Amiyah
If heaven had a convention badge, it would look like this.
Comic-Con.
New York City.
And I was walking through it flanked by Lady Tsunade and Kakashi Hatake like some kind of fever dream.
Everywhere I looked, there were people in costume, cosplayers posing for photos, kids with foam swords, grown adults arguing about the best anime arcs. It was chaotic, loud, and perfect. But what got me most wasn’t the crowd; it was them.
Calla looked unreal.
Her blonde wig was styled flawlessly, the Hokage robe flowing behind her like she’d stepped straight out of the Hidden Leaf Village and onto a runway.
The emerald pendant resting above her cleavage shimmered every time she moved, and people kept stopping to tell her how incredible she looked.
She accepted every compliment with a small, confident smile, the kind of smile that made cameras click faster.
And James, God help me, James made Kakashi look better than Kakashi.
The tactical vest fit his broad frame too well, the dark mask somehow making him even more magnetic.
Every time someone asked for a photo, he’d give that lazy, half-smirk from behind the fabric, eyes filled with quiet amusement.
He looked dangerous and amused all at once, and I caught at least three women sighing after him as we walked, one even whispering, “He can do whatever jutsu he wants to me.”
I don’t think I stopped smiling the entire morning.
Every time someone stopped us, I caught myself watching the way they looked at Calla and James, like we were some trio out of a fantasy.
And in a way, we were. They weren’t just here; they were in it with me.
They’d flown me here on a private jet, booked the Aman like it was no big deal, and then dressed up in the same world I loved just because it was a dream of mine to do this at least once in my life.
Every little gesture screamed: you matter.
I don’t think I’d ever felt so seen and desired.
When someone yelled, “Lady Tsunade, you’re amazing!” Calla turned toward me, that proud, teasing grin curving her lips. “You hear that, Hinata? Looks like I outranked you in the anime world.”
I laughed, bumping her shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it,” she said, smirking.
Then, inevitably, someone else called out, this time to me. “Hinata! Can I get a photo?”
I nodded, posing easily. As soon as the guy finished snapping his shot, he lingered a little too long, his smile sliding into something else. “You’re beautiful, I’d love to get to know you better, maybe do dinner this evening if you're free?” he asked, too casually.
Before I could respond, James stepped closer, one gloved hand resting on the small of my back. His tone was calm, but the look in his eyes? Not so much. “She’s good,” he said evenly.
The guy laughed awkwardly and shuffled off. I glanced up at James, biting back a grin. “You okay, Sensei?”
His jaw tightened a little. “Fine.”
“Mm-hm,” I teased. “You sure? ‘Cause your eye twitch says otherwise.”
Behind us, Calla chuckled low and smooth. “Easy, Carter,” she murmured, brushing her hand along his back as we started walking again. “They’re just fans, not threats.”
He exhaled, tension loosening under her touch, and I couldn’t help laughing. “You two are ridiculous,” I said.
Calla smiled knowingly. “We’re protective of what’s ours.”
“Mmmm,” I moaned softly.
Leaning forward, Calla whispered in my ear, “Keep moaning like that and we can take you back to the hotel and fill every hole.”
My body jerked in desire as I looked at Calla, her eyes glazed over with lust.
I just shook my head, smirking. “Mistress, I love when you threaten me with a good time, so if you feel I need all my holes filled, fill ‘em.”
Calla’s body stiffened as heat radiated from every inch of her, my desire to be obedient radiating from every part of her being as I walked away with a smirk on my face.
The day rolled on like that, light, playful, and full of tiny moments that felt like home. Between the photo ops and the panels, between the teasing and the inside jokes, I realized something quietly terrifying and wonderful.
This wasn’t just fun.
This was love in real time.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid to let myself enjoy it.
The crowd thickened around one of the vendor halls, all flashing lights and costume wings. We were laughing at something Calla said when I heard a voice behind me, familiar enough to turn my stomach and make my skin crawl.
“Amiyah?”
I turned and froze.
Jason Anderson.
Of all places, of all days.
He looked the same as I remembered him, clean-cut, confident, the kind of smile that used to look like charm until I learned how often he used it to talk over me—seeing him hit like cold water on bare skin.
“Wow, it is you!” he said, stepping closer. “You look incredible. I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s been far too long.”
“Hey, Jay,” I managed. My voice was calm, but my pulse wasn’t. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, you seemed to hate everything I loved back then, so this is certainly a surprise.”
His face went straight when he realized I wasn’t enthused to see him. “I’m in town for a panel. We should catch up, maybe grab a drink later? I can give you my number. There’s a lot I owe you an apology for.”
Before I could find a polite way to shut it down, I felt a familiar presence slide in beside me, James.
He didn’t say a word at first, just stepped close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the fabric of his vest. Calla’s eyes flicked from me to Jason, her expression unreadable but sharp enough to cut glass.
Jason’s smile faltered a little when he noticed them. “Oh, friends of yours?”
“Lovers,” I said evenly with pride. “And I’m not interested in a drink or a meal. I’m damn sure not interested in delayed apologies.”
James' hand found the small of my back again, steady, protective. “She’s got plans,” he said.
Jason laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure, man. No problem. Just thought I’d say hi.”
“You did,” Calla said smoothly, the faintest edge of authority in her tone. “Now we’re saying bye.”
Jason blinked, uncertain whether to be amused or offended. He muttered a quick “take care” before disappearing back into the crowd.
I exhaled, realizing only then how tight my chest had been. James didn’t move his hand. “You okay?” he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Yeah,” I said, though the word felt fragile. “Just… caught me off guard.”
Calla stepped in front of me, her hand brushing my cheek. “He doesn’t get to take up space here,” she said softly. “Not in your mind, not in your body, not in your day.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Thanks.”
James leaned down, murmuring, “He looked like he wanted to remember the woman he lost. You looked like someone who’d already moved on.”
That made me laugh, a small sound that broke the tension. “Guess I did.”
“No guessing, you have,” Calla said, smiling now.
The three of us started walking again, the noise of the convention folding back around us, bright, chaotic, and alive. I felt the warmth of James' hand linger on my back and Calla’s shoulder brushing mine, the unspoken promise of safety between them.
The ride back to the hotel was quiet, except for the city’s hustle and bustle. Calla was on her phone, scrolling absently. James sat beside me, one hand resting on my knee, the way he always did when he could sense my thoughts drifting somewhere dark.
But the silence gave my mind too much room. Jason’s face from earlier kept flashing in my head: the same easy grin, the same voice. Then suddenly, I wasn’t in New York anymore. I was back in that apartment, standing barefoot on cold tile.
Three years earlier
Fifteen weeks pregnant. Fifteen weeks of plans and baby name lists and whispered promises in the dark. Then, nothing. A cold doctor’s office. A hollowed-out ache where hope used to live.
After the miscarriage, I could barely get out of bed. The world went gray around the edges. Jason had said the right things: “I love you,” “We’ll try again,” “It’s not your fault.” I wanted to believe him, I clung to his words because the alternative was too cruel.
Then one night, I got up to get water, taking my glass with me.
My body still felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else.
I remember padding down the hallway, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Jason was in the kitchen. His voice was low but clear, the kind of voice men use when they think no one’s listening.
I froze when I heard my name.
“…glad she lost it,” he said, almost laughing. “Now I don’t have to deal with all that drama, no baby mama, no broken-home nonsense. I can finally move on clean.”
For a second, the words didn’t make sense. They floated in the air, impossible. Then he said her name, Bri, the woman he was talking to. Told her he loved her. Told her he couldn’t wait to see her later, couldn’t wait to feel her wet pussy wrapped around him.
I didn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as my hands shook so badly the glass slipped and shattered against the floor.
He turned around, eyes wide, and I saw panic, not guilt, not sorrow, just the fear of being caught.
That was the moment something in me broke for good.
“Amiyah—”
I held up a hand, shaking. “Don’t.”
He froze. For a moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, ragged, uneven. Then I looked at him, really looked at him. The man who’d held my hand in hospital hallways. The man who said we’d try again—the man who’d whispered promises over my belly like prayers.
“You chased me, Jason,” I said, voice low and trembling. “You wanted me. You’re the one who swore I was it. I wasn’t even looking for you; I was good alone.”