There Is A Huge Difference Between Criticizing An Institution And Criticizing Individual Behavior. I

CHAPTER 8: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2.8k

warning: Violence, mentions of blood, knives/stabbing.

---

Since the night of the hero gala, you and James had thrown yourselves headfirst into the Moretti investigation. The memory of that evening—the balcony, Bakugo’s wounded expression, and his retreating figure—played on an endless loop in your mind, but you shoved it down, burying it beneath layers of work and sleepless nights.

You’d left the gala alone, and since then, Bakugo had been a ghost. He didn’t show up at the gym during your usual hours, and you hadn’t dared to reach out. You figured he needed space, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. If he hated you, you deserved it. After all, you had rejected him in the cruelest way, withholding the truth under the guise of protecting him.

Now, every waking moment was devoted to unearthing the evidence you needed to take Moretti down. You told yourself it was for justice, for closure, but deep down, you knew it was also for Bakugo. You needed to make things right. To come clean, to apologize for the lies, and maybe, just maybe, to give him a reason to forgive you.

One long, grueling night, James managed to secure access to confidential Japanese case files—likely crossing a few legal boundaries in the process, but you didn’t care. Laws and rules seemed inconsequential when the only thing that mattered was unraveling the threads of Moretti’s web.

The files contained a chilling revelation. The man with the tattoo on his wrist—the one burned into your memory—was linked to a series of brutal murders in Musutafu. Innocent women, each life stolen with a message carved into the crime scenes that only you could understand. The weight of it crushed you, the realization that these killings weren’t random. They were warnings. Moretti was taunting you, forcing you to see his reach, his cruelty, and his power.

The guilt was suffocating. Every face in those files felt like another strike against your resolve, but you couldn’t let it break you. You wouldn’t. The pain was a reminder that you were on the right path, that you had a chance to end this. And now, finally, you had something to go on.

The new information gave you a flicker of hope —a trail of locations and timestamps where Moretti’s men had been sighted. It was the first solid lead you’d had in weeks, and it was enough to rekindle the fire inside you.

Your hero costume still fits like a second skin, the all-black material hugging your body with an almost suffocating precision. The suit’s sleek fabric molds to your frame, firm and supportive—like it’s designed just for you, like it was made to measure. You had always admired the way the costume looked, and now, years later, your vision seemed to reflect everything you had become: strong, sleek, and dangerous. The mask that covered your face didn’t leave much for anyone to see, except your eyes—piercing, determined eyes that told anyone in your path exactly who they were dealing with.

It’s been six long years since you last wore it. Six years of training, of staying hidden, of learning to control a power so dangerous you feared it more than anything. But tonight, slipping into the familiar black fabric and feeling it stretch over your body, you couldn’t help but feel that rush of energy surge through your veins. It never got old. The suit felt like home, like a part of you, and the weight of the mask reminded you of everything you had fought to become—and everything you had left behind.

As you pull on the gloves, the cool metal of your utility belt clicks against the fabric. You can’t help but admire the intricate stitching that runs along your waist, the design perfect down to the finest detail. The fabric is laced with minerals, rare and strong, designed to help control your quirk. The quirk that you never fully trusted.

Your quirk, gravity manipulation, gives you the power to shift and bend forces of weight, to manipulate objects, people, and even entire structures. It’s the kind of power that could move mountains or level them, depending on your emotions. When you’re calm, you have control—but when you’re upset, when anger and fear take hold, your quirk becomes a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. That’s what happened the night you blacked out and woke up with a bleeding head, unable to recall anything.

Training has made you cautious, teaching you to keep your emotions in check. Years of discipline and self-control have allowed you to control it, but you always feared that if you lost that control, everything would come crashing down. But tonight, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Tonight, you needed to keep your head.

After weeks of silence, you’d received a tip—a whisper on an old, secured landline that one of Moretti’s men would be at a bar tonight. The man was important, connected, and you needed to know where Moretti was. So you and James decided to follow the lead. He had urged you to involve the pros again, but you quickly shut that down. 

The car in the alleyway feels like a cage, your hands gripping the leather seats as you watch the shadows stretch across the pavement. The waiting game never gets easier. It gnaws at you, especially tonight, knowing that the man you’re hunting could be anywhere. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, the thought of confronting a ghost from your past, churning your stomach.

