the face, her knuckles connecting with a satisfying crack. He stumbled back, clutching his nose, a look of shock and pain spreading across his features.

But Asuna wasn’t done.

At least, her quirk wasn’t.

The energy that simmered beneath her skin now surged forward, a potent mix of her power and unbridled emotion. Her palms opened, fingers splayed as a scorching heat radiated from her. Her breath was ragged, her body vibrating with raw power.

With a guttural scream, she released it all. Flames and light burst from her hands, feet, and even her mouth. The blast was a brilliant, chaotic explosion, swallowing everything in its path. The force sent students sprawling, the shockwave reverberating through the gym.

When the dust settled, the gym was in ruins.

The once pristine training grounds were scorched, debris scattered across what remained. Part of the walls had collapsed, and the floor bore the marks of her unleashed fury.

Asuna stood in the center, her chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow. The boy lay sprawled a few meters away, groaning as he tried to remain concious, his face bloodied and bruised.

Silence hung thick in the air, the aftermath of destruction as stark as the echo of her outburst.

She didn’t flinch when the others stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

Instead, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze unwavering as she looked down at the boy who dared to mock her.

The doors to the gym burst open, teachers and pro heroes rushing in, their expressions a mix of shock and concern. Aizawa was the first to reach her, his capture weapon poised but hesitant. His eyes, always so calm and calculating, now brimmed with worry.

"Asuna," he said softly, stepping closer, "What happened?"

Her gaze flicked to him, her posture tense. She opened her mouth to explain, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she just shook her head, the adrenaline fading and leaving behind a hollow ache.

Nezu had tried to contact you, but with Elle blocking non-essential calls, the message hadn’t gotten through.

Yet.

Aizawa had handled it swiftly, expelling the boy without hesitation.

The boy’s parents had demanded a conference to appeal the decision, a meeting for which you would be summoned. The weight of it all pressed down on Asuna’s chest as she stood there, her fingers tightening around the edge of a desk. Aizawa’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, grounding her.

"You’ll tell her," he said, his voice softer now, more reassuring. "And I’ll handle the rest."

Asuna exhaled slowly, nodding. She trusted Aizawa, but the thought of confronting the incident with you still made her stomach twist. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering uncertainty.

"Thanks, Gramps," she said quietly, returning to the task of cleaning up, the familiar motions providing a small measure of comfort in the midst of the storm brewing inside her.

Asuna’s thoughts lingered on the fear that gripped her when her quirk spiraled out of control.

It wasn’t just the overwhelming heat or the force of the blast—it was the suffocating sensation that followed, a panic that clenched her chest and stole her breath. It wasn’t like her asthma, where she knew what to expect and how to manage it. This was a chaotic storm inside her, unpredictable and terrifying.

Aizawa had been patient, working with her to find ways to train around her asthma. Like a seasoned coach, he had guided her through breathing exercises and techniques used by pro athletes, ensuring she could push her limits without compromising her health. But lately, the energy blast incidents had become more frequent, the fear creeping in that she was losing control.

Some days, it felt like her very bones were itching, a discomfort so intense she wanted to peel her skin off and dunk herself into a cool bowl of water. Other days, the chill seeped into her core, leaving her shivering and longing for the warmth that you reveled in.

The sound of footsteps brought her back to the present.

She looked up to see Rumi and Eri standing at the door, bundled up in sporty winter gear. Rumi wore a sleek, white puffer jacket that hugged her athletic frame, paired with black leggings and fur-lined boots. Her usual confidence radiated through the casual outfit, the jacket's high collar brushing against her chin as she smiled warmly.

Eri was a bundle of pastel fluff, her lavender coat oversized and adorned with little bunny ear accents on the hood. She had on mittens that matched, a splash of pink peeking out from the cuffs of her coat, and her boots were dusted with snow, giving her a cozy, doll-like appearance.

" Asuna !" Eri chirped, her face lighting up as she ran toward her. Asuna ran forward, arms opening just in time to catch the small girl in a warm embrace. The two hugged tightly, and Rumi soon joined, enveloping them both in a strong, comforting squeeze. The shared warmth between them melted some of the tension from Asuna’s shoulders.

Eri, with a mischievous grin, tugged at Aizawa’s scarf, pulling him into the group hug. He resisted briefly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips before he relented, leaning down just enough for Eri to wrap her small arms around his neck. Rumi chuckled at the sight, exchanging a knowing glance with Asuna.

While Eri busied herself with Aizawa’s scarf, Rumi turned to Aizawa, her tone shifting to a more serious note. "How’s she been holding up?" she asked quietly, her eyes flicking to Asuna.

Aizawa’s gaze softened as he glanced at the girl, who was now holding Eri’s hand. "She’s been doing well, considering," he replied. "We’ve had a few hiccups, but she’s resilient."

Rumi nodded thoughtfully, her hands slipping into her jacket pockets. "Good. Let me know if you need anything. You know we’ve got her back."

Asuna, catching the end of their conversation, gave Rumi a grateful smile before squeezing Eri’s hand.

"Hey, Eri," she said, her voice light.

"Let’s go take a walk. I need to freshen up a bit."

Eri nodded enthusiastically, and the two girls headed toward the bathroom, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty hallway. Asuna glanced back at Rumi and Aizawa, who continued their conversation in hushed tones, the weight of responsibility evident in their postures.

Once inside the bathroom, Asuna leaned against the sink, exhaling slowly. Eri, ever observant, stood by her side, her eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

"Asuna, are you okay?" she asked, her voice small.

Asuna smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Eri’s ear. "I’m okay, Eri. Just... a lot on my mind," she admitted. The cool tiles under her hands grounded her, a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

In the quiet of the bathroom, Asuna turned to Eri, her hands twisting nervously. "Eri, I have a plan," she began, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. "I want to follow mom before noon in the city central park. But I don’t want her or anyone else to notice me."

Eri tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity. "How are you going to do that?" she asked.

Asuna bit her lip, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "I was thinking... we could switch coats and accessories. That way, I’ll blend in, and you can cover for me if anyone asks."

Eri frowned slightly, the weight of the request sinking in. "Are you sure about this?" she asked softly. "What if something goes wrong?"

"I know it’s a risk," Asuna admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "But this is really important to me. I need to see him, to... sort things out. Please, Eri."

The younger girl looked at Asuna for a long moment, the conflict evident in her eyes. She didn’t fully agree with the plan, but she also knew how much this meant to Asuna. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Okay. But you have to be ready to accept whatever happens."

Asuna's face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, Eri. I promise, I’ll be careful."

They began the process of swapping clothes. Asuna slipped out of her red coat, the fabric rustling as she handed it to Eri. Eri shrugged it on, the bright color contrasting wonderfully with her pale complexion. In return, Eri handed over her lavender coat, its softness a comfort as Asuna pulled it on. The coat was a little snug, but it fit well enough to pass.

