#side with the Hotel. She just needs the development. ))

[psychopomp-namine]

I love chain of memories so much. this is peak kingdom hearts to me.

[gctchella]

Also, the fact Sir Pentious did not appear at the Pearly Gates with St. Peter, but instead manifested right in front of Sera, who ruled out the possibility that a soul can be redeemed? That HAS to be someone in the Higher Order who knows Charlie's right and is throwing the proof directly & irrefutably in Sera's face to try getting her on the same page. It has to be, right?

[neoplatinum]

cowgirls do it better | sophia laforteza

synopsis: it's been 2 years. 2 years since your wife has ripped your heart out as she tried mending it. but now you're in her home court, to finalize the divorce. there's a couple things you need to learn about sophia's life before you leave.

pairing: (ex-ish) wife!sophia x cowgirl!reader

tags: angst, slow-burn, fluff, smut, g!p reader (don't like, don't read), alcohol, mentions of rehab, tension, marriage troubles, cheating but also not really cheating, slight religious themes, cowboys/cowgirls, a-list-celebrity!sophia, manon, more…

wc: 20.7k

"i'll be here waitin' ever so patiently, for you to snap out of it"

(part 1)

2 years later, lax, los angeles

“spare change?” 

it wasn’t how you imagined touching down in california. the casual mix of lavishness and poverty running like parallel lines through the city.

it’s not a pretty sight. 

you offer the man a couple bucks, hearing his praises of God and thanking you for your generosity. you give him a wave, leaving for your chauffeured ride. 

sophia had managed to send you a ride, with the cliché man dressed in a suit and sign with your name. the driver offers to take your duffel bags, dropping them into the trunk of his car. you hop into the car, a general feeling of restlessness running through your veins.

you swore that you would never step into this city. never let your path cross with hers again. she had her own life out here, and you had your own.

but of course, life has its own way. and you either try to fight against the current, or flow with it.

the ride was tedious at best, long traffic on the 5. sunny sunny california with people swarming. each with their own busy lives and even more complicated stories. you were just another story here, with a past that you were hoping to untangle here.

in an instant the buildings gave way to huge mountains. then you saw it, the large houses on the hills. grand spanish-style mansions, newly developed ultra modern ones with expansive windows. infinity pools on the cliffs. 

you definitely weren’t in your ranch back in new mexico. life moved differently here. you shift a bit in your seat, watching the city fly by in front of you. it's gorgeous, but you’d rather be here under different circumstances. 

the driver pulls into the ritz-carlton. definitely not the motel you booked for yourself. there’s a huge circle driveway with many nice cars parked out front for the valet. dark velvet carpets, almost welcoming you in like a star. you gave yourself a once over, the cowgirl attire wasn’t one that was common here. letting out a long sigh. you missed your idyllic life back at your ranch.

the driver drops off your bags onto a cart gently. he gives a slight nod of the head and soon a bellboy is immediately at your side. ready to push your stuff into the hotel. you’re getting money out of your wallet, when he pushes a hand out.

“ma’am, it’s been paid for. have a good rest of your day.” he leaves you and drives away.

fucking sophia. you curse her in your head. 

“of course she would do this”, you grumble to yourself, walking after the bellboy towards the receptionist’s desk. you can hear small conversations droned out by the large front lobby. there’s staff all around, ready at an instant to cater to any patron’s need. the bellboy continues to wheel the cart forward. the sound of your boots muffled by the velvet carpet.

and you arrive in front of the receptionist’s desk. several staff members rapidly typing on their computers. at the sight of you, a woman looks up, calling you up to the desk.

“good afternoon, i have a reservation.” you speak, grabbing your ID out of your wallet.

“oh perfect! we have you set up in the presidential suite.” the receptionist smiles at you, giving you a knowing look. she goes back to rapidly clicking and typing into her machine. 

“i’m sorry, do you know me?” you look a little lost.

“of course we do, miss laforteza informed us of your stay.” she offers a trained smile.

fucking sophia.

“right, of course…well, thank you.” you’re left a bit annoyed. 

who was she to dictate where you were going?

“here’s your room key and please feel free to call room service at any point. your tab has already been covered.” she explains, sliding over a small folder with your hotel keycard.

you offer an awkward smile to the receptionist before walking off to the elevators. your cowboy heels clack loudly against the waxed floor. 

you smooth out your hair for a second, already feeling annoyed that everything’s been paid for by sophia.

“may i see your card?” the bellboy askes you. you slide him your keycard, watching the way his eyes go wide at it.

he opens the large elevator and taps the keycard to head to the highest level of the hotel. and the elevator shoots up, rapidly climbing the tower where you can gaze out at the open city shrinking below you.

you admire the city for another couple of seconds when the elevator dings, and the doors open. 

you trail after the bellboy, entering the long hallway adorned with a gold and white floor. large oil paintings lining the walls, with individual lamps illuminating each one.

it’s starting to dawn on you that maybe you really don’t know sophia. you don’t know how she can afford this lavishness, enough to book you the presidential suite.

he opens the large doors to the suite for you, opening to the largest room you’ve ever stepped into. floor to ceiling windows peering over the city. a gorgeous large round table with a bouquet centerpiece. 

beautiful couches and sectionals just in the main area that you’ve walked into. you can spot at least three doors that must lead into their individual rooms.

“wow, i’ve never stepped in here.” the bellboy gives a whistle as he places your bags by the couches. he gives the room a once over before turning to you. “anything else i can help you with ma’am?”

“uh, no i’m all good.” you reply. and he’s starting to walk away, pushing the luggage cart. “wait! here, take this.” 

you hand him a 20, to which he smiles and happily pockets. closing the door behind him. 

and now you’re left in the presidential suite in a ritz-carlton.

you walk around, taking in the room, opening doors to more living rooms and bedrooms. a large california king with softer than silk duvets. the showers are humongous, enough to fit at least ten people inside. a beautiful vintage ceramic bathtub that is seated near the window. you eventually open to the balcony, a large infinity pool rushing with water. perfectly shaped hedges off to the side.

you can’t help but feel this is too much for you. this lavish suite is definitely worth more than your entire ranch and some.

you take off your boots by the door, getting situated in your suite. admiring the amount of closet space that’s available.

when you suddenly get a call.

“hello?” you prop the phone on your shoulder. trying your best to continue unpacking your duffel bags.

“hi! this is sarah from davidson & partners. i have you scheduled for a meeting at 1pm tomorrow, just calling to confirm.”

you roll your eyes, what a great way to get introduced to the state. 

“yes, i’ll be there.” 

“perfect, see you then!” and then she hangs up. 

you tuck your phone away, this was going to be a long trip. 

maybe you could take yourself sightseeing while you were here. trying to get the heavy feelings off your mind. 

trying to get a certain woman out of your mind.

you walk out the suite, ready to get out of this over-the -top suite when you hear a voice call out. 

“hey, neighbor!” a woman’s voice comes out light and inviting. you swivel your head to a gorgeous woman. dressed like she just stepped out of her nearest tailor shop. a gorgeous blazer and pencil skirt that fitted her perfectly.

you blink a bit before collecting yourself, walking up to her with a hand out.

“hi, nice to meet you.” you offer, she shakes your hand. warm and smooth fingers that slide into yours.

“i’m manon, have i seen you before?” she asks, presenting a charming smile, pearly white teeth and sharp eyes to pair.

“probably not, it’s my first time in california.” you reply, tucking your hand into your belt again.

“are you here to do touristy things? or would you like the inside scoop?” manon winks a bit, clearly amused by your out of state attire and look. 

you don’t miss how she’s given you at least two top to bottom scans.    

“i’m figuring it out…” you gesture aimlessly. then a thought runs through, “you recommend a place to enjoy some peace and quiet?”

“there’s an absolutely gorgeous beach not too far from here.” she grabs a quick paper from her hotel pad, jotting down the directions for you.

“thanks, manon.” you pocket the slip, “i’ll see you around.”

you give a quick wave, and she waves back too.

“buy me a drink sometime!” manon shouts before closing her hotel door.

you descend down the very fast elevator and are about to grab a ride when the valet walks up to you, keys in hand.

“hi! miss laforteza informed us you might need a car during your stay. here’s the car she requested.” he gives you a bright smile, dropping a pair of keys into your hands.

and you swivel your head to a cherry red vintage jeep wrangler. open chassis and red rims to match. 

jesus, she even remembered your dream car.

“i, thank you.” you wave the guy off and he heads back to his stand. your eyes drift to the car again, a clean exterior and interior. you give a little tire check with your boot and examine the engine.

it’s well maintained, clean oil and no sign of leaks.

she did her research, color you impressed. she even remembered the small details. your favorite scent of car freshener dangling by the mirror. you hop in the car, engine rumbling smoothly, it’s obvious this car had a good owner.

you pull off the lot and head to a beach. the wind in your hair and you can hear the seagulls cawing by the ocean. it’s a gorgeous sight, rays of sun peeking into the car. 

you gradually come to a parking spot, locking the car and tossing the keys in hand as you walk away. the beach is looking magnificent, there are some people playing beach volleyball and others still tanning. 

meanwhile, you’re in your cowgirl getup, a little too dressed for the occasion. peeling off your boots and rolling your pants far enough to keep them from getting wet.

you can feel the sand in between your toes. the sand warmed by the sun. and then you step forward, walking towards the ocean and pushing sand behind you.

the ocean is beautiful, gorgeous small waves crashing against the shore. leaving behind darker wet sand. you let the wave crash against your feet, cold ocean water as a contrast against the warm sand.

it’s definitely gorgeous out here, you can’t remember the last time you were by the ocean, maybe when you were a kid?

letting nature continue to move between your toes. water running around your legs and retreating back to the ocean.

then a dog runs past you, darting across the waters in front of you. tongue hanging out his mouth as he chases after a small rubber ball.

he catches it in his mouth and darts back to his owner. a kid no older than ten and cheering his dog on. you smile warmly at the scene unfolding. 

his dog barks loudly, awaiting another throw to which the young boy launches the ball forward.

“go, max!” you hear him shout, and the dog’s already leaped into the air, mouth open as he grabs snatches it out the air. the young boy rejoices when the dog turns around.

it reminds you of charlie, his beautiful eyes staring at you whenever you fill his bowl, or pet him right behind the ears.

maybe it’s slipped past you, maybe in this life you don’t get what you want.

instead you focus out, looking at the sun casting on the water, ripples that look like diamonds dancing on the surface. you can spot some yachts out far away, large cargo ships in the distance.

the water continues to splash against your legs, you feel at peace here. there’s nothing else but you and nature right now. 

you let your shoulders drop, the tension from having to come to california has weighed on your mind. you try to let yourself relax for a while, watching the ocean as it comes and goes.

--

“no lara, listen to me, it’s not like that.” sophia rambles on the phone, trying to grab a smoothie from her fridge.

“yeah, and how would you describe this? hollywood star sophia laforteza seen walking into davidson & partners. literally the best known divorce firm in all of california.” lara is mocking her, reading off a fake tmz headline. “maybe there’s a secret life sophia’s hiding?”

sophia rolls her eyes at the comment, “it’s going to be fine lara. i’ll be discreet.” sophia uncaps the smoothie, drinking it as her friend continues to express her worries.

“discreet isn’t exactly your style sophie.” lara laughs out. 

and sure she may be right, but sophia could be discreet, right?

“nuh uh, you’re probably trying to convince yourself you can be discreet. and the answer is no.

sophia’s jaw drops. “i can be discreet!” 

“you’re about as discreet as a peacock. now listen, what you need to do is meet her somewhere else. somewhere out the public eye.” lara shuffles a bit over the phone, and sophia sets her smoothie down.

“like where?” sophia’s waiting for a magical answer.

“somewhere like uh…what about her hotel?” lara lets it roll off her tongue and immediately sophia feels like a train crash.

“that is the worst idea i’ve heard yet. and you’ve convinced me to go to an award show hungover.” sophia laughs a bit.

“you booked the room, the chauffeur, and the car. i think you’re allowed to go inside.”

“she’s going to shoot me in between my eyes before i open the door.” sophia picks up the smoothie again, grimacing at the taste.

“no she wouldn’t! she married you.” lara explains.

“yeah, that was before she found out i had a fiancé.” sophia rolls her eyes again.

“well, pseudo-fiancé, maybe you could profess your undying love and make more babies, because this one is so darn cute!” lara coos at the toddler. “yes you are! yes you are!”

“lara please, she hates my guts, practically told me so when she ran out on me.” sophia laments. 

the feelings still burn like an open wound.

“so she hates you but you still kept her kid?” lara questions.

“i still love her, you know that.” sophia sighs out.

its quiet for a second.

“your mom is so dramatic isn’t she?” lara’s voice has gone up in pitch, playing with sophia’s kid. “yes she is! yes she is!”

sophia can hear her baby babbling and squealing in delight. “anyways, don’t meet her at the firm, paps are watching you like a hawk.”

“you don’t have to remind me.” sophia lets out with a sigh. 

there used to be a time where she could just exist, without worry of the public. but those days are long gone.

suddenly there’s rustling sounds and a loud wail from the speakers.

“uh oh, your baby just crapped her pants. say bye bye now!” sophia can hear the lara’s poor imitation just above her baby’s wails. “auntie lara signing off, go win her back!”

and then the line hangs up, sophia doesn’t even have time to say goodbye.

“fuck.” 

sophia throws her head in her hands.

--

“hello?” you’re half dressed, wearing shorts and a tank with your hair all over. still rubbing your eye as you try to sharpen enough.

“hi, good morning! it’s sarah from davidson’s, we spoke yesterday. mind if we come up? 

“huh? yeah sure, come on up.” you speak into the hotel phone. half drowsy when you look over and see 7 am flashing on the alarm clock.

you stumble a bit as you approach the door, hearing quick knocks against the door.

“coming, just one second!” 

you rush back to slide on some longer pants and head for the door, unlocking it to the sight of two very well dressed lawyers. both with polite smiles on their face.

“sorry to bother you so early, but it’s urgent.” the woman states and you let them in. 

immediately they place their briefcases on the table. taking out pens, recorders, legal pads and laptops.

behind them, two security guards walk in. they immediately begin scanning the suite. large devices that are moving up and down the rooms. they approach each window and immediately pull the blinds, covering the outside light from coming in. 

it’s like the secret service securing the west wing.

“hey, what are they doing here?” you ask, still yawning a bit.

“that’s our intel security team, we need to ensure this space isn’t tapped since we’re away from our firm. it’s standard protocol.” sarah is very direct, the smile disappears off her face as she sips on her coffee.

her counterpart is rapidly typing on his laptop, flipping through binders like a madman, but with precision behind each move.

“is this really necessary? it’s just me here.” you ask, a little perturbed at the intrusion.

“have you heard of brad and angelina, or bill and melinda? well those clients pay us, pardon my language, a shit ton of money to keep their divorces private.” sarah continues, not missing a beat as she types on her own laptop.

“it’s in our and your best interest that we follow procedures.”

“right…sorry for the offense ma’am.” you offer back.

“none taken. just doing our jobs.” she continues to drink her coffee. and suddenly the door is closed behind you, gone are the two mysterious men that stepped in.

“john, intel team left, place is clean, put that in the notes.” sarah speaks to the other lawyer, rapid typing ensuing.

“i thought we were meeting at the firm?” you ask, letting your arms hang on the back of a chair.

sarah looks away from her screen.

“mrs. laforteza requested to move up the meeting and in a discreet location, so we’re here to set up in time for her arrival.”

“here? as in this room?” you ask, the shock making you stand up taller.

“yes, this room. she’ll be here in…” sarah looks down at her watch, “15 minutes, well 14 now.”

“15 minutes?” you’re wide eyed and stunned, rushing off to the bathroom. trying to freshen up before seeing sophia again. 

you can feel your heart hammering as you brush your teeth. memories flowing through you as you wash your face. you try to calm your clammy and shaky hands.

you can still hear the hushed whispers from the lawyers, 

putting on a shirt over your head, you step out, still looking tired. but definitely more presentable than how you woke up.

you’re ready to drop your shoulders when there’s a sudden knock on the door.

shit.

you smooth your hair out once more and walk towards the door. giving a final breath and opening it.

the light from the windows illuminate sophia. she’s got a cap, sunglasses, dark clothes and no makeup in sight. 

she doesn’t look like the woman that broke your heart.

you gesture to her to walk in, not even able to greet her. she gives a nod when she walks in. immediately you smell the familiar scent of her perfume. you inhale the scent enough that make your heart beat quicker.

it pulls you in, like it always has. truthfully, you don’t know if you’ll ever be tired of the scent.

eyes on the ground as she walks away, trying not to show how affected you are. even without a single touch she has your insides all shaken up. 

you follow behind her, taking notice of her slow steps. like she’d rather just run out the door at a moment’s notice. 

sophia pulls a seat on the other side, dropping her purse lightly. your eyes watch her intently, like you’re tracking her. after some searching, she takes out a folder filled with documents, all tabbed with notes. you watch her separate them into piles, hand meticulous and deft.

sarah and her counterpart watch her as well.

sophia finally settles in her seat. and gives a nod to the lawyers.

“welcome to the first divorce settlement conference.” sarah starts, “we will begin recording…now.”

you watch her press a button on the recorder. the room’s feeling a bit too stuffy now. it’s really here, the dreaded divorce that you tried to put away, just like the stubborn feelings you had.

she gives you a quick glance, just enough to commit your face to memory now. your cheeks are more sunken and those dark circles spell trouble. 

in you, there’s a war against what you want and what you need. you listen to what you need. barely sparing sophia a glance, she doesn’t deserve it. in your head she didn’t deserve any of you, but in your heart…it still beat for her.

“now let’s get the structure of these meetings understood. we will be discussing property division, child support, and spousal support if applicable.” sarah continues.

“this is my colleague, who will be here for note-taking as well as shifting responsibilities as needed.”

you and sophia both give a firm nod.

“let’s start with property division. under page 2, section 5a.” sarah begins, flipping to a new section of her binder.

you both follow suit with your own copies. eyes reaching past all the legal jargon.

“the ranch in new mexico, measured at twenty acres. including livestock, house, and the barn.”

“that’s mine.” you speak up, and sophia snaps her eyes up to you, crossed arms that loosen at the sight of you.

she hasn’t heard your voice in all this time, a pained reminder of the last words you said, correction: shouted at her.

“mrs. laforteza?” sarah questions.

“that’s hers, and sophia, just sophia.” sophia replies.

“sophia, and thank you.” the lawyers are scribbling and typing in their laptops.

it’s strange how calm the room is. four people here to settle a divorce in the presidential suite of a ritz-carlton.

you grab a sip of water, watching sophia through your eye line. 

she’s a bit dazed, eyes that seem so lost. and maybe if you weren’t so heartbroken, you would offer some comfort.

“great, next is the large 1930s spanish-style mansion in the hollywood hills, measured at seven thousand square feet. 6 bedrooms, 8 bathrooms.” sarah continues.

your eyes nearly bulge out.

“that’s hers.” you speak up, coughing a bit as you clear your throat.

“sophia?”

“yes, that is mine.” sophia shifts her legs a bit.

you sink into your seat, this was going to be a long meeting. 

the hours continue, discussions of property grew to be extensive. you didn’t realize how much needed to be accounted for. 

as well as revealing how much money sophia had accumulated. the star was definitely well-paid. 

and you were slowly realizing how small you felt.

there was nothing comparable to the net worth of sophia laforteza. you once felt so confident and proud of your ranch, a safe haven for you both. but now you feel like maybe you weren’t a good enough provider.

maybe that’s why she left you.

you snap out of your spiral when the lawyers call for a break. giving time for a short walk and stretch. 

you do notice that sophia’s been unfocused. blank stares as the lawyers discuss among themselves.

“would anyone like room service?” you ask into the air. and the two lawyers walk over to you.

“coffee and a bagel with cream cheese please.” you scribble it down.

“would you like anything?” you turn to the other lawyer.

“also coffee, but i’ll have a muffin and apple.” you jot down their orders, and writing another line as you call room service.

room services picks up immediately at the first ring, a woman helping you get all the orders down with efficiency. 

sophia’s still in a daze, her hand slightly shaking in her lap.

you try not to notice it, especially given your now relationship with her. 

when room service arrives, you thank the server. offering a tip as he exits the room again. the lawyers are eager to have something in their stomach. 

you can imagine the hours are also taking a toll on them.

but your mind is focused on the other person in the room. you walk towards sophia with a bowl of fruit and yogurt and a glass of water in hand.

placing it down in front of her, causing her to focus again. a light gasp when she sees your face so close. 

“this is for you, i bet you haven’t had anything today.” you say softly.

it’s not supposed to mean anything, just a simple gesture. but to sophia, she feels like she could crumble.

sophia nods firmly, a bit too firmly. its like the words won’t come out her throat. like she isn’t still madly in love with you.

“excuse me for a second.” sophia makes a quick dash for the bathroom. and you watch her retreating body disappear behind the door.

both lawyers stare at the door as well, giving you a quick look before returning to their conversation.

what you don’t know is that sophia’s sobbing. crying into her mouth so she doesn’t let out a sound.

how could she ever act like she isn’t completely and utterly in love with you? how you still stir up feelings in her body that make her want to reach out to you?

how she had to give herself a ten minute pep talk in her car before stepping out.

God, she was a wreck. 

she gives herself a minute. just one. enough to pull herself together, broken sobs and pain shooting in her heart. 

you stand by the door, caught between wanting to knock and wanting to give her space.

“fia?” you ask. “you okay?”

you faintly hear it, a sob that’s trying to break out of her throat. 

“i’ll be-i’ll be out in a second!” she tries her best to sound normal. rapidly wiping tears off her face and giving herself a quick check in the mirror.

thank God for waterproof mascara. 

she looks presentable, just enough to cover the traces of her tears. with a shaky breath she moves for the door, opening it to you on the other side.

your worried eyes that look too warm, in her mind a flash of angry eyes hit her. it reminds her why she’s here. why you ran out on her with resentment in your eyes.

but you stand here, unmoving and looking into her. and she nearly breaks again, digging her nail into her thigh, trying to keep the tears at bay. long enough to get through this.

you want to ask her what’s wrong but she gives you a controlled smile. one that lets you know she doesn’t want to speak about it. and she doesn’t, instead she walks back to her chair. 

calmly sitting again and scooping yogurt into her mouth. you pull the chair next to her, resuming the silent war between both of your conflicting feelings.

the lawyers both return to their chairs. and offer each other a look when sarah speaks.

“thank you both for a productive meeting, we will meet again in two days.” 

sarah and her counterpart gather all their belongings again. tucked away neatly into their briefcases. both offering a handshake before leaving. 

you shake their hands and thank them for their time. watching them until they close the door behind them. 

then you’re left with sophia. 

you’re left with sophia.

you turn towards her, watching her pack her purse with all the documents she had laid out. she’s in a slight hurry, you can tell by the frazzled eyes and jittery hands. 

she also realizes that she’s left with you.

you stand off to the side, silently watching her. she then shifts back, pushing the chair in and she then tries walking out.

you feel yourself panic, something unsettling erupting in your stomach. 

“thanks for everything. you know, the hotel, the car, everything.” you speak quickly. “you didn’t have to.”

“you’re welcome. it’s really no problem.” sophia’s voice is shaky. 

she waits a beat. 

“it’s nice. to see you, i mean.”

and without another word she walks out the door, closing the door behind her.

you sink into yourself, feeling yourself cringe at the comment. you felt so stupid speaking up.

--

“so spill, how was it?” lara lounges on sophia’s couch, sparkly eyes as she’s trying to pry. 

sophia gives a sigh before joining her on the couch.

“it was…amicable.” sophia didn’t want to talk about how she broke down crying in your bathroom. how you reminded her of her wedding day. 

she’d rather shove all those feelings down.

instead sophia recounts, you looked familiar. too skinny in her mind. you definitely lost weight, she had hoped it wasn’t because of her.

“amicable? your wife hates your guts and she’s amicable!” lara exclaims. 

“it’s not like a movie, you know? we may be actresses but that’s not her.” sophia continues to explain.

“what about you? i bet you were shaking like a chihuahua.” lara spoke.

“i was not! i was very professional.” sophia exclaims. “she was too.”

lara groans, “that’s not fun!”

“divorce settlements aren’t meant to be fun.” sophia explains.

“not as fun as you, right?” lara lifts anna into the air, the baby squealing loudly.

“hand her to me.” sophia opens her arms, and then the baby is propped in her lap. “i saw your mama today, she’s still very pretty.”

the baby babbles a bit, “mama.”

“yes, your mama. she’s lost some weight.” sophia says gently, rocking her toddler slowly. “i’ll have to make her some sinigang.”

anna claps her hands together in excitement.

“okay, this is really sweet, but you’re making me sad.” lara speaks up, and sure sophia’s thought about it. “and i don’t get sad, so go make up with her.”

“i can’t. and you know why.” 

“fuck him! he doesn’t get to dictate your life just because his daddy’s got a big name.” lara scoffs, grabbing anna again.

sophia shakes her head. in an ideal world thomas never existed, or any kind of person like thomas. 

in her ideal life she had you, anna, and grew together. maybe had a couple anna’s with you.

but she’s dug herself in this hole, and she needs to dig herself out.

--

“mrs. laforteza, hey, it’s good to hear from you.” you dig a stick a little further in the sand. 

you stare into the sand, drawing small circles. 

“hi dear, how are you?” mrs. laforteza’s warm voice comes through the phone. 

it’s comforting. she’s like a second mom. you basically grew up in her house.

eating dinner with her, cleaning dishes, helping mr. laforteza with ranch work. it felt like you were always meant to be in this family.

“it went okay…” you drag out, thinking about your stay here. 

the divorce settlement meeting was tense, and its driven you away from the hotel. the room feeling suffocating despite how big it was. you keep feeling this unsettling feeling that something’s wrong.

something’s wrong and you don’t know how to fix it.

so instead, you’ve been spending many hours outside, enjoying the summer sun. trying to find peace with life as it is, especially with the divorce coming.

“just okay? you don’t sound like someone who is okay.” she speaks.

you can hear charlie’s pants through the speakers.

“i’ll be alright, it’s really nice out here.” you look out to the ocean, squinting as you look at the rays of light. “i get why she came out here.”

“i’m sure.” 

mrs. laforteza has always been sweet, trying to be as gentle as she can. knowing that her daughter has broken your heart. “she’s trying to fly us out soon.”

“yeah you both would really like it here.”

maybe a part of you is stuck, stuck waiting for some big reveal that sophia didn’t mean to crack your heart.

you tried moving on. all the worries, pain and anguish slowly dying within you. but some days the feelings overwhelm you, and it’s like you’re back at square one.

“listen dear, you’ll always be a daughter to us, married or not.” mrs. laforteza continues and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. “never forget that.”

you nod but then realize how she wouldn’t see that. 

“of course ma’am, thank you for always being there.”

“oh honey, we’ll always be here.” 

you hear charlie's yips as he chases after a ball that sophia’s dad is throwing.

“you think she meant it?” you ask into the open air.

“meant what, dear?”

“you think she meant to break my heart?” you feel like retracting the question as soon as it came out of your mouth. 

who in their right mind asks their mother-in-law this?

“i don’t think she meant to. i think she wanted to save what she could, and your heart paid the price.” you listen to the faint noise of a rocking chair as she continues.

“sometimes, i wish she never liked me back.” you say it and truly you don’t mean it. 

but it stings a little less to imagine a world where you weren’t as foolishly in love.

“honey, that girl loved you the second she laid eyes on you.” mrs. laforteza laughs out loud.

“when i saved her from those coyotes?” you let out a choked laugh at the memory.

“she came running back the ranch, screaming her head off about how you protected her and looked so cool.”

you wipe a tear from your eye. 

“what else did she say?”

“she told me she was going to marry you someday. swore on the Bible she would.” 

you still your movement. 

“did she?” you ask, your heart is blossoming in that way that your brain hates. hates how she still had you wrapped around her finger.