“How long have we been sitting here?” James asks from the passenger seat, his voice low but edged with a hint of impatience. His eyes flicker toward the bar’s entrance.

“Two hours,” you answer, your voice steady but the tension in your muscles betraying you. You’re not letting your nerves show, but inside, you feel like a coil ready to snap. “He won’t leave yet. We haven’t missed him.”

James glances at you, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can go with you.”

“No,” you say sharply, the word final. “I’ve got this.”

You stare at the bar’s entrance, your eyes narrowing. Isaac. The name rolls off your tongue like poison. Isaac, blonde-haired, with the face of a man who has seen too much. He was Moretti’s right hand for years, and you knew him all too well. His cold, calculating eyes never missed a thing, and his loyalty to Moretti was only rivaled by his ruthlessness.

Your instincts tingle. He’s here. You can feel it. A subtle weight in the air, the tension building in your bones. It’s like a sixth sense, honed from years of practice. You don’t know how you know, but you trust it.

Then, like clockwork, he steps out from the bar, his sharp profile cutting through the neon lights. He stands on the sidewalk for a moment, glancing around before shouting for a taxi.

Your heart pounds. This is it.

Without a word, you unlock the car door and slide out, ignoring James’s muttered warning. “YN, stop! Stay in the car!” His voice is laced with concern, but you don’t hear him. You’re already striding toward Isaac, your body moving with purpose.

Isaac doesn’t notice you at first, too busy fidgeting with his phone, but as soon as he slides into the cab, you’re there. You don’t hesitate. You pull open the door, stepping into the cab with a practiced fluidity that only someone like you can manage.

“Hey, this is my cab!” Isaac barks, but you don’t flinch.

You glance at the driver, your expression cold and unwavering. “We’re sharing,” you say smoothly, tossing a few bills into the front seat. “Take me up the block. Doesn’t matter where.”

The driver, clearly unbothered by the tense atmosphere, nods and shifts the car into drive. Isaac remains blissfully unaware, but that doesn’t last for long. You slide a knife from your belt, its cold steel glinting under the low lights.

“Say one word, and I’ll put this knife through your crotch,” you murmur, your voice laced with venom as you hold a knife to him. 

Isaac freezes, his gaze finally snapping to you. His eyes widen and the realization slowly dawns on him. Recognition flickers in his pupils, and you see the hate burn brighter.

“I always knew you were a crazy bitch.” Isaac hisses, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

“Yeah?” you reply, “well I’m about to get crazier.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you’re faster. With a swift movement, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. You see the fire in his eyes, the stubborn defiance, but it won’t save him.

“Tell me where Moretti is,” you demand, your tone chilling. “Or I swear, I’ll cut you open right here.”

Isaac snarls. “Fuck you.”

“Okay” Taking the knife you pull it away and plunge it into his thigh, being careful to cover his mouth. 

“Tell me, Isaac,” you growl, “Or is that man-crush of yours so strong you’re willing to lose your dick over it?”

Isaac’s jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with defiance. “You want to know where Moretti is? Find him yourself. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Bullshit.” You twist the blade deeper into his leg.

“Now fucking tell me, or I’ll send Moretti a gift next,” you hiss, your voice dripping with venom.

Isaac’s muffled whimpers are all you hear as you give him one last warning.

“Fine!” he gasps, “He’s staying at the Musutafu motel, on the outskirts of the city.”

“If you’re lying to me,” you warn, “I will kill you.”

He’s sweating now, breathing hard, his face pale as a ghost.

The cab pulls to a stop, and you yank the knife out of his leg, leaving a pool of blood behind. The driver, still unaware of the tension in the backseat, waits for your next command.

You exit without another word, tossing a few more bills toward the driver before slamming the door behind you. As the car pulls away, you spot a black SUV pulling up beside you. You don’t need to look twice to know who’s behind the wheel.

“Well?” Tucker asks, his voice steady but with an edge of impatience.

“He’s at the Musutafu motel,” you reply, your voice curt and emotionless. You slide into the car, the bloody knife still clutched in your hand.

Tucker notices the weapon, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t ask,” you mutter, slumping back into the seat. “Just drive.”