Next, they exchanged accessories. Asuna pulled out a set of black scarf, gloves, and a hat that matched the coat’s style but in a darker shade. She wrapped the scarf around Eri’s neck, the knitted fabric warm against her skin, and tugged the hat over her hair, tucking in any loose strands. Eri handed over her earmuffs, gloves, and scarf, the pastel colors a stark contrast against Asuna’s darker attire.

Asuna pulled on a pair of leg warmers, the soft material snug around her calves, completing the transformation. She turned to Eri, a nervous smile on her face.

"How do I look?"

Eri stepped back, her gaze sweeping over Asuna’s disguised form. After a moment, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Asuna in a tight hug. "You look great," she whispered.

"But please, be careful."

Asuna hugged her back, the warmth of Eri’s embrace filling her with a sense of reassurance. "I will, I promise," she murmured.

They pulled back, and Eri gave her a small, encouraging smile. "You’ll be okay. Just don’t do anything too crazy." Asuna chuckled softly, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "No promises," she teased lightly. She turned to the door before feeling a hard tug on her sleeve.

“Wait.”

In the dimly lit bathroom, the air was thick with the quiet tension between Asuna and Eri. Asuna stepped back from the door, one arm crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and uncertainty. Eri, standing behind her, mirrored the same seriousness, her usual gentle demeanor replaced with a deep concern for her friend.

"You’re really trying to meet with Bakugou, aren’t you?" Eri began, her voice soft but carrying a weight of concern that made Asuna pause. The gentle cadence of her friend's words was like a soft nudge against the rising tide of uncertainty within her. Asuna's brows furrowed as she processed the statement, her fingers curling slightly against the cool surface of the sink. The name lingered in the air between them, heavy with implications.

"Bakugou ? ..." she repeated, her tone careful, as though saying it aloud might shatter the fragile hope she held onto.

She let the name roll around in her mind, tasting the weight and texture of it until it settled with a sense of finality. ‘Bakugou ,’ she confirmed silently, her head dipping in a slow nod. Her heart thudded in her chest as she gripped the edge of the coat tighter, the porcelain pressing into her palms like a lifeline.

"I know we got lucky last night with the tracker," Asuna began, her voice trembling slightly but gaining strength with each word. "But I have to know. I need to know if he’s my dad or not. I can't keep living like this, not knowing the truth."

The words spilled out in a rush, a confession that had been clawing its way to the surface for far too long.

Eri stepped closer, the soft rustle of her movement breaking the silence. Her hand reached out, fingers curling gently around Asuna's arm, grounding her in the present.

"I get it," Eri whispered, her thumb brushing over the fabric of Asuna's sleeve in a soothing motion. The warmth of her touch was a stark contrast to the cold knot of anxiety tightening in Asuna's chest.

"But what if there’s a good reason your mom hasn’t told you? What if she’s protecting you from something?"

Asuna's gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening as she struggled to keep her emotions at bay. The weight of unspoken fears pressed down on her, but she forced herself to confront them. "I’ll understand if he’s not my dad," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. The vulnerability in her tone was palpable, a stark contrast to the determination shining in her eyes.

"But if he is," she continued, a fierce resolve hardening her words, "or if it’s that Kirishima guy instead, I need to know. I’ve been left in the dark for too long, Eri. It's eating me alive ."

Eri watched her friend, the weight of Asuna's words pressing down on her heart. The silence between them was heavy.

"What if he finds out and doesn’t want to be your dad?" she asked cautiously.

"Or worse, what if he already knew and didn’t want to be part of your life?"

Asuna's eyes flicked back up, her expression hardening with a steely resolve. "If he doesn’t want to be my dad, that’s his loss," she said firmly. "I’ll move on and become a success without him. But I have to know, Eri. I can’t keep looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back at me."

Eri considered this for a moment, the silence stretching between them. Then, she took a deep breath and stepped forward, pulling Asuna into a tight hug.

"Okay," she whispered. "I’ll help you. But you have to keep me posted. Don’t do anything crazy without telling me, got it?"

Asuna hugged her back, the warmth of Eri’s embrace soothing some of the tension in her body. "Thank you," she murmured. "I promise I’ll keep you in the loop." They pulled apart, Eri's hands resting on Asuna's shoulders as she gave her a reassuring smile.

"Just... be careful, okay? This isn’t something you can take back once it’s out there."

"I know," Asuna replied, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and gratitude. "But I have to do this. For me."

Eri nodded, squeezing her shoulders one last time before stepping back. "Alright. Let’s go back."

Asuna's lips curved into a small, hesitant smile, the kind that wavered at the edges but grew steadier as she held onto it. Her heart beat a little faster, each thump echoing with a growing resolve. She didn’t feel entirely ready—how could she be? But she knew she couldn’t keep running from the truth.

Whatever was waiting for her, no matter how painful or complicated, she had to face it.

She could only hope you’d forgive her.

—

The winter afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the bustling city streets, where the festive spirit was palpable. Decorations adorned every lamppost, and shop windows glittered with holiday displays, enticing last-minute shoppers and families enjoying their day off. The hum of conversations and laughter mixed with the occasional jingle of bells, creating a vibrant backdrop to the scene unfolding.

Rumi, Eri, and Asuna stood at the school’s entrance, their breath visible in the crisp air as they bundled up against the chill. Asuna adjusted the scarf around her neck, its fabric soft and comforting as it shielded her from the cold. Eri’s cheeks were flushed, her smile gentle as she pulled her hat snugly over her ears. Rumi, never one to be cold but built like a furnace, wrapped an arm around both girls, her energy radiating warmth despite the frosty weather.

"Alright, girls," Rumi said, her voice cheerful as she leaned in to squeeze them both. "We’ve got a big day ahead, and I expect to see some serious skating skills from you, Asuna!"

Aizawa watched the exchange from a few steps away, his usual stoic expression softened by the sight of the girls’ friendship. He assumed the switch of outfits was just a playful fashion choice, his brow lifting slightly as he took in their matching smiles.

"Don’t keep Rumi out too late," he said, addressing both Asuna and Eri with a small smirk. "She has to keep up with you two, after all."

Rumi chuckled, giving Aizawa a playful nudge. "Don’t worry, Aizawa. I’ll have them back in one piece. We’re just hitting the park for some climbing and skating."

Asuna waved a final goodbye, following Rumi down the steps as Eri lingered behind, watching them with a mix of anticipation and concern. She knew this was important to Asuna, and she could only hope everything would turn out okay.

—

Meanwhile, across the city, you walked through the crowded streets, your presence commanding attention without effort. Dressed in a stylish coat that flattered your figure, you moved with purpose, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces as you smiled and waved at the dozens of civilians who recognized you. Some approached shyly for an autograph, which you graciously provided, your marker gliding smoothly over pieces of paper and the occasional piece of merchandise.

The city center was alive with activity.

Children tugged on their parents’ hands, pointing excitedly at window displays, while couples strolled arm in arm, their breath mingling in the cold air. The festive ambiance was contagious, and though you smiled and engaged with those around you, your mind was elsewhere.

Asuna’s hug that morning lingered in your thoughts, a bittersweet reminder of the weight she carried and the secrets she sought to uncover. Your heart twisted with the familiar ache of uncertainty, the question of responsibility looming over you like a storm cloud.