“sure did.”

you let the silence hang in the air. listening to seagulls and soft waves crashing against the shore. trying to think about your next steps, what life would mean for you once you’re really divorced.

suddenly a voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“hey, neighbor!” a familiar light voice comes through, you tilt your head just enough to see her. large glasses and a beach shawl covering a bikini set. she looks ready to enjoy the beach. you give a light wave to her, as she sits next to you. a large grin on her face.

“hey, it’s good to see you.” you offer, and she nods a bit, watching you, observing the way the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“i would say the same, but you seem a bit…what’s the word? sulky?” manon shrugs, a bit of amusement in her face as she watches you lean back in shock.

“i am not sulky!” you exclaim, hand on your heart like you’re clutching a pearl necklace.

“then what is this?” she points at your six pack of beer, a couple already popped open and empty, grabbing one to open.

“this is…leisure…” you gesture to the space around you. she gives you that look, the kind of look your friend gives you when they know you’re full of shit.

“you’re not convincing anyone with those eyes.” she points out, taking a sip of beer with you, a slight grimace at the taste. 

“what about my eyes?” you take another swig, looking back onto the shoreline, watching someone swim out.

“sad, like you have a thousand yard stare kind of sad.” she laughs to herself as she explains it. 

and really if you had to guess, maybe you do given everythings that’s been happening to you.

“i’m just…dealing with a lot.” you explain, she takes another sip of her beer, despite the taste.

“yeah? tell me about me.” she urges you on, nudging your shoulder a bit. and really life has been so down, you’re more than compelled to spill your secrets out.

“the reason i'm here,” you gesture at the area around you. “is because my wife is divorcing me. i’m here to settle the divorce.” 

and clearly that wasn’t the response manon was expecting. she’s taken aback, slowly digesting and trying to find the words to comfort you.

“wow, that’s a lot. yeah i don’t blame you for doing this.” she comments, trying her best to lend an ear. you give her a nod, thanking her just for the company. 

it’s nice to have someone who knows nothing about her past, a clean slate.

“is it her fault?” manon asks you, genuine interest in her eyes.

“i think so.” you offer. manon doesn’t press further, eyes also watching the ocean, sitting quietly together and admiring the sunset.

“well, to a clean and quick divorce!” manon lifts her glass, you lift yours too. making a light clinking sound as you both sit in silence once more.

--

this was not how sophia wanted to start her morning.

“sophia! my lovely fiancé! to what do i owe the pleasure?” his slimy voice coming through the speakers.

sophia’s already burning. a hot heat of anger spreading through her nervous system. 

a reaction to the sickly headlines funneling out of drama journals and anyone that cared remotely about sophia’s career.

“thomas. getting caught in ibiza with supermodels?” sophia bites out, her manager sitting beside her. tablet in hand as they scroll through the damning evidence.

“easy tiger…i was just celebrating my birthday. you know how those weekends go.” sophia can hear his cockiness through the phone. “which, by the way, you should’ve posted about, it’s pr 101.”

sophia wants to scream. she has not worked this hard in her career to be seen as anything less than a star in her own right.

this man is going to drag her reputation down with his.

“happy belated…but learn to cover your bases, asshole.” 

“stop acting like my mother.” his voice turns into that disgusting condescending tone. 

the one he puts on when he thinks he’s better than you. 

“more importantly, how’s the divorce settlement going?”

it grates against sophia’s ears. 

“it’s going well, don’t get into my business.” sophia scoffs.

“well, then don’t get into mine.” he retorts back. 

sophia continues to try to not curse him out. her manager looking at her in worry, all sophia can do is try to think about happy thoughts.

happy thoughts about anna or you.

he coughs a bit.

“you better attend my dad’s birthday gala next weekend.” 

she thinks about it, thinks about how she’d rather be at home with anna. but duty calls.

“fine. send over the details.”

he hangs up, sending an address and time. and sophia’s losing her mind all over again.

shouting at no one in particular about how much of a jackass thomas is. how his incessant need for the party lifestyle is going to ruin sophia’s life.

she needs a way out, and she needs it soon.

--

this wasn’t how sophia wanted to plan her evening. she wanted to be at home, a glass of wine in hand as she watches some silly tv show for the fiftieth time.

she’d play with anna and lounge outside the backyard. or have a lazy night swim.

but here she is in her long cocktail dress, a jacket adorned with pearls to match. it’s enough to stay afloat at the party, enough to be noticed, but also not stand out. 

with all the old executives and their much-too-young trophy wives on display, sophia wants to leave.

thomas has already turned on his flashy smiles at his dad’s friends. each of them giving respectable nods, just enough to acknowledge him, but not enough to respect him.

he tried parading sophia around, introducing her as his fiancé, to which many seemed disinterested. some women even looked at her in pity, but she held her head high enough.

luckily she spotted lara not too far away.

“oh thank god you’re here, these people are so boring.” lara starts, giving everyone an evil eye before smiling at sophia.

sophia feels exactly the same.

“i hate going to these. no one cares anyways.” sophia continues, and honestly her life has been feeling like that lately.

she’s still a very high profile star, but with the status comes having to attend these more than necessary events. to mingle and be amongst those that run the industry, it gets boring to a point.

“how’s anna?” lara asks, softly tilting her champagne flute around. 

that lights up sophia’s eyes.

“so cute, the babysitter just sent this photo.” and sophia shows the young toddler, sound asleep and tucked into her bed. with her mouth hanging slightly open.

“aw that munchkin, she’s so adorable.” lara coos at the photo.

“i know, yesterday she was trying to open all the kitchen cabinets.” sophia shows another photo of the young girl, wide eyed and caught by sophia’s camera.

sophia reminisces on the photos, scrolling to one that made her heart clench. 

it was a picture of a frayed photo of you and sophia, much younger and much stupider.

silly marks on each other’s faces and stickers all over your shirt. sophia’s wearing your cowboy hat and you’re wearing the pair of boots she gifted you. both seated on mr. laforteza’s truck bed.

lara gives a quick look at sophia, watching the way she pauses herself. admiring memories of her youth that she left behind.

lara looks a little closer.

“anna has her eyes.” lara points her finger down, “the way she scrunches them with her smiles. it’s just like hers.”

“really? i never noticed that.” sophia zooms in on you, the way you smile so hard that your eyes disappear. 

anna does the same whenever she’s finished with her food, or accidentally knocks over a cup of milk.

sophia feels like she could throw up at the fact. 

she’s been trying so hard to keep the memories of you alive in anna’s life. showing her old photos that she stole from the ranch house. reminding her of her other parent.

enough to make anna realize that you are indeed her mama. and sometimes sophia thinks she can recognize you, or maybe she’s just repeating the words back.

when really you always existed in anna.

“i think you should tell her about anna.” it’s not accusatory or said without knowing the context between you two. 

lara had been the first friend sophia made when coming to california. two girls with dreams in their heads and hopes in their hearts. to “make it” out here in hollywood. discussing their dreams and deepest fears of what makes them human. bonding over that shared desire for greater.

so really, lara understood her. understood how the fear of rejection from you would break sophia all over again. 

she saw it firsthand when sophia returned to california. she wasn’t the same, barely was able to pull herself long enough to go outside. 

and when sophia first got her morning sickness, lara was the one waiting in the bathroom with her. waiting for the pregnancy tests together.

“i want‐i want to. but i’m scared. i’m scared she’ll realize that she wants nothing to do with me or anna.” 

sophia speaks truthfully, it broke everything in her when you told her to leave. she had never seen you so angry and upset, like a caged deer, trying so hard to escape. 

she couldn't bear to hear how you don’t want her anymore. her heart would crack open again.

and what if you didn’t want to be involved in anna’s life?

“but what if she did? anna deserves a chance to know her.” lara continues, a sad warm smile on her face. “they both deserve the chance to be in each other’s life.”

it’s not like sophia hadn’t contemplated this before. each prenatal visit making her cry all over again. the ultrasounds, the first heartbeat, even the delivery.

she wished you would just burst through the doors, rushed comments about traffic running late and hold her hand as she went through this scary pregnancy. comforting words and soft affection as she went through the trimesters.

she wouldn’t trade anything for anna. she just wish you were here to experience it with her.

lara lets the topic go, it’s hard to see her closest friend so caught in between worlds. so much of her life she sacrificed and only to be left unsatisfied. it’s heartbreaking, and she hopes sophia will get her happiness back.

to much of the dismay of sophia, thomas’s father began speaking. welcoming all the guests through loudspeakers in his mansion. attracting the attention of all guests, but sophia’s heard this speech at every previous party before. how he owes all his accomplishments to a very special mentor of his. and then he gives that short anecdote about being a young and bright-eyed filmmaker. hoping to get his projects out into the world.

with a slight tug of her arm, lara pulls her away from the crowd, all entranced by the story.

“he’ll probably go on for another hour, come on, let’s go see if there’s some good liquor.” lara smirks. dragging sophia away from the main room, soon they’re walking across marbled flooring. large doors leading into the big pool out back, fountains pouring into the pool.

lara eventually pulls them into a large room. large dark oak bookshelves lining the back wall. each filled with hard covered books lining each shelve. a single lamp illuminating the room. large arabian carpets covering the floor. a heavy wooden desk sat close to the bookshelves. a fit study room for a world-renowned director.

“this camera probably costs more than a house.” lara points out the giant standing camera in the other corner of the room, and sophia would agree. 

it drives her insane how much of thomas’ life was just handed to him, the opulence, the trust fund, all of it simply because he was born into the family. sometimes sophia wished thomas never existed. didn’t use his unlimited power for evil, to manipulate and control the weak.

“shit, sophia. come look at this.” sophia walks towards lara, finding her looking at an open drawer, a manila folder already opened on the table. “S.L.” in bold letters stamped on the front.

images spill out from the manila folder, each one from different events that sophia has attended. either red carpets or pictures from her acting. it’s haunting, it’s like she’s being watched. 

and then it gets worse. 

there’s photos of her child, anna running around in sophia’s backyard. photos of sophia lifting her kid in the air and spinning her around. it makes sophia sick to her stomach. 

“lara, lara…” sophia turns to lara with tears in her eyes, shock making her ears pop and tinnitus ringing. her blood has run cold and so has her body, a slight shaking as she steps away from the table, away from the contents of her private life being captured.

“sophia, it’s okay, come on focus on me.” lara’s trying to stabilize a very lost sophia, her eyes keep darting everywhere. there’s thoughts flowing faster than water down an edge of a cliff.

“he knows. he knows anna.” sophia can feel her breath getting shorter, it’s harder to breath in deeper without feeling like she’ll hyperventilate. and lara’s trying her best to calm her down. but fuck if this isn’t a slap in the face.

she tried so hard to protect anna, going as far as to disappear to give birth. not even letting thomas near her or to see her. it was her way of protecting anna and protecting you.

“what else is in there? i bet that jackass has other dirt on me.” sophia asks through harder breaths. the sudden shock and stress is constricting her airways. 

lara’s searching through the folder, eventually dumping it all out on the table. and out flys two contracts.

“it’s your acting contract.” lara’s quickly reading through it, familiar clauses from her very own. the clauses of work, management, pr image, conditions of pay. all of it laid out and then lara lands on a tab. highlighted in orange and circled in red pen. conditions of pr image and the ability for the company to manage sophia’s pr image if it were to slip into a scandal. and possible pr management rights reserved for the company. 

“hold on…” lara flips through the rest of the contract, finding nothing else out of the ordinary. “something’s not right.”

sophia’s holding onto the edge of the hardwood desk, trying to count to four in her head during each breath, slowly bringing down her heart rate. she can barely hear lara through the ringing. 

“did you know about this?” lara looks at sophia, another contract in hand. 

“what?” sophia barely gets out, straightening herself when lara is breezing through the contract.

“it’s thomas. the trust. the inheritance. all of it.” lara continues to read through the pages, eyes moving left and right. “sophia. his father’s trust! the marriage, it’s all for inheritance.” 

lara turns the page over to sophia, and even with her half breaths she can see the clauses: public-facing equal, married by 30 years of age, inheritance. 

all of it is slowly piecing together. the urgency for the divorce, the sudden interest in sophia’s career. the manipulation and coercion of marriage was all to guarantee the inheritance of his father’s net worth. eventually he would secure his position to acquire his father’s businesses. 

how could sophia be so stupid?

all because of a stupid clause that sophia signed when she was still a bright-eyed actress hoping to land her first big role in hollywood. only because she didn’t hire a lawyer to read the fine print of all the clauses in her contract. 

it had cost her autonomy and the disrepair of her relationship with you. and if sophia had to guess, he was going to drag anna into it too. some sick leverage to get this marriage on the fast-track to secure his position.

all because she signed to a slimy acting agency run by thomas’ father. and all because thomas got his hands on her acting contract.

“i’m going to strangle him lara.” sophia gets out her phone, taking photos of the contract. every single photo or page in the manila folder all documented now in her phone.

“sophie, let’s be smart about this okay?” lara starts, already taking photos of her own as a backup. “we need a way out, we have to do this smart and quick.” 

sophia nods.

“you have dirt on him right now, this contract, the coercion of marriage, his scandals. you know all about it.”

lara continues, thinking about how to use this to their advantage.

sophia continues to read over the inheritance, all of it is so obvious, thomas is after his dad’s assets. in an attempt to secure his position over his brother. he’s using sophia as a chess piece for his plan to take over. a coup.

“leak it.”

lara speaks up suddenly. her eyes are deep in thought, she keeps flipping through all the evidence. “leak it anonymously.”

“what?” sophia stops, confusion in her eyes as she looks at lara.

“make it an exposé, if his dad found out that thomas never went to rehab. and spent his money partying. dragging one of the biggest stars of hollywood into a coercive marriage. that would spell the end for thomas moore. he’d never be let out of his dad’s grasp again.”

lara begins texting people in her phone, a plan to drop pieces of evidence all over the next couple of days. a sudden exposé piece would send thomas into hiding. 

“what if it backfires, lara? i can’t lose her or anna.” sophia panics, still worried about how this will all blow up in her face.

“we have a way out.” lara is confident, a large smile on her face, even if it was the last thing she could do, she would help sophia no matter what. “he’s tormented you for years sophie, the manipulation, the controlling. he took you away from her. he did this.” 

lara points at the pictures, the acting contract.

“we’re going to make him suffer. you tell me to leak it and i’ll spread it like wildfire, okay sophie?”

sophia nods firmly, and breathes out for the first time. a breath of relief.

a breath of freedom.

--

you’re dressed more properly today, in a way it’s to not feel so awful all the time. the long walks along the beach have been helping keep your feelings in tact.

it’s been several divorce settlement meetings and you’ve been realizing just how complex sophia’s life is. between all the assets and bank accounts, and royalties from her acting career. 

you’ve been feeling conflicted, a lost sense of what it means to be a partner to her. or at least what it meant before. 

you weren’t there when she made these accomplishments and you can’t understand why you still want to be in her life. 

it’s a feeling that’s haunted you since the moment she disappeared from your life. maybe there’s something you lacked for her to turn to someone else.

maybe you pushed her into the arms of that man.

sometimes you dream about him, about him burning your ranch down. or standing outside your ranch watching you as you work. his nasty grin on full display. 

you usually wake up in cold sweat and reach out for sophia, trying to protect her. but she’s never there. and reality sinks in all over again.

there were days you could barely get out to do the daily chores, sluggish movement as you tried mending your broken heart a second time. 

it’s no use though, you were used and replaced by someone who probably had more wealth than you could imagine.

so you sit a little clouded by your own thoughts, going through these meetings as robotically as possible.

limiting as much as you could, to remove the emotions out of these meetings. you need this divorce to be done, to never return or hear of sophia again.

sophia wasn’t coping much better, after learning about thomas’ motives to move forward with this divorce. it’s been hard for her to focus at the task at hand. 

just yesterday she burned her hand trying to cook breakfast for her and anna. it reminded her how much of her life was in pain. the controlled aspect of her public image made her want to vomit.

and she’s sat beside you, both of you trying to answer the mediators questions. a hurdle that both of you are struggling with. 

throughout the questioning, at multiple times, the lawyers have asked for a break to reconvene with more focus. 

all it has done is caused more stilled awkwardness between you and sophia. silently sitting together, but unable to look at each other.

it feels like detention, that you both were “willingly” sat in.

and then suddenly, like a glass falling off a countertop, sarah begins again.

“let’s discuss custody and visitation rights…” sarah reads out to the pair. 

her counterpart taking a sip of his cold coffee, a displeased frown on his face.

“on page six, the primary custodial rights of the minor child, would still be under miss laforteza’s legal guardianship until the child reaches 18 years old. in which they are legally an adult. currently, with non-disclosure terms applying to the identity of the other parent…” sarah continues reading down the page.

sophia eyes sharpen again.

“i’m sorry–what did you say?” you snap out of your haze. 

“wait–sarah, wait…what?” sophia stands up straighter, hand immediately reaching out for the paper, rapidly flying to page six. eyes furious as she searches for the words.

“whose child?” you ask sarah, also grabbing onto the paper again.

what the hell?

“this wasn’t…this wasn’t in the draft i sent in.” sophia drops the paper back down. it’s there, in the fine print of the divorce papers. 

“you have a child?” the way you ask is chilly, like you’ve audibly flinched back. electrified adrenaline shooting through you.

“give us a minute…” the lawyers both quickly review their materials. rapid typing from sarah’s counterpart and sarah looks confused as well, rereading the section that she just read aloud.

sophia’s voice is stuck in her throat, a sound coming out but it cracks in the end. she watches you scoot back, chair moving along with you.

“i was–i promise i was going to tell you about her, i was going to–” sophia reaches out, hand trying to grab yours. 

but you flinch back, hand flying behind you, shock and the slow rise of anger coming back.

the exact anger you felt when you found out about thomas.

“fuck. you–you always do this sophia. you always fucking do this.” you step back, chair hitting the marbled floor. 

and both lawyers stand up. immediately packing their stuff up. 

“you never tell me what’s going on. seriously a child? a fucking child?”

sophia gets up out of her seat. 

“is it even mine?” you bite out angrily, a suddenly thought making its sickly appearance. you couldn’t stand the idea that sophia would have anyone else’s kid. 

“don't do that! of course she’s yours. i’m not some–it’s yours okay.” the pain is sharp in your heart. you hate that you’re always the last to hear about anything. 

so a small part of you wants to hurt back. how you want her to feel an ounce of your pain.

“how are you so sure it’s mine?” the pain’s making you say things you would never say to sophia. “it could be your fiancé’s, you know?”

sophia’s hand flies out, slapping you across the face. angry tears at the accusation. the sound echoing against the walls. 

your head stays stuck, realizing how much the words hurt her, but really they hurt you too.

“i would never. never! never raise that bastard’s child.” sophia says it with finality. the kind that shuts you up and lets you know not to press further. “so don’t you dare insinuate…”

the lawyers are quick to leave, sending sophia a look that expresses that they’ll talk later. 

you’re glad because you’d rather have this conversation in private.

you finally sit back down, pulling the fallen chair up. and with that, sophia sits down too. 

both of you facing each other for the first time in a long time. but she can’t hold your gaze, repeatedly looking away to hide the anguish that’s creeping up.

she’s trying to wipe away her tears, not wanting to show how your words tore through her. and you’ve sunken into the chair, the exhaustion released from your shoulders.

it smacks you again, the reality of your life.

“we have a daughter?” you ask, feeling the anger being drowned out by the fact that you have a kid now.

“we do.” sophia cries a bit, this wasn’t how she wanted to introduce anna to you. and she certainly didn’t plan it either.

sophia could only think of one person who would try and ruin her like this. the same man that tormented her life, forced her to get this divorce. pulled her abruptly from you, only to carry your child all alone.

both of you continue to sit, waiting for the other to speak up. and it’s killer, the silence that’s waiting.

so you speak up first.

“is she healthy? i know my dad had some issues when he was a kid. and my mom too–” you begin to ramble, spilling all your worries.

“she’s healthy, don’t worry.” and sophia cracks a small smile when you do too. 

“that’s really good, yeah that’s good. um…can i see her?” 

you ask, realizing all that you ever wanted with sophia was actualized, not just a dream that you kept to yourself. in the most sick way, you now have a child.

its not the full dream of having a big family with sophia, but you have a daughter.

more specifically, you have a daughter with sophia. 

with tears in her eyes, sophia agrees to have you come over. to see the young toddler that had your eyes and sophia’s temperament. 

you felt like a part of you had returned, some part of you wasn’t a complete fuckup of your own life.

and sophia spent hours, talking about anna. every detail she thought she could share, she did. how much she enjoyed eating grapes and would scream at the top of her lungs for fun. sophia even showed you photos of her.

she looked happy, a bright wide smile in each photo. when sophia talked about the pregnancy, you felt like you could cry. all the milestones that you missed. especially when you realized sophia went through it alone, none of thomas’ support or presence. 

it hurt to hear how painful it all was for sophia, the hormone changes in her body. the way she felt about herself after the delivery. you wanted to be by her side, a shoulder to cry on as you both navigated having a child together.

so you both cried, you cried asking about her, and she cried listening to you describe how it feels to hear this all for the first time. 

how you dreamed of having a family with her. all along it was there, and she wanted the exact same.

as the night rose, you realized how late it had become. making plans to see anna the next afternoon.

before she left, sophia handed you a photo of anna as a keepsake.

the drive was somber, all you could do was replay the long conversation you had with sophia. there were bits and pieces that stuck with you, how proudly she spoke about having your child. how anna had the mischievous side of you. and the clever side of sophia.

you listened to her talk and even ordered room service for you two.

it was…nice.

almost like you two hadn’t torn each other to shreds many years ago.

it felt familiar, in a distant kind of way. 

you still want to hide how happy you were when sophia agreed to stay for dinner. she doesn’t deserve to know that. your heart was still in pieces, and one dinner wouldn’t change that fact.

but as you drifted off, you tried to wipe the smile off your face. 

truth is, you fail. you fail miserably.

--

this wasn’t how you planned on meeting your firstborn. you hoped it would be when she was born, still crying and wailing at the first introduction to the world. in a swaddle and tiny hands that would try to thrash around.

but instead you stood outside a large metal gate. a large bag in hand as you tried calming your nerves. 

you buzzed yourself in with the gate code, taking a slow look at the house that was supposedly sophia’s.

perfectly shaped hedges and large bed for flowers out front. large slabs of stone crossing the grass. you step forward towards the house. still a little weary of yourself.

maybe you have the wrong house.

you tuck your hat a little lower, feeling a bit self-conscious as you walk forward. cowboy boots clicking against the large slab stones. eventually you knock on the huge square door.

it opens into what could be described in architectural digest’s showroom mansions. large abstract paintings pinned on the walls. a flowing screen of water trickling. an ornate chandelier hanging high up.

there’s a quietness about this life. a different setting but the familiar quiet of living on a ranch. 

you continue to walk through the front, walking into a long extended room. seeing a large red conversation pit in front of you, a rather unusual vase shadowed by flowers placed in the center. 

and to your right is the kitchen, where sophia and another woman stand. both talking to each other animatedly. 

you give a light cough, to which sophia instantly turns to you. eyes going wide when she spots you.

“hi, you’re early.” sophia lets out, she still had another half hour before you were supposed to arrive. 

but instead you stand in her mansion looking as gorgeous as the first day her eyes found yours. 

cowgirl ensemble and her favorite hat of yours to pair.

“didn’t want to be late.” you explain.

lara eventually turns to you, seeing you for the first time. 

all she’s heard about you has been through sophia, and yeah lara means this in the most respectful way possible. 

but she understands why sophia is so crazy about you.

you step closer to them, the familiar clicking of cowboy heels against the floors. you stop on the other side of the counter.

“i really didn’t want to make a bad first impression.” you say placing the bag onto the table. also taking your hat off, placing it on the table.

you look at lara. “and you are?”

“i’m lara, sophia’s bestie.” lara gives a big smile, and you return one too. 

it strikes lara again, how much anna really looks like you. the same eyes that she’s seen when babysitting.

“nice to meet you lara. i’m-” you take off your hat, placing it onto the table, and extending your hand.

“don’t worry, i know and have heard a lot about you.” she gives a knowing smile as she shakes your hand.

sophia rolls her eyes at the smile.

you try looking around for a young toddler, eyes scanning around, but it lands on nothing. 

sophia starts, moving away from the kitchen. “i’ll go get her. stay here.”

“no, let me, you two should catch up.” lara winks at sophia before disappearing into the house. 

and you’re again, left with sophia.

“so i uh, went out and bought some toys.” you start, rummaging through your bag. “but i realized i don’t know what she’d like…so i kind of bought everything.”

you scratch your head a bit. realizing how dumb you looked with a toy from each aisle of the store.

sophia stares at the gesture fondly, looking at all the dolls and books you bought. enough to fill an entire shelf. 

it’s like you’re santa.

“thank you, you really didn’t have to.” sophia rounds the counter, standing close enough for you to inhale her perfume. 

you blink a bit before focusing again.

she sits down in a barstool, and you do the same.

“it’s nothing, i’m happy to.” you say smiling at sophia. you want to reach out and rub her cheek, but the sudden reminder of your reality keeps that urge down.

“how are ya, fia?” you let the nickname drop, you don’t even notice it but she does.

“i’m tired, but i’m happy you’re here.” and sophia means every word of it. 

you try not to let it, but the words blossom in your heart, a familiar kind of bliss from just being around her.

she’s happy to have you in her orbit even in the circumstances. 

you feel the same way, you’re more convinced that there’s more sophia’s not telling you. what other hidden mysterious could she be hiding from you?

“how about you? enjoying california?” sophia asks.

you think about your time here, it’s definitely different from new mexico. there’s more movement around, the beach is really nice. you’ve been swimming most days or taking long walks on the beach.

“it’s really nice out here, i can see why you came.” you didn’t want to make it feel like she chose california over you.

“yeah, it’s a beautiful state.” sophia thinks about how different life is for you back home.

suddenly a voice hits your ears.

“mommy!” a young girl squirms in lara’s arms. trying her best to reach sophia. and with quick steps, sophia eventually grabs a hold of anna. 

you watch the interaction in slow motion, your shoulders tensing when you realize this is real.

you spent the whole car ride over shaking your foot or biting your nail. to say you were excited and nervous is an understatement.

as sophia’s cuddling her a bit, the toddler’s eyes spot you. and she watches you, a sudden interest in your face.

you’re looking at your own daughter. and God, she reminds you of sophia when you were both younger. she’s got sophia’s long hair, but she has your eyes. 

she has your eyes.

it brings tears to your eyes, and you nearly have to step away so you can cry. but instead anna puts her arms out begging you to hold her.

and you do, with shaky arms. she sits comfortably on your side, looking up at you. small strong hands that pull at your shirt.

“hi there.” you say softly. and lara’s standing there taking photos of you three. sophia’s hands are shaking too. scared to let this moment disappear from her grasp.

anna continues exploring you, hand reaching up to pull at your face. letting your skin snap back when she lets go.

“mama!”

anna slaps her hands against your chest, happily clapping to herself and sophia gasps. her smart girl recognized you, from all the photos and stories she’s told her.

“mama? yeah, i’m your mama.” you cry out, tears falling down your face. you wipe them away with your sleeve. anna seeing you cry makes her cry too. 

“no no, please don’t cry, these are happy tears.” you try to wipe away your daughter’s tears.

lips still trembling as you held her tighter. she stops crying when you wipe her tears away too. leaning into you with a soft smile on her face.

“oh my God. this is really cute, but i have to go. it was lovely meeting you, let’s all have brunch sometime soon!” lara whispers to you, grabbing her purse and giving a hug to sophia before leaving.

“lovely to meet you too, lara.” you wave to her, and anna waves too. her hand shaking as she waves away.

“sophia i–she’s real.” you gasp, feeling the toddler mess with the pockets of your shirt.

“she is. want to play with her while i make her a snack?” sophia smiles fondly at you holding onto anna’s hand.