---

The crime rates had doubled in the past two weeks, ever since word of a serial killer leaked to the public. The Hero Committee had tried their best to keep the case under wraps, but someone in the department had let the information slip.

With the city spiraling into panic, the pro-heroes were stretched thin. So focused on this case, they’d nearly lost sight of everything else unraveling around them.

“Shoto, any updates on James Tucker?” Deku asked, standing at the head of the conference table. His fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, the telltale sign of an impending headache.

“Not yet,” Todoroki replied, flipping through a folder of old files. “The only intel I’ve managed to pull are outdated case records and images. If Tucker’s gone into hiding, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Why the hell would he be in hiding?” Bakugo snapped, slamming his hands against the table as he rose from his seat. Weeks of fruitless effort were taking their toll, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Bakugo had been more frustrated than usual lately, and everyone unlucky enough to cross his path could feel the searing heat of his anger. His temper, usually sharp and explosive, seemed to have an added edge now, as though something was festering beneath the surface. The smallest inconveniences sent him into a spiral of irritation—training dummies obliterated into smoldering debris, doors slammed with enough force to rattle the entire building, and curt, venom-laced words that made even his closest friends keep their distance.

At the agency, he barked orders more than usual, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Kirishima, ever the peacemaker, tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but Bakugo’s glare silenced him before the words could fully leave his mouth. Mina would whisper to Sero, “What crawled up his ass and died?” only to quickly clam up when Bakugo’s piercing crimson eyes flicked their way.

It wasn’t just work either—his frustrations followed him home. The gym became a battleground, weights clanging loudly as he threw himself into his workouts with a reckless intensity. The punching bag in the corner stood no chance, shredded after one particularly heated session. Yet no matter how much he pushed his body to its limits, the tension inside him never seemed to dissipate.

The truth was, Bakugo wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. And the wound festered deeper than he was willing to admit.

He hadn’t seen you since that night at the gala. Since you’d looked at him with those beautiful, unreadable eyes and told him—what, exactly? That he didn’t matter? That you didn’t feel the same way? It didn’t make sense. The way you looked at him didn’t match the words you said. The way your voice trembled, the way you avoided his gaze—it was like you were running from something. But what?

The questions plagued him, chasing him into his restless nights. He hated not having answers, hated how powerless he felt, hated how much space you were taking up in his head. Damn you. Damn your stupid, gorgeous face and your laugh and the way you felt so perfect next to him that night.

But more than anything, he hated the gnawing feeling in his chest. The one that whispered he might have lost you for good.

“Actually, Kacchan,” Deku interjected, sliding a photograph across the table toward him. “I might have something.”

Bakugo picked up the image, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined it. The picture showed a young girl, no older than eight, with wide, curious eyes and a small, cautious smile.

“That’s Anthony Moretti’s daughter,” Deku explained. “We found her in an adoption database. She’s here in Japan.”

Bakugo’s eyes lingered on the photograph, his brow furrowing. There was something about the girl that tugged at his memory.

“I’ve seen her before,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“What? Where?” Deku asked, leaning forward.

“At the gym,” Bakugo replied, placing the photo back on the table. “Y/N is her boxing coach.”

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room.

“Who put her up for adoption?” Todoroki asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s anonymous. Adoption records don’t disclose that information,” Deku replied.

“How old was she when she was adopted?”

“She couldn’t have been older than two,” Deku said, flipping through his notes.

“Six years ago,” Bakugo muttered, piecing things together. “Right after Moretti was arrested.” He looked up, his gaze sharp. “What about her mom?”

“There’s no record of a mother,” Deku answered, his tone heavy.

“Dammit,” Bakugo growled, his frustration mounting. “We need to find Tucker. He’s the key to this.”

Todoroki chimed in, hesitant. “Maybe... maybe Y/N knows something about the girl. She might be able to help.”

“No,” Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not dragging her into this, and I sure as hell ain’t questioning a kid.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Time was running out, and with every passing moment, the lines between their responsibilities and their morals blurred further.

“I’ll find Tucker myself if I have to. Got a photo, Icy Hot?” Bakugo demanded, his tone sharp with determination.

Todoroki flipped through his folder without hesitation, pulling out a slightly worn photograph of James Tucker and handing it to him.

Bakugo’s grip tightened around the photo as he stared at it, his blood running cold. His entire stance stiffened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

He knew this man.

The realization hit him like a freight train, his mind reeling. He’d seen Tucker before—seen him with you.

Everything started falling into place, the fragmented pieces of the puzzle forming a picture that Bakugo could no longer ignore. The explosion. Moretti’s daughter. Tucker. You.

The timeline fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his crimson eyes narrowing as his thoughts raced. You were connected to Moretti—there was no doubt about that now. But how?

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

Realest thing I’ve read today

Callum Turner's curls are my Roman empire ❤️

A Night With You || Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

CW: N/A

Rating: SFW

Desc: Domestic cuddling and comfort fic

Like this fic? Reblogs > likes, though both are appreciated!

Bakugou entered the house, slipping off his shoes by the door. The day had been long, but he was home now, and that was all that mattered. He headed straight to the kitchen, grabbing a yogurt cup from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer next to it. He could feel the quiet that hung in the air, the kind of silence that seemed to weigh heavily on everything around him.

Carrying the yogurt down the hall, he paused outside your bedroom door. The soft sound of your crying made his stomach twist in knots. He stood there for a moment, unsure, but eventually pushed the door open.

You were curled up in bed, a small figure swallowed by the blanket, your shoulders shaking with each sob. Bakugou's heart tightened, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he walked over and sat on his side of the bed, setting the yogurt cup and spoon on the bedside table. The room was heavy with the quiet except for the sound of your crying. He wasn't one for big, emotional speeches, and you both knew that, but the silence stretched on longer than he expected.

"What happened this time?" he asked, his tone less harsh than usual, but still covered with frustration. He hated seeing you like this, but he never quite knew what to say to make it better.

You only cried harder, burying yourself further into the covers as if you were trying to disappear. Bakugou let out a frustrated sigh as he laid down beside you, his body instinctively reaching for yours, but he paused.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. It wasn't a question he asked often, but he knew you needed comfort, and that was how he would give it.

You nodded, not knowing what would come out if you spoke. He wrapped his arms around your shaking figure, pulling you into his chest. For a few moments, the world outside of the two of you disappeared. You peeked your head out from under the covers, tears still streaming down your face. Bakugou stared at you, his expression as serious as ever, but if you looked close enough, you could see the concern in his eyes. He wasn't good with words, but he knew how to make you feel safe.

You buried your face in his chest, crying harder, the weight of everything pressing down on you. His arms tightened around you, not in a crushing way, but in a way that promised he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The minutes passed in the quiet of the room, the two of you simply existing together. His warmth comforting you in a way that words couldn’t. You didn’t need to speak for him to understand. He wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, you knew you had each other. No matter what, you always would.

Guys I love this fic so much

CHAPTER 9: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 3.6k

warning: mild blood mention

an: no Bakugo mention this chapter :,(

---

FLASHBACK 

“Do you ever want kids?”

The question hung in the air, unexpected and intimate. Turning over in the bed, you met Anthony’s gaze. The golden sunlight streaming through the window bathed his face, making his sharp features even more striking and setting his green eyes aglow, brighter than you’d ever seen them.

You hummed, stalling, as you considered the question. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it. You could vividly imagine it: children with little pieces of you running through a sprawling backyard, their laughter echoing as your husband scooped them up, tossing them over his shoulder with ease. You’d envisioned it countless times—three children, to be exact. One, the spitting image of you. Another, a reflection of your husband. And the last, a perfect blend of you both.

Yes, you’d thought about having kids more often than you’d admit. But right now? In this moment, in this life? The thought of bringing children into the chaos you lived in felt wrong—repulsive, even.

“Maybe,” you finally said, your tone measured. “It depends if I meet the right person.”

“Hm.”

His response was low, almost dismissive. The hint of disappointment in his tone didn’t escape you, though. Could you blame him? You’d essentially told him he wasn’t the one you could see yourself building a life with.

And he wasn’t. Not Anthony Moretti. No matter how far you’d sunk into this investigation—or how dangerously close you felt to him—he wasn’t someone you could ever settle down with. Being with him was like standing on the edge of a cliff, thrilling but ultimately reckless.

“I have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

Reaching over to his nightstand, Anthony opened the drawer and pulled out a framed photo. He held it out to you, the movement uncharacteristically hesitant.

“This is Milly,” he said softly. “My daughter.”

The image stole your breath. The little girl in the photo was a mirror of Anthony. Her pale skin, vibrant green eyes, and unruly chocolate curls left no doubt. She was his.

You stared longer than you should have, processing the revelation. Anthony Moretti, the enigmatic and ruthless man you were investigating, had a daughter. And no one knew.

“Your daughter?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah.” His eyes softened as his fingers brushed over the glass, as though he could reach through the photo and touch her.

You studied his face carefully. Talking about her wasn’t easy for him; the weight of it was etched in every line of his expression.

“And where is Milly?”

“She lives with her grandmother, out of state,” he said, his voice low and restrained. “Her mother died in childbirth.”

The confession hit like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t visit her?”

“No,” he admitted, the frustration in his voice barely contained. “My rights were taken away a few months after she was born. But I swear, I’ll do everything in my power to get her back.”

There was an edge to his tone—sharp, unsettling. It wasn’t just determination; it was the kind of resolve that promised he’d tear through anyone who dared to stand in his way.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” he added, his gaze meeting yours. “I just thought you should know about her.”

You reached out, your hand trailing up his bicep in a gesture of comfort. “Thank you for telling me,” you said, your voice softer now. But even to your own ears, it sounded forced—to deliberate for the intimacy of the bedroom.

Anthony was letting you in, piece by piece. 

“Do you have a picture of her that’s not in a frame?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

His brows furrowed slightly, as though the question surprised him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching into the same drawer and pulling out a small, worn envelope. From inside, he retrieved a single photograph, its edges creased and faded from handling.

“This one’s my favorite,” he said, passing it to you.

The image was candid, clearly taken on a whim. Milly stood barefoot in the grass, holding a stuffed animal tightly to her chest. Her smile was wide and unfiltered, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“She looks so happy,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over the corner of the photo.

“She is,” Anthony said, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least, I hope she is. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you. For the first time since you’d met him, Anthony didn’t seem untouchable. He looked human—vulnerable, even.

“What happened?” you asked cautiously.

His jaw tightened, and he shifted slightly on the bed, like the memory physically pained him. “Milly’s mother… she wasn’t a good person. She lied about a lot of things, manipulated people. When she died, her family blamed me for everything. Said I wasn’t fit to raise a child.”

“Why didn’t you fight them?”

“I did.” His voice hardened, frustration seeping through. “But they had connections. The system doesn’t care about the truth when someone like me is up against people like them.”

You wanted to say something comforting, but nothing felt adequate. Instead, you reached out again, this time lacing your fingers through his. His hand was warm, his grip firm yet tentative.

“I believe you,” you said simply.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like an unspoken understanding had passed between you, a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

“I’ll get her back,” he said finally, his voice steady and resolute.

You nodded. “I know you will.”

He studied you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to trust you with the full weight of his thoughts. “You’re different,” he said softly.

“How so?”

“You don’t look at me like everyone else does. Like I’m a monster.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Because, truthfully, there were moments when you weren’t sure what to make of him either.

But here, in this moment, he wasn’t a monster. He was just a man who missed his daughter.

---

When you left Anthony’s home that night, the photograph weighed heavy in your pocket—a silent confession folded neatly into your plans. You’d waited until he wasn’t looking, his attention briefly diverted, and slipped the worn image of Milly from the envelope.

It wasn’t a decision you made lightly. You told yourself it was necessary, a calculated move in the larger game. Hard evidence that could be used to build a case against him, to ensure that someone like Anthony Moretti would never have the chance to raise a child.

Still, guilt gnawed at you as you walked down the dimly lit street, your steps echoing in the stillness of the night. He had trusted you, had let you see a part of himself no one else was privy to. And you had repaid that trust with betrayal.

You pulled the photo from your pocket and unfolded it under the glow of a streetlamp. Milly’s innocent smile stared back at you, her joy untainted by the chaos surrounding her father’s life.

“This is for the best,” you murmured to yourself, though the words felt hollow.

Anthony Moretti was a dangerous man. A manipulator. A criminal. And yet, for all his faults, the way he had spoken about Milly was different. It wasn’t the cold calculation you had expected; it was raw, heartfelt, and full of desperation.

But desperation could lead people to do terrible things. And you couldn’t let Milly’s future be another casualty of her father’s world.

As you tucked the photo back into your pocket, you made a promise to yourself: you’d do whatever it took to ensure Milly grew up far away from Anthony’s shadow.

The investigation wasn’t just about taking down Anthony Moretti anymore. It had become personal.

PRESENT

“We can't go straight to the hotel. It’s not safe.”

“We’re not,” You replied, your tone clipped. “But we have to make a stop first.”

Without another word, you grabbed James’ phone from the cup holder and entered an address you’d memorized a hundred times, hoping you’d never need to use it. But now, the time has come.

“Just take me here. It won’t take long,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt.

Reaching into the backseat, you pulled out a duffel bag and rummaged for a pair of hoodies and sweatpants. As you began unzipping your bloodstained hero costume, James shot you a sharp look.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing. I can’t show up looking like this,” you said, gesturing to the dried blood smeared across your suit.

“In the front seat? Are you insane?”

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

James sighed, muttering something under his breath about your reckless behavior, but he focused back on driving. You slipped out of the costume as quickly and discreetly as you could, pulling on the oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Wearing a bloody hero costume to this particular doorstep wasn’t an option.

When you finally arrived at the destination, your heart was pounding harder than the drive warranted. “Wait here,” you instructed James, already unbuckling and stepping out of the car.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of a porch light. It was late—far too late for an unannounced visit—but there was no choice. This couldn’t wait.

The door creaked open after a hesitant knock, revealing a woman you hadn’t spoken with in years. Her hair was streaked with gray, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” Her voice was soft but tinged with shock as she opened the door fully, stepping aside to let you in.

“Where’s Milly?” you asked, urgency in your tone.

“She’s asleep upstairs,” the woman replied, frowning. “What’s going on?”

You didn’t answer, instead brushing past her and heading up the familiar staircase. The woman—Patty—hurried after you, her questions trailing behind.

“Milly,” you whispered as you eased open the door to her room.

The tiny girl lay sprawled across her bed, her hair a mess of curls and her cheek pressed against the pillow. She stirred at your voice, her sleepy eyes blinking open.

“Miss Y/N?” she murmured, a bright smile breaking across her face as recognition set in.

“Hi, sweet girl.” You crouched down beside her. “Do you want to go on a little road trip?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Yes!” she squealed, tossing off her blanket and bouncing with excitement.

“Good. Pack a bag, okay? Just a few things you’ll need for a little while.” You brushed her hair back, smiling softly.

“Okieeee!” she chirped, already diving into her dresser.

As she busied herself, you stepped back into the hallway, where Patty stood waiting at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“What’s going on, YN?” she demanded.

“Anthony’s back,” you said grimly, meeting her gaze. “And he’s after me. He knows that wherever I am, Milly isn’t far.”

Patty’s face paled. “You told me we were safe here. Milly has school—her friends. We can’t just leave!”

Taking her hands in yours, you spoke with quiet urgency. “Patty, please. I’ll keep you both safe, I promise. But I need to get you somewhere secure until Moretti is gone for good.”

Her lips trembled. “And how long will that take?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, hating how uncertain you sounded. “But you have to trust me.”

For a moment, Patty said nothing, her expression flickering between fear and resolve. Finally, she nodded, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the situation.

“Fine,” she said softly. “But this better not take long.”

“It won’t,” you promised, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve.

You turned back to the room, where Milly was proudly holding up an overstuffed backpack. She looked at you with unshakable trust, her innocent faith driving a fresh wave of determination through you.

“Let’s go, sweet girl,” you said, reaching for her hand.

You were running out of time, and Anthony Moretti wasn’t far behind.

---

James glanced at you through the rearview mirror as you helped Milly into the backseat, strapping her in securely. Her backpack sat on her lap, nearly as big as she was, and she clutched a small stuffed rabbit tightly in her arms.

“You care to explain what’s going on now?” James asked, his tone sharp but low enough to keep from alarming Milly.

“Not here,” you replied curtly, sliding into the passenger seat. “We need to get moving first.”

Patty sat in the back seat, her arms wrapped around herself, watching with an expression that was equal parts fear and helplessness. You gave her a reassuring nod through the rearview mirror, though the lump in your throat made it hard to believe your own confidence.

As James pulled away from the curb, you glanced back at Milly, her bright eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. She didn’t ask questions, trusting you completely, and that trust was heavier than anything you carried in your bag.

James finally broke the silence. “So, Anthony Moretti is back. Care to explain why we’re suddenly kidnapping a child and her stuffed rabbit in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not kidnapping,” you shot back, keeping your voice even for Milly’s sake. “I’m protecting her.”

“From Moretti?” he pressed, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

“Yes.”

James sighed, his frustration palpable. “You can’t keep dancing around this. You’ve got to tell me the whole story, Y/N. What’s Milly to Moretti? What’s she to you?”

You hesitated, stealing another glance at Milly. She was still staring out the window, her little fingers tracing patterns on the foggy glass.

“She’s his daughter,” you said finally, the words heavy in the confined space of the car.

James’ reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, his jaw tightening as he processed the revelation. “His daughter? And you’ve been hiding her all this time?”

“Not exactly,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I’ve been making sure she stays safe. Patty and I worked out a plan before I left for America. Milly doesn’t know who her father is, and it’s going to stay that way.”

James shook his head, his disbelief evident. “You really think you can outrun him? You think Moretti’s going to stop looking?”

“I don’t care what it takes,” you snapped, your tone firmer now but still quiet. “Milly is staying safe, and Moretti is staying as far away from her as possible.”

James glanced at you again, his skepticism clear, but he didn’t argue. He knew better than to try to change your mind when you were this determined.

“Where are we headed, then?” he asked, his tone resigned.

“There’s a safe house,” you said. “It’s a few hours out of the city. No one knows about it, not even Moretti.”

James nodded, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

In the backseat, Milly yawned, her tiny voice breaking the tension. “How far is the road trip, Y/N?”

“Not too far, sweet girl,” you replied, forcing a smile. “You can take a nap if you want. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, snuggling into her seat with her stuffed rabbit.

The car settled into a tense silence as the city lights faded behind you, replaced by the dark stretch of highway. Milly’s soft snores were the only sound, her tiny frame relaxed in sleep.

“You really think this is going to stop him?” Patty asked after a while, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s a start,” you replied, staring out the window. “Moretti won’t stop until he finds me. But if he thinks I have Milly with me, I can keep him off your trail. I’ll make sure he never gets close to her.”

“And if he finds you?” she pressed, her voice cracking slightly.

“Then he deals with me,” you said simply, your tone colder than you intended.

Patty flinched slightly, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her gaze to the road ahead, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

The miles stretched on, the car filled with an unspoken tension. You reached out to adjust Milly’s blanket, your heart squeezing at the sight of her peaceful face.

Whatever it took, you would protect her. Anthony Moretti would have to go through you first.

---

The car pulled off the highway onto a narrow, winding road bordered by tall trees that swayed in the night breeze. The gravel crunched under the tires as James slowed to navigate the uneven path. Ahead, the silhouette of a modest cabin came into view, tucked deep within the woods and shrouded in darkness save for the faint glow of a single porch light.

“This is it?” James asked, cutting the engine and glancing at you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice low. “It’s safe. No one knows about it.”

You turned to Patty, whose fingers were clenched tightly around her bag. Her unease was palpable, but she nodded silently, steeling herself.

“Let’s get inside,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out into the cool night air.

Milly stirred as you gently lifted her from the car. She blinked sleepily at you, her curls sticking to her damp forehead. “Are we there?”

“We’re here, sweet girl,” you said softly, brushing her hair back. “Let’s get you inside and back to bed.”

James carried Patty’s bag as you led the group up the porch steps. The wooden boards creaked under your weight, and you felt a brief surge of paranoia, your eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement. But the woods were quiet, the only sounds were the rustling leaves and distant calls of night birds.

Fishing a key from your pocket, you unlocked the heavy door and ushered everyone inside. The air smelled faintly of cedar and dust, the cabin untouched for months.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, flipping on the lights. The warm glow revealed a simple but cozy interior: a worn sofa, a small kitchen with a table for four, and a staircase leading to the second floor.

Patty set her bag down by the couch, looking around uncertainly. “It’s... small.”

“It’s safe,” you corrected, gently setting Milly down on the couch. She clung to her stuffed rabbit, her eyelids already drooping.

“You’ll both have the upstairs bedroom,” you added, turning to Patty. “It’s got a lock on the door and plenty of space for Milly to sleep comfortably.”

Patty nodded, her expression softening as she crouched down to stroke Milly’s cheek. “Come on, honey, let’s get you to bed.”

“Okay,” Milly mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion. She reached for Patty, and together they ascended the stairs, disappearing into the room above.

James leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms as he studied you. “What’s the plan now?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You’ll stay here with them for a few days, make sure everything is secure. I’ll go back and deal with Moretti myself.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” he asked, his skepticism clear.

“It has to,” you said firmly. “I can’t let him near her, James. You’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

James nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. “Alright. But if you’re going to face him, you’re going to need help. You can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you said, though the weight of your words felt heavier than ever.

The cabin was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards above. You leaned against the wall, staring out the window into the dark woods. Anthony Moretti was out there, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he made his move.

For now, though, Milly was safe. And that was all that mattered.

MORETTI'S POV

The night was alive with the sound of rain hitting the pavement as Anthony Moretti stood in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, his dark coat blending seamlessly into the night. The soft glow of his cigarette illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his green eyes. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him like a predator waiting to strike.

“She took her,” Anthony growled, his voice low but dripping with menace.

The man standing opposite him, a wiry figure with nervous eyes, nodded quickly. “Yes, boss. The girl and the grandmother both. They cleared out right before we got there. She must’ve had a backup plan.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the cigarette until it crumbled in his fingers. He dropped the remnants to the ground, grinding them under his heel.

“Of course she did,” he muttered, his mind racing. “She’s too clever to leave anything to chance.”

“What do you want us to do?” the man asked cautiously.

“Find them,” Anthony said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t care how far she runs or how well she’s hidden. I want every contact, every ally she has tracked down. If she thinks she can take my daughter from me, she’s got another thing coming.”

The man nodded again, already backing away, eager to escape Anthony’s wrath.

“Wait,” Anthony called, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yes, boss?”

Anthony stepped closer, his towering presence forcing the man to shrink back. “This isn’t just about finding them. It’s about sending a message. If anyone tries to help her, they’ll regret it. Do you understand?”

The man swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.”

“Good,” Anthony said, his lips curling into a sinister smile. “Now get to work.”

As the man disappeared into the night, Anthony remained in the alley, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He could still see your face, the defiance in your eyes as you stood your ground against him. It was infuriating—and intoxicating.

But this wasn’t about you. This was about Milly.

His daughter. And he would do everything in his power to find you both.

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

Asking for permission

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Is it okay to kiss you?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Can I call you later?"

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?"

"Can I touch your hair?"

"I would love to spoil you, can I do this for you?"

"Can I tell people about us?"

"Would you allow me to walk you home?"

"Is it okay to randomly text you?"

"Can I take a picture of you?"

"Can I use a picture of you as my background?"

"Is it okay if we cuddled while watching the movie?"

"Would you let me take care of this for you?"

"Are you okay with me calling you my girl/boyfriend?"

heeppy hoolida

He might be mine too bc everytime I fall out with a man boy, I come back to him

he might be the love of my life

AUSTIN BUTLER For Esquire - March 2024

Saving this for later

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝚿 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

★ 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️ playlist

Where a daughter of Aphrodite and the son of the sea god are destined for an epic romance for the ages. But in a cruel twist of fate the Gods are infamous for, only one is meant to live past sixteen. Percy will stop at nothing to defy the Fates and save the girl he loves from becoming another Greek tragedy

Pairings: Percy Jacson x fem!oc

© 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯 & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 + 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘭𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴

·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•·̊‧̥⋆͙˖̍̊•

00. the girl with everything but time

01. panic at the disco... no, really

more to be added . . .

is anyone else just trying to keep it together and finding that it gets a little harder when it never gets better or is it just me and that guy from fall out boy