In your ear, Elle’s voice brought you back to the present.

"We’ve got the latest data from your most recent fight," she informed you, her tone brisk as she managed her team with efficiency. "Tributes are still pouring in for your grandma, Rita. The public’s been incredibly supportive, and the office is practically overflowing with gifts. It’s heartwarming, really."

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. "That’s good to hear," you replied softly, your voice tinged with gratitude. "She meant a lot to them."

Rita was a public figure ever since the 80's in Japan for her protests of human rights violations and openly questioning the government. She helped organize for better workers rights, women's and child's rights, and started several charities for those left without housing after villain attacks. A true badass until the end.

"And to you," Elle added gently, her tone softening for a moment before shifting back to business. "The lawyers your cousin hired are circling like vultures, but don’t worry. I’ve been keeping them at bay. No one’s getting to you without going through me first."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Thanks, Elle. I appreciate that."

"Of course," she said, her voice firm. "But we should start thinking about a contingency plan. In case Katsuki figures it out about Asuna. We need to be prepared."

You hesitated, your steps slowing as you considered her words. "I know," you admitted, your voice thoughtful. "But right now, I’m not sure if that’s the right move. I need to figure out the best way to handle this, for Asuna’s sake."

Elle didn’t push, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. "Alright. Just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk it through."

"Thanks, Elle," you said again, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. She hung up and you resumed the quiet in your earpiece. You didn’t mention the half-started conversation with Asuna that morning, choosing to keep that moment private. Not everything had to be shared, especially when it came to your daughter’s journey to uncover the truth.

As you navigated the crowded streets, your thoughts drifted back to Katsuki.

You’d made it a rule not to dwell on him—years of discipline in compartmentalizing your thoughts had taught you that. But lately, the rules had bent, cracks forming in the walls you’d carefully constructed. Mina's mention of him being in a slump gnawed at the edges of your curiosity. ‘

What kind of slump could someone like Katsuki Bakugou be in?’

He wasn’t one to give in to negativity, not the Katsuki you knew.

You’d heard the accolades, the honors he’d collected over the years, often standing on the same stages during awards shows. The memories of past comedians cracking jokes about the infamous Class 1-A breakup were vivid. “Can’t sit them together anymore!” They'd quip, until Katsuki’s public statement silenced the chatter.

The internet had taken over where comedians left off, but even then, mentions of your shared past dwindled.

Reports showed you and Katsuki still ranked high in popularity polls, fan favorites even after all this time. It was the kind of fame that lingered, much like the ghosts of old memories you tried not to resurrect. The winter wind tugged at your scarf as you exhaled deeply, the steam from your breath swirling like thoughts you couldn’t quite shake.

The brisk wind carried the familiar scents of winter—crisp air tinged with hints of pine and the subtle sweetness of roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Your coat billowed slightly as you walked through the crowded city center, the festive decorations glittering in the golden afternoon light. The streets were alive with holiday cheer, families bustling about with shopping bags, couples huddled close, and children darting between legs, their laughter mingling with the carols playing over the city’s loudspeakers.

A small girl tripped in front of you, her mittened hands clutching a fallen toy. You knelt swiftly, offering a hand and a reassuring smile as you helped her to her feet. "Here you go," you said, brushing the snow off her coat and handing her the toy. She beamed up at you, her mother offering a grateful nod before taking her hand and leading her away.

Continuing down the sidewalk, you noticed a group gathered around a lamppost where a kitten was precariously perched. Its tiny paws clung to the icy metal, mewling pitifully. Without hesitation, you stepped in, gently coaxing the kitten down into your arms. The crowd murmured their thanks as you handed the rescued animal to a young woman who promised to take it home.

The chill air bit at your skin as you paused to take a deep breath, exhaling a plume of steam that curled upward. Your gaze drifted toward the towering Christmas tree in the center of the square, its lights twinkling against the dusky grey sky.

Someone approached with a bouquet of flowers—roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums arranged in a delicate tribute. "For Rita," the elderly man said softly, placing the bouquet in your hands. You thanked him, the weight of his gesture warming your heart even as the cold pressed in.

As you moved on, children tugged at their parents’ coats, pointing at you with wide eyes. One boy approached shyly, a small notebook clutched in his hands. "Can I have your autograph?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crouched to his level, pulling out a pen. "Of course," you said warmly, signing his book before handing him a sticker from your pocket. His face lit up as he ran back to his parents, showing off his prize.

The city center’s window displays caught your eye, each one a carefully crafted scene of holiday whimsy. One showcased a family gathered around a fireplace, another a bustling toy workshop. The scenes stirred something within you, a reminder of the family moments you’d missed, the connections that had frayed.

Across the street, the park beckoned. Its bare trees stretched skeletal branches against the pale sky, but the skating rink was alive with laughter and the rhythmic scrape of blades on ice. You made your way over, crossing at the light as cars idled, their headlights casting long beams over the wet pavement.

The cold bite of the winter air seemed almost fitting as you watched the mothers in the park, their laughter mingling with the joyful cries of their children. Each child bundled in colorful scarves and coats, chasing one another through the frost-dusted grass, their mothers nearby with warm smiles and gentle calls to be careful. You sighed, your breath forming a cloud that dissolved into the wind, your eyes drifting to a mother helping her child up after a tumble. The way she knelt, brushing dirt from the little one’s knees, made your chest ache with a longing you rarely let surface.

'Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't— '

Yet here you were, standing in the middle of a bustling park, letting your mind drift to the guilt that had nestled in your heart for years—the guilt of not telling him about Asuna. High school memories flooded back, unbidden but vivid.

Katsuki, stubborn and fierce, had always been adamant about wanting to do things right. He’d talked about marrying you like it was an unshakable goal, something as concrete as his dreams of becoming a top hero. The thought of his determined expression, the way his eyes would light up with passion when he spoke about the future, brought a bittersweet smile to your lips.

But then the memories darkened, bringing you back to that Christmas Eve at the hero’s gala, sixteen years ago.

The argument had been like a storm, violent and consuming, words hurled back and forth with a force that left both of you wounded. You could barely recall the specifics now—the exact words that once cut so deep had faded over time. But the pain?

That remained, an ever-present echo in your heart.

After that fight, you had left. Packed your things in a whirlwind of emotion and left a letter behind, one you were sure he had read but never responded to. When the days turned into weeks and still no word came from him, you forced yourself to close that chapter. You had moved on, or at least tried to, until you discovered you were pregnant.

How had you managed to keep Asuna a secret from the public all these years?

It was a question you often asked yourself, marveling at the delicate balance you maintained. Asuna was your world, and protecting her had become your life’s mission. Katsuki had a right to know, that much you admitted to yourself in the quiet of the night when Asuna was asleep and the house was silent. But Katsuki was unpredictable, his temper legendary. The idea of splitting custody, of disrupting Asuna’s life with court battles and media frenzy, was a nightmare you couldn’t bear to entertain.

‘Fuck that shit.’

You shifted your weight, your hands buried deep in your coat pockets as you watched a child on a tricycle wobble past, his parents walking behind him, their hands entwined.

‘What would it be like,’ you wondered, to have that kind of family life? To share the joys and burdens with someone you trusted, someone who loved both you and Asuna unconditionally? The thought brought a sting to your eyes, but you blinked it away, straightening your spine against the cold.

Mitsuki and Masaru often crept into your thoughts as well. Would they want to know their grandchild? The image of Mitsuki’s face, filled with the warmth and fierceness you remembered, surfaced in your mind. She had always been supportive, even when things between you and Katsuki had been tumultuous.

But you knew, deep down, that if you had told them about Asuna, they would have told Katsuki. And that was a storm you weren’t ready to weather. The idea of Katsuki turning your life upside down, adding more chaos to an already delicate balance, kept you silent.

You recalled the night you moved out, the cold winter air biting at your skin as you loaded boxes into Shinsou’s car. Your awards, your clothes, your life—all packed away in the dead of night.

The letter you left behind felt like a betrayal to yourself by morning, a shred of vulnerability you vowed never to show again.

Standing in front of the mirror, you made a promise:

Never again would you allow yourself to be hurt like that.

Never again would you give someone that power.

“No,” you decide firmly, shaking the thoughts away as if dispelling a lingering cloud.

That marriage wouldn't have been better. The what-ifs painted a picture that seemed idyllic on the surface, but reality would have likely been far different. A marriage built on unresolved hurt and bitterness would have crumbled, leaving Asuna to grow up in a home filled with tension and resentment. She deserved better than that—a peaceful, nurturing environment free from the toxicity that could have taken root.

The last thing you wanted was for her to become another child navigating the fallout of a broken relationship.

You sigh, rubbing your hands together to ward off the chill as you make your way to a nearby bench by the flower field. It’s one of your favorite spots, a place you often found solace during breaks or late nights. The vibrant blooms, even in the cold, seemed to radiate a quiet peace, a reminder of the beauty and resilience in the world. Sitting here always helped you reconnect with your purpose, to remember why you put in the hard work and long hours—to give people, including Asuna, a safer world to live in.

As you settle onto the bench, the cold wood pressing against your legs through your coat, you pull out your phone and absently thumb through it. Your finger hovers over Asuna's contact for a moment. The temptation to call her is strong, but you hesitate. She deserved some time to herself, to enjoy her day with Rumi without the weight of your worries pressing down on her. Besides, she’d pick up on your mood immediately. She always did. The last thing you wanted was to dampen her day with your thoughts and anxieties.

Instead, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and take a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs and bringing a brief clarity to your mind. Maybe it was time to consider talking to someone—a therapist, perhaps. The idea had crossed your mind before, but you’d always pushed it aside, too caught up in the whirlwind of daily life and responsibilities. But sitting here now, the quiet enveloping you, it seemed like the most reasonable step forward.

You glance at the flowers, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, and allow yourself a moment of peace.

One last time.

You’ll meet Katsuki one last time.

For yourself, and for Rita.

—

Kirishima clapped Katsuki on the shoulder with a wide grin.

"Good luck, man. You’ve got this!" His voice was reassuring, the warmth in his tone cutting through the chill of the day. "Just keep it simple, yeah? Hand her the stuff, say what you need to say, and then let her take it from there. You don’t need to overthink it."

Katsuki grunted in response, nodding curtly.

His work bag hung heavily from his shoulder, weighed down by the binder containing Rita’s will and the old photographs he’d dug out early that morning, at Kirishima’s insistence. His mind was a jumbled mess, yesterday feeling both distant and painfully close. The weight of the past was heavy on his chest, constricting his breathing as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, burying his face in its warmth. The cold ugly weather seeped through his jacket, a stark reminder of the winter’s chill that had taken over the city.

Even Kirishima had bundled up, his jacket emblazoned with his hero logo, reflecting the heat from his body as he headed off to patrol the city center. Katsuki watched him wave before disappearing into the crowd, leaving him alone at the park's entrance. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. He could do this. He just had to give you the pictures and the will. That was it. And then, perhaps, he could walk away and never have to deal with this again.

At least, that’s what Katsuki told himself.

But his stomach churned, and his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, betraying his supposed resolve.

He stepped into the park, the crunch of his boots against the gravel path muffled by the buzz of activity around him. The air was filled with the hum of holiday preparations; Workers were stringing up Christmas lights and adding festive decorations to the trees and lampposts. Children darted between the pathways, their laughter ringing out as they played, their breath visible in the chilly air. Couples posing for pictures, bundled in scarves and coats, while families gathered by the skating rink, watching their little ones wobble on the ice.

‘Fucking annoying.’

Katsuki’s gaze swept over the scene, searching for you, though part of him was hesitant to find you. His mind kept drifting back to the question that had gnawed at him since yesterday. Who was the father of your daughter? Asuna, you’d said her name was. She bore your grandmother’s maiden name, but something about her eyes, the way they stared at him with a mix of familiarity and accusation, unsettled him.

He found himself looking at the fathers in the park, watching as they interacted with their children. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have a family of his own.

What if he had married you, settled into a life of domesticity? Would he have had a brat of his own—a kid with a stubborn streak, maybe a little explosion quirk, someone to raise and guide through life’s chaos

The thought made his chest tighten, a mixture of longing and regret bubbling up.

His gaze drifted to the skating rink, where children and parents alike were gliding on the ice. Some were beginners, clutching onto the railing for dear life, while others moved gracefully, weaving in and out of the crowd. The rink was a hub of joy and laughter, a snapshot of the kind of life he often kept at arm’s length.

Katsuki shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his fingers brushing against the edge of the photographs inside his bag. His thoughts spiraled back to Asuna. What were you like as a mother? She seemed well-adjusted, confident, and full of life—qualities that spoke volumes about the environment you’d created for her.

But those eyes, her eyes, haunted him.

Every time he blinked, he saw her glare, a silent accusation for something he hadn’t even begun to understand.

He stood there, watching the scene unfold before him, the cold biting at his cheeks, as he wrestled with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Katsuki’s eyes scanned the park restlessly, taking in every detail but finding no sign of you. His gaze lingered on the parents, the kids playing, the groups of friends laughing together. But his mind kept circling back to the encounter from last night and the unexpected twist of seeing Shinsou.

Why had that bothered him so much?

He knew you two were friends—always had been.

But seeing Shinsou there, at your side, made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling.

What did it even matter?

You were never his to begin with.

Hell, you’d made that clear enough when you left. Yet, here he was, sitting on the edge of frustration, like some possessive idiot. He made his way to a park bench near the skating rink, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. The crisp air nipped at his face, his breath forming little puffs in front of him. Katsuki ran a hand through his spiky hair, the familiar sensation grounding him momentarily before he crossed his arms and huffed, staring at the rink.

The skating rink was bustling with life, a contrast to the grey sky hanging overhead. Twinkling Christmas lights bordered the walls, casting a warm glow that softened the cold atmosphere. Holiday music played through speakers, the cheerful tunes creating an ambiance of joy and festivity. Families circled the ice, their laughter ringing out as some stumbled, others spun gracefully, and a few, like Rumi, showcased more advanced moves with ease.

Eri giggled as she skated alongside Asuna and Rumi. The girl’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder as she tried to mimic the spins and twirls that Rumi effortlessly executed. Rumi grinned, her energy infectious as she encouraged the girls to push themselves further, teaching them how to spin on the ice and attempt simple tricks.

Asuna, however, was distracted.

She knew she needed to find you. Her phone’s GPS had shown you were already in the park, but so far, she hadn’t had a chance to sneak away. Eri was having too much fun, and Asuna didn’t want to spoil the moment. Still, the anxiety was starting to bubble up. She needed to make her exit soon.

Noticing the tension in Asuna’s face, Eri tugged on her sleeve, a thoughtful look crossing her features. “I’m thirsty,” Eri said, her voice soft but clear. “But…I don’t want to stop skating yet. Could you get me an orange soda?”

(C0ugh, go on your special mission, c0ougH)

Asuna blinked, surprised for a moment, before the realization settled in. “Sure, Eri. I’ll get it for you.” She smiled, giving the older girl a quick nod. Rumi skated over, her breath visible in the chilly air as she reached into her pocket.

“Here, take some cash,” she offered, holding out a few bills.

Asuna waved her off with a laugh. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow, her expression playful but firm. “Just drop your location, okay? And don’t wander off.”

“I won’t,” Asuna assured her, giving a thumbs-up before awkwardly clomping off the ice and onto the pavement. Her skates clicked against the ground, and she quickly swapped them for her shoes, slipping her phone into her hand as she made her way toward the main park paths.

The chill in the air was biting, but the park’s festive decorations and bustling energy offered a strange warmth. Asuna’s heart pounded as she navigated through the crowd, her thoughts focused on finding you. The sound of holiday music and the distant laughter of skaters faded into the background as she made her way toward the flower fields, where she knew you liked to sit.

Asuna adjusted the strap of her skates slung over her shoulder, the blades clinking softly as they tapped against each other with each step. But as she rounded the corner near the park’s central path, her feet slowed, and her heart gave a startled lurch. Sitting on a weathered bench, unmistakably tense and deep in thought,

Was Katsuki Bakugou.

Their eyes met across the open space, and time seemed to pause.

The usual hustle of the park—the chatter of children, the rhythmic sound of skates slicing through the ice, and the soft strains of holiday music—faded into the background. For a few beats, it was just the two of them, locked in an unspoken dialogue. Their faces, though carefully blank, couldn’t entirely hide the flicker of surprise and something….. unresolved, that passed between them.

‘Fucking hell, I thought she was you.’

Katsuki’s sharp red eyes scrutinized Asuna, taking in the familiar features that mirrored yours. The resemblance was undeniable, and it stirred a disquieting mix of emotions within him. He hadn’t expected to see her here, not without you. A question gnawed at the edge of his mind: If Asuna was here, where were you? His heart clenched at the thought that he might have already missed you, that maybe you had come and gone before he even realized.

Asuna, equally surprised, felt her pulse quicken.

She hadn’t anticipated running into Katsuki so suddenly, especially not in such a sad, public display. Seeing him there, alone, sent a ripple of anxiety through her. She knew about the history between you and Katsuki, the lingering tension and the unspoken words that still hung in the air.

Her mind raced—were you with him earlier? Had she miscalculated the time? No, it was just past noon; you were likely still finishing your patrol. But the sight of Katsuki waiting, looking almost pathetic in his solitude, unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Neither moved nor spoke, both caught in the throes of internal debates. Katsuki was the first to react, giving Asuna a slow, deliberate nod, acknowledging her presence with a flicker of recognition. Asuna mirrored his gesture, equally tentative, her eyes never leaving his. The moment stretched out, filled with the weight of things unsaid, before Katsuki leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

The wind picked up, rustling the skeletal branches above and tugging at their clothes. It was a cold, grey day, the kind that hinted at snow but held back, leaving the air crisp and biting. Asuna felt the chill but didn’t move, her gaze locked on Katsuki’s, both of them trying to decipher what the other was thinking.

Katsuki shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence with a sharp inhale.

His mind was a tangle of frustration and confusion. He hated this—this inability to express what was swirling inside him, the words that felt stuck behind a barrier he couldn’t breach.

He didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to care so much about what you were doing, who you were with.

Yet here he was, sitting on a bench in the park, waiting for a meeting he wasn’t even sure would happen.

“You gonna say somethin’, or just keep starin’?”

Katsuki’s voice was low, rough around the edges, but there was a hint of vulnerability beneath the usual gruffness. His gaze didn’t waver, watching Asuna with an intensity that made her shift her weight from one foot to the other.

Asuna blinked, the bluntness of his question catching her off guard. She had expected silence, or maybe a curt dismissal, but not this direct challenge. “I…” She faltered, her voice softer than she intended. SHe had to play this right.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Katsuki huffed, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes on her.

“Yeah, well, same here. Thought you’d be with your mother.”

“I was supposed to meet her,” Asuna admitted, glancing down at the skates dangling from her shoulder before returning her gaze to him. “I was just… getting something for Eri.”

The mention of your name seemed to soften something in Katsuki’s expression, though his features remained guarded. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as if considering a response but deciding against it.

“She with you?”

Asuna nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah. Rumi too. We’ve been at the rink.”

Katsuki processed this in silence, his mind darting back to memories of you—how you always seemed to be surrounded by people who cared for you, who wanted to protect you. It was something he admired and envied in equal measure. The thought of you out there, with them, made his chest tighten with a mix of relief and longing.

“You should get back to them,” Katsuki said after a moment, his voice quieter, lacking its usual edge. “Don’t wanna leave ‘em waitin’.”

Asuna hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. There was something in his tone that gave her pause, a subtle hint of resignation that made her heart ache. She didn’t know him well, but she could sense the turmoil beneath his tough exterior.

“Are you…waiting for my mom?” she asked carefully, her eyes searching his face for any clue to his thoughts.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, the movement almost imperceptible.

“Yeah.”

A silence settled over them again, but this time it felt different—less tense, more contemplative. Asuna watched him for a moment longer before offering a small, tentative smile.

“She’ll be here. She wouldn’t leave you waiting.”

Katsuki scoffed softly, but there was a faint trace of amusement in his eyes.

“I know she wouldn’t.”

With that, Asuna gave a final nod, turning back toward the skating rink. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if she was reluctant to leave but knew she had to. Katsuki watched her go, the clinking of her skates fading into the distance, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. As the wind swirled around him, Katsuki leaned back against the bench, exhaling a long breath. The encounter had left him feeling more unsettled than before, yet there was a strange comfort in it too.

The anticipation of seeing you again, the hope that maybe things could be different—it was enough to keep him there, waiting.

Asuna clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she took a deep, steadying breath. Her mind screamed at her to keep walking, to head back to the rink where Eri and Rumi were waiting.

But her feet refused to move.

She had come this far—turned back once, and now standing there in the cold with the biting wind swirling around her, she realized this was her chance. She couldn’t back out now. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she turned on her heel and marched back towards Katsuki. Her steps were quick, deliberate, every ounce of her determination pushing her forward despite the fluttering nerves in her stomach.

Katsuki, still seated on the bench, noticed her approach and sat up straighter, his sharp red eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity and caution.

Asuna came to a halt just a few feet away, inhaling deeply before speaking, her voice clear but slightly tremulous.

“Can I sit with you?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows shot up, his face a mix of surprise and skepticism. “Why?” His tone was gruff, almost defensive, as if unsure of her intentions.

Asuna swallowed hard, her gaze unwavering.

“I want to.”

For a moment, he said nothing, just staring at her with those intense eyes that seemed to strip away any pretense. Finally, he shifted to the side, creating enough space for her to sit, though he maintained a respectful distance. Asuna eased onto the bench, facing him, her posture tense but resolute.

Katsuki watched her warily, his arms crossed over his chest as if shielding himself from whatever was about to come. He didn’t do well with unplanned encounters, especially ones that carried the weight of potential confrontation.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly, cutting through the thick silence between them.

Asuna bit her lip, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench. She knew she had to tread carefully, but she couldn’t ignore the questions burning inside her.

“How do you know my mom?” she asked, her voice steady, though her heart raced.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly, the question catching him off guard. He felt a spark of annoyance at the directness, but something about the determined glint in Asuna’s eyes stopped him from snapping. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her.

“What’s it to you?”

Asuna leaned forward slightly, her gaze unwavering. “I just…want to know what you’re doing here. Why you’re waiting for her.”

The tension between them thickened, neither willing to back down. Katsuki let out a low huff, his jaw clenching. “She’s a friend,” he said finally, the word feeling both accurate and inadequate.

“I came to see her.”

Asuna didn’t flinch, her expression unreadable. “Why?”

Katsuki’s patience thinned at the grilling, the familiarity of being questioned like this stirring memories of his mother’s sharp tongue and piercing gaze. His voice sharpened, matching her intensity. “Why does it matter?”

“Because she matters,” Asuna shot back, her eyes flashing. “And I want to know what you want from her.”

Katsuki’s temper flared at the insinuation, the heat rising in his chest.

“You think I’m here to mess with her or somethin’?”

Asuna’s silence was answer enough, her lips pressed into a thin line. The sharpness in her gaze reminded Katsuki of the same fire he’d seen in you, in himself, and in his mother. It was a look that demanded answers, no matter how uncomfortable.

“You don’t get it,” Katsuki said, his voice low but intense.

“I’m not here to mess with her. I’m here because…” He paused, the words catching in his throat. He hated talking about his feelings, hated how vulnerable it made him feel. But he pressed on, the need to clarify outweighing his discomfort.

“I’m here because she’s important to me.”

Asuna’s expression softened slightly, though she didn’t let her guard down entirely. “Important how?”

Katsuki’s hands flexed, the tension in his body evident. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the frustration clear in his voice.

“I just…care about her. More than I should, probably.”

Asuna absorbed his words, the weight of them settling into her chest. She didn’t know what she had expected him to say, but the honesty in his admission caught her off guard. There was a vulnerability in his tone that she hadn’t anticipated, and it made her rethink her initial assumptions.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” Katsuki added, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Asuna nodded slowly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. “I get that,” she said softly. “I guess I’m just…protective of her.”

Katsuki smirked faintly, the edge of his temper dulling.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the wind swirling around them, carrying the distant sounds of laughter and music from the skating rink. The tension that had been so palpable before began to dissipate, replaced by a tentative understanding. Asuna exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki’s eyes softened, the fierce scrutiny in his gaze mellowing.

“Neither do I,” he replied, his words carrying a weight of sincerity that hung in the cold air between them.

Asuna leaned back slightly, her fingers drumming on the bench as she mulled over his words.

Something about his bluntness pulled her back into her defensive shell. His manner of speaking was so different—gruff, devoid of the social politeness she was used to. There was an accent too, something sharp and clipped, that hinted at a different upbringing.

It reminded her of the way you used to gently correct her speech before school, smoothing out her rough edges. She still didn’t fully understand why you had been so insistent about it, but she had complied nonetheless.

Katsuki, on the other hand, noticed everything about Asuna—the way her eyes flicked around, taking in their surroundings, and the way her fingers fidgeted slightly. His gaze dropped to her hands, and he caught sight of a scab on her palm, raw and slightly pink.

“What happened to yer hand?” he asked, nodding toward the mark.

Asuna glanced down at it, flexing her fingers absentmindedly. “Oh, that. Aunty Mina dropped something this morning, and I was helping her clean it up. It’s fine now, just itchy.”

Katsuki’s brows furrowed instantly.

‘MINA?’

He hadn’t known she was over at your house last night.

He didn't know that the two of you still hung out like that.

At All.

The information lodged itself in his brain, a small flag for later. He filed it away, unsure if it was significant, but unwilling to overlook anything related to you.

“How’d you get that?” Asuna asked, motioning toward the faint scar on his cheek.

“Fight,” Katsuki answered tersely, his fingers brushing over the mark as if he could still feel the sting.

“You always getting into fights?” she pressed, her tone a mix of curiosity and mild judgment.

Katsuki shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Depends.”

Asuna tilted her head, considering his response.

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“School let out early for the holiday,” she explained. Katsuki scoffed, a sharp exhale through his nose.

“Figures.”

Asuna’s eyes narrowed, a spark of irritation flaring. “You’ve got a shitty attitude, you know that? You’re an asshole.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Really? You can tell all that from one conversation?” Asuna nodded confidently.

“Yeah. You don’t hide it.”

“Don’t make it a point to,” Katsuki replied, his gaze steady, almost challenging. “But, if we’re being honest, you’ve got asshole tendencies too.” He sneered at her, expecting the girl to run off back to wherever she came from, not for her eyes to be lighting up!

A slow smile spread across Asuna’s face, her mask lowering just a fraction.

“I know.”

Katsuki chuckled, a low, genuine sound that surprised even him.

There was something refreshing about her straightforwardness. It reminded him of himself, the way she didn’t shy away from confrontation or honesty. It was rare to meet someone who didn’t dance around the truth or put on a facade. Asuna leaned in slightly, her curiosity piqued.

“So, why do you care about my mom?”

Katsuki’s expression shifted, the humor fading into something more serious.

“Because I do.”

Asuna nodded, her expression softening. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine care that went beyond words. It was strange, but she found herself trusting him, at least a little. The tension between them eased, replaced by a tentative understanding.

“So, you gonna keep staring or ya got more questions?” Katsuki teased, his tone light but with an edge of challenge.

Asuna leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied Katsuki with a thoughtful tilt of her head. The wind played with her hair, brushing it across her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you feed Big Red to keep him going?” she asked suddenly.

Katsuki blinked, momentarily thrown. “Big Red?”

“Yeah, Kirishima,” Asuna clarified, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Realization dawned on Katsuki, and he smirked, leaning back against the bench. “Ah, him. He eats everything. Meat mostly. Guy’s a walking protein factory. Eggs, chicken, steak... whatever has enough protein to fuel that hard ass head of his.”

Asuna laughed softly, the sound light and airy. “Sounds about right.”

Katsuki’s gaze flicked to her, a subtle curiosity lingering in his eyes.

“Why are you so small?”

The question caught Asuna off guard, and she arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m taller than Mom,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “And I’m not done growing yet. One day, I’ll probably be taller than you.”

Katsuki scoffed, a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “Not much of an accomplishment. Being the tallest dwarf isn’t exactly a flex. And your mom? She’s short.”

Asuna’s lips quirked into a challenging grin. “At least I’m not a insecure loudmouth with a height complex.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze. “When are you and your mom heading to the North Pole?”

Asuna frowned, clearly puzzled.

“Why would we go to the North Pole?”

“Santa needs all his elves back,” Katsuki said with a smirk, watching for her reaction.

It took a moment for the jab to sink in, but when it did, Asuna’s smile turned sharp and dangerous.

“Keep it up, and I’ll kick your balls in.”

Katsuki raised his hands in mock surrender. “Chill out, short stack. I’m not afraid to fight a kid.” Asuna’s eyes sparkled with defiance.

“Not surprised. It’s a miracle your crybaby ass hasn’t been sued yet.”

The playful atmosphere shifted as Katsuki straightened, his expression darkening.

“Crybaby? Who the hell are you calling a crybaby?!”

“You,” Asuna shot back without hesitation. “Last night, on the sidewalk, crying like someone died.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “No one died. But someone might very soon.”

A certain purple haired person came to mind.

Asuna leaned back, undeterred by his simmering anger. “Why didn’t Mom ever bring me around your gang before?” Katsuki’s expression softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Dunno. Probably because of hero work.”

Asuna shrugged. “Makes sense. She’s always busy.” Katsuki hummed in agreement. “Same here.” Asuna tilted her head, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re in the business too?”

Katsuki nodded, his eyes steady on hers.

“You don’t look like a hero,” Asuna remarked, her tone skeptical. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation flashing in them.

“I am a hero.”

Asuna squinted, leaning in as if to inspect him more closely.

“Nahhh.”

With an irritated huff, Katsuki reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet (lots of bills!) with his hero badge, holding it up for her to see.

“Believe it now?”

Asuna’s eyes widened, the sight of the badge silencing her for a moment. She looked between the badge and Katsuki, connecting the dots. “Wait... you’re Pro Hero Dynamight?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki confirmed, his tone tinged with pride.

Asuna blinked, her mind racing. “And Kirishima is... Red Riot?”

Katsuki’s smirk returned, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. “ ‘S right.”

Katsuki leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he exuded an air of cocky indifference. His eyes glinted with self-assured confidence, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He might’ve been trying to play it cool, but Asuna wasn’t buying it for a second.

“You’re still lame,” she said with a shrug, her voice laced with nonchalance.

Katsuki’s smirk faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Asuna confirmed, leaning forward slightly as if to drive the point home. “All tough and cool one minute, and then, bam, still lame.” Katsuki opened his mouth to retort, but Asuna pressed on, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Do you have a family?”

His brows furrowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Why?”

“Well,” Asuna continued, resting her chin on her hand. “Why don’t you have one? Are you dating?”

Katsuki’s eyes widened, and he sputtered. “What the hell kind of questions are those?” Park onlookers be dammed with these two.

“Just curious,” Asuna said innocently, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Katsuki snapped, his face flushing slightly.

“Why not?” Asuna asked, tilting her head, genuinely intrigued.

Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, his irritation mounting.

“None of your business.”

“Is it because of your attitude?” Asuna pressed, leaning closer.

“Or do they all run when they realize the truth about you?”

That... hit harder than Katsuki expected.

His jaw clenched as he sat back, her questions needling into thoughts he hadn’t fully faced. His usual bravado faltered, the weight of her words striking a nerve, particularly with everything happening between him and you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she had a point—had his personality, his inability to open up, been a barrier?

‘Yes.’

Noticing his silence, Asuna smirked.

“Gone soft on me now, have you?”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped to hers, his frown deepening. “Why are you so damn nosey? Just like your mom.”

Asuna blinked, taken aback. “Mom’s not nosey.”

“Yeah, right,” Katsuki scoffed. Asuna rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Is Shinsou your mom’s boyfriend?”

“Uncle Hitoshi? Ew,” Asuna grimaced, the sheer disbelief evident in her expression. “No way.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, really,” Asuna admitted with a shrug. “I mean, I wouldn’t call him handsome to his face or anything. It’s just... he’s always sleep-deprived and has that low-key creepy smile.”

'And because it's too complicated to think of him like a dad.'

Katsuki smirked, leaning back. “So, bag check is still single?”

“Why do you care so much if he’s dating my mom?” Asuna shot back, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

Katsuki’s expression shifted, and he averted his gaze, clearly embarrassed. “None of yer damn business,” he huffed. Asuna grinned, sensing an opportunity to press further.

“Where is my mom, anyway?”

“Hell if I know,” Katsuki grumbled. “Why don’t you just call her or somethin'?”

“Why don’t you?” Asuna shot back, crossing her arms.

Katsuki pulled out his phone with a grunt, clearly ready to end this conversation. But as he was about to dial, Asuna dropped the next question like a bombshell.

“Do you have any kids?”

Katsuki froze, his phone slipping from his hand and landing on the ground with a tasty CRACK! He stared at her, eyes wide in shock.

“What the fuck, kid?”

Asuna shrugged, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m just curious.”

He leaned down to retrieve his phone, his hands slightly trembling. His mind raced, thoughts spiraling as he tried to comprehend the unexpected question. He wasn’t sure if it was her nonchalant delivery or the sheer audacity of the question, but it left him deeply rattled.

“No,” he finally managed to say, his voice quieter than usual.

“I don’t have any kids.”

Asuna watched him carefully, noting the shift in his demeanor. For the first time since their conversation started, she saw a crack in his tough exterior, a vulnerability he rarely showed. She didn’t push further, sensing that she had hit a sensitive spot.

Katsuki picked up his phone from the floor, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the lingering tension from Asuna’s question. He glanced at her, watching as she casually leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he debated whether to continue their conversation or just sit in silence.

But curiosity got the better of him.

“You got any siblings?” he asked, his tone attempting to be nonchalant.

Asuna shook her head. “Nope. Just me.”

Katsuki hummed, leaning back on the bench, one boot tapping restlessly against the concrete. He wanted to ask about her dad, but your voice echoed in his mind—a warning, a sharp reminder of what you had told him once before.

‘He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve to know.’

Katsuki clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside, but the weight of it lingered.

He looked at Asuna again, his gaze drawn to her eyes, those bright red starbeds so much like his own. The resemblance was uncanny, and it stirred something deep within him, something he couldn’t quite handle.

He stood abruptly, his restlessness getting the better of him.

“Come on,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“My ass is falling asleep. Might as well walk around 'til we find your mama.”

Asuna nodded, slipping off her seat. She pulled out her phone and dropped a quick location pin to Eri, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent a copy to Shinsou as well. Once done, she glanced at Katsuki with a smirk. “Ready when you are.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Just letting Eri know where I am,” she lied smoothly. “You know, in case you decide to kidnap me or something.”

Katsuki snorted, shaking his head as they headed out of the skating area.

“I'd return you.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the sound of their footsteps echoing down the pathway.

The air around them was filled with the sounds of laughter and carolers, the scent of roasted chestnuts and hot cocoa mingling in the crisp winter air. Christmas lights twinkled on every tree, casting a warm glow over the bustling park. Families wandered between decorated stalls, and children giggled as they chased each other around the towering Christmas tree in the center.

Asuna glanced at Katsuki out of the corner of her eye, watching the way he carried himself—shoulders squared, eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharpness that belied his seemingly laid-back demeanor.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence, “What made you become a hero?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Always wanted to be the best hero.”

“Typical,” Asuna teased, her lips quirking into a grin. “Always about being the best.”

She could relate.

“Damn right,” Katsuki shot back, his tone laced with pride. “What about you? Got any plans for the future?”

Asuna thought for a moment, her brows furrowing. “Pro hero with a degree in engineering. I like figuring out how things work.”

“Good choice,” Katsuki said, nodding approvingly. “Smart kid.”

They continued walking, the conversation ebbing and flowing, each question peeling back a layer of the other. Katsuki found himself intrigued by Asuna’s quick wit and sharp tongue, traits that reminded him of himself in a way. He admired her confidence, even as it annoyed him at times. They turned a corner, the conversation turning light again, until eventually, Katsuki couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.

“What about your dad?” he asked carefully, his voice quieter than before.

Asuna’s steps faltered slightly, and she cast a glance up at him, her eyes dimming for a moment.

“... I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki’s heart clenched at her response, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air between them. He wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but the sadness in her voice held him back. Instead, he walked in silence beside her, his mind churning with thoughts and emotions he wasn’t used to dealing with.

Asuna, sensing his internal struggle, offered a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay. I’ve got Mom, and that’s enough.”

'Liar.'

Katsuki nodded, though the unease in his chest remained. The two continued their walk, the unspoken words between them solidifying in the quiet. They walked in step, the quiet between them stretching comfortably as they toured around the park.

The soft glow of Christmas lights illuminated their path, casting a festive yet serene atmosphere. Food stalls lined the walkways, the smell of roasted nuts and sweet treats wafting through the cool afternoon air. Katsuki’s gaze flicked over to a stall selling hot peanuts.

“Ya want some?” he asked, tilting his head towards the stand.

Asuna wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Nah, almonds are better.”

Katsuki gave a small grunt of acknowledgement. They continued strolling, their eyes absorbing the kaleidoscope of colors from the light displays. The air was filled with the murmur of families and couples, laughter and chatter blending with the soft hum of holiday music.

This was… really nice, actually.

It was different from the walks she took with Aizawa or Shinsou. One whose arm she would hold onto as she dragged him around and the other she would throw pinecones at and race around the park. She wondered if you ever took walks like this with Katsuki before. She didn’t really take you for the flirty type.

Her mind wandered back to Eri and Rumi. She could say that she needed to use the can at her favorite department store and that she got distracted by the lights on the way back. What she really wanted to do was just enjoy this moment, but she didn’t know why.

It wasn’t like Katsuki was prominent in her life or anything. Like, she literally just met the guy.

So… why did he make her feel happy?

As they passed a particularly vibrant display, Asuna accidentally bumped into a large man who had stepped into her path. The man turned around, his face twisted in irritation, clearly ready to give her trouble. Asuna squared her shoulders, her red eyes narrowing, prepared to give him hell right back. Before she could speak, Katsuki stepped between them, his stance solid and intimidating.

“Fuck off.”

The man’s eyes darted between Katsuki and Asuna, his glare sharp and filled with disdain. His gaze settled on Katsuki with a sneer. "Control your damn kid, " he spat, his words dripping with contempt before he turned away, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the festive crowd.

Neither of them corrected him.

Katsuki’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body palpable. His jaw tightened as he drew in a slow breath, barely restraining himself from responding. But before he could react, Asuna grabbed his arm, her fingers curling firmly around his bicep.

"Come on," she urged softly, tugging him away from the confrontation. Her grip was steady, guiding him down the festive path lined with wreaths and garlands. They walked in silence now, the crunch of gravel underfoot punctuating the stillness between them.

Asuna stared straight ahead, her expression carefully composed, the flickering lights reflecting in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

Katsuki glanced at her, his usual fiery demeanor subdued.

"No problem," he replied, his voice low, almost uncharacteristically gentle. The protective instinct that surged within him was unexpected, a foreign sensation that settled heavily in his chest.

They continued down the path, weaving through the throng of holiday revelers until Asuna’s eyes caught sight of a vending machine near the playground.

"Wait a sec," she said, breaking away from Katsuki and making her way to the machine. The faint hum of the vending machine mingled with the festive sounds around her as she selected a can of orange soda.

Returning to Katsuki, she found him waiting, the bustling park now a blur of twinkling lights and cheerful voices. He held out a small package toward her, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the holiday lights.

“What’s this?” Asuna asked, her fingers brushing against the warmth of the package as she took it from him, curiosity piquing in her gaze.

“Open it,” Katsuki replied nonchalantly, popping a few almonds into his mouth from his own bag, the faint crunch breaking the quiet of the evening.

Asuna carefully peeled back the paper, revealing a small bundle of hot almonds dusted with sugar. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced up at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and gratitude.

“You got these?”

Katsuki shrugged, chewing thoughtfully on his own handful. “Yeah. Don’t get how you like ‘em, though.”

Asuna chuckled, a light, genuine sound that warmed the chilly evening air. “Are pro heroes even allowed to eat sugar?” Katsuki smirked, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief as he raised an eyebrow. “Your mom doesn’t?”

“She likes sweets,” Asuna admitted, taking a bite of one of the almonds. The sweet warmth of it settled on her tongue, comforting in its simplicity. “But she doesn’t cook with a spicy flavor palette much.”

Katsuki nodded, tossing a handful of almonds into his mouth, his gaze momentarily distant.

“Yeah, Rita needed a special diet. Your mom learned how to re-cook everything for her. ‘S probably why.”

Asuna froze mid-step, her body going still as the words settled over her like a cold wave.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her mind raced to process what he'd just said. She stepped off the path, her boots crunching in the snow as she stood near the fence by the playground, the sounds of children’s laughter fading into the background. Her eyes were wide, the shock clear in her expression as she turned to face him.

“How do you know that?” she asked, her voice low but sharp, like a thread stretched taut.

Katsuki's throat tightened, and he choked on the almonds in his mouth. He scrambled, his face reddening as he coughed violently, struggling to find an answer.

“ASUNA!”

‘Shit! Busted’

“ASUNA!”

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(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ -Angie

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