“yeah of course.” 

so you set the toddler down. grabbing each toy that you bought and shaking it in front of her. she seems mildly intrigued by each until you hold out a toy horse in front of her.

she grabs it with interest, immediately trying to bite it, but you pull it away quick enough before she bites down.

instead you show her how to walk the horse on the counter. you start putting other horses down for her. she continues to knock them into each other, much to your dismay.

“she loves horses. i wonder where she got that from?” sophia says teasingly, continuing to place grapes in a small cup. 

“hm, must be you?” you joke back.

you laugh a bit when sophia doesn’t respond. continuing to knock into horses with anna. 

“one time i took her to a carousel and she begged to get on the horse.” sophia continues, and you can imagine the scene. thinking fondly of the two.

“that’s my girl.” you say confidently, “oh i have a gift.” you grab your bag.

taking out a kid’s sized cowboy hat and fitting it onto anna’s head. it’s still too big for her and she gets completely covered by it.

“she’ll grow into it.” you say to sophia, taking it off the kid. the kid laughs a bit at the hat, putting it back on as she continues to play with the horses.

suddenly a thought hits you, and before you can control it, the words come tumbling out. you don’t mean to ask it, at least not in front of anna.

“would you have told me about her?” 

sophia stills, stopping her movements as she look at you, with all the sincerity in her eyes, she answers you.

“yes, i just didn’t want it to come out like that.” she refers to the divorce settlement meetings. “you deserved to know her.”

you nod along, a solemn expression painting the pain of not knowing your own daughter. you wanted to be there for all of it, the good and the bad. 

even for sophia. 

maybe you were still hopelessly in love with her. but now that there’s a child involved, things have shifted.

“i’m sorry for the things i said to you. what i implied, i didn’t mean it.” you say to her. gently adjusting the hat on anna’s head. “i was…angry, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

she takes a minute to absorb your apology, quietly moving through the kitchen.

“thank you, and i’m sorry too for everything.” sophia puts a juice box on the plate.

you also take a second to acknowledge her apology, it’s been hard grappling how sophia truly feels about you. whether she means everything she’s done to you.

for now you’ll accept whatever this is. but in you there’s still a very cautious and injured animal. cowering in fear that if you let her in again, she’ll ruin you. 

you grab anna, walking across the kitchen. putting her into a high chair. she pays it no mind as she continues playing with the plastic horse in her hand.

anna continues to mess with the horse, setting it down when she sees her plate of food. slowly eating it as you and sophia both watched.

“thanks for inviting me over.” you look at her, a genuine smile that refuses to leave. 

“of course.” sophia walks to the fridge, opening the door and scanning for beverages. “want something to drink?”

you walk right up behind her, enough to hover but not enough to touch her. she can feel your body heat radiating off.

“water would be good.” you reach into the fridge, grabbing a bottle and stepping back. sophia’s closes her eyes for a couple seconds. feeling a bit flushed at the sudden closeness. 

almost wishes you never moved away. and she turns to look at you, with something behind those eyes, you can’t quite place.

you want to ask her what’s going on. but then she walks away, back to the stove. you close the fridge, trying to shake off that moment.

you take a sip of water and return back to anna’s side. watching her happily eat some animal crackers. a smile erupting when you make silly faces at her.

anna pulls her arms up, begging you to hold her again. you lift her up and hold her on your hip. moving into the kitchen again, standing right next to sophia.

“mm, the famous laforteza sinigang?” you dip your head down, smelling the delicious soup. a familiar scent wafting into your nose.

smells like home.

“yeah, family recipe.” sophia continues stirring the pot every so often.

“smells good,” you say cheekily, and sophia grabs a spoon, cooling it down for you. and then spoons some to you. “and it tastes even better.”

you grab another spoonful and shovel it into your mouth.

“i’m going to miss your cooking.”

“yeah…want to stay for dinner?” sophia asks.

and its a step out. a step out of her comfort zone, an extending hand hoping that you take it.

she really hopes you take her up on the offer.

“that would be lovely.” you reply back, a small smile on your face when sophia’s eyes light up.

you continue to play with anna throughout the afternoon. she liked crashing horses into each other and running around the sofa. all of which would tire you out.

but she kept giggling and ran, so you had to run after her. eventually she settled for a nap, you tucked her in, a small blanket covering her as she slept on the couch.

“she’s out.” you speak up, getting up from the couch. walking towards sophia, and God. maybe the world is blessing her, because now you’re standing inside her home. 

“dinner is ready?” you ask.

she focuses again, nodding as you walk towards her cabinets. grabbing two bowls and utensils, passing them to sophia. 

she fills the bowls with some rice, passing them back to you. you set them on the dinner table, sophia grabs her small pot of sinigang. placing it to the next of you, you grab her plate, filling it with the delicious soup, doing the same for you.

“shall we say grace?” sophia began, sliding her hand over and you took it. 

a spark of electricity at the slight touch, you instantly flinch back a bit. before sliding your hand into hers again.

“dear heavenly father, we thank you for the food that we are about to eat. we ask that you would look protect us and guide us along your path. in jesus’ name, amen.”

“amen.” you say quietly, removing your hand. albeit a bit too quickly for sophia’s liking.

as you begin eating sophia’s sinigang, you think about what it would mean to be in anna’s life. how you could be an active parent despite living in a different state. 

it doesn’t seem feasible, having to travel back and forth to visit anna. and with a lack of reason to stay in new mexico, you suddenly erupt with an idea.

“i’m going to move here.” you say calmly, and sophia stops her spoon. lifting her head to look at you. 

“you’re moving here? like hollywood?” she asks, a little shocked at the sudden interest. 

as far as sophia could remember, new mexico was your home and you were content to live the rest of your life on that ranch.

“not hollywood per se, but definitely close by.” you gesture around, feeling your resolve continue to harden. 

“wow, this is a big move. what uh made you decide that?” sophia squirms in her seat a bit, watching you with purpose. a very secret part of her hopes you say it’s because of her and anna.

“i want to be in anna’s life, actively. traveling back and forth would be too difficult.” you look towards your daughter. who is still happily turning and twisting her horse. a delighted smile on her face.

sophia takes her time to reply, taking another sip of soup before leaning back in her chair. hands shuffling as she thinks of a thoughtful response.

“what about charlie? the horses? the chickens?” sophia asks.

she’s elated to hear that you want to be in anna’s life. it’s more than what she asked for, and to be a consistent part of anna’s life would be terrific. 

“i’m planning on buying a ranch out here. i’ll bring charlie, the horses, everything.” you explain. 

it was an idea that popped into your head earlier, a realization that you wanted your life near anna…and sophia. to still have your lifestyle, but be able to visit often and go out to the beach.

“you sure?” sophia continues to eat her food, and you return back to your bowl. feeling a sense of purpose surging through you, instead of aimless days without a direction, you could be a present parent.

“yeah, i’ve decided. and you know me, once i’ve decided it’s set in stone.” you give her a big grin, looking at her briefly. her eyes searching for something deeper, when a grin also appears on her face.

“well then, if your heart is set on it, then no one can stop you.” she explains.

“i’m going to be a cowgirl out here in california, who would have thought?” you grin continues to expand.

sophia rolls her eyes at that, but she can’t deny that deep down she’d love for you to be closer to her.

“don’t go too crazy now.” sophia comments, filling your empty plate with more soup, to which you happily eat more of. nearly emptying the bowl in less than thirty seconds.

to which she offers another filling.

“do they have rodeos out here? we should take anna when she gets older.” you comment. 

sophia doesn’t mistake the use of ‘we’ when you asked.

“yes, there’s some big ones out here, you’d be surprised.” she says, standing up to pick anna out of her high chair.

“hi cutie, want to sit with us?” sophia walks back over, anna perched on her lap when she sits back down. immediately her baby hands are trying to grab sophia’s bowl of food. hunger in her eyes.

“well, she’s definitely yours.” sophia nods at her kid, still trying to reach her small arms for the bowl, frustrated when sophia sits back. “your mom told me you used to do that as a baby. even threw a couple tantrums.”

sophia giggles to herself, seeing you fluster, the embarrassment rising your neck.

“whatever…” you drag out. a definitely big smile still plastered on your face as you watched your daughter try to struggle out of sophia’s grasp.

you think you could get used to this life, a life with anna and sophia.

‐‐

you continue to toss the keys in your hand as you hum along to a song you heard on the radio. the day has been long gone, and now the night is coming to a close too. after spending nearly all afternoon and dinner with sophia and anna, you’ve come to a couple conclusions.

you were definitely still in love with sophia, even if the world were to flip upside down tomorrow, those feelings would never dim.

you didn’t want a divorce, not now, not yesterday, not tomorrow.

you were going to be the best parent you could be.

it wasn’t something that you were happy to announce, considering sophia still had her fiancé. the same one that she conveniently doesn’t talk about. and honestly you aren’t too sure why.

you both have skirted the conversation about him in her life. as far as you knew, that was a person she willingly agreed to marry, she had no reason to state otherwise. but she still kept your kid?

that made everything more confusing. the lack of thomas in her life. every meeting that’s been had, every inch of sophia’s life wouldn’t lead one to believe that she’s happily engaged.

there are no photos of him in her home, even when you went poking in her bathroom, there was no sign of someone else that lived here. it’s unsettling…

you don’t know how to bring it up to her.

like hey, so what about your fiancé that you happen to be cheating on me with, but also you’re technically cheating on him with me?

there was something still lost in the grand picture, he didn’t fit into sophia or anna’s life. something’s not right, and you need to get to the bottom of it, before you lose your wife for good.

these thoughts continue to consume you, so much so you barely recognize the voice that’s calling out to you from the hotel lounge.

“hey neighbor!” and in front of you is manon, wide smile and a long dress to match. you quickly stop yourself before crashing into her. taking a step back before giving her a smile too.

“hey, how have you been?” you ask, subtly noticing the get-up. clearly she’s had a night out, a fancy one.

“i’m okay, came back from a failed date.” she points at herself, a small clutch in hand and sparkly earrings that dangle under her long curly hair.

“ouch, his fault?” you ask. both of you walk towards the bar, pulling her chair out and pushing her in. as you sit next to her.

“her fault, actually.” manon says confidently. you flag a bartender down to order two martinis. “she kept talking about herself all night, didn’t ask me a single question.”

you wince a bit, feeling sympathetic towards manon’s shitty night. the bartender slides over the drinks and you immediately take a sip.

“sorry for assuming, and that’s got to suck. you even dressed up so nicely!” you explain, taking a sip and listening to manon continue to complain.

“no harm no foul, most people don’t know i date women.” she explains, placing her clutch onto the bar counter. “and look! i even pulled my favorite dress out.”

she points at herself, and you can’t deny, it does look very good on her. form fitting and silver accents along the neckline. anyone would struggle to keep their eyes off her on a date.

“sorry to hear that, she wasn’t worth your time.” you continue to sip on your drink as she replays the story to you. telling you how it was doomed from the start, the lack of chivalry, the messy eating, the self-centered monologue, all of which made manon wish she was curled up in her hotel room, watching shitty rom-coms instead.

by then you two have had more than a couple drinks, and you can tell it’s definitely affecting manon more than you. her speech is a little slurred. her eyes are a bit unfocused, and her hands keep reaching out to touch your knee.

you’re not uncomfortable per se, but it definitely strikes you how forward manon is. batting her lashes and listening to you intently talk. almost as if she’s lost in a vision of you.

“alright, clearly you’ve had your fill. let’s get you to your room.” you grab a dizzy manon out of her chair, tucking her clutch under your arm. instantly she pulls all her weight onto you, you brace yourself, almost tipping over.

“sorry, had a bit too much.” manon giggles to herself, and you try your best to counter the weight. having her lean into your arms as you both walk away from the bar. slow steps as she continues to giggle to herself. 

you don’t notice it, not with how hard you’re trying to keep manon upright. the weight of her body trying to make you tip over.

but sophia’s here. she’s here and she’s shaking. in her hand is the cowboy hat you left in her house. 

she had found it when cleaning up the kitchen, hoping to see you again. so she drove over, a smile all over her face as she sang all the songs on the radio.

but now, no. no she’s furious. there’s an unnamed woman hanging off your arm. clearly interested with the way she’s hanging onto you like she was oh so weak.

fucking bullshit.

sophia’s pulled that move on you long before this woman even breathed in your direction. she’s gripping onto your cowboy hat with jealousy brimming in her heart.

and she might just snap. she’s going to snap this woman in half if she doesn’t get her hands off her wife. 

you are none the wiser, walking manon into the elevator and selecting the top floor. stepping back and begging the elevator to fly up, the doors are closing when suddenly in steps another woman.

sophia.

her eyes are filled with rage as she stares at manon next to you. 

“sophia! what are you doing here?”

you’re more than shocked to see her, she’s never come to visit you unless it was to discuss the divorce. and here she was standing in an elevator with you and a drunk manon going up to the top floor.

she stops her glaring long enough to focus on you. hat in hand that she slides back onto your head. “you left this. at my place.” 

she goes back to glaring at the other woman. and manon’s seeming to get the hint, even in her drunk state. pulling away from your arm a bit. and sophia can see it in her eyes, the recognition of her face. she knows exactly who sophia laforteza is.

“and who might you be?” sophia asks, it’s neither friendly not mean. but it’s definitely not kind. 

“i’m manon, living next door.” she gestures to you, eyes more alert as sophia tries to subtly put distance between you two. stepping in far enough that you back into your corner.

“i see.” sophia eyes her more, satisfied that the woman’s stepped away from you. and even more satisfied that her hand is off of you.

the elevator can’t go fast enough with the tense energy in the air. sophia takes a moment to situate herself, happy to have kept her away.

the elevator dings and all three of you walk out. and manon’s really drunk, because she nearly trips over herself, almost falling on the floor.

you reach out quickly, scooping her up before she fell. and with a few adjustments she’s back onto her feet.

“are you okay?” you ask, manon nods a bit trying her best to stabilize herself.

and sophia, well she’s watching like a hawk. ready to swoop in the second manon gets too close.

you walk manon to her room quickly, opening the door and setting her down on a chair. and sophia’s not exactly happy at the sight. it should be her being taken home by you, you keeping her upright if she was too wobbly. this kind of chivalry was supposed to be reserved for her. 

she shakes her head unhappily.

and with a quick nod from manon that she was all good, you bid her goodnight, walking away with sophia in tow. 

sophia gives manon a quick look over her shoulder before the door closed. and walks right after you, all the way into your hotel room. she thinks long and hard, about the next words she’s going to say to you, because really…these emotions have been erupting in her all day.

she walks in after you, closing the door behind her.

but she settles on these next words carefully, eyes wild and hair even wilder. 

“are you fucking her?” sophia enunciates every syllable, she always did this whenever she got serious. wanted to make it obvious what she’s asking, no chance for you to stand there looking confused. 

she hates when you look at her like you’re confused.

your eyes nearly jump out of your skull, you immediately let out a sharp gasp.

“no, of course not!” you reply, feeling a little upset at the question. 

“not that it’s any of your business.” 

it hits both of you like a train when you say it. in truth, you want it to hurt, you want sophia to tell you everything was one big mistake. want her to snap out of it, want her to pull you in by the belt of your pants. to fuck you like you meant something.

but you want it to sting, she doesn’t have the right. doesn’t have the ability to dictate what you are to her, not with him still in the picture. you’re digging for more, for her to explain his unusual place in her life. 

“say that again.” 

she dares you, eyes hard like steel. 

you step close enough to breathe it in her face, she doesn’t step back, body tight like a rubberband. and you think if you breathe in the wrong, maybe right, direction, she’ll blow up.

“i said…it’s none of your business.” you hold your own, standing firmly. she stares at you, listening to you try to defend yourself . “it’s none of your business. who i fuck. who i kiss. who i touch.”

you continue to corner her a bit, and she’s getting angrier by the second, you know in a second she’d be all over you like a predator, she has that gaze.

“oh! you must be out of your depth here.” she pushes you with a light laugh at the end of sentence. grabbing you by your shirt, hand clenched to the point her knuckles turn white. you feel like you’ll snap, either your shirt or you first, you don’t know. “it is my Goddamn business.”

she snarls the words out, an anger thats fueled by jealousy and the tense sexual tension that always lingers when you two are too close. 

“funny how you think i’d let you touch someone else, with what’s supposed to be mine.”

she pushes you, enough to make you stumble a bit, your hat falling onto the ground. then grabbing onto you again, pulling you straight into the bedroom. each step like a sentence to the dungeon, but you’re more than happy to be locked here. with all her attention and anger directed at you.

“you want to play dumb? fine. let me remind me who you belong to.” 

you fall backwards onto the mattress, ready to push her under you, an undercurrent of wanting to control the pace nearly making you go tunnel vision. but sophia’s got her mind set. eyes ablaze as she pulls your belt out of your jeans. holding your body down with her hips. she stares at you angrily, a need to remind you where you are. 

under her. 

she ties your hands in a quick fashion, pulling the belt until there’s tension, keeping your hands above your head. 

you try pulling against the bedpost, but it doesn’t give.

she pushes your shirt up, until she can scratch your stomach with her nails, then she leans down, hair in beautiful waves falling around you, until all you can breathe and see is her.

she pushes your pants down a bit, not enough to take it off, but enough to let the pressure of your pants alleviate. and then she stops midway. your pants are lifted off your hips but not enough to move anywhere else.

“either you tell me who this belongs to.” she snaps the pants back onto your skin. hand immediately back on you, pressed against you, not enough to move, but with enough to make you want to buck your hips. “or i leave you here. your choice.” 

she says it in that tone, the one that lets you know there’s no other choice, not if you still want to be in her good graces. 

“yours fia, i swear.” you groan a bit, trying to find some pressure to alleviate the ever present problem in your pants. “all of me belongs to you.”

she smiles big, in that smile that lets you know she’s won, and she’s going to be rewarded heavily for it.

“good answer baby.” she taps your cheek a bit, liking the way you keep trying to touch her, like you deserved to after pulling that with her. 

“i would say you kept up a good fight,” she takes a long lick over your stomach, feeling it tense under her touch, “but we know you’ll end up like putty in my hands.”

she’s reeling in her win, a cocky grin that won’t leave her face. you nearly whimper at the contact, she’s barely touched you and you’re taut, trying to arch into her, for some contact at the very least.

“please fia, let me touch you.” you whine again, trying your best to get out of your restraints. its driving you mad how you can’t touch her. can’t feel her the way you want.

“not tonight. not until i'm satisfied.” she leans back, unbuckling your pants and staring down at you, like she’s caught her prey in a trap. 

you continue to try and move your hips, like a caught animal trying so desperately to be released, but it’s no use. not when she’s got you finally where she wants you. 

“fuck fia, please, need to touch you.” you try to beg, but it only spurs her on, oh how the mighty have fallen. she shakes her head, giving you a kiss on the cheek before climbing off of you, pulling herself off the bed.

she takes her time, tonight she’s in charge, and she’ll take everything she can get. especially with the way you’re trying so hard to watch her, head trying to look at her despite the restraints holding you in place. it drives her insane, knowing she still has that much of an effect on you, tracking all of her movements without trying to miss a single second. 

she can feel herself getting hot by how hard you’re staring at her. a slight sheen on sweat on the back of her neck. you wish you could just rip these restraints off you, to show her who she belonged too. but a deep part of you is just as enticed by this side of her. 

desire pooling in your lower stomach and you nearly jump when she takes off your shoes, sliding them off quickly. you don’t even care what she does, as long as she’s touching you, you’re more than okay with that. 

her hands slide up along your pants, and really you feel like a horny teenager being touched for the first time. the way she intentionally drags it out, slow enough to keep you engaged but not enough to give you relief. 

“fia, please.” you beg again, and again. she swears she’s never heard you so desperate, at the mercy of her control. she could get used to this. and soon enough, she’s pulling your pants and boxers off, enough to alleviate the pressure that’s been confining your lower half.

“please what?” she says with anticipation in her eyes, she’s never seen you so out of control. so much want to let her do whatever she wants. it makes her pride swell.

“please, touch me.” you moan out, and you’re so tightly wound that it almost feels like you’re in pain. pain of not having her all over you. desperate and whining for attention.

she likes the sound of that. pulling herself forward, settling for sitting on top you. light touches dancing on your hip. not close enough to where you truly want her, but a relief that she is even touching you at all. the hard exterior that you’ve put up over the years is crumbling, and of course is being unraveled by her.

she continues her light touches until she gets lower, already sensitive to the touch, trying your best to get some movement against her hand. but she holds still, liking the way you’re completely at her will.

then she spits in her hand, enough to get your cock wet, spreading it all over. you moan at the contact, letting yourself relax again, getting that much needed relief after all.

sophia’s got other plans in mind.

“so, you let anyone touch you?” she says, continuing to stroke you up and down, letting the build up confuse your brain, “do you, slut?” 

you’ve never heard sophia talk like this before, the way she stares down at you like you’re nothing and everything at the same time. the way she stops her hand when you don’t respond.

“answer me.” it’s not particularly loud, but it makes you want to shrink. 

“n-no, i don’t.” you whimper a bit, trying to buck your hips again, to which she completely lets go of you. a growing dissatisfaction in her eyes. 

“you don’t, slut? so what was that back there?” she growls out. 

“i-i i really-she was drunk. i was helping her back. please sophia, please touch me.” you beg, trying to move your legs and by now sophia’s getting irritated. 

“don’t let that happen again.” sophia goes back to stroking you again, and you nearly flinch at the contact, it was so sudden and gentle that you wanted to chase after it.

“i won’t, i promise! please faster.” you continue to beg, head thrown back in pleasure as she continues to give you a growing pleasure in your stomach. she gives you a quick kiss on the lips, a reward for the correct answer.

“my little slut will get what she wants.” sophia says it out loud, but mostly it’s for herself. a direct and open claim of you. you’ve never been so worked up before, all this teasing and lack of control is making every sense more heightened.

“yes, please, fuck.” you moan out everytime she drags her hand up the top, a delicious pressure that has you leaking out pre-cum. you’re breathing heavy, head to one side as you try to fight the growing orgasm that’s closing in on you. the feeling of sophia all over you again has you unraveling earlier than you were expecting. “i’m your slut.”

you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, just begging for a release, one that sophia will happily grant you if you answer this next question correctly. she speeds up her movements, you continue to let out begging words at her mercy. 

“so, who’s is this?” she makes it a point to squeeze you suddenly, drawing a gasp and some more pre-cum flowing from the head. the increased pace is making you want to pass out, and all you can feel is the mounting orgasm that will explode soon.

“fuck, yours, i swear to God, it’s yours, i’m yours.” you ramble a bit, trying so very desperately to chase after your own release, it’s a beautiful sight to sophia. just a little more and she has you begging for a single touch.

she doesn’t mistake how you try to bite at something, anything to contain the inevitable orgasm. you bite into the closest thing you have which is a small pillow to your right. and your body tenses like it usually does, a tightness in your stomach and you try and push into her hand. 

“fuck, sophia, please, don’t stop.” you continue to push into her hand, and she can feel herself drooling at the sight, wiping it away with the back of her other hand. and like a drawn bow, the arrow is released.

“fuck oh God, fia. fuck, i’m cumming.”

you shake a bit as you cum, legs shaking and torso taut, arching off the bed, the cum spilling out in streams. 

all landing on your abdomen. 

but sophia doesn’t stop, she continues to stroke you through the orgasm, your body convulsing at the motion, it drives you insane. you can feel your body feeling overloaded with stimulation. 

“fuck-sophia, please,” you try to gain some control, the continuous stroking making you cum more than you’ve ever cum before. “give-give me a second.”

she gives you a few more strokes before letting go, you’re breathing hard, sweat glistening under the lights, and God, sophia swears she’ll never let you walk away from her again. as she watches you try to get your focus back. instead, she pulls herself on top of you, resting herself right on top of your spent cock.

she pulls her dress up, just above her hips, dragging herself on top of your cock, a slow rocking motion against you, and you let out a gasp at the contact again. your brain is fuzzy and barely recovered when she starts moving. 

she has every intent of making this as pleasurable for herself.

you can feel it, the lack of panties in the way. she came all the way here for one thing only, it only brings you faster to attention, the blood flowing straight to your cock once more.

she continues to ride the underside of your cock, small moans and quick breaths pulling from that gorgeous throat of hers. 

you’re mesmerized, eyes in a trance, loving the way she’s using you for her own pleasure. to chase after her own orgasm. you try pulling at the restraints again, trying to desperately to touch her. 

she smiles through all of it, enjoying you trying so hard to get your hands out of your belt. she smells sweet, and the mixed smell of everything is driving you insane.

“fia, please, let me touch you.” you’re pleading with her, barely able to get out a single word without pulling again. and she finds it insanely hot, how you can’t even focus on anything. eyes flying around, trying to pull yourself free, trying to watch her at the same time, trying so very hard.

she swears she can cum just from watching you, her continuous rocking motion making her approach her own orgasm. it’s the delicious pressure on her clit that makes her stay still. wants to see you continue to beg, wants that torture to ruin you. 

until all you know and want is her.

“mm, maybe if you’re good i’ll let you.” sophia returns back to riding herself on top of you, leaning down to pepper kisses along your abs. a reminder that she has every right to touch you anywhere. it’s bringing you to your own orgasm too. and in a deft motion, she pulls herself back, seeing your cock angry red, trying to jump at the loss of contact. 

she smirks at that, slowly lifting her hips to slid it near her hole. the tip just barely prodding the entrance, and with a slow controlled movement, she sinks down onto you, inch by inch, she takes her time. enjoying the delicious stretch, her hands scratching your stomach, where just seconds ago she had left kisses. each lipstick mark like a claim of possession.

“you look so good like this,” she drags a singular nail around, continuing to slowly lift her hips again, and rocking back down. “such a good little slut for me.” 

“fia, fia, fia.” you chant her name like a mantra. caught under her spell and wanting nothing more than to spill everything inside of her. “fuck, i’m close.”

“already?” sophia smirks, and really she’s teasing you. she knows how wound up you are, how sensitive you are after your first orgasm, one slight clench and you would spill inside of her. 

so she tests you, giving you a clench that has your eyes prickling with tears. you can barely contain yourself, twitching wildly at the sudden pressure. wanting so badly to touch her, any part of her. 

she leans in close, giving you another squeeze that has you convulsing once more.

“fia, please, i’m so close.” you whine out. 

she’s on cloud 9 right now, clenching again and then you’re spilling inside of her. loud pants and whines ripping through your already dry throat. cumming with every bit of energy that you have within you. 

she leans close again, kissing you wildly through your orgasm. hair clenched in between her fingers. you’re letting out pretty sounds out of your mouth through each kiss. still trying so hard to pull against the leather belt. tears and cum spilling out of you. and sophia thinks you look glorious like this under her.

you eventually feel the ebbs of your orgasm dying out, sophia still wrapped around you, warm heat that is making you lightheaded.

“Jesus Christ, fia. i’ve never cum that hard.” you get out in between gasps, eyes closed and trying your best to calm your heart. it’s beating faster than you’ve ever felt it, and if you weren’t so spent you would realize sophia’s chasing after her own orgasm. using her fingers to bring her to her own orgasm, with your cock still nestled inside. 

“mm, fuck, that’s good, stay inside.” she whines a bit, continuing to rub herself, rocking herself against you, and really you can’t take it anymore, nearly losing yourself in the throes of passion, almost blacking out. but the sensation keeps you close, the persistent tension against the belt.

“fuck!” she comes tumbling down, orgasm causing her to clench around you, shaking on top of you and then she falls on top of you. cock still very much inside of her as she continues to cum. you try your best to give her kisses, peppering her cheek with them as she’s spent too. heavy breathing, chest to chest, and your eyes are bleary. 

sophia’s the first to move, pushing herself up, enough to have both of her arms holding her up on top of you. her eyes are so filled with emotion, the same kind of emotion she held in her eyes when she stood across from you on that altar, under God, and with everyone in the church. 

she wants to cry, everything’s been so emotional, how she had yearned for you for years. regretting ever leaving you, carried your child and stood by everything that she did in hopes that you two would return to each other. when everything isn’t as messy as it once was. 

just two girls trying to be with each other.

like both of you intended. and by no means is this meant to save everything between you, but for now, for this very moment where your two souls are connected like puzzle pieces, she’ll allow herself this relief. 

in this moment you were hers and she was yours, through and through. 

so she dips back down, giving you a kiss that’s pouring every emotion she can possibly muster up, every ounce of grief, pain, love, and yearning born from her love for you. she doesn’t know if it’s enough, but she hopes it means something to you. wet tears hitting your cheeks as she continues to kiss you. trembling lips that are trying to hold back the pain of losing you, over and over again.

“fia?” you ask her, watching the way the cries continue to slip out, silently crying on top of you. she continues her downpour of tears even when she slips the belt off your hands. your hands immediately on her face again. trying so desperately to stop her tears. so moved by your action that she cries all over again. head sinking to your shoulder.

two naked souls trying to have a conversation with each other. 

you hold her in your hands, keeping her close and softly rubbing her back in comforting circles. and she cries in your arms. wrapping around your torso too. you hold her for the whole night, until her cries turn into soft breaths and her tears have dried. until she’s that girl that you asked to marry when you both were bright-eyed and had dreams of conquering the world.

you hold her close long after she’s fallen asleep. moving to another bed in the suite after you’ve cleaned up the mess between you two. the softness of her eyes hidden under calmness, gently brushing her hair as she continues to sleep through the night. 

you eventually succumb to sleep too. holding her in your arms and hers securely around yours too. in the middle of the night she woke up in a panic, trying desperately to find you, only to realize you were right in front of her. soft snores and a heavy arm laid on her side. 

she kissed each part of your face gently, just to prove to herself you were here. before closing her eyes again. drifting off to a dreamland where your family was all together, laughter and screams filling the air.

‐‐

last night was something.

you didn’t know how to explain it, and you’re sure sophia wouldn’t be able to either.

but last night, you both quickly cross the threshold of just ex partners trying to coparent. crossing the threshold of just trying to coexist in each other’s worlds without crashing into each other. but honestly, did you really think you could just coexist with sophia?

the same woman that stole your heart when she brought you charlie as a small pup from her uncles dog’s litter. the same woman that was your personal nurse when you almost got trampled by a bull and had to be bed-ridden for weeks.

no, you could never simply coexist with her. your lives were intertwined as if by the simple laws of nature. by the simple fact that she was yours and you were hers. through legality and spirituality you two could never completely separate from each other.

and by God’s grace, you were here. running your hands through her hair gently. an ache in your heart and soul to reconnect with the one woman who had spoiled love for you. it drives you mad with want and resentment, wanting for her to be yours again. no need for anyone to interfere.

if last night was any indication of her feelings for you, then you’d be a fool to think she wants anyone other than you. but still everything is so confusing with her, how she refuses to speak about him. you want answers, last night wasn’t just some jealous fueled hook up to you. it has to mean more. it simply has to, or else…did you just give your heart away again?

sophia stirs under your touch, a light smile at the touch, she leans into it, enjoying the way you continue to massage her scalp. it’s relaxing and reminds her of the small acts of affection that you love giving her.

“hi.” you whisper gently, liking the way she hums lightly. eventually placing a hand over your heart, just holding it there. feeling it pulse under her hand. 

“hi, good morning.” you listen to her morning voice, like a songbird it’s tickles your ears. you smile wide before inching closer, placing a quick kiss onto her lips. to which she pulls you in closer, a long and searing kiss filling both of your desires.

“so, last night?” you cock an eyebrow, you weren’t playing any games and you hoped she wasn’t either. instead sophia curls into herself, feeling hot heat rise to her cheeks, dusting them in pink.

“last night…yeah…”sophia drags out. trying her best to hide under the covers again.

“nuh uh, come on, what was all that?” you ask. pulling the covers away, revealing an extremely embarrassed sophia. she instead covers her face with her hands. trying to roll to the other side. “fia?”

“ugh fine, i was…i was jealous okay!” sophia lets go of her hands, dropping them to her side, but still unable to look at you in the eyes. you chuckle a bit, to which she hides herself again. 

this time you don’t bother trying to unveil her.

“yeah i got that,” you roll your eyes in amusement, oh it was clear as day she was jealous. she always was whenever someone got to close to you, or even lingered a little too long. this wasn’t the unusual part, sophia rarely acted on her jealousy. instead letting you respectfully tell the other party that you were taken, because in her head. it was hotter that way. it was hotter for her you to state how you were taken than for her to intervene.

“but seriously fia, you’ve never pulled that. i mean ever.” you continue, dropping the amusement in your voice.

“i know…and it’s so stupid, i just…” she continues to voice out her embarrassment, “everything between us is so rocky, and i needed this. i needed to prove to myself that i’m still who you want.” 

your eyes soften at the sudden vulnerability. instead of embarrassment, sophia lets her hands drop. sitting up straight, half of the duvet still covering her. and you sit up too. 

“fia…what do you mean?” you ask, taking her hand in yours, rubbing small circles on her hand. to calm her through this vulnerable moment, and show that you were here for her.

“i guess, what i’m trying to say is. i still need to know that you want me, and i know it’s selfish. but my God, i still want you, i always have, even when i left, everything in me still wants you.” she rambles out, her other hand moving in a dramatic motion, eyes that are darting everywhere, eventually focusing on you.

“and thomas?” you drop the question. the topic that you both have skirted around since your arrival. especially when you refused to let her explain herself when you left your ranch two years ago. you ask it in a quiet voice, feeling yourself sink at the question. 

you weren’t ready for the answer, but it was now or never.

“thomas, he.” sophia runs her hand through her hair, a long sigh causing her to deflate. “he isn’t my fiancé, at least not willingly. he-his dad, i signed my acting contract with his dad.” she continues to speak, a hidden vulnerability that’s making her shrink herself, head dipped low, almost as if she’s embarrassed. 

you hate the sight of it.

“i signed a contract when i first got here, right after i landed my first big role. everyone wanted to book me, so i signed with his company. and thomas he-he fucking used that contract against me.”

you nod, but there’s a sudden burst of anger growing in your heart. 

“he fucking-he fucking made me get the divorce.”

she dropped the bomb, and you’re leaning back now, shock hitting your system all over again. “sophia, what?” you gasp out, eyes confused and she looks up, watery eyes staring into you.

“he used the contract against me, he knew i had a spat with one of his dad’s buddy directors. i walked out on the filming, my manager made it seem like i had health issues. but i couldn’t stand him, so i left, i left an entire project. everyone was mad, i mean his dad almost threatened to cut me.” sophia continues to talk, a tear falling and you can’t even utter a word.

“you can’t just leave a project unscathed, you could get blacklisted out here. and fucking thomas, he used that against me. he had evidence of me walking out, and he said he would leak it, it would’ve destroyed my career. i was fucking blackmailed.” 

sophia continues to cry, angry tears rolling off her cheeks, much different from the ones she had last night.

“sophia…” you say gently, trying to calm her anger, even though the one inside of you was growing.

“and he fucking asked to get married. said it would fix everything, he would delete the evidence and i would be able to get back to my career. and i said yes, i never should’ve. should’ve just let my career die, but then he got records of us, our marriage. said he would leak that too, fuck.”

you continue to rub small circles, a gentle reminder that you were here, on her side.

“so i came back, to new mexico. i never wanted to ask for a divorce, i swear to you. and when you agreed, my heart shattered. i promised myself i would never love anyone the way i love you. we-we kept on being together, and i fell even harder than i could remember, i still wanted you as much as the first day i met you.” she brings her hand up to hold your head, vulnerable eyes searching for yours.

“i wanted something to keep, even if i had to be miserable for the rest of my life, i wanted to keep something of yours. i wanted to carry your kid. it was the only way i could have you close but keep you safe.” she cries a bit, still holding onto you, trembling fingers dancing along your jaw.

“anna. God gave me anna. God gave me her and i would never trade her for anything. she’s ours and she will always be.” 

“sophia, damn it.” your words are unstable, and you let out a single tear, the pain of thinking about her for two years coming back. all the pain and yearning for each other never subsided. for either side.

“i know, i know baby.” she cries continuing to cradle your jaw, leaving a kiss so soft it felt like a petal had fallen on your face. “it was selfish–but it was all i had. i knew our time was almost up, and i needed something of yours. it’s so selfish, but i could never regret having her.” 

you know in some twisted way what she was expressing. that night, two years ago, you wanted to leave something behind too. something for sophia to remember you by, the willingness to do everything she wanted, to even leave her with the possibility of carrying your child. you wanted it all.

“sophia, i was selfish too.” you confess, remembering how you felt that night, in the midst of the passion you realized how badly you wanted to leave your imprint on her too. “i’ve always, and i mean always, dreamed of having a big family with you. so when you asked me to, you know…i gave into that instinct, because it’s all i ever wanted.”

she stares at you, heart exploding in a thousand directions. she remembered very early on in your marriage, you bringing up wanting kids, maybe as a simple comment. but she couldn’t deny how happy you looked playing with her nieces and nephews.

“you want kids with me?” sophia asks.

“of course i do, fia.” you reply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i always did, and i always will. even now i still do.” 

you shift a bit, pulling her into a hug with how stunned she looks at you. another explosion of warmth from her heart. even with a tormented past that held her instincts back, how she aches just the same for you. it drives her mad, you wanted everything she wanted and more.

you rub her back gently, enjoying the way she’s holding you so close. she drops her head onto your shoulders, and you do too. just contently laying on each other.

“so, what do we do?” you ask. you’re hoping sophia won’t go through with the divorce. everything that was shared here, in the bed that you two share, it’s something worth preserving.

she lifts her head off your shoulder, taking both of your hands in hers, a determined look in her eyes. 

“you remember lara?” she asks, a small smile on her eyes.

“of course.” you reply, pulling one of her hands towards you to give a small kiss, just across each knuckle.

“well, we found something, some dirt on thomas.” she starts, reaching for her phone and opening the photo album. “we’re going to leak it to the press, everything, all his partying problems, the coercion of marriage, my acting contract.”

she shows you everything, including the unsavory of parts of thomas’ addictive lifestyle. she even points out the clauses in thomas’ fathers inheritance. it’s all there in fine print, this would kill even the highest star’s reputation.

“but sophia, won’t this kill your career?” you ask, realizing there’s no way for her to get out of this freely. surely his team will try and ruin her, ruin everything that she’s worked so hard towards.

“we’re going to leak it to multiple sources, anonymously of course. we’ll leak it tomorrow morning. it’ll be the first day of freedom, i won’t be under his clutches anymore.” she says exasperatedly, dropping the phone onto her bed. 

“tomorrow? why tomorrow?” you ask, going back to holding her hands. 

“i wanted to tell you first, everything about me and my past, you should hear it from me. i didn’t want to leak it and have you find out that way. you deserved to hear it from me.” 

“thank you.” it meant more to you than she could ever know. you were tired of hearing about everything after the fact, almost like an afterthought. to hear about everything firsthand was a relief, she considered how you would feel and took the time to explain the situation to you.

she gives you a kiss, a soft one. one that blooms feelings of love in your chest once more.

“i’m sorry, for everything.” she expresses. 

“i know fia.” you respond, giving her a kiss that makes her wrap her arms around you, trying to deepen the kiss when you pull back. “but i need time, to process everything. i don’t think i can give you my heart as it is right now.” 

you want to, but how could you be expected to offer your heart on a silver platter even with everything that’s been revealed. a part of you still resents her for what she’s refused to tell you, you know it was because of thomas but still there are things that wound your heart. and you need time.

you two were by no means perfect, but you would try everything to make it so that you two could work. 

and sophia, she would try ten times harder to win your heart back.

she swore to God she would.

--

a/n: the much anticipated pt2 of the 'save a horse, ride a cowgirl' fic. i hope i have brought the story to justice. stay safe and stay healthy everyone. cheers, hope you've enjoyed!

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hiii! Your headcanons and memes are absolutely funny, I think this request fits you.

So instead of dog or cat (Husker) Wife reader saw her Husband walking around with the egg boys, and she pulls out the '🥺can we keep one?' and would like ABSOLUTELY not take no for an answer, she even pulls out a new dress for the egg boi to differentiate him from the other eggs.

I loved those goofy eggs so much 😭

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being a jealous husband, Alastor being possessive of wife!reader's attention

Description: ☝️⬆️

Okay, so it's bad enough that Alastor is stuck dealing with the eggs and he's not even allowed to crack a few of them

And he's totally not annoyed with the way your eyes lit up, and you immediately started cooing over them the moment you saw them

Of course the clumsy little things just ate it up, flexing and showing off for you, even going so far as to climb into your outstretched arms

So now they're stealing his wife from him? Those eggs have crossed a line

He skipped breakfast for this?

Alastor knows he needs to keep them away from you to keep you from getting more attached than you already are

So at the sacrifice of his own needs for your attention, Alastor makes sure to keep the eggs far away from you by keeping them close to him

Even at the cost of his sanity

Alastor hadn't even realized he left one of them behind until he came back to the hotel to find you holding one like a baby

And the little imbecile is just soaking up the attention too, blissfully unaware of the error he just made

Not even Sir Pentious can get the egg to willingly leave your embrace, the little thing stubbornly clinging to you

"No! You can't sssstay with her! You're my little egg! My minion!"

It takes much coaxing from you to get the egg to leave your side but that's far from the end of it

Every morning afterwards the egg is bursting into the bedroom and crawling into bed with the two of you

Instead of waking up to your sleepy affection, Alastor is waking up to that stupid egg babbling off to you about everything and anything

Not him shoving the egg boy off the bed and tugging you against him

Alastor eats nothing but eggs for breakfasts for the next week, there's something therapeutic about cracking them that he just can't quite put his finger on

Oh wait-yes he can

He hopes that you'll get sick of the egg boy eventually, but then you start dressing the egg up, differentiating it from the others

"Alastor look! Doesn't he look darling? He's a mini you~!"

You don't notice your husband's eye twitching

You baby that egg more than you've ever babied him and he's definitely getting jealous

He just about snaps when he hears you and Sir Pentious talking about you keeping the little egg

"Aren't you a little old for those 'egg baby' projects, my dear? You're not in school anymore."

"Oh, please, Alastor! Can't we keep him? He's already so attached to me and I just adore him! I've already named him!"

"Um...Y/N...they already have namesssss..."

"I do?"

Somehow, he manages to convince you that you don't need to keep the egg but it's by the skin of his teeth

And it doesn't stop you from spending every waking moment spoiling the egg

That should be him being spoiled by you

He starts trying to intimidate the egg whenever you aren't around but the little thing is too dense to understand it

"I wouldn't follow Y/N so closely up those stairs, one wrong step and it would be quite the nasty fall for someone as fragile as you."

"Thanks Boss!"

Not Alastor trying to crack him whenever you look away

Purposefully opening doors a little too hard in hopes that your egg is on the other side

Using his staff to nudge him out an open window...

Finding extremely dangerous tasks for the egg to do only to be disappointed when he comes back unharmed

Developing a sudden interest in baking extremely large cakes

Alastor, honey, come on...that last one wasn't even subtle

Bottom line, if you care about the egg boy then you better give him back to Sir Pentious because he won't be safe around your husband

It's an emotional goodbye but Alastor's happiness at having your attention again is worth it

It's not like you won't still see each other around the hotel, chill

He's a terribly needy man when it comes to your attention but it's just part of his charm

I LOVE THESE LITTLE GUYS

[luna-azzurra]

Enemies to lovers Prompts

Rival Bakers Who Can’t Stand Each Other… She thinks his croissants are too buttery. He thinks her cupcakes are overrated. They’ve spent years side-eyeing each other from across the town bakery scene, but now? They’re stuck in the same high-stakes baking competition. Forced to share tips, kitchen space, and maybe a few late-night practice sessions, they realize that hate tastes a lot like love, just with extra frosting.

The Nerd vs. The Popular Kid, but Feelings Get in the Way She’s the star of the debate team. He’s the guy who doesn’t even bring a backpack to school. They’ve never exchanged a sentence that wasn’t filled with sarcasm, until they’re paired for the biggest project of the semester. Deadlines, arguments, and way too many late-night study sessions later, the real problem isn’t the assignment. It’s the way they suddenly can’t stop looking at each other.

Small-Town War Over a Garden (And Also Their Hearts) She wants a peaceful community garden where kids can learn about nature. He wants a shiny new business development that totally doesn’t need another Starbucks. They start as enemies, throwing around legal jargon and passive-aggressive town hall speeches, but somehow, between planting flowers and fighting over zoning laws, their arguments start to feel a little too much like foreplay.

Fairy vs. Guardian... a Magical Disaster (That Ends in Love) She’s a reckless little menace with wings. He’s a brooding, by-the-book guardian of the enchanted forest. They get stuck together on one mission and immediately hate everything about each other, until late-night stakeouts and accidental life-saving moments make them rethink everything. Turns out, magic isn’t the most powerful force in the forest. They are.

Two Rival Animal Shelter Volunteers Who’d Rather Strangle Each Other than Fall in Love She thinks dogs belong on cozy blankets. He thinks they belong outside, running free. Every time they cross paths at the animal shelter, someone ends up yelling. But when a batch of abandoned puppies needs their help, they’re suddenly stuck working together. Between midnight feedings and arguing over the best chew toys, their rivalry starts feeling a little too much like flirting.

Office Enemies Forced to Play Nice (And Maybe Fall in Love) She’s a marketing genius. He’s a numbers guy. They’ve spent years throwing petty jabs across the conference table, but now? HR has shoved them into a mandatory team-building retreat. Hating each other is easy, until trust falls, long hikes, and a surprise power outage force them to rely on each other. Somewhere between late-night drinks and sharing a terrible hotel room, work rivalry turns into something else entirely.

From Prank Wars to Romance She runs the arts-and-crafts cabin. He’s all about extreme sports. They’ve been locked in a summer-long war of sabotage, but when a campfire accident (or an inconvenient thunderstorm) forces them to spend the night together in the mess hall, they realize that under all the teasing and competition, something softer has been simmering all along.

When Rival Artists Collide (and Create Something Unforgettable) She’s abstract. He’s hyperrealistic. Their art styles don’t match, and neither do their personalities. But when they’re stuck working on the same community mural, the insults fly fast, the paint starts splattering, and suddenly their rivalry turns into something far more intimate. Passionate arguments turn into passionate… other things.

Surfing Enemies Turned Ocean-Loving Soulmates She’s got the fastest wave rides. He’s got the sharpest turns. They’ve spent years battling it out on the water, but when a storm hits and they’re stranded on the same beach overnight, the salt air starts playing tricks on them. Maybe the real thrill isn’t the competition. Maybe it’s the way their names sound in each other’s mouths.

Here's My Free E-book On Amazon on character development,

And Here’s the Show, Don’t Tell freebie book and my newsletter.

[cry4mina]

Orion’s Belt

(Sana x fem!reader)

Word Count: 7.5k

Fluff/Light Angst/ Smut

Summary: You and your bestfriend Sana take an impromptu vacation after her boyfriend dumps her sparking some interesting interactions and confessions. Tw: friends to lovers, suggestive, sex, drinking, swimming, anxiety on planes, food, thunder storms, cuddling. Let me know if I missed anything! A/N: Halfway proof read! This is a lot different than the others that I've posted and I hope you enjoy it just as much! Thanks to @neoplatinum for listening to me ramble off ideas and pushing me to finish this! Feedback always appreciated and DMs are always open!<3

—

“Sana! Are you ready to go? We have a flight to catch!” shouting from the foyer of her penthouse after letting yourself in with the spare key she gave you, patiently waiting for the Queen Femme to gather herself for your impromptu vacation.

“Yes, Y/n! Just give me a second!” flustered at being rushed by you, her best friend, though this entire vacation was her idea, how could she not already be prepared for it? 

Being best friends of about 4 years meant you and Sana did almost everything together and if she needed you, you were present with no hesitation. Sana purchased the tickets, booked the hotel, and sprung it on you two days before you were scheduled to leave, knowing you would agree immediately.

You and Sana met at a coffee shop downtown on a rainy evening in July all those years ago. Enjoying your latte and watching the rain trickle down the window when she caught your attention and told you she liked your shoes with a brilliantly beaming smile that knocked the wind out of you. You ended up talking for hours and have been inseparable ever since.

You have seen every emotion play across her face over the years, knowing her like the back of your hand and always anticipating what she needed or wanted. She loved that about you and always reciprocated the same tenderness and care.

Two massive suitcases emerge from the doorway, followed by Sana looking elegant as ever, wearing a strapless sundress that flowed off her figure perfectly, hues of peach lightly woven in a filigree pattern around the edges of the white fabric, giving her skin an celestial glow. Her hair is down and slightly messy which was not normal for her, but given her emotional state- and how much she had to pack this morning -you understood. She was just not herself today. 

Sana was going to pack last night but found herself laid on the couch on the phone with you, crying and stressing about her now ex boyfriend and how he broke up with her over text message for seemingly no reason, a few days prior. Confused by the action and saddened by the surprise separation, how could she organize a suitcase if she couldn’t even organize her mind?

The boy she had found herself in a relationship with was not someone you liked, in any sense of the word. The way he spoke to her was vile and always figured he was using her for a social status boost. It was hard to watch the relationship develop unevenly, one-sided in the way of Sana trying to make it work and him not caring in the slightest.

Hoping you were wrong, you said nothing to Sana about it. If she wanted the experience of being with him, you weren’t going to try to convince her to leave him, you knew better that to meddle in her business. Just being around for her if it all fell apart and it took 6 short months for the foundation to crack, cascading the rest of the relationship with it. Sana standing in the middle of the ash and smoke, sifting through the pieces of rubble for the parts of her she wanted to keep.

Truthfully, it hurt you knowing she was with him. The way he would ignore her speaking to talk to everyone else and being too emotionally distant and cold with her. Sana deserved better than this rude and callous man and you wished she knew how badly you wanted to give her the world. 

The anger you felt towards him was justified, you could treat her better even if you were hiding the feelings you developed for Sana. It was a difficult task, considering who she was as a person, so supportive, empathetic, kind and always willing to help anyone who needed it. No wonder you fell for her,  especially with how affectionate you were with each other after becoming so close. 

Always cuddling on the couch, holding hands, and leaning on each other. After almost drunkenly making out multiple times, you always assumed there was something there but never asked or acted on it in fear of losing the strong friendship you built with her over time. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.” huffing through the tense air surrounding her. The inflection of her voice drenched in stress with a hint of sadness as she tried to carry on like nothing was happening, catching the single tear that fell from her alluring eyes as it smoothed over her cheek.

You made an empathetic face at her, holding your arms out knowing she will find her way into them, burying her face in your neck, eyelashes tickling you as she sniffles and sighs, finally allowing herself to partially fall apart in your arms and you were just happy she felt safe enough with you to do so. 

Internally, your veins are screaming white fire as Sana leans into you more. Holding her was like holding the personification of the sun, and you were melting underneath her embrace. Warm tones of amber and sandalwood emanate off of her and fill your nose causing your heart to skip a beat, pulse quickening, as you try to push the clouds away from over her head. 

Hands rubbing the middle of Sana’s smooth back in attempts to comfort her through this time, she regains composure, straightening up while you are wiping the additional tears, a small giggle leaves her lips as she grabs her suitcases and waits for you to open the door for her like you always did. 

“Why was your heart beating so fast? I could feel your pulse in your neck.” chuckling out of puzzlement as you both step out the front door into the warmth of the bright summer sun, immediately throwing her sunglasses on to hide her eyes from the rays and the public. 

“Uh…I’m…angry.” telling a half truth as you try to keep your composure knowing she was watching your body language fly through a few different emotions before settling on calm.

She always knew when you weren’t being honest. Your tells were easy for her to pick up on, even if she never expressed that. The way your eyes would veer away from her, always to the floor, pupils constricting with worry of her finding out the truth. What if Sana already knew what you thought you had tactfully hid from her?

The thought sends a slight chill down your spine, bones cracking as you put your luggage into the car while she climbs into her passenger seat. Seat always adjusted to Sana perfectly, she would grill you if it was ever adjusted to anyone else, no matter who it was. 

Turning the car on and looking over at her, sitting with her feet on the dashboard scrolling through her phone looking for the perfect song. Bluetooth was set up to attach to Sana’s phone first because she loved to play DJ and who were you to deny her any happiness, you wanted to give her any reason to smile even if it was as simple as controlling the music.

—

The flight went by quickly, thankfully. Only an hour and 15 minutes of a clenched back and trying to remember how to breathe properly, you weren’t fond of flying. Sana held your hand and checked in with you multiple times through the short flight, she couldn’t stand to see you so anxious in your own skin, but it did bring her great joy to know you’d be willing to face your fears for her. A true testament to how much you loved her and who you were as a person.

—

A 2 bedroom villa by the beach was your home for the next week. It was about as big as a 2 bedroom apartment, still fancy and spacious but with a modern twist. Crown moldings, vaulted ceilings, every amenity you could ever imagine in place. 

There was a small metal spiral staircase to the side of the living room, curious about what it was, you pointed it out to Sana.

“What's this lead to?” questioning the warped metal twisting into the ceiling.

“Go find out!” Motioning her hand up the stairs, your head tilts in curiosity, smacking your lips and then running full speed up the stairs as Sana laughs from below, finally following you when she hears you gasp loudly. 

Tongue pinched between her teeth and smile wide as ever, climbing up the stairs to see your face. You are gobsmacked, hands over your mouth and eyes wide with wonder as you’re taking in the loft with a huge skylight with a conversation pit underneath it. 

“I know one of our favorite things to do together is stargazing so when I saw this, I thought it would be perfect for our week long adventure!” eagerly shouted as she threw herself around you, pressing her chest against your back and resting her chin on your shoulder. 

“This is perfect!” placing your hands over hers on your stomach and leaning into her warmth, and knowing you’d be spending the majority of your nights suspended under the stars with Sana talking about life and enjoying each other's company. 

“Alright, let’s go! We have plans!” suddenly heading for the exit, lightly pulling on your arm trying to get you back down the stairs to get ready. 

“Plans?! Where are we going?” Quizzically as you trample down the stairs, Sana pulling you the entire way.

“It’s a surprise! Did you pack that one outfit I told you to?” as she pulls her suitcases into one of the rooms to get settled.

“Yes…should I put i-”

“Yes. Put it on and give me 30 minutes.” Closing the door quickly behind her, giving no time for arguments or rebuttals. 

Glancing at the clock, the time reading 6:33pm, you pull out the outfit requested by Sana and lay it flat on the bed. A bright red crop top, paired with black slacks, and a black blazer. It was a little dressier than what you would normally wear but it was her break up vacation and if she enjoyed you in this outfit, she’d get you in this outfit. 

—

Steam rises to the ceiling as you sing to yourself in the shower, washing the travel off of you to get a little more comfortable. You wonder how Sana is doing. It’s only been about 10 minutes since you parted but knowing she was going through a tough time, you couldn’t help but worry a little as she seemed very cheery since you arrived on the island. 

Recalling the first time you and her went stargazing together, it was a cool night in October when she called you unexpectedly. Missing her family immensely, reaching out to you for some comfort. 

Water rushing down your back as you live in the memory of Sana coming over to your apartment with that gloomy look living in her eyes. Dragging her to the patio and telling her to get into the hammock you had set up for yourself a few days prior, for this exact reason. 

Laying closely together, holding her as you asked her questions about her family, what they did for a living, about the special memories she had with them from her childhood. By the end of it she was smiling and giggling recalling them with you.

Silence fell between you as you both relaxed and looked up at the sky when you suddenly pointed up at the shimmering night, singling out a radiant sparkle in the blackness of the sky.

“That’s Venus…do you see those 3 stars in a row? That’s Orion’s belt!” enthusiastically talking about the stars and planets in the sky that you could see. She always loved listening to you speak so passionately about things you loved. 

That was the first night you almost kissed, sober, for the first time. Sana had gotten up to use the bathroom and fell back into the hammock face first, always so clumsy, and was merely a half an inch from your face. 

Feeling the heat of her breath on your skin burnt you as the moment tensed, bones stiffening in the face of your best friend. Pull like magnets in your chests as you inched closer before she forced herself away from you, throwing her hands over her mouth, muttering an apology and basically running inside.

Leaving you to remember the way your chest fell into itself and the ache of wanting to feel her lips on yours. That’s the only time you were almost able to do what no one ever could, get Sana to make the first move. 

Always against it with everyone else, she doesn’t chase. If you want her, show her otherwise you’ll get locked into the friend zone, never to be seen in a romantic light again. A familiar sadness creeped into your stomach. Not chasing her was hard for you, but you were so paranoid about ruining the friendship that you just couldn’t bring yourself to play the game.

A sigh relieves some of the compression in your chest as you dry your hair, hoping this would be the night that you finally got over yourself enough to tell her how you felt about her. It was intimidating to think about, considering you still had a week on this island with her and what if it isn't reciprocated?

Slipping into the outfit laid out on the bed, adjusting it accordingly and stepping into the living room noting that Sana wasn’t out of her room yet, of course. Late to everything, as always.

Placing yourself on the couch and peering at the clock, 6:59pm, patiently waiting for her to emerge and deciding to get a little more comfortable, you laid down and scrolled through your phone, eyes getting heavier as the minutes passed until you finally dozed off. 

—

The door opens lightly and Sana steps out in a long black sleeveless dress, cinched at the waist to show off her figure and a slit all the way up to her upper thigh. Hair tied up in a sophisticated bun and make-up flawless, finally ready to go. 

Hands placed on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg when she sees you asleep on the couch, letting out an eye roll and a small giggle that stirs you awake. 

“Good morning, sleepy head!” shouted at you in a volume you weren’t anticipating. Eyes widening as you take in your surroundings and re-calibrate from the deep sleep you found yourself in moments prior.

Eyes shifting over Sana, your breath is pulled from your body. Blood running blue as all hints of oxygen drained from your lungs, sucked into a vortex of pure bliss as you felt the weight of the love you had for the human in front of you, who was effervescently shining brightly in front of you. 

“Sana,” sleepily escapes your lip, awe breaking through the grogginess of your voice, “You look stunning…wow.” If she was drenched in diamonds the delicacy that was her elegance would refract the same amount of light, glowing with the embodiment of pure love that she willingly gave to those who she felt were worthy.  

Staring without care and mouth hanging open, you couldn’t help but gawk at her. A moth to a flame, eyes glued to her figure. Absolutely trapped in your skin as your body temperature rises, flushing your skin a lovely shade of pink. 

“I could say the same to you…” looking you up and down before batting her eyes at you. Watching you stand, completely engrossed as you stretch again, bones rattling under the stiffness of the slumber you found on the couch. 

Neither of you can take your eyes off each other when heading for the door. The closeness causes a slight tension between the two of you, fingers tingling from nervousness at the close proximity, breathing becomes a little more difficult. 

This was going to be a long night.

—

Arriving at your reservation at the local fancy restaurant, you were unable to focus on anything but Sana. Following every refined movement, from sitting in the chair you pulled out for her, to looking at the menu. You were in the clouds, heart eyes evident, completely oblivious to what was happening around you. 

“Do you know what you’re going to order?” questioned without removing her eyes from the wine menu, tabbing through the selections and settling on the sweetest bottle of rosé she could find. 

“Uh…nope, actually. I was distracted.” dropping your head in shame as you quickly find the entrees, picking the ribeye and closing the menu quickly. Eyes back to Sana but she’s already peering at you making eye contact that blinds you, forcing you to look away from her and noticing the emptiness of the restaurant.

The waiter approaches the table and introduces himself, letting you know what the house specials were before asking about what drinks you were interested in for the evening. This prompts Sana to order the wine she was looking at on the menu. 

“We will take this bottle, please” Sana says pointing at the page, hearing the drag of her finger on the thick paper as she underlines the name with her nail. 

“Oh, before you go, why is it so empty in here? During the summer I would assume it would be busier.” Politely asking, I guess she noticed too. 

“It’s the stormy season so most people wait until right before fall to visit.” smiling and leaning to get the bottle of wine for the two of you. 

“…storms?” whispered from the woman made of living porcelain, showing a crack that misted fear onto her perfect complexion. 

The waiter comes back over, shows both of you the bottle before slicing the foil and uncorking it, pouring Sana a little for a taste test. She swirls the glass lightly and takes a sip before letting out a satisfied hum. The waiter takes the go ahead and fills her glass, doing the same for you moments later and leaving quickly. 

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me on this trip, I’m feeling much better already.” An energy emitting off of her that was abnormal. Was Sana being shy? Sana? Shy? How bizarre. 

“You know I’d do anything to make you feel better.” confidently said back in a tone that was a little flirtier than normal. Allowing the boldness to flow before you could stop yourself. Sighing as if you are ashamed, your arms swing to cover your chest and legs crossed trying to escape the awkwardness.

Sana notices and smirks, “I know you would. I'd do the same for you. I think that’s why our friendship has been so great!” raising her glass to you before she sips it lightly, you do the same back, offering it as a cheer but it was really a muffled cry. 

The smile she lets out as she finishes her sentence was an insult to the injury. The word friend branding your chest and the smile the salt rubbed mercilessly into the wound, stinging a little more than normal tonight considering the way she was looking at you earlier.

Growing somber as the night continues on, throughout the meal and through the ride home you barely said anything, not that Sana minded. Your company was enough but it was weighing on her that you were seemingly bothered by something she couldn’t see. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/n? You seem off since dinner…” worried as she swipes the card to open your hotel door, launching it forward to let you in first. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m just tired is all.” a melancholic response from you as you head into your room and close the door lightly behind you before she could ask you anything else. 

Sana stands in the living room by herself in silence, saddened by something she didn’t really understand. Holding her own hands as she gazes down at the floor biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she had the guts to follow you. 

Rain splashing on the windows lightly and a small rumble in the distance, winds howling pushing and pulling the building as it creaks under the force, reminding her of what the waiter said at the restaurant. Stormy season.

“Great.” rolling her eyes at the idea of being in an unfamiliar place and having to deal with the sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning. A fear she’s had since she was a child, alive and well in her 20s that you usually helped her through, but you were upset and she wanted to give you space if you needed it. 

“If y/n can face her fear of flying, then I can face this.” Hastily going into her room, changing into something more comfortable and curling up in the bed, scrolling on her phone as the storm rolled in, tapping on the window a sign of the loud clashes that were going to sing through the sky as anytime now. 

—

Closing the door behind you lightly and plopping onto the bed, you run your hands over your face roughly and deeply inhale, followed by an exhale of equal size as you try to shake off the feeling of dread. 

“Friendship” the word locked between your ears, spiraling and echoing through your memories of all the times you thought there was something between you and Sana. 

Sadness wells up in your throat, choking on the indirect rejection slushing through your brain as the rain falls outside. Thunder rolling in the distance, Sana was going to text you when it got bad you already knew. 

Sighing heavily as you stripped off her favorite outfit of yours, throwing it carelessly out of your sights. Reaching for a pair of cozy black sweatpants and a black wife pleaser tank top. 

Not even bothering to remove the comforter off the sheets, you lay face first into the pillow and sigh heavily trying to release the build up of grief you had been carrying for some time, without alerting Sana. 

Dizzy in a sense, hopelessness washed over you when your phone vibrated about 45 minutes later with a text from Sana. 

Satang<3: are you awake? 

Satang<3: this thunder is kinda scary…

A playful grin lay across your face and you start typing but a knock interrupts the attempt.

 Adrenaline flushes your system as you stand and pull the door open, revealing Sana, wearing an oversized t-shirt that covered whatever bottoms she could have on. Anxiety brewed within her about the commotion outside, jumping closer to you as the thunder clapped loudly against itself. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” breathed to you through chattering teeth, eyes wide and pouty as she tried to convince you, not that you needed it. 

Visibly shaken up, she takes a big step forward towards you. Your arms immediately open for her out of habit. Half holding, half guiding her to the right side of the bed and allowing her to crawl in between the silky sheets first. 

Taking your place next to her, you click the TV on and find a channel with a random sitcom on to drown out the noise of the clattering outside, hoping Sana could focus on something other than the storm. 

“Maybe we could go to the beach tomorrow?” said unexpectedly through the sound of the laugh track playing loudly, covering the static of the 

“But you hate the beach.” in awe at what you were suggesting to her.

“But you love the beach.” retorted sarcastically with a grin.

Beaming at you as she playfully smacks your arm, leaving her hand carefully placed on your bicep, a form of physical touch, her love language. She squeezed it tightly as the thunder rolled, creeping closer with every minute. 

Her eyes are recklessly running around the room as the lightning illuminates the sky, droplets pounding on the roof in intense waves as the storm thrashes into the night, leaving you to care for your favorite person. 

 You left your arm up and over her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. She is quick to koala herself around you with her head on your chest, listening to your racing heart, and half smiling as she falls asleep in the safety of your warmth.

—

Waking up to the sound of Sana’s sleep heavy breaths was something you always looked forward to when you found yourself sharing a bed. She was so at peace and calm, it was hard to ignore how exquisitely perfect she was. 

Laying with her face in your neck, her closed eyes softened as her brows furrowed in her sleep, small squeaks leaving her lips, followed by a groan muffled by you, sent your body into system overload. What could she possibly be dreaming about that would cause such a sound to leave her perfectly pink lips? 

Her hand slides up your torso gently, her breath hitching as her fingertips smooth over your ribs, bone by bone. Heartbeat visible in your chest as she rolls onto her back and audibly moans your name.

The way it rolls off her tongue makes you instantly insatiable, clenching your thighs together tightly for some form of relief and trying not to assume what she was dreaming about. The way her hips were rocking was enough for you to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, not assuming but knowing that she was having a wet dream about you.

Sneakily stepping out of the bed and turning to see her lazily thrusting her hips in her sleep and continuing to whimper sparked something in you that was indescribable. Unable to shift your eyes away from Sana as she continued on, wonder if this was a common occurrence for her.

Stepping into the bathroom to try and remember how to breathe, you hold yourself up on the sink and turn the cold water on, splashing it in your face a few times to bring you back down to earth. Was she really thinking about you that way? Was it just a one time thing? It’s not like you could just ask her, that would be weird. 

“Y/n?” breaks your train of thought causing you to freeze instantaneously. Statued by the sink, wondering if she remembers what she was just moaning over. You were sure to never forget it. 

“I’m in the bathroom…I’ll be out in a second.”

Hearing her stretch from the other room, you quickly change into your bathing suit, a simple black 2 piece, and walk back into the bedroom.

Sana was still half asleep until she saw you in that swimsuit in front of her, you had been working out and it was showing. Abs toned, arms on the more muscular side; she silently swooned seeing you in this light. 

  “Do you still want to go to the beach today?” sitting on the bed next to her trying to address her directly but she won’t look you in the eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess. Let me change.” calmly leaving her mouth as she gets up and walks out of the room silently and completely shutting you out of whatever she was feeling. 

Now perplexed at what was happening, you stare at the door she just left through in complete disbelief. She was always so cheery in the morning and to see her not shining, caused a little bit of worry in you. 

Following her out into the living room, only for her to shut the door behind her. A sigh ringing through the air after the door closes, you try to brush it off by going to put together your beach bag. Silently gathering towels for the two of you, bringing a few water bottles and snacks and wishfully hoping you’d be able to help her get out of her head today. 

–

The calmness of the waves washes over the shore, creating a relaxing white noise as you and Sana lay in the lounge chairs, enjoying the stillness of the environment and being able to relax in peace.

Margaritas were the drink of choice today, it was 11am and you were already on your third one. Sana just kept ordering them for the both of you and you were on vacation. Who’s to say you can’t let a little lose and get a little drunk with your best friend?

Sana’s demeanor was still off, but she had more of a bounce in her step after an hour or two. The margaritas slowly revived her affectionate personality that she hid away that morning. 

Back to smacking your arm playfully and smiling back at you with everything you said when she suddenly stands and runs right to the ocean, waves putting up a weak fight pulling her in as she turns around and eggs you on in joining her.

“Come on! The water’s not that cold!” Yelled at you from feet away as you made your way to her. She was a liar, the water was freezing cold on your legs as you scooched closer to her in the water finally making it to the waist deep water Sana was at. 

“So c-cold!” escapes your lips as you try to get used to the frigid waters coating your body when a splash causes a loud gasp to leave your mouth followed by a small giggle from Sana. 

Gawking at her while she laughs at your reaction, you jump over to her and grab her by the waist, playfully wrestling with her in the water. Being sure to handle her with care as you tangle, she drapes her arms around your neck, clinging to you tightly. Her legs soon follow, wrapping themselves around your torso so she’s flush against you, slyly smirking centimeters from your face. 

“Awh, have I made you upset?” oozing seductively from her lips as she slides her arms down your back to toy with the knot holding your top to your chest. 

“You wouldn’t.” challenging the threat she was intimidating you with, drunkenly. 

“Oh but I would.” squinting her eyes at you while she tugged lightly allowing the knot to loosen slightly.

Unmoving as you let her pull the strings, her face so close you can see the mischievous glint in her eyes and smirk elongating as she leans into you further, connecting your lips as one of her hands shimmies up to the back of your neck, continuing to lay soft sweet kisses on your face, making her way to your neck for a light bite. Attempting to repress all the noises your lungs wish to release as your legs clench together. 

“You like this, don’t you? I bet you’ve thought about this before, hm?” whispered into your ear as she felt you tensing underneath her. Teeth tug on your lobes lightly as the question burns in your ears like a form of torture, snapping you back to the reality you were in. 

Sana was drunk, heartbroken, and leaning into you for validation…that’s the only way this could actually be happening right?

“Sana...we can’t do this.” hesitantly stated as she cups your face lovingly, you can’t help but rest your head there affectionately. 

“But…why not?” woefully questioned as she rests her chin on your shoulder, re-tying the knot to secure the top covering you, immediately respecting what you were saying and not crossing the boundary. 

“Because we’ve both had too much to drink and I don’t want it to happen thi-…” unaware of a larger wave coming to crash down on you mid sentence, completely drenching both of you from head to toe. 

Chuckling out of surprise, you look over to find the scowl Sana seared into her visage. Her eyes are bright red, breath stuttering as she sniffles.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” scanning the visible parts of her body for any hint as to why she would be so upset.

“I’m fine, y/n. A lot of salt water in my eyes and I'm just ready to go.” getting out of the water and making her way over to where you had set yourselves up for the morning. 

“You want to leave so quickly?” completely confused by her as she gathered everything silently. Making the choice to let her stew in whatever she was feeling, unsure of how to proceed with this but wanting to improve the sudden change in mood, wrapping yourself in your towel and following her back to the hotel. 

–

It was barely 1pm by the time you got back to the room, surprised that she only wanted to spend a few hours in the sun. Asking her multiple times if she was okay on the way back but she only gave one worded replies that didn’t give you any context to why she was turning within herself and away from you.

Setting all her stuff down by the door before walking straight into her room, not closing the door behind her, taking that as an invitation, you followed her like a lost puppy to the threshold. Sana turns around and halfway glares at you as she starts to try to untie the knot at the base of her neck.

“Can I help you, Y/n?” with a tone that harshly fragmented your heart. Never having spoken to you this way, you were taken aback completely, wondering if the alcohol had something to do with the overwhelming sense of unwelcomeness that creeped into the space, darkening the overall mood and instigating fight, flight or freeze within you.

“Oh…” mournfully uttered as you stepped out of the room that was clouded by whatever seeped from Sana’s consciousness, what could you have done to generate such an irritated response from her? Swiftly marching to the room you both spent the night in, footsteps can be heard swiftly trying to catch up to you.

“Y/n, wait!” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Immediately stripping out of the swimsuit when you heard the door rattle slightly, as the person on the other side of it rested their forehead against it. Hearing the sniffles produced from Sana as you force yourself to not offer comfort to the woman who had just snapped at you for a reason you weren’t aware of. 

–

The clock reads 9:53pm as you lay in the conversation pit under the skylight. Last night might’ve been stormy but tonight was perfect for stargazing and that’s exactly what you planned to do, with or without your best friend.

Laying by yourself and staring straight into the sky, admiring the randomness that was the star's patterns, connecting dots as you see the constellations play out in front of you. God, this sucks alone. Missing Sana at every passing moment.

Was she just drunk earlier or were her actions real? Sana had always flirted with you in her intoxicated states but it had never felt as intense as the moment in the water today. Remembering the taste of her sweet lips in the salty air, you craved them constantly, but was it romantic or was it just a drunken moment she was having? 

She did just go through a breakup and the alcohol wasn’t exactly something that made emotions easier to deal with. Maybe she was trying to seek comfort in you, as messed up as that is to say. Maybe she knew you cared for her romantically and she wanted to push the limits and see how much you really wanted her?

The rattling of the metal staircase pulls you out of the toxic trance you were in, not bothering to look up as you picked a star to fixate on instead of looking at Sana who was standing in the doorway.

“May I come in?” a delicate smile can be heard in her words as she asked where your boundary was. That was more like her. Instead of a verbal response, you simply patted the cushioning next to you without looking at her, summoning her over to you. 

Gracefully sauntering over and laying down next to you, she let out a long sigh almost relaxing into the atmosphere as she looked over at your face. You could feel her eyes burning a hole into your cheeks but refused to look away from the skylight. 

Her hand finds its way to your stomach as she lays on her side, snuggling you with her head on your shoulder. Your heart picks up again, even with not wanting to have the conversation that needed to be had, she still made you feel like pure bliss. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you…I just thought-” cutting herself off, swallowing nervously as she starts to quietly weep into your neck.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you try to hold in the emotions that seemed to be brimming out of both of you rapidly. Your fingers lightly trace her back as her quiet sobs drip from your skin.

“Sana, it’s okay. We weren’t sober, I know you didn-” 

“I just thought you felt the same way.” slicing through the air like a knife, chopping your sentence in half. 

Heart pulsing in your ears as you grow red, feeling your heart pumping forcefully as you try to wrap your mind around what she just uttered. You’re completely immobile as you remember all the small moments that could be seen as romantic. Candle lit dinners, the days spent on the couch, the physical touch that was constant between the two of you…has she always liked you this way? Or were you misunderstanding what she was saying?

“What do you mean by that, Sana?” carefully asking the question that charred the tip of your tongue, leaving the build up of fiery love inside of you, knowing this would alter the state of your friendship forever and possibly change the trajectory of your life. 

Sitting up promptly, to ensure you can hear and see her completely, pulling you up with her.

“Y/n” a sigh breaks the sentence as she braces for what’s to come “…I love you.” 

Patiently waiting for the realization of what she’s saying to roll over your face, she continues. 

“I tried dating other people to get over you because I was worried that if I told you, you wouldn’t feel the same way and it would come between us or that it would end badly. And everyone I dated was nothing compared to you, and just made me want to be with you more…you treat me so well that it puts everyone else to shame,” looking down at the floor and toying with a string sticking out of the cushions that covered the floor. 

“And when we were at the beach, I saw the way you looked at me and the alcohol encouraged me to make a move, and you know I never do that but…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I swear. I misread the signs I thought you were giving me and -sniff-” continuing on to try to over explain her actions but you were in a complete state of euphoria.

Floating on cloud nine as Sana makes her plea for you to stick around, you reach out around her waist and hoist her into your lap, one leg on either side of your waist. 

Hand raising up to cup her surprised face as you lean into her without a second thought, lips passionately connecting as you show her what you always wanted to say out loud. 

Passionately tangled in a heated make out session, you remove her shirt quickly and trail light kisses down her exposed neck to her collarbone, her hand clenching your hair as she whimpers softly under your curious touch. 

“Y/n, I need you” breathed into your mouth as you effortlessly shift positions so you are on top of her, removing your shirt hastily not wanting the fabric to be between the touch of you and her velour skin. 

Grasping at your pants, trying to remove them quickly she nervously fidgets with the button and you let her panic for a second, enjoying the neediness radiating from her brow, as her half lidded eyes fill with frustration. 

Giggling as you look down at her, she halfway glares at you with a smile. Playfulness of your friendship seeps into the moment and you both welcome it in a moment of unseriousness. 

Reaching down and undoing the button of your pants and hers quickly while smirking at her boldly, she rolls her eyes at the move and unzips your pants, sliding her outstretched hand into your underwear and through your wetness. 

“I can’t wait to taste you” sultry tone ringing in your ears as you allow yourself to succumb to Sana in a way you only dreamed about. 

Reaching up behind you to unclip your bra sneakily before she rolled you over so you were on your back, fingers still circling your clit through the movement, causing a few slight gasps and light moans out of you. 

She removes her hand and discards your pants and panties to leave you completely naked. Squirming underneath her as you watch her remove the rest of her clothing, anticipation high as she kisses down your neck leaving small bites and a trail of marks down your chest. 

Taking her time descending your body and learning every place her touch will drive you mad, she hovers over your pussy and smiles up at you. 

“You know once we do this…there’s no going back, right?” waiting for permission from you to continue on. Even with how eager she was, she wanted to make sure that you knew this was an act of you committing to each other.

“Sana, please…” breathed into the night as your hands covered your face, the want palpable in the air as you tried to scoot closer to her mouth.

“Please what?” tracing her fingers between your hip bones and down your hips to your inner thighs.

The whine you release is guttural,  full of the desire that’s been burning for her for what felt like centuries. Moving your hands from your face, through her hair gripping it heavily as you moan the words she’s been waiting to hear. 

“Sana, please fuck me, I need you.” sighing heavily as she kisses your inner thigh while you beg for her to touch you.

“Good girl” mumbled into your thigh as she parts your lips and finally tastes your slick. Leaving nothing for imagination as she explores your folds. 

Her hands reach up to play with your hardened buds as she devours you. Latching onto your clit and circling it lightly with her tongue, moaning into your core as she sucks. 

Writhing underneath her while she feasts on your desire, directing her head where you want it by her hair as you groan her name senselessly. 

Bliss dripping off you, as you fixate on what she looks like between your legs. The eye contact has you spiraling into a void of pure lust as you start to buck your hips into her mouth, slowly grinding against her lips. 

Feeling her smile into you as finger dancing on the edge of your entrance, seeking permission to fill you the way you always dreamed she would. Not allowing her to thrust into you, but instead you force your hips down into to fuck yourself on her fingers while you still have enough thoughts in your head to do so.

Half laughing at you while you continue to buck your hips into her, moaning uncontrollably as you feel your stomach tighten. 

“You must have been dreaming of this for years…I never knew you wanted this so badly, baby. I’ll show you how it’s supposed to feel” taunting you between the damp sounds coming from your core.

Curling her fingers through your wetness to hit your g-spot perfectly as she lets you control the pace and tempo at which her fingers press it, mouth not letting go of your clit as you fuck yourself against her. 

“I’m -fuck right there- gonna cum.” shakily exhaled between grunts as groans as she starts to pump her fingers inside of you, hips faltering as she does, relentlessly sucking and swirling her tongue on your swollen pussy as you gush into her mouth, screaming her name. 

A light sheen of sweat coating your skin as she lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers before pulling them out of you slowly, leaving you gasping for more. Making eye contact with you as she licks her digits clean, smiling in almost a predatory way as she comes up to kiss you passionately. 

Tasting yourself on her caused your hips to start rutting against her again, grinding on the memory of her between your legs as you try to maneuver your hands between hers when she swats it away. 

“I’ve waited too long for this, for you…and I’m not finished, my love.” sinking her teeth into your neck roughly before finding herself back where she was about to force another orgasm out of you. 

This was going to be a long night, only hoping for more passionate nights under the stars with your love, Minatozaki Sana.

[wlw-multi-fandom-imagines]

I have a sorta specific request for either Emily or JJ from criminal minds. You're sorta new to the BAU and you end up getting sick while on a case, you don't hide being sick and do take care of yourself the best you can while still working you just don't want anyone to worry about you but E/JJ end up noticing and end up taking care of you? Kinda specific but I don't really like the whole "won't take medicine nor take care of themselves" trope. Thanks in advance! Or no worries if you don't want to write this!

Emily watched from a distance as you downed another round of DayQuil and shoved the bottle back into your bag. As hard as you had tried to fight it, the virus you had picked up at the start of the trip to Louisiana was taking it's toll. All of the vitamin C and other preventative measures had seemingly been for nothing, but she had to admit it was impressive how you were still managing to power through.

"How're you holding up?" she asked, entering your make-shift "office" in the corner of the small-town police station the team was temporarily operating out of.

"I am going to sleep for at least three days when we get home. Maybe four, but that might be considered a coma," you responded, voice raw from coughing. "How about you?"

"I'll probably just need a day and a half, two tops. You wanna head back to the hotel for the night? Garcia isn't going to have news until the morning, and we're kind of just spinning our wheels til then."

You nodded gratefully and stood, grabbing the bag stuffed with case files and cold medicine at your feet. Though you hadn't realized it, the two of you were the last ones left at the station. Emily knew part of the reason you were pushing yourself so hard was to impress the rest of the team, as this was your first official case with them since joining the BAU a few weeks prior. What Emily didn't know, was that you were also trying to impress her specifically, even if you weren't willing to admit that to yourself just yet.

"I'm not going to lie, I have taken enough cold medicine in the last 12 hours that I could be legally impaired at this point. Would you mind driving?" you asked as the two of you headed towards the single remaining black SUV in the parking lot. She chuckled and nodded, having already started searching her pockets for the keys.

"No worries, I was already planning on it. Also, totally won't judge you if you take a power nap on the way back. You have definitely earned one."

Grateful for the darkness, you blushed and felt your cheeks burn against the cool night air as you reached the passenger side door and got in. As she started the engine, the air that blasted from the vents blew a waft of her perfume towards you and you felt your stomach leap for a second. If you weren't so fatigued, you might have scolded yourself for how quickly you were developing a crush on your coworker. However, you were already drifting off after less than a minute of settling into your head and had no time to do so.

Emily, on the other hand, did not have the luxury of a nap to avoid the conflicting thoughts in her head. Had you not drifted off so quickly, you might have caught the glance she sent your way at the first red light she encountered, and how this time it was her that blushed.

[sunshine-theseus]

Breaking Records or Breaking the Internet? | Vivianne Miedema x Reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: COVID doesn’t exist, Viv didn’t have to undergo another knee surgery, I’m basing the main character off Arnie Titmus (I love her sm) but I am also just making shit up

Warnings: not proofread

Your first Olympics had been 2012 in London. Barely 15, you emerged from the water an Olympic record holder with your first piece of Olympic gold weighing on your neck. As a young girl from a rural town in Tasmania, you hadn’t expected to make a career out of swimming, but with every competition, every new medal, every regional, national and world record that you claim, it begins to feel real.

As a young girl from rural Tasmania who grew up extremely religious, you hadn’t expected to reach all these milestones with the girl of your dreams.

It was unclear how and why Vivianne Miedema showed up to your 200m Freestyle final swim at the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo. The rest of her team was surely back at the hotel or walking the streets of Tokyo, but here she was. Your eyes were drawn to her in the bright orange jacket all Dutch athletes had to wear, talking enthusiastically with Dawn Fraser, both of them pointing at you as you wait for your name to be called at the podium.

“With a new Olympic Record, 1st place is Y/N L/N!!” The voice echoes throughout the hall before cheers erupt from every corner. With a smile you bend to accept the medal that placed around your neck, then your eyes return to the unanticipated duo.

After congratulating your competitors and talking to family and friends, you make your way over to them. Dawn is pulling you into a hug and praising you before a word can escape your mouth, before turning to the tall dutchie next to her who has a tight lipped but kind smile.

“This is Vivianne Miedema. She’s a big fan of yours.” Of course you knew who she was. You were a big fan of her’s.

“It’s so lovely to meet you. You’re probably my favourite non-Australian player. I can’t wait to watch your game against Zambia.”

“You’re coming to the game?”

“Of course.”

Many, many people had caught that interaction, followed by your long talks on the pitch after her games or beside the pool at other record-breaking swims. The natural development from the internet was speculation about whether you were a couple. At the time you certainly weren’t. Strictly new friends.

But then you showed up to more Netherlands and even an occasional Arsenal game, and she showed up to more swim meets. The conversations last longer, the touches lingered, the glances toward each other’s lips increased. Everything was just more… intense.

So one fateful day in 2022 during your (short) off-season, you decided to visit her in London. It wasn’t a surprise technically, you just decided to arrive a few days earlier than planned and surprise her at the game. There was something telling you, you needed to come early. So Caitlin had sorted out your ticket and happily gave you a lift from the airport to the stadium.

-

Viv easily spotted you during warm up, with your hair in the same messy bun it had been for the past day and a bright orange ‘Miedema’ jersey adoring your torso, one that she had personally given to you after her first 2020 Olympics match. She happily made her way over to you, swinging her leg back and forth to mimic the exercise she was supposed to be doing as she grinned the same grin you’d found yourself stuck admiring time and time again. But it didn’t quite meet her eyes the same way it always did. Something was brewing.

“I can’t believe you’re here. You weren’t meant to arrive until Monday.”

“Couldn’t miss a big game, could I? Is- is everything okay? Something seems off.”

“Yeah, yeah of course why wouldn’t it be?”

“Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes today.” your hand rests on the side of her head, thumb stroking the spot beside her eye which is usually occupied by crows feet that show much love and joy she has.

“I don’t know. I’ve just felt off all week. I was going to ask Jonas to take me off the roster this morning but I don’t want to through everyone off. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure liefje.” You press a kiss to the palm of her hand and send her back down the tunnel, anticipation and worry burning in your gut.

-

Lyon was up 1 by the end of the first 45 minutes of normal time, but there looked like hope for the English side during the extra 3 minutes. Viv was playing well in midfield. She wasn’t as strong as usual, but it just looked like she was taking it easy; making open passes and wasting no time in passing the ball to the next player.

But then she makes a run to meet Lia, trying to grab the ball from her feet.

She kicks.

She misses.

She falls.

She doesn’t get back up.

Blood pounds in your ears and you wait in bated breath as the medics assess her knee.

Her knee.

She’s shifted onto the stretcher, but you don’t see any more as you rush out of the family and friend’s section and demand a security guard take you to see her, flashing your badge. This was the bad feeling. You both knew something would happen and ignored it. It almost felt like you fault.

The doors crash against the brick walls, and you speed walk down the hall to the medical room where Viv is laying quietly while the medics do further assessment. They ask questions and she answers in short, quiet breaths.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It’s unstable.”

“I can’t walk on it.”

“It popped when I fell.” No no no no. You whisper the three letters before anyone in the room can even think them.

Suddenly all eyes are on you. The medic’s eyes are apologetic and shocked at the arrival of a new voice, but Viv’s are tired and welled with tears. She looks so broken. So you sit in the seat next to her head and take one hand in your own while your other lifts to stroke through her hair.

“It’s going to be okay.” you whisper in her ear.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“I’m right here it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you”

~~~~~

About 2 months after the initial injury on a particularly difficult night for the Dutch, you found yourselves huddled up together in her bed watching Friends for the second time. Neither of you were talking but you found yourself staring at Viv while Chandler continues to ramble on about how much he loves Monica. Soulmates destined to be. And then you found yourself staring into Viv’s cloudy grey eyes, slowly leaning in. You waited for Viv to stop you but she says and does nothing, so you let your lips meet. It’s a delicate kiss, just two people who have been in love with each other for years, finally professing their feelings.

There was no conversation about what that kiss meant for you two, but it seemed to be an unspoken decision that you were now together. You slept beside each other, kissed at every opportunity, and supported one another through everything. You were in your own private world.

The recovery process proved to be difficult but you hadn’t left Viv’s side for a moment, officially announcing you were taking a break from this swimming season for unforeseeable amount of time. But the injury had taken a big toll had been her mental health. Most days she didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone leave the house, and every day you were to expect multiple apologies for being difficult to take care of.

Every bad comment was met with a kiss and a promise to stay by her side until you were absolutely no longer needed.

-

Viv made her return almost a year after the injury, coming on late into the second half, only to score two goals against Tottenham. You cheered as loud as you could, and smiled widely when she sent a hand heart your way in celebration. You’d agreed to keep your relationship private in terms of it’s development. Most journalists who had asked about it had been told you were taking care of a dear friend and had been looking for a chance to take a year off anyway, so the timing lined up. But she couldn’t help but silently give thanks to the person who had gotten her through it all. Who brought her back

~~~~~

You managed to make it back to training in time to decently prepare for Paris qualifiers. You’d kept up doing almost daily training during your time in England, but nowhere near the extent you were used to as the multiple time World and Olympic Champion under Boxall. Seven straight months of hard work, day in and day out, and you’d be in shape for qualifiers, and in perfect shape to take on the best of the best.

Everyday consisted of 4-6 hours in the pool and in the gym, a session in the early morning and another after lunch, a nap, and then a long call with Viv while you ate dinner and she had lunch. It was hard being away from her after spending a whole year beside her. The bed was cold, the house felt empty, things just weren’t the same. But you both knew it needed to be done.

-

By the time early July came around, you genuinely felt like you were a new person. Before the year long break things had begun to feel tedious and swimming was losing it’s meaning. You were still performing as the best in the world, but it was automatic. But now everything felt… right.

And the qualifiers showed it.

You broke your own world records multiple times with ease, and every round made you feel alive again. There was no Viv in bright orange to cheer you along this time but you knew she’d be proud. And she made sure you knew she was with every nightly call, proclaiming her love and support for you.

-

Viv accompanying you to Paris was a well kept secret between the two of you. In the days leading up to your first races, you wondered around the village texting her, desperate to know what she was doing out in the city. More often than not, the answer was that she refused to see any big sites without you, waiting until you are completely done to explore the city of love.

She was in the crowd of every race without fail, the same bright orange jacket she wore the first time you met. Your ear was trained to hear her and your eyes knew where to look, she would be sitting in the exact same seat every time. The proud smile on her face made your heart flutter and it takes everything within you not to run up to her and kiss her after clambering out of the water.

Halfway through the swimming events you’ve managed to rack up five golds and once again break your own world records, barely skimming off 0.2 seconds each time.

Then it came to the big finale. You were known for your short distance swims. 100m and 200m freestyle and butterfly were your dominant fields, but you were adamant to at least try and land on the podium for the 1500m freestyle beside Katie Ledecky.

It was a shock to you, your coach and most of the nation when you had passed through the qualifiers, and then you qualified for the semis. Now you were on to the final. You’d never been this nervous in your career and all you wanted in that moment was a hug from your girlfriend, but you needed to lock in.

You’re lined up in the tunnel.

Your name is called.

You’re standing behind the podium for lane 7.

You’re on the podium in position.

The whistle blows.

You’re submerged in the water.

The rest of the race is a blur. One lap becomes 10 and 10 becomes 20 and then suddenly you’re onto the last 50 metres. Just 50 more metres. You have no idea if you’re in front or if you’ve fallen behind, but you push until your hand slides against the ceramic tile of the pool wall.

Gasping for air, you pull off your goggles and look around the pool. Most other people are finished, but you have no clue for how long, and the final swimmer slots in beside your no more than 20 seconds after. You don’t expect a big victory as you all turn to the board, waiting for the results.

“In second… lane 4, United States of America, Katie Ledecky!” the room echoes with cheers and shouts of confusion. Second? This is her race. This is what she’s known for. Who could possibly have beaten the Katie Ledecky?

“And with a new world and Olympic record of 15:20.34, lane 7, Australia, Y/N L/N!” the screams are deafening as the crowd and your competitors alike cheer for you.

You hug and thank each of them, before making your way to the podium where you receive your gold. Tears stream down your face as photos are taken from all angles, and you pull Katie and Anastaysia up beside you, recognising their efforts. But all you can think about is Viv, waiting impatiently against the barrier for a moment of your time.

The happiness and excitement keeps building up within you as you’re finally freed from media, and you run to your girlfriend, grabbing her face and kissing her. In the back of your head you know this will be making news headlines everywhere in all of an hours time, but you don’t care. How could you? It’s the perfect way to celebrate all your hard earned success. Kissing the love of your life.

“I love you so much. I’m so so proud of you liefje.” She pecks your lips again.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, lieveling.”

~~~~~

You get to leave the village the next day, and you’re thankful to leave the Styrofoam mattresses and cardboard bedframes behind. Your hotel’s king sized bed with a memory foam mattress, completed with the warmth of your girlfriend’s arms is the only upgrade you could ask for. She presses kisses to your shoulder as you scroll through twitter, many fans of both yourself and Viv sharing words of adoration and happiness for your now public relationship as pictures of your kiss spread across the internet.

When Viv picked you up from the village to take you to breakfast at a small Parisian café down the road from the hotel, you both decided to officially, officially, announce the fact you were together. You took photos together throughout the day, her kissing you on the cheek, your hands being held between you, the way you looked at her. Anything of the two of you. You turned it into a collage and posted it to Instagram.

Y/N_L/N

@ y/n_l/n “breaking records and breaking the internet in the same week. there is no on else I’d rather do it with than the love of my life. Ik zal je in elk leven vinden.” (I will find you in every life).

This was the life you wanted to live. Forever. With Viv.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 4- 'After After Party' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.3k

[Unforgettable - French Montana 🎶]

The afterparty pulsed with a kind of decadent chaos—the kind only Paris could conjure. A dimly lit lounge attached to a luxe hotel, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigarettes, the murmur of conversations in a dozen different accents blending into the bass of an unrelenting track, and the shake of cocktails. Faces blurred together, awash in the low golden glow of lights, opulent fabrics shimmering under the light. Here, everyone was someone, yet Trent felt like a ghost. A body moving through the motions, standing still inside his own mind. Because you were here. You had to be. Or maybe he just needed you to be. He barely remembered arriving, hadn’t listened to a single word his brother had said since they walked in. Someone—someone important, though he couldn’t remember their name, someone he really should have been paying attention to—was speaking to him, and yet their voice was nothing but static. Trent’s world had narrowed to a singular point, a fixation he couldn’t shake, a longing he couldn’t reason with. And then—there you were. Not walking towards him. Not looking for him. Not even scanning the crowd, searching for the very thing he’d convinced himself you wanted. Instead, you stumbled—gracefully, but still—a misstep in your over the knee boots, laughing softly as you emerged from a coat room with two men at your side. A chill slithered down his spine. His stomach turned. He felt stupid.

Stupid for thinking that the moment he walked in, you’d feel it too. That you’d be searching the crowd with the same feverish desperation that he was. That you’d be waiting, just like he had been, for the inevitable pull of gravity that always had landed you both in the same place. But you weren’t looking for him. Not at all. Trent clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides as the spiral began. The dark thoughts, the ones he hated—the ones that whispered maybe you weren’t the girl he thought you were. Maybe you were just like the rest. Maybe all those footballer shoots weren’t just business. Maybe Ibiza had been just that to you—a fleeting encounter, forgettable. Maybe he didn’t know you at all, like he said to Marcel.  Maybe he genuinely was no one to you. 

And yet, you were dying inside. Because you were looking for him. Searching in every passing glance, every flicker of movement. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be obvious. Couldn’t let it be known how badly you wanted him to see you first, to make the move, to chase. You weren’t this girl and yet when it came to him, you found the girl looking back at you in the mirror reapplying lip gloss and adjusting her tits for the fifth time, someone you didn’t recognize. You weren’t fearless, not when it came to him. Not when it felt like wanting him this much was akin to giving him every piece of yourself. You had even gone so far as to ask a friend of a friend who worked for Louis Vuitton, the kind of favor that made you cringe, to check the guest list for his name. That was how badly you needed to see him. How badly you wanted this. And the coatroom? The two men? None of it was what he thought. Just an innocent exchange, a favor in return for a favor. Helping someone retrieve a forgotten phone from their jacket pocket before slipping out, right into his line of sight. But what Trent didn’t know hurt him. And what you didn’t know was that he was already drowning in you.

Because he remembered your parting words, ’maybe you.’ The way you had thrown them over your shoulder with a smirk, as if they hadn’t undone him entirely. As if they hadn’t settled in his bones, thrumming through his veins like a slow-burning fire. And now, here you were, existing in the same space but still feeling so achingly far. And Trent didn’t know how to close the distance. Didn’t know if he even should. Because he wasn’t sure if you meant maybe him in a cheeky way or that you had so many options tonight, it potentially could be him. He didn’t like being one of many and he didn’t think you were like that. Was it hypocritical? Probably but he’d never really cared enough to be hypocritical before. He thought you were different, that you had a standard that he was trying to crack and yet he worried you might’ve already been cracked.  

-

The atmosphere was suffocating in its extravagance, Louis Vuitton dripping from every person seated on the velvet sofas low on the group, table lamps that glowed orange, a disco ball that was ironic and a dj, the sound of ice clinking against crystal glasses as servers weaved through bodies pressed too close together. Laughter, too loud, music, too heavy, the air thick with smoke and exclusivity. And somewhere in this sea of indulgence, you. Trent had known you were here before Marcel whispered it in his ear, he saw you when he wished he hadn’t, but hearing it confirmed sent an involuntary heat up his spine.

“So Campbell and Foster’s friend is here,” Marcel muttered as they elbowed their way toward the bar. The crowd was dense, bodies moving in slow waves, and finding anyone felt impossible. Marcel had opted to keep your name out of it—maybe for discretion, but more so for the amusement of watching Trent pretend not to care.

“Yeah, saw her.” Curt. Dismissive. A blatant lie. Trent had done nothing but look for you since stepping into the party, his eyes scanning every darkened corner, every gathering of people, every turn of a delicate wrist that might be yours. He thought he could handle this. Be unaffected. Play it cool, let it go. But the truth was, it hurt. It hurt because the last time he saw you, you had left him with nothing but a smirk and two words that had haunted him ever since: Maybe you and a fucking wink. And now, you weren’t looking for him. 

Meanwhile you were flitting from group to group, industry acquaintances, old contacts, friends, laughing at conversations he wasn’t a part of only wishing he was in them. You were purposefully getting lost in the crowd, only in effort to hopefully brush past him. He tried to reason with himself—maybe if he fucked you, he could get it all out of his system. He wouldn’t say no if you made it easy, if you came to him. But it wouldn’t be because he wanted you. It would be to forget you. But he knew that was a lie, too.

“No,” Marcel laughed, eyes glinting with something too knowing. “You were staring at her, bro. You’ve been looking for her all night. Gonna say something to her or just brood?” Trent exhaled sharply, fingers curling around the sweating glass in his hand.

“I don’t know if I want to be around who she’s with… like, all this.” His voice was lower now, edged with something unspoken. Disgust? Maybe. Resentment? Definitely. He was lumping you in with the crowd of the party to make it easier to say he didn’t want you. Deciding you were just like the rest; cigarettes inside places they weren’t allowed, names said deliberately wrong. He didn’t like this world—the pretentious, self-indulgent spectacle of it all. The way everyone here carried themselves with a careful kind of apathy, a curated coolness that meant nothing was ever that deep. And more than that, he didn’t like the thought of you in it. The coatroom. The two men. The possibility that you were someone different from the person he wanted you to be.

“Yeah, but you’re here, too.” Marcel didn’t bother softening the truth. “This is your life, just the same.” And Trent hated that he was right. That the reality was this was his world too occasionally, just like it was yours. That people could exist in spaces that were too cool even if they were kind. It was unfair for him to fault you for your invitation tonight when he had received one too.

Amidst another trip to the bathroom to check how your hair was and reapply your perfume, you found him, after the adjustments, thank god. His side profile, sharp under the ambient lighting, jaw set in quiet contemplation as he listened, half-listened, to Marcel. Trent’s eyes narrowed in  the sea of people in front of him, ignoring his 5 o’clock i.e you approaching from an angle. You weren’t sure why your feet moved toward him, why you suddenly felt emboldened to slip through the crowd, dodging wayward drinks and whispered conversations. Maybe you just wanted to be near him. Maybe you wanted to see if he’d been searching for you, too. But before you could reach him—before he even realized you were closing the distance—you heard the words that made you freeze, breath hitching.

“Yeah… Don’t know. She just might be more of a risk than a reward.” It was a simple sentence. No weight to it in his voice, no hesitance. Just a passing thought, as if he were discussing a business deal. A calculation. And that was all you heard. A risk. Not a reward. That’s all you needed to hear. Your stomach dropped, your heart lurching as if it had been yanked from your chest. It was an effort not to react, not to let the breathlessness of rejection show on your face. But your expression betrayed you—your lips parted, brows knitting together in an instant of unguarded hurt before you forced yourself to move, pivoting sharply as if you had never intended to go in his direction at all. Like you had never been reaching for him. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night waiting for him to find you. And Trent, unaware that you had been close enough to hear him, didn’t even notice.

“Shit.” You muttered, your martini nearly spilling onto your corset as you fumbled back through the crowds. You set the drink down on a random table feeling your bottom lip begin to quiver. Feeling stupid. You grabbed a few cocktail napkins and wiped your hand dry. You shut your eyes tight and you exhaled before you beelined for another room of the party. It was fine. ‘It is what is’ you told yourself. You didn’t know him, maybe it was all best left in Spain. 

-

[You Doing Something To Me - Smi.le 🎶]

The night had melted into something heady and liquor-drenched, the kind of haze that blurred time and consequence. Call it the after after party. People had left, people had arrived, and with them came new indulgences—the kind that kept the party breathing well past its natural lifespan. It was fashion week, after all, where excess wasn’t just expected, it was curated. And maybe that’s what unsettled Trent. Not the party itself, but you in it.

He didn’t understand this world. He was included in bigger events like this, but as a whole, day to day, no. He rarely bothered unless he was asked. He wanted to be included in nights like tonight but he never understood why it all needed to be this way. Not the price tags of clothing or the celebrity of it all, that he understood, or at least he thought he did. But why party favors had to come in little tiny baggies. The untethered decadence, the way everything felt just a little too slippery, too impermanent, too far removed from reality. He didn’t get how you fit into it. Maybe that’s what bothered him most, that you were here at all.

He sat in an offshoot of the party, some dimly lit side room where time felt even more warped, where too many girls lingered and too few guys enjoyed the imbalance. Marcel was occupied with someone draped over his arm, and Trent, absent-minded, watched the ice in his glass slowly succumb to warmth, swirling lazily, disappearing. He was only still here so he could say he stayed. But he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about this party. He didn’t care about this room. He didn’t even have it in him to find someone else to entertain him for the night. Unfortunately, he still cared about you. Where the fuck were you? He hadn’t seen you since the beginning of the night. Had you left? Was that why he stayed, hoping you’d reappear? You had vanished like you were never there at all. Maybe he’d finally done what he never truly wanted to, lose you. But that was all only because you were avoiding him after finding out you were a ‘risk.’ You were hurt. You were the one that tried to avoid the games in an effort to not get hurt. To not feel all the things he made you feel but instead you were more invested in him than ever and it felt like someone had duped your martini on your heart and held a lighter to it. You were burning for him and yet you felt so burnt by him. And in a moment of self invalidation, Trent’s thoughts paused, interrupted by a voice cutting through the room, sharp, invasive.

“Bro, if you’re not gonna participate, you gotta get the fuck out.” Trent didn’t even look up. He didn’t need to. Trent could feel that the comment was directed at him. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the tone was, the entitled drawl of someone who thought they owned the night, who had long since mistaken indulgence for importance. The key in the man’s hand, the quick wipe of a model’s nose beside him, yeah. Trent got it. With a slow exhale, Trent nodded. He really, truly, did not give a shit. Not about this coked-up entitled waif that’s for sure. But you? He couldn’t shake but maybe it was time, he went home. Time he retired. And then, like some cruel trick of the universe, there you were. Standing in the doorway. The sight of you sent his world tilting. A blink. Another. Like his brain needed extra time to process that you were really here, that he wasn’t just conjuring you up in his mind because he’d spent all night wanting to. His brow furrowed but your gaze wasn’t on him, it was locked on the guy who had spoken, your expression unreadable but your presence alone carrying enough weight to silence the room.

“Hey, want to not be a dick?” Your voice was smooth, effortless. You weren’t here for Trent, you had come to find someone else, but instead now you had found him. Your heart thudding as you heard the boy, Martin, some nepo-baby with that carefully cultivated, malnourished Victorian look the industry loved so much— threw some shitty comment at the person that made your feet feel like boulders the second you stepped in the room. It felt like you had walked into a glass door but you were reacting on instinct. And Trent?  He was already standing before he could even decide to, like his body was magnetic to you. Martin grinned around his key, sniffing roughly looking back at Trent. Unfortunately, you did know Martin well, but he was amused by you intervening. 

“Get girls to fight for you always?” He taunted, eyes flicking to Trent with the kind of sneer that was meant to bruise. “Bet you’ve never caught a swing either, huh, pretty boy?” You turned then, really looked at Trent for the first time since you walked in. He wasn’t even reacting, just shaking his head, unimpressed, detached. It was such an absurd comment, coming from a model type, and Martin was just being rude to be rude, his niche Swiss boarding school accent of european wealth mocking for the fun of it.  But before you could say something more, before you could stop him...

“All good. I’m out.” Trent replied. Simple. Unbothered as he placed his drink down on a table. But then, then. You expected him to step past you without pause, to brush by like you were just another body in the room, just another part of a night he was leaving behind. But instead, his hand found your waist. Low. Gentle. Firm. And then his voice, quieter now, softer than you ever expected. “You wanna come with me?” He hadn’t planned to ask that. Hadn’t planned to feel this way. He had spent all night trying to tell himself that he didn’t care, that he was fine, that he could just forget you. But now, with his fingers pressed against the curve of your waist, with you standing in front of him like you had been written into this moment, he knew. He didn’t want to leave without you. He was entirely off script and entirely not himself, but he was okay with that when you nodded, silent but sure.He felt something settle deep inside him. The realization that you felt nothing like a risk and were seeming to feel much more than a reward.

-

The hallway was hushed, a liminal space between indulgence and escape. The bass from the party throbbed in the distance, a muffled heartbeat behind closed doors, while the glow from the dimmed overhead fixtures flickered gold against polished marble. Beyond the other end of the hall, the entrance to the hotel loomed—dimly lit, an invitation to somewhere more private, more dangerous. Him. You. The choice in the space between. Trent’s palm burned against the small of your back, his fingers flexing idly over the curve of your spine. The heat of him seeped through your skin, anchoring you in place even though part of you wanted to run—because the way he looked at you made escape seem like the safer choice. But you weren’t sure if you wanted safe, not when he’s hands on you felt like this. 

“He can be an ass,” you spoke first, voice soft, thick with something unspoken. “Sorry. It’s lame they even still do that stuff.” You felt embarrassed, like you owed him an apology for a world you were a part of but never partook in.

“Nah, no worries.” His voice was low, smooth, that honeyed Liverpool drawl curling around the words. His hand didn’t move. He didn’t let you go. “Let ‘em. Not interested.” That word. Interested. It cut, subtle but sharp, because hours ago, you had heard him say the opposite. Heard him tell his brother that you weren’t worth it, that you were a risk, not a reward. And now? Now his hand was on you, staying on you. His touch felt like a brand, his voice was a shade rougher like maybe he wasn’t so sure anymore. You exhaled, glancing away down the hallway the opposite direction back towards the party roaring on, mentally preparing yourself to go pretend again; pretend like you wanted to be anywhere besides in his arms, pretend like you could forget him. 

“Yeah… not interested,” you echoed, but your voice gave you away, featherlight and uncertain. You expected him to step back then. To let go, to end whatever this was before it could unravel into something too real. But Trent didn’t move. Instead, his hand only pressed deeper, drawing you into his side until your chest barely brushed against him. The shift made you look down towards your chest feeling less sure about your decision but you could feel his gaze was already on you—narrowed, searching.

“Hey, what you going shy for?” His voice was quieter now, teasing but tender. Trent’s opinion that you might’ve been this world and not simply a part of it was shaken the second you attempted to stand up for him and completely vanished when you left with him. You barely had time to answer before his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his.  “You stay back in that room without me?” He teased, lightening the tension with a soft smile. But that touch. His touch. A simple graze of his thumb over your lips, and you swore the air in your lungs turned to smoke. Your stomach dipped—not from nerves. From need. Trent swallowed. His words were light, easy but inside he’s wheels were turning. He was thinking, deciding. You watched his throat bob, watched his pupils bloom wide as his gaze flickered down—to your mouth, to the way your lips parted instinctively for him, to the leather corset hugging your body like a second skin, the corset [ref index] pushing up the tits he’d been dying to see for weeks now, to your thighs peeking beneath the hem of your skirt, the skirt that hid a pair of panties he’d do anything to tear off you. And maybe that was where this should have stopped. But then he looked back up, and fuck—he saw you. Not just your body, not just the way you fit against him perfectly, like you were never a stranger, but just you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just lust clawing between you. It was recognition. A sharp inhale filled the space between you. Your fingers magnetic to lay against his chest, a slow, testing press. Trent exhaled at the contact, his breath unsteady, his chest deflating beneath your touch. Relief? Or restraint? You didn’t know. You only knew you wanted to try. You had to.

“I’m happy I found you,” you whispered. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, like your words did something to him he wasn’t ready for. And then—that smirk. Lazily, it curled at the edges of his lips, soft and utterly smitten. The kind of smile that made your breath catch because it looked real. Trent hummed low in his throat. He stepped into you at the same time, he pulled you in close, closer. Fuck plans. Fuck restraint. Fuck pretending this wasn’t happening. His hand slipped from your chin, tilting to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping slow over the heat of your cheek. You melted. Then— a shift, an inhale, and his hands were on your ass, dragging you deeper, pulling your skirt higher. His touch was rough and sure, fingers kneading, claiming, teasing. You silently gasped, and he fucking smirked. A reminder—this was the same man who had caught you in the club, dragged you back to reality. And yet, here you were, letting yourself fall into him but not without an attempt at composure. “Big risk…” you murmured, teasing, taunting. Trent stilled for half a second. A flicker of something in his eyes—shock, realization that you heard him earlier.  Both your hands slid up his chest, slow, deliberate, trailing heat in their wake. Fingertips brushing along his collar, his jaw, curling lightly around his throat. His eyes darkened. And then—his voice, thick with something fatal.

“Bigger reward.” A whisper against your lips. And then—he kissed you. The kiss was a slow, molten thing at first—a testing of limits, a savoring of the moment that had been building for too long. But it didn’t stay that way. It couldn’t. Trent moved against you like a man starved, his mouth slanting over yours with a need that unraveled something deep inside you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck, tilting your head to his liking as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, hot and impatient. You sighed into it, your whole body melting into him as if you had been built for this moment, for him. You barely registered the way he walked you backward, his hands greedy—tracing, gripping, learning you. He was everywhere all at once, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You wanted him to take them off your body immediately. His hand splayed over your lower back, pressing you closer, making you feel every inch of him, the strength in his arms, the way his body fit against yours like a perfect puzzle piece. Then, suddenly—the wall. You gasped as your back met the cool surface, but Trent didn’t falter, didn’t stop. He groaned, the sound reverberating between you as he trailed his mouth from your lips to your jaw, to your neck. His stubble grazint your skin, leaving a path of heat as he kissed and nipped at the delicate column of your throat. You tilted your head, baring more of your neck for him without thinking, surrendering to the pull of him.

“Someone could see us,” you whined with no real intention of doing anything about that as your fingers gripped his shirt, tugging just enough to make him groan. The sound shot straight through you, pooling low in your stomach.

“Don’t care and you don’t either,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, edged with something dangerous, something aching. And you agreed, you didn’t care, still, even with the cheek, Trent got the sentiment. You barely noticed how you had started moving again, how your bodies had begun a slow retreat from the open hallway, lips clashing, hands grasping, breathless and desperate. You were barely aware of how you fumbled blindly with a door handle, how Trent's hands slipped down your waist, gripping and guiding you through the threshold until the world narrowed into a dimly lit, intimate space—the coat closet. 

-

[The Party and The After Party - The Weekend 🎶]

The air was electric, charged with the kind of tension that made it hard to breathe. The closet was dim, the sliver of light from the cracked door casting shadows over you both, flickering across sharp jawlines, parted lips, the anticipation strung so tight it could snap. The scent of leather, wool, perfume, and faint traces of cigarette smoke clung to the walls, but all Trent could smell—all he could feel, taste, want—was you. But none of it mattered—because the moment the door shut behind you, it was just him. Just you.

“Always look so fucking sexy,” Trent rasped, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your lips. His hands, rough and sure, traced slow circles over your hips. “You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted this tonight.” You felt it—the heat, the tension that had been simmering for far too long, threatening to boil over. His voice was thick with longing, with something dangerously close to confession. The weight of it made your stomach clench, made your fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, needing him to close the gap again. But then—hesitation. A flicker of something in his eyes. His gaze shifted, sharp and searching, his grip on you tightening slightly. His head turned, taking in the coats surrounding you, recognition settling over his features. "Baby… You kiss anyone else tonight?" The words came out rough, unfiltered, something almost possessive lingering beneath them. His jaw tensed. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, and you hadn’t even processed where you were let alone the question before your mouth acted on instinct—pouting, just slightly, unintentionally. Trent exhaled, something flickering in his eyes at the expression. His thumb reached up, dragging across your lower lip, his jaw clenching but his body still pressed tight against yours. 

“Did you?” You muttered back not meaning to sound smart. You just were unsure what was happening. Trent’s brow furrowed but his face stayed serious. He shook his head ‘no.’ slowly. His answer completely earnest. Then it hit you—that this mattered to him.  He didn’t want sloppy seconds, he wanted you, for him. The relief flooded you before you could stop it, warmth pooling in your chest. He cared. He cared. He had been burning for this just as much as you had. You couldn’t help it, the small, breathless giggle that bubbled up past your lips, giddy and unfiltered. Trent didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. His hands flexed against your hips, his grip possessive. He needed you to say it. Say it. Tell him he was right about you, that you were what he thought, what he wanted. You went quiet with a sympathetic smile and an exhale. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, but dragging it out ever so slightly just so he knew that he was the one asking for reassurance before you finally answered, breathless but sure. 

“No…” Your lips parted on a whisper. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way he held his breath. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.” The words settled between you, tangible, electric. You smiled, soft, teasing, a little drunk on him in a way alcohol could never compete with. Trent exhaled sharply, his head rolling to the side for half a second, like he was both relieved and amused at himself for caring this much. His tongue flicked against the inside of his cheek before his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and focused.

"Thank God," he murmured. You giggled but it was muffled when his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, deeper with more urgency, more hunger. His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter, harder against him. The pressure of it made your breath hitch, made you dizzy with how much you wanted him. His fingers curled into the hem of your mini skirt, dragging it higher, his touch branding your skin, claiming. “Been waiting,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing back to your jaw, your throat. “Don’t wanna wait anymore.” You shuddered, your hands moving blindly over his chest, his shoulders, mapping every inch of him as your back pressed into the wall of coats.

“You never had to wait for this,” you breathed. Trent groaned—low and guttural and desperate. Knowing that you would’ve let him have you had him reeling. He kissed you as if he could consume you, as if he could make up for all the lost time in this one perfect moment. 

-

The air was thick, heavy with heat and want, the dimly lit closet swallowing the rest of the world whole. It smelled of expensive cologne, of leather and silk, but beneath it all—him. That intoxicating scent, the one that had been imprinted in your memory long before you ever had the right to crave it. Now, it was all-consuming. It was dark save the dim light slipping under the door barely reaching into the corners of the room, where heavy coats hung like shadows, muffling the outside. It was just you and him, lost in a space that was dangerously small and dangerously intoxicating. Your lips found his ear, warm and teasing, your breath a whisper of wicked intent. 

“Have you been thinking about me, baby?” Your voice was nothing more than a purr, a featherlight tease against the shell of his ear. The words melted into his skin as your teeth grazed his earlobe, tugging just enough to make him inhale sharply through his nose, a slow, deliberate act of seduction. A hum of confirmation vibrated low in his throat as his lips found the sensitive curve of your neck, branding you with slow, open-mouthed kisses. His lips still mapping your throat. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you close as if he were afraid you’d disappear. He was drinking you in, the scent of your skin, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Fuck. He had been thinking about you. Too much. Too often. “Hmm?” you prompted, voice dripping in mischief. You felt like you might’ve finally been gaining some control. Trent exhaled more than sound, too immersed in you. In the way your perfume wrapped around him, how your body pressed against his, every curve fitting into him like you were made to be there. Like this was inevitable. Then you pulled back—just enough for him to chase you, to leave him lingering in the heat of where you just were. And God, he hated it. And yet, he loved it, being lost in you, the way your skin felt against his, the way your perfume clung to the air between you, the way you touched him like you knew exactly how to dismantle him piece by piece. "Been thinking about you a lot," Your breath was cold, minty mixed with vodka and him, your tone weightless but devastating, each word a slow, delicious unraveling. Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, his restraint hanging by a thread. Because fuck, he had been thinking about you. More than he wanted to. More than he should have. You were the spark to gasoline, the match to an already burning flame. Every single thing about you set him alight. But Trent’s eyes were darker than ever now, heat pooling in his pupils, a storm barely contained. His hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you, but you could tell—he was unraveling and you wanted to pull that final thread to undo the woven composure he carried so effortlessly but it wouldn’t be easy, not with Trent. He wouldn’t let that happen, not to him.

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper now, husky with something dangerous, something wanting. He was unraveling, true, but he’d try to convince you otherwise. You didn’t answer, not with words. Rather with a slow, deliberate push. You backed him into the edge of a wooden shelf, the thud of his body meeting it barely registering because his mind was too consumed with you. Even as his spine met the edge, instead of annoyance, his lips curled, a wicked, greedy smile, sharp enough to cut.  Your hands, your lips, your scent, he was drowning in you, and he didn't want to come up for air. His eyes gleamed in the low light, dark with desire, with relief. The movement was firm, decisive. Bold. He liked that you were taking control. That you wanted this. “What have you been thinking about?” He asked, smug but hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, like he needed to feel your answer. You hummed as if you were mulling it over, trailing your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling his breath stutter beneath your touch. He was solid beneath your fingertips, his muscles taut, every inch of him tensed like a wire about to snap. Your lips ghosted over his jaw, pressing just enough to feel the way his pulse kicked up beneath your mouth. He smelled like clean skin and spice, a hint of sweat, something uniquely him, and you wanted to be suffocated by it, the distraction that was him, until you realized your fleeting kisses had got your lips to his ear again..

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you whispered, barely there, barely anything, but the way his whole body reacted, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on you tightened—it was everything. Trent tensed, the heat between you crackling like a live wire. He huffed out through his nose a light laugh and a cheeky smile trying to remain calm, cool, sexy. His jaw shifting as he gripped your waist more securely to ground him in the moment but all it did was spur you on. You were two people that knew game strategy but you were struggling to put in practice. It was an ebb and flow of power, in your hands one moment, his the next. One of your hands drifted lower, lower, lower, Trent’s heart rate picking up, until your fingers teased along the waistband of his trousers, slow, torturous. His abs flexed under your palm, and the way he sucked in a sharp breath, a single muscle in his jaw twitching, it made your stomach flip. His head dropped back against the shelf for half a second before he looked at you again, eyes heavy-lidded, dark, filled with nothing but want. A breathy laugh left him, though it was barely amused. It was wrecked, on edge like his smirk still in place, though it was faltering at the corners.

“Alright, baby.” His voice was a rasp, thick with lust but also cheek. He wanted to play too. The word baby was a low murmur, almost a groan, rolling off his tongue like silk. It made your stomach drop, your thighs clench, made you ache for more. You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the way his gaze had darkened, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension so tight it was suffocating. “Can you show me then?” His voice was low, coaxing, full of something both soft and sinful. His hands slid lower, rough palms gripping the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him so you could feel just how much he wanted you to show him. You exhaled a small, breathy hum, your lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, teasing every inch of him as his hands traced fire down your spine. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began, only that you never wanted to step away from this. From him. 

Your kisses trailed lower, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned chest, your lips teasing over his shirt, before you pulled the fabric up as you descended down kissing over his momentarily exposed skin, warm, addicting, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His scent—clean, rich, perfect cologne mixed with something purely him—filled your lungs, making you dizzy, drunker on need. Trent’s eyes narrowed on your figure sinking in front of him, this was dream worthy, no, better than. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it out of the coat room and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Fuck off,” Trent muttered in disbelief, voice rough, his breath catching as he looked down at you. You batted your lashes up at him, a feigned innocence in your gaze as your fingers teased at the waistband of his trousers, your touch deliberate, slow. You saw the way his jaw flexed, the way his broad chest rose and fell faster beneath the weight of anticipation.

“You want me to stop?” you asked, lips curling in a taunting smile as your fingers worked open his belt, knuckles brushing against the heat straining beneath his trousers.

“Nah, nah, nah.” He let out a breathy laugh, more at himself than anything. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair, not pushing, just needing to feel you there. “I want you to show me exactly what you’ve been thinking about.” Your nod was slow, deliberate, as your hands slid lower, freeing him from the confines of his trousers. He sprang free, thick, heavy in your palm, already leaking, already aching for you. Trent groaned, his head tilting back slightly as you parted your lips and let a slow stream of saliva drip onto him, watching it glisten, watching him twitch in response. “Fucking unreal,” he muttered, letting his head loll back, his grip in your hair tightening ever so slightly as your fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him with an excruciating slowness. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction from his reaction. You were trying to be composed but he was feeding your ego, making you feel things you hadn’t expected and it had you wanting more. You wanted to please him.

“Do you want me to suck your cock, baby?” you asked, voice sultry, teasing, but your eyes never left his, challenging him, taunting him. He shouldn’t have but he loved this. He loved that after he broke you down, pulling you into a toilet in Ibiza, you’d gotten him into a coat closet in Paris begging for you, no different than you had for him.  Trent exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as he fought for control. His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice almost a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You needed no further encouragement. Leaning in, you flattened your tongue against the swollen head, tasting the saltiness of him before sinking down, your lips wrapping around his length, taking him inch by inch. Trent let out a broken groan, his hips jerking forward slightly, instinctual, primal. His fingers tightened in your hair as you worked him deeper, your tongue swirling, teasing, hollowing your cheeks as you took him further. The weight of him, the heat, the slight pulse against your tongue—it sent a thrill straight through you, a wicked satisfaction at the way he was coming undone above you. Trent’s breath came in harsh, uneven pants as you set a slow, torturous rhythm, your hand pumping the base in sync with the wet slide of your mouth. His head fell back against the shelf behind him, his muscles tight, his abs flexing with every stroke of your tongue. “Just like that.” His voice was rough, laced with pure, unfiltered pleasure. “Fuck, good girl.” The praise made something molten pool low in your belly, made you whimper around him, the vibrations forcing a strangled moan from his lips. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts that pushed him deeper, had him hitting the back of your throat until spit pooled at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin. Your fingers dug into his strong thighs as you took him further, wanting to ruin him, to have him remember the way your mouth felt around him long after tonight. Trent didn’t even know where he was in the world, that's how good he felt, it was almost an out of body experience. His curses came out broken, wrecked, his body tensing, his grip in your hair tightening. “Baby, you’re gonna make me, fuck.” He shut his eyes. You hummed around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, stroking the last bit of him that your lips couldn’t reach. And then he shattered, he couldn’t hold out any longer. He’d thought about this for a month. His restraint snapped.  "I’m gonna cum, yeah?." He rasped, shutting his eyes, too caught up in pleasure to say anything sexier as his body tensed. You nodded with a hum. The vibration eliciting a muffled guttural groan from his throat as his release spilled hot and thick down your throat. His body shuddered, muscles locking as you milked him for every drop, swallowing greedily, savoring the taste of him. As he opened his eyes again, still catching his breath, you parted your lips once more, letting your tongue flick out just enough to show him before you swallowed only to open your mouth again to him how good you’d been. Trent let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, his grip softening as he pulled you up, bringing you back to him. His mouth found yours in an instant, deep and claiming, his fingers still tangled in your hair as he kissed you like he never wanted to stop.

The world outside the coat closet was a blur, the pulse of bass-heavy music, the distant hum of laughter, the occasional burst of chatter—but in here, it was just the two of you. Heat thick in the air, hands tangled, mouths crashing together in a fevered, messy kiss. Trent’s fingers skimmed over the tiny skirt covering your ass before slipping down the backs of your bare thighs, then suddenly back up under your skirt to your bare ass all whilst dragging fire in their wake. He pulled your body flush against his, solid and warm and wanting. The urgency in his touch made your breath hitch, made your legs tremble slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth down to your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear where he nipped, sucking just enough to make you shiver. His hands were everywhere, greedy, desperate, sliding up your thighs, palming your ass, gripping your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. And then—one hand moved. His fingers found the zipper of your top, tugging at it with intent. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait, wait, baby, ” you breathed out, voice softer now, hesitant but sure. You didn’t want him taking off your corset in here. His head lifted, lips swollen, brows slightly furrowed in surprise. “Can we, like… maybe not do that in here?” The words hung in the air between you, cooling the feverish pace you’d both set. You felt silly, maybe that’s all this was to him, a coat closet fuck, as you watched Trent blink, slightly taken aback. Not because he was upset—he would never pressure you—but because he had really thought this was going somewhere. He let out a slow breath, leaning back just an inch to search your face, his hand still resting against your waist. You could see the patience wash over him. And then, you smiled sympathetically, bashful but knowing. “I… I just want to fuck you how I’ve wanted to...” You admitted albeit a bit embarrassed praying, he’d get it. A slow smirk stretched across his lips, one that sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. His fingers flexed against your hip as he processed your words, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, deep, laced with something dangerous.

“Yeah?” He smirked and it was the same lethal handsomeness you first saw at the club, but now, it felt different, sincere even. You nodded, slow, teasing, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he leaned in, so close you could taste the faintest hint of liquor and mint on his breath. “How’s my bed sound then, baby?” His smirk was smug, unfairly beautiful, and it made you giggle despite the ache pooling low in your belly.

“I guess so,” you teased, biting your lip. Trent exhaled a little laugh, rolling his head to the side as if he was bothered by you accepting with an ‘I guess’ but in reality, in his heart of hearts, something he'd never tell anyone, it was endearing, and another adjective that seemed to populate in his brain when it came to you… it was cute even. His hands squeezed at your ass once more, as if he was grounding himself, reminding himself just how sexy you were even when that word ‘cute’ kept reappearing, savoring the last few moments of restraint. 

“Yeah, alright. Let’s get you outta here.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Besides, I don’t want any interruptions.” He let you step back, but just as he reached for the zipper of his pants, he leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Not for hours with you,” he whispered, punctuating it with a kiss just behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your stomach flipped. 

Trent laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm, certain, but still waiting, for your approval, for you to take the first step. And you did. With a soft tug, you moved toward the door, eager, leading him out, but then...

“Oh, shit!” you gasped, turning back so suddenly that your chest pressed directly into his. Trent caught you instinctively, hands gripping your arms, his face a mixture of amusement and surprise. Your eyes going wide at the impact. You swallowed, taken back by your own proximity.  “Wait… can I get my jacket?” you asked earnestly. “I really like it. It was a gift…” You pouted, recalling the Louis Vuitton gift you received from the brand today, the PR piece you got to keep, and you definitely didn’t want to leave it behind only for it to get taken home by someone else. His smirk softened into something warmer, something undeniably fond.

“’Course.” His voice dipped again, husky, teasing, but there was something almost reverent about the way he said it. “Baby, I promise, you can do whatever you want tonight.” His lips hovered over yours, close enough to steal, close enough to make you need to close the distance. And you did. The kiss was slow, deep, nothing hurried or frenzied like the ones before. No, this one was something else entirely. Something that simmered, something that curled around you like smoke, seeping under your skin, staining. Something memorable. Memorable in all the ways he was.

Trent exhaled through his nose, his head lulling back slightly when you finally pulled away and turned to rifle through the jackets, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips.

“So was it that good?” you called out teasingly in the small room, fingers closing around your jacket. When you turned back, Trent was watching you, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softer now, holding something deeper.

“You…” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Are that good.” And strangely—you believed him. Because it didn’t feel like cheek, or charm, or one of his usual flirtations. It felt honest.

-

[Say It - Tory Lanez 🎶]

The hotel hallway spun in soft, golden hues, the remnants of too many drinks making everything feel deliciously surreal. You weren’t sure if it was the champagne still fizzing in your veins or just him—his presence, his hands, the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once.

“I like this, you know.” His voice was low, thick with something dangerous and sweet as he turned to face you, his finger hooking under the delicate chain of your necklace. The simple touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was, how his cologne wrapped around you, how his lips hovered just within reach.

“Really?” you murmured, eyes glimmering, half-lidded from the haze of the night. You weren’t sure what was real and what was the kind of intoxication only he could induce. You weren’t sure what was charm, what was cheek, what was just a game and what was authentically him. But it blurred, all of it, like smudged ink on a love letter, and you didn’t care—because the only thing in your tunnel vision was his face, and lord have mercy it was a pretty one.  Trent hummed in response, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached behind him, blindly finding the door handle. With an ease that made your stomach clench, he cracked it open and took a slow step back, pulling you forward by your necklace, reeling you into his orbit. You laughed softly at the smoothness of his movements, stepping over the threshold as he let you into his room. 

“Where they put the ballers?” you teased, lifting your brows as you glanced around the massive suite, the city lights twinkling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You turned back to look at him by the door. 

“Only the good ones.” He smirked, that maddening, cocky, gorgeous smirk that had been the undoing of so many before you. You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as he stepped  into you, the door clicking shut behind him, locking you both in—another confined space, another moment where the air grew thick with unspoken things, with anticipation, with the pulse of something electric. His hands found your waist, fingers splaying over the fabric like he was meant to hold you, like he already knew exactly how to touch you. “You’ve been thinking about me?” he murmured, his lips so close to yours, you could feel his breath fanning against your skin. You hummed, tilting your chin up, your lips practically brushing, just waiting—aching—for that final push. His eyes darkened, locked onto yours with something ravenous. “Good.” And then, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was perfect. Messy and hungry and laced with all the pent-up tension that had been simmering between you for weeks, even in your silences. Somehow this kiss was even better than it was in the coat room, maybe it was the opportunity of possibilities locked in a hotel room with him. His lips moved against yours like they were made for you, like they’d always known exactly where to go. You moaned into his mouth, fingers bunching in his shirt, fisting the material, dragging it up his abs in silent demand.

“Yeah?” he teased, pulling back just a fraction, a cheeky grin curving his swollen lips. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how you were managing this duality. None of it made sense in his head. You were adorable and yet deadly sexy, you were bashfully reserved and yet confident and commanding, you were dominant and yet submissively needy. And he loved every single side of the dichotomy.  You barely had time to register your nod before he reached over his head and tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion. Your jaw slackened, just for a beat. Fuck. Tanned skin, strong arms, carved abs, the sharp V of his hips disappearing beneath his waistband—he was unfair. Just unfair. Trent noticed. He always noticed. He smirked, stepping in again, hands settling on your waist, firm and sure. “I took my top off…” His eyes flickered with something mischievous, something intoxicating and then they deliberately flashed  down to your cleavage. “Can I take off this one too?” He mused as his thumb graved over the leather fabric. Your breath hitched, but you nodded, reaching back, guiding his other hand to the zipper of your corset. 

The pull of his hand dragged the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, the sound slicing through the heavy silence. The only things left in the air were your ragged breaths, your hammering heartbeat, the sheer weight of his gaze as he watched you, locked onto you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. His thumb drew slow, agonizing circles against your waist as the zipper reached the end. He held the fabric in place, his touch searing even through the layers. And then—he leaned in, his lips trailing down your neck, slow, reverent, burning a path straight to your collarbone. His hands slid up your ribs, pushing the fabric aside, finally pulling it away from you completely. Your breath stuttered, bare in front of him, exposed in every way that mattered. Trent exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was trying to hold himself back, like he was already ruined by the sight of you. The air had gone thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the remnants of cocktails, a heady mix of martinis and something sweet still lingering on your lips. The city lights outside flickered against the towering glass windows, neon colors bleeding into the dimly lit suite, painting the room in shades of gold and violet. The bass from the party still thrummed in your veins, but nothing drowned out the sound of your own ragged breathing—or his.

-

Trent stood in front of you, broad and perfect, his eyes drinking you in like you were the finest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you. You were normally confident in your skin, in the way you moved, in the way men looked at you. But under his gaze? Something wavered, something small but persistent. You felt more than naked, you felt vulnerable. You began to overthink. Did you look good enough for him? You hated that you even thought it. But then—his hands found your waist, warm and firm, fingers splaying possessively over your hips, dragging you against him, forcing you to feel just how much he wanted you. And fuck, he felt so good. You exhaled a shaky breath, hands sliding up his sculpted chest, tracing over the smooth skin, the ridges of muscle. He was burning hot beneath your touch, a quiet purr slipping from his lips as you leaned up to kiss him. He groaned softly into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing yours, slow and decadent, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His lips trailed from your mouth, down your jaw, across the delicate skin of your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses that sent delicious little shivers racing down your spine. His hands moved up your sides, slow and teasing. You whined softly, back arching instinctively as his thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice thick with want. "You know how fucking sexy you are." He nipped at your skin, just beneath your ear, and you whined, your fingers threading into the curls at the top of his head, pulling slightly. He chuckled darkly, hands sliding lower, over the small of your back, gripping your ass before they traveled further, big hands sliding behind your thighs. “Been dying to see all of you.” Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, hands strong and sure as he picked you up. You gasped, your head lolling to one side, granting him more access as he pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He carried you across the room like you weighed nothing, walking you straight to the bed, and set you down firmly. His grip on your thighs tightened, preventing you from moving too far, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "Gonna let me taste you again?" His voice was thick, his pupils blown wide, hunger written all over his gorgeous face as he kneeled in front of you on the bed, the city lights casting golden streaks over his sharp jawline, his perfect lips. A slow smirk curled on your lips, reveling in the shift of power between you both. You lifted your leg, the heel of your boot sliding over his shoulder as you arched a brow.

"Yeah? You want a taste?" His smirk deepened, his big hands immediately moving to your thigh, caressing up its smooth length, fingers pressing into the supple skin like he was savoring every inch of the moment. With deliberate slowness, he unzipped your boot, tugging it off, his lips brushing down inch by inch, leaving featherlight kisses down your calf, over your ankle, until it dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Then the other. You let your hands slide down your own thighs, watching him as you sat forward slightly. The doubt from before? Gone. You felt powerful now, back in control. There was no second-guessing yourself anymore��not with the way he was looking at you, like he’d crawl through fire just to put his mouth on you. You met his gaze, locking eyes with him. “Can I take this off?” You asked, fingers already toying with the clasp of your little skirt. Trent didn’t answer with words—he didn’t need to. His hands were already helping you pull it down your hips, letting the fabric slide down your legs. He grabbed it, tossing it somewhere in the room without a care in the world because the only thing that mattered was you. And then—his breath hitched. The air was thick, decadent, laced with the quiet hum of Paris beyond the window, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath. He knelt at the edge of the bed, a vision carved from shadow and street lights, his eyes dark, starving, locked onto you like a promise. Your body betrayed you before he even touched you—heat pooling, softening, unraveling at the mere sight of him between your thighs. You swore you could feel yourself melt, feel the slow, sinful drip of anticipation, of need so potent it bordered on pain. Your skin hummed, oversensitized, flushed with the unbearable ache of waiting. He licked his lips—those perfect, obscene lips—and it felt as if the world tilted, the moment stretching unbearably thin.

“Oh my fucking God, baby.” His voice was rough, nearly reverent as his eyes dragged over you, taking in every inch of what he’d been fantasizing about for months. You barely had time to react before he moved. You leaned back instinctively, but he was already there—grabbing you, strong fingers pressing into your thighs. "Nah, nah, nah." He groaned, shaking his head. "C’mere." He pulled you back toward him, his grip firm but deliberate, like he’d die if you moved even an inch further away.   His hands traced fire along your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer, like an offering he was ready to worship, exposing your glistening core to him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest. His hands flexed on your legs, almost like he was restraining himself from devouring you right then and there. "Fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. His fingers traced lightly over your inner thighs, his mouth watering at the sight of you, spread out in front of him, dripping for him. And then—his voice dropped into something dark, something filled with hunger and adoration all at once. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." And then, just before his mouth met you, he smirked—because he knew. Knew you were already gone, already wrecked, already his. 

-

The city pulsed beyond the towering windows, neon lights flickering like electricity, casting fragmented shadows across the plush hotel suite. The bass from the party still hummed faintly beneath your skin, but none of that mattered now—not with Trent between your legs, gripping your thighs like a man starved, his breath hot against your already oversensitized skin.

He was teasing, toying with you, but it was a losing battle—his own hunger betraying him with every desperate flick of his tongue, every groan that vibrated against your dripping cunt. He was devouring you, licking and sucking like he’d been craving this, starving for it. His tongue delved deep, curling inside you before dragging up through your wetness, tasting you like you were his favorite sin. And fuck, you were.

You moaned, your back arching off the mattress, hands tangling in his curls, tugging, guiding him, urging him on. But he didn’t need direction—he knew exactly how to wreck you. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking just right, sending fire through every nerve in your body. You tasted like liquid gold to Trent. Like something he’d never get enough of. His fingers slid through your slickness before pressing into you, stretching you open, working in tandem with his mouth. He loved feeling you clench around him, loved the way your body responded so perfectly to his touch. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as he feasted, a man possessed.

“T…” You whined, barely able to form words, your body trembling, pleasure coiling impossibly tight in your core. “Oh my god- you’re so fucking good.” You whimpered. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body. He fucking loved this. Loved making you fall apart on his tongue. Just when you thought you might come undone, he pulled back, dragging his teeth gently over the soft skin of your inner thigh, sucking bruises into the delicate flesh. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his fingers moved with unrelenting precision, thrusting deep, curling up into that devastating spot inside you. The sound was unmistakable. Sopping wet pleasure built up over a month. Your body jerked, overstimulated, a desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Then suddenly—he pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty for the briefest second before his hands gripped your hips hard, holding you firmly in place as he pressed his tongue flat against your cunt again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with ruthless precision. Your breath hitched. You were unraveling, the pressure mounting, your muscles tightening, your body trembling uncontrollably as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot again and again and again. “I’m gonna cum—fuck.” Your voice was barely coherent, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot bliss. And then—you shattered. Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, your thighs trembling violently as pleasure ripped through you, your vision blurring as you cried out. Trent groaned into you, loving the way your body reacted to him, drinking in every drop of your release as he lapped you up with deep, satisfied strokes of his tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your soaked skin, the vibrations sending a sharp aftershock through you, making you twitch in his grasp. He chuckled darkly, loving the way you shuddered, completely wrecked beneath him. His lips pressed soft, teasing kisses to your overstimulated, dripping core, reveling in the way your body jerked in response. His face was covered in you, his lips wet, his chin glistening, and fuck, he thought you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Your body was still humming, overstimulated, your limbs feeling weightless, but you weren’t done. Not even close. You felt alive, like you’d been plugged into a socket, your skin buzzing with raw electricity. Your head lolled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to come down, but Trent wasn’t letting you. His grip on your thighs stayed firm, keeping you spread open for him, keeping you his. You forgot what this felt like. You remembered how good he was, how he had this insane ability to ruin you completely, but you forgot this. The heat of his body, the strength of his hands, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire fucking world.

Game or not—tonight, you felt special.

-

Trent pulled you onto his lap with ease, strong hands guiding you until your legs draped over his, straddling him, skin to burning skin. His palms splayed over your thighs, the warmth of them searing into you as his thumbs traced slow, idle circles—teasing, possessive. Every touch sent another ripple of heat through you, another reminder of just how desperate you were for more of him. The air was thick with something electric, the space between you humming with an unrelenting need that had been building since Spain. Every moment apart had only fed the hunger, the tension that had followed you both across cities, through stolen glances and fleeting touches, through nights spent imagining this exact moment. And now, here you were—nothing between you but heat and anticipation. You could feel him—all of him—his thick, aching length pressing against your drenched core, hard and hot and barely restrained. Clothes had long since been discarded, abandoned somewhere between your hunger and his need, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Just tell me you want me.” His voice was a low murmur against the charged silence, rough with restraint, threaded with something deeper than lust, something raw. His dark eyes burned into yours as he leaned back against the headboard, his body a perfect, lazy sprawl beneath you, but his hands—his hands—were anything but relaxed. They gripped your waist, kneading, guiding, rocking you against him with slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping. You ground against his length, the slick slide of your arousal coating him, teasing you both. Your nails scraped lightly against his chest as you leaned into him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice a soft, sultry confession Trent exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening as his eyes drank you in—your bare skin glowing in the dim light, your lips swollen from his kisses, your body poised above him with nothing on but the wicked gleam in your eye.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his smirk lazy, cocky, but betraying the war he was fighting within himself. “Should I let you have me?” He tried to keep it light, teasing, but his voice had that telltale roughness to it, the rasp of a man losing his restraint, of a man undone. You felt it in the way his cock twitched beneath you, in the way his hands dug into your skin, urging you closer. So, you decided to push him further. With slow, calculated movements, you rolled your hips, dragging your slick folds over his length, arching your back, letting your nails ghost down his neck, a sinful contrast to the softness of your touch. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, something close to desperation.

“Should I let you have me?” you countered, your voice laced with syrupy defiance as you sat back. Trent’s eyes lit up at the competition you were trying to initiate. You let your fingers trail over your own body, cupping your breasts just enough to tease, to tempt. Torturing yourself with a gentle pinch to your nipples, only in an effort to taunt Trent. Trent’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eye giving way to something more primal, more urgent.

“’Course,” he murmured, voice thick, gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world. “You know I make you feel good, baby.” It was a line, something smooth and confident, something that might’ve made you roll your eyes if not for the way his body betrayed him—his cock twitching against you, his breath uneven, his restraint unraveling one frayed thread at a time. You raised a brow, tilting your head slightly, forcing him to sit in the weight of his own words. Because yes, he made you feel good. But you had him just as wrecked. Trent smirked at your silent challenge, but it faltered when he yanked you down harder against him, your dripping core grinding against his length. A sharp, needy whimper slipped from your lips at the friction, but before you could feel embarrassed, he let out a deep, guttural groan, his head falling back against the headboard, his hips jerking up into you on instinct. And just like that, the power shifted.  Trent was learning more about himself when it came to you and fast. That he’d crumble. His cheek and charm couldn’t distract from the visceral reaction you evoked. You leaned in, letting your lips hover near his ear, letting his cock glide between your slick folds with torturous ease.

“Say it,” you whispered, a slow, taunting drag of your heat against him. Trent exhaled sharply, a desperate sound that sent a thrill down your spine. His grip on you was rougher now, his fingers digging in, his self-control slipping with every teasing slide of your body against his.

“Un-fucking-real you are,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, breathless. He didn’t care, this was visceral. You had him responding without conscious control. He felt too good.  “Need more of you.” And you felt even better when he said that. His lips found your neck, hot and insistent, kissing, nipping, sucking at sensitive skin, each press of his mouth more fevered than the last. You tilted your head, giving him more, melting beneath his touch, losing yourself in the way his body felt against yours.

“You like it?” you murmured between breathy gasps. “Like the way I make you feel?” His only response was a low, helpless hum against your skin, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth, his composure slipping through his fingers. Between the slickness of your arousal and the thick head of his cock pressing into you, neither of you could breathe, neither of you could think—just existing in the unbearable tension of almost. You knew he was close to breaking, teetering on the edge. And you wanted to push him over it. “I think I know something else you’ll like,” you cooed, pressing a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the mattress fully. Trent let you move him, his dark eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide. And when your gaze met his, heavy with promise, heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken— He knew. He knew he was about to get exactly what he’d been craving since Spain.

The air between you crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something beyond lust but equally consuming. Your bodies had long since abandoned restraint, tangled together in heat and urgency, every touch igniting a fire that neither of you had the will—or the desire—to put out. Straddling Trent, you felt every rigid inch of him pressing against your slick folds, thick and unrelenting, his body a furnace beneath yours. His hands roamed your thighs, possessive and reverent, gripping, kneading, claiming. You rocked against him, teasing yourself just as much as you teased him, dragging your wetness over his length in slow, torturous slides that had both of you trembling. A sharp inhale. His muscles tensed beneath you, his abs flexing as if bracing against the sheer intensity of his own need. His head fell deeper back against the pillow for a brief second, eyes squeezing shut, jaw clenched. And then his hands found your hips, strong and insistent, guiding you upward just enough—just enough to make you hover above him, to make you wait, to make you beg.

“Tell me you’ve thought about this,” you whispered, your voice sultry, teasing, though your own breath wavered with the depth of what you were feeling. You lined his cock at your entrance, the tip barely breaching your soaked heat, just enough to have him right there—just enough to drive him insane. You rolled your hips slightly, your own cruel form of torment. Trent let out a ragged breath, his control slipping fast, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. There was no charm in his voice now, no practiced suave grin—just unfiltered, raw honesty spilling from his lips in a husky confession.

“All I’ve thought about since the moment I met you was how bad I wanted to have you,” he rasped, his dark eyes locking onto yours, blazing with need. “I’ve needed this, baby. Needed you.” The words sent a shiver down your spine, an intoxicating thrill curling in your belly, tightening the already unbearable tension. Your body answered before your mind could catch up—sinking just slightly, just enough to feel him stretch you open in the most tantalizing way. A broken whimper escaped you, your chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow breaths. Trent’s grip on your hips tightened as he fought for composure, but his self-control was hanging by a thread, fraying with every second you made him wait. One of his hands moved lower, cupping the roundness of your ass, guiding, urging. His voice was lower now, darker, edged with the kind of command that made your entire body hum. “Be a good girl for me,” he murmured, eyes ablaze with hunger, lips curling at the way your body trembled under his touch. “Take my cock. Like a good girl.” And then— The most delicious, devastating stretch, the slow, overwhelming fullness as you sank all the way down to the hilt, as he filled you completely, splitting you apart in the most sinful way. A filthy moan tore from your throat, unabashed and raw, your head tipping back in sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Trent was just as wrecked. A guttural groan rumbled from deep within his chest, his head falling back, his brows pinching together as his fingers bit into your skin like he was trying to ground himself, like he was barely holding on. But his eyes—his eyes never left yours, locked onto your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremor in your body, every sound that fell from your lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your body struggling to adjust to the way he stretched you, filled you. “You feel so big—” Trent let out a harsh breath through his teeth, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice wrecked, his restraint snapping thread by thread as he watched you struggle to take him, to fit him. You rocked your hips slightly, a slow roll that had your clit dragging against him just right, sending shocks of pleasure rippling through you. Your walls clenched around him, earning another deep, breathless groan from his lips. The way he looked at you, the way his hands gripped you, the unbearable heat between you—it had you already racing toward the edge, already unraveling. You both questioned if the build up had been too much but with the way this felt, it didn’t seem like enough.

“Fuck… I’ve thought about this so much, T,” you admitted, barely coherent, lost in the euphoria of it all. “Oh my god. Wanted you inside me.” That was it. That was his breaking point. A sound tore from Trent’s throat, something primal, something unhinged. In a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body caging yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and raw, desperate hunger. Desire and need tangled between you, a mess of breathless moans and hands clawing at skin, fingers threading into hair, bodies moving together in a rhythm that neither of you had to think about—only feel. Trent buried himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that was ruthless, devastating, perfect. Each stroke hit deeper, stole the air from your lungs, sent you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it bordered on madness. His lips trailed up your jaw, hot and feverish, his breath heavy in your ear.

“I’ve been craving you, baby,” he growled, the deep timbre of his voice sending tremors down your spine. “I’ve thought about fucking you a million ways.” He punctuated his words with another powerful thrust, making you gasp, making your nails dig into his back, making him groan at the delicious sting. His lips dragged lower, tracing the column of your throat, the hollow of your collarbone. “Haven’t thought about anything else but you since I met you.” For a fleeting second, something flickered in his eyes—a moment of realization, a truth that slipped past his lips before he had the chance to stop it. And he should’ve stopped it. He should’ve taken it back. But the way your body reacted to those words, the way you clenched around him, the way your lips parted in a soft, breathless gasp— He didn’t care. Didn’t care if he’d just given himself away, if he’d just bared something too raw, too real. Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you moaned his name like it was the only one you knew. His mouth found your tits, lips wrapping around a hardened nipple, sucking, licking, biting—driving you to the brink of delirium, of pleasure so consuming it blurred the lines between body and soul.

“I’ve wanted this,” you gasped, arching beneath him, hands threading through his curls, tugging him closer. “Wanted you. Needed you.” Your confession shattered the last of his control. There it was. This was mutual. Both your carefully crafted plans dissipating.  A curse tumbled from Trent’s lips, his pace turning brutal, relentless, like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin, into your soul. His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, his lips stealing every moan, every gasp, every ounce of control you had left. This wasn’t just sex. This was hunger. This was desperation. This was something raw and dangerous and undeniable. And neither of you wanted it to stop.

Trent’s body moved against yours with a relentless rhythm, his hips snapping into you with deep, punishing strokes, each one sending white-hot pleasure tearing through your body. You could feel him everywhere—his heat, his weight, the way his hands claimed you, how his lips ghosted over your skin between ragged breaths. It was overwhelming. It was euphoric. It was perfect. And then— A sudden shift. Trent grasped one of your legs, hooking it under his arm, opening you up to him in a way that made you gasp, made your head fall back against the pillows. The angle was devastating, the head of his cock striking something deep inside you, something electric, something that made your vision blur and your fingers claw helplessly at his back; like it was a place only for him. Trent groaned at the way you clenched around him, the sheer tightness of you, the way your body welcomed him like he was meant to be there. His mind was unraveling, thoughts slipping into dangerous, uncharted territory—because fuck, it wasn’t just the physical. It was you. You beneath him, wrapped around him, taking him so perfectly, so desperately, so good, like you were his.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, voice thick with wrecked pleasure, his forehead pressing against yours for a brief moment before he pulled back to watch you, to see you fall apart. His thumb brushed over your lips, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, consumed by something deeper than lust. “Like you’re pussy’s made just for me. Doing so good f’me.” The words sent a shudder down your spine, something stirring in the pit of your stomach that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way he said it—like he meant it. But Trent’s restraint was slipping, his hips snapping harder, faster, his fingers gripping your thigh so tight you knew you’d wear his marks tomorrow. You could feel everything building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, the inevitable fall rushing toward you like a tidal wave. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, desperate, pulling him closer, dragging your foot down the expanse of his muscled back as your nails dug into the hard planes of his biceps.

“T, I’m gonna—” You gasped, the words breaking into incoherent cries as your body trembled beneath him. You couldn’t get the sentence out, couldn’t think, not when he was fucking you like this, not when he was ruining you with every deep, mind-numbing thrust. Trent was right there with you, his jaw clenched, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit. The rough pad of his thumb circled it in tandem with his thrusts, sending a blinding shock of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you nothing but wreckage beneath him.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice dark, commanding, possessive. “Tell me whose cock you’re gonna cum on.” His words sent you spiraling, the sheer filth of them mixed with his deep, deliberate thrusts making your entire body lock up, teetering on the edge. Your mouth fell open, your head rolling back, tears slipping down your heated cheeks from the unbearable pleasure.

“Yours.” The word tore from you in a breathless whimper, your fingers clenching around the firm muscles of his arms. “Fuck—yours, Trent. Made for you.” His dark eyes burned with something wicked, something triumphant, and he wasn’t about to let you hold back.

“Doing so good for me,” he rasped, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to stay on him, to let him watch every inch of your unraveling. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Let me see how fucking pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” That was it. The words. The way he said them. The way he owned you in this moment. Your orgasm slammed into you like a crashing wave, your entire body tightening, back arching, mouth parting in a silent scream as white-hot pleasure overtook you. Your walls clenched down around him, hard, desperate, milking him in the most sinful way, and it wrecked him. Trent let out a deep, guttural moan, his composure shattering as he watched you break apart beneath him, the sight of you completely lost in pleasure tipping him right over the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, rough, needy, and then he was leaning down, his chest pressing against yours, his weight grounding you as he chased his own release. Your lips found his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

“I’ve only thought about this,” you breathed against his skin, your voice ragged, desperate, laced with something dangerously close to a plea. “About you. Please, please.” Trent groaned, his body tensing, his arms flexing as he held himself above you. He was right there, right on the brink, and your words obliterated what little control he had left. “I want you,” you whined, your nails dragging down his back, your lips brushing against his jaw. That did it. Your whiney confessional did it for Trent. A deep, broken moan tore from his throat, and then he was gone—lost in the most sinful, perfect, earth-shattering release of his life. His hips stuttered, his hands gripping you like he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t be close enough, as he spilled inside you, filling you completely. The sensation, the way he groaned your name like a prayer, like you were the only thing that had ever existed—it sent another ripple of pleasure tearing through you, another small but devastating aftershock of your own orgasm. His strokes slowed, his forehead pressing into yours, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, your limbs tangled together in the aftermath of something neither of you could quite name. For a long moment, the room was silent save for the sound of your mingling breaths, the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Trent hovered above you, propping himself up on his forearms, his forehead damp with sweat, his lips parted as he gazed down at you. And then he did something he never did. His hand came up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your flushed skin. His lips pressed to your forehead—soft, lingering. Then your nose. And when your eyes fluttered open, finding his, that stupid, boyish smile he tried so hard to fight appeared on his lips. And for the first time, Trent didn’t fight it. Didn’t fight you. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded between you. And that? That terrified him more than anything.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 5 - Maybe !

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[hazbinhotelreimaginedproject]

hi there! I'm a fellow artist and hazbin hotel fan..i just wanted to ask if you have an Velvette redesign? Also, can you follow my account please? Only if you want to. That's all I have to say rn. Love your work!!☆

Part. 7 The Vees

Hazbin Hotel reimagine/redesign! (For fun!)

TW/// Mentioned Sex trafficking & ED

🌐🦈Volt (Vox)🦈🌐

Reimagined! Vox desc:

A sinner with a shark form who replaced his face with his alias' namesake, The Television Demon was a TV salesman in the 1950's, obsessed with technological progress and a proud transhumanist. Imagine his surprise when it turned out the afterlife exists. ↓↓↓

The TV demon has the reputation of a coolheaded businessman, but his personality is neurotic to say the least. He is very loud, overly enthusiastic, and treats everything, no matter how minor or petty, with the highest level of seriousness.

He tried to get Alastor on his side, to show him that radio is outdated and he'd be much better off replacing his face with a monitor as well. Needless to say that interaction didn't go so well, and his clueless ass still has no idea what he said to make him so angry in the first place.

(Keeping the description vague so it can be expanded upon once s2 comes out)

💷🐅Valentino🐅💷

Reimagined! Valentino desc:

The biggest critique I have for both HH and HB are their weak villains. Much like Stella, Valentino feels like a shallow caricature of an abuser that adds nothing to the story besides 'abuse bad', and does little to warn or educate audiences about it. To me, his character is ultimately worthless. Which is why I overhauled him and made him into an abuser people could actually encounter in real life.

An exotic pet trader sent to hell, The Predator Demon began to shift from animal to human trafficking. He is friendly, soft-spoken, reads poetry, plays chess, and never talks about work in his free time. If you were to meet him outside the studio, it's easy to develop respect for him.

It's only when you see firsthand what he does to his employees that your beliefs would be shaken. Still, he'd assure you that it's necessary to discipline workers when they're not doing their job right. A part of you truly believes such a pleasant man would never do something like this without a reason, so you're inclined to believe him. He doesn't find Angel or even most people he works with attractive, he just does what he has to do to keep them in line.

💋😻Velvette😻💋

Reimagined! Velvette desc:

The youngest overlord to ever raise to the title, The Vanity Demon is a social media obsessed 18 year old fashionista. She comes from a rich family so she knows how to rub shoulders with the elite. She also knows how to make people insecure and dependant on her to 'fix them', so she quickly amassed enough souls to be one of the big 3.

She was the one who founded hell's social media where she promotes EDs, look shaming, and toxicity. While she likes to present herself as a diva, she is actually very preppy and unoriginal, stealing her workers' ideas and passing them as her own.

While she is tied to the angel's head plot, she gradually gathers more information on the who and how of the event. Eventually when the angels come to attack the hotel, she finally learns about angelic steel and who is skilled enough to weild it - Vaggie. Rest assured that little angel won't be leaving her sight any time soon.

Hello! Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my stuffs!! I've been very selective in who I follow recently so I won't be able to follow unfortunately 😔, but this ask finally gave me the push I needed to redesign the Vees! I think their desighns fit them really well but with the AU evolving I wanted to fully me-ify them! Hope you have a great day!!! :33

[creaman]

—BECAUSE KUNG FU PANDA 4 KILLED MY GRANDMA, OKAY?

To preface, I watched this movie and I'm genuinely tweaking right now so I had to write down a very brief (lie) criticism on this film — which you should boycott, by the way.

Starting with the things I liked, before briefing my primary points of criticism:

Po's Character Regression

Po and Zhen's Dynamic

The Chameleon

I'd also yap about Lord Shen and the death of the art style and the entire narrative and pacing and use of the staff of wisdom but my therapist says being such a hater is 'unhealthy' or something. My heart is full of hatred.

SPOILERS for the entirety KFP4 for the 2 people who care.

KFP4 undermines and ignores the previous three movies — Unwriting character developments, outright removing the Furious Five, straying from the character design philosophies and is completely inconsistent with the established lore.

Things I Liked About Kung Fu Panda 4

The Chameleon's character design

Visual gag in the Tavern where Po uses a recently thrown axe as a hat rack (made me laugh)

When Mr. Ping did this:

so cute! the little heart!

Po — Character Writing

Po, as established in the previous movies, is confident in his abilities and identity — he’s learnt inner peace, he’s matured as a character. However, in KFP4, his character has completely regressed. He’s immature again (such as KFP1, possibly worse) and says verbatim, “only knows kicking butt and taking names” — UNLEARNING inner peace and insisting that “…being the Dragon Warrior is all I know.”

It’s childish, and sort of Hotel Transylvania-esque.

Which isn’t helped by the comedy, the dialogue — a large chunk of which are jokes in the style of:

Master Shifu says something philosophical

Po quips off of it / doesn’t get it (i.e. Whoa!! beat I don’t know what that means.)

Oh, it’s great, yeah, very tolerable. Po’s shenanigans are normally reeled in by the presence of the Furious Five who are generally more serious in nature, creating a much needed balance in the dynamic — So without them, it’s just Po becoming increasingly obnoxious and insufferable with every consecutive quip throughout the screenplay.

Po and Zhen — Character Dynamics

[No more graphics sorry I'm too angry]

As if it wasn’t obvious that Zhen was going to be the next Dragon Warrior the second she was introduced.

Zhen, as a character, has no depth besides being a quippy thief. She quips, she steals. This character has no motives — it can be assumed that the writers intended on a ‘change of heart’ thing, but she isn’t established as evil, her working for the Chameleon is written as a (albeit poor) twist reveal.

By which point, her taking either side wouldn’t make sense, given that she has shown no loyalty or attachment to either Po nor the Chameleon.

The movie artificially strengthens their bond by having Zhen start opening up about her backstory out of nowhere for no reason but they have done nothing to grow closer to each other.

Small tangent, her backstory is exactly what you’d expect it to be with no subversions or even emotional weight. Woe is me I was so small and hungry I had to steal to survive. Glossed over in about a minute.

The majority of the dialogue between Zhen and Po is spoken exposition — explaining how powerful and badass the Chameleon is, explaining how ‘we have to go here to do that’ and ‘this place was cool until the Chameleon did such and such’, and the rest of their time together is spent engaging in filler chase sequences and fight scenes.

The Chameleon

Where do I even start…

This is where it becomes apparent that the movie relies heavily on telling rather than showing —

She is the weakest villain by far, not only in universe but as a written character; which is particularly disheartening because I genuinely adore her character design and feel as though a shapeshifting character has great potential.

The movie artificially inflates her power by insisting through exposition that this is the most capable antagonist thus far (lie).

The audience is TOLD by Zhen and various restaurant patrons that the Chameleon is a powerful shapeshifting sorceress and that she 'dominates the city' whilst the film does nothing to showcase this.

'Dominating the city' meaning letting her henchpeople run amock and bully the civilians just like Lord Shen's wolves in KFP2... uninspired.

I just realised they didn't even give her a NAME what the FUCK is going on

She describes HERSELF as ruthless, clever and unsentimental when comparing Zhen to herself.

She says HERSELF that she’s “Stronger than every opponent you’ve ever faced.”

Let’s see what vile reprehensible things she’s done, shall we?

Gently push someone down some stairs

Her first appearance is through Zhen’s exposition, as opposed to the dramatic and memorable entrances of the previous villains. Her motives or character aren’t established until the final third of the film. She doesn’t even FIGHT anybody until the final third of the film; and even then, her fight sequences are uninspired and she never really poses a real threat. (She goes down in two hits.)

That being said, WE CAN STILL SAVE HER GUYS WE CAN STILL GET HER OUTTA THERE I'M COMING FOR YOU CHAMELEON I'M GONNA DRAFT YOU A PROPER BACKSTORY AND MOTIVE AND YOU'RE GONNA BE THE MOST THREATENING VILLAIN THUS FAR

There's a scene after the climax of the film where all the kung fu masters and previous villains from the spirit realm bow to Po. I'm not going to provide my thoughts on this because I fear I may burst a blood vessel. Good day!

Closing Statements

To put it simply, Kung Fu Panda 4 was my Megamind 2.

The film rejects its predecessors in every way. It really feels as though they brought in somebody with no prior knowledge of the franchise to direct the movie.

It's a film that relies heavily on telling rather than showing — banking on the previous three movies to carry it through the box office.

It's just really disheartening to see studio execs turn one of the best franchises into a safe sequel cash grab and regress every character's development.

Nevertheless. I do adore the chameleon's character design so I might do my own take on her character.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no fairy godmother, there is no tooth fairy, and there is no kung fu panda 4.

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 6)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Talks of death, Blood.

It was almost embarrassing how productive you’d been yesterday.

Not in a triumphant, academic breakthrough kind of way — more like manic focus masking a hollow ache. You had shut yourself inside your hotel room from sunup to sundown, hunched over the Old hotel desk, surrounded by coffee cups and open books, trying to make sense of centuries old trauma and the woman who somehow kept creeping into your research.

By midnight, you'd written nearly two thousand words about the sociopolitical function of scapegoating in 17th century Puritan Massachusetts. Half of them, you suspect, were thinly veiled projections.

You kept typing the word “hysteria,” then deleting it. Too reductive. Too easy. But weren’t you starting to sound a little hysterical yourself?

You slept restlessly. No dreams you could remember. Just the feeling of eyes on you—watching, waiting, patient.

Now, morning sunlight filters through the gauzy hotel curtains in a washed out gold. You're standing in front of the mirror with a towel knotted around your chest, water still clinging to your shoulders, mentally running through the day.

Call Billy after this. See Irene around noon.  Don’t check Agatha’s address on Google Maps again.

What? Who said that!

You towel your hair dry, flipping it over and shaking it out like it’ll knock something loose. The last time you looked in this mirror — really looked — your skin wasn’t so pale. Your eyes weren’t so tired. And your brain wasn’t so loud.

Not from the research—you loved the research. But something about the way you’d slept, the way your body held tension now like it didn’t trust the air around you… it was catching up.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering over Billy’s contact. A small tightness curls under your ribs.

You should call. You want to call.

But what are you going to say?

"Hey, I think I accidentally developed a fixation on a middle aged woman who might be a witch?" 

You sigh.

Like Billy would judge you. He’s definitely heard worse. And it’s not like he didn’t already hear your first rant about her.

Though… you did tell him this trip was just for a thesis. Not Agatha.

Oh, to hell with it.

He should expect this from you by now.

You hit dial anyway.

It rings. Once. Twice.

You tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder, curling onto the far side of the bed as Billy picks up on the second ring.

“Well, well, well,” Billy drawls. “If it isn't, the cryptid come back to life.” His voice becomes mock suspicious. “Do I need to sage my phone or something?”

You sigh, exhausted already. “Hi, Billy.”

“Dude, it’s been a week . I thought you died.”

“Not far off,” you mutter.

There’s a pause on his end. You can practically hear him cocking an eyebrow. “Okay, so… what happened?”

You rub a hand over your face. “I don’t know where to start…. I found her…Agatha…”

Billy goes quiet for a beat. “Wait, like ghost woman Agatha? She's real?”

You give a half laugh, tired. “Worse. She’s real. Very real. And… I think she’s messing with me.”

“Oh, so the ghost girlfriend has opinions now,” Billy says, amused. “What’d she do, haunt your dreams?”

“She read my notebook,” you blurt. “ All of it. My notes. My dumb theories. The stuff I scribbled at 2 a.m. with, like, chocolate on the pages. Everything.”

“…Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets out a low whistle. “Okay, but how’d she get it?”

“I left it at her place the first day we met without realizing… and—God, she was so smug about it. Like, waving it around like she was proud of reading it.”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead into your palm. “And then she just—started quoting it. Out loud. Like it was funny . Like I was funny.”

“Honestly? A little funny.”

“Billy.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m on your side.” A pause. “Mostly.”

You shake your head, voice dropping a little. “I’m just… embarrassed, I guess. She knows . That I came here for her. That I think she’s suspicious. And instead of denying it or clarifying anything , she just… smirks. Dodges. She won’t answer a single straight question.”

“So she’s hot and mysterious and makes you feel insane. Wow. Your taste is consistent.”

“Billy!”

He laughs again. “Okay, but real talk — why does it bother you so much? Is it just the thesis? Or…?”

You go quiet.

There it is. The real question.

“…I don’t know,” you admit. “I want it to be just the thesis. But every time I talk to her, it’s like I’m on the verge of something. Like if I just asked one more question, or stayed one minute longer, I’d figure her out.”

“And instead?”

You sigh. “She plays coy and calls me ‘hon’ like she’s older than time. Like she’s seen it all. And—god, Billy, I don’t even know how old she is. Her eyes—”

“Oh no,” he interrupts, voice teasing but laced with concern. “Not the ‘her eyes have seen centuries’ thing.”

You groan. “Shut up.”

“She’s definitely a vampire. Or a demon. Or like, a forest hag who got a glow up.”

“Not helping.”

“I’m just saying. You went looking for answers and instead you got hot girl gaslit.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow. “Yup. That’s the thesis title now.”

Billy softened a little. “Hey. Jokes aside… are you okay?”

You were quiet for a beat. Then: “Not really.”

“Wanna fly home?”

“I can’t.”

“Because of the thesis?”

“…because of her.”

Silence.

You hated how true it felt. How your chest twisted just saying it out loud.

But before Billy could respond, your phone buzzed against your ear.

A text from Irene:  

Hey, just got home. Does noon still sound good?

You checked the time.  

11:45 a.m.

Shit.

“Billy, I gotta go,” you said quickly, sitting up. “This older woman I met—long story—is expecting me. She might have answers about some of the older trials.”

Billy groaned. “Ugh, fine. Ghost girlfriends and witch grandmas. You really are living the dream.”

You chuckled. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”

“You better. And hey—just… be careful, okay? Mysterious women in creepy houses have a reputation.”

“I’ll add that to my notes.”

“Add m e to the acknowledgements page when this turns into a horror memoir.”

You snorted. “Deal. Bye, Billy.”

---

Irene’s house sat at the end of a winding street, tucked behind a crooked gate and half a dozen rosebushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since the Clinton administration.  

The door creaked open before you could knock.

“Come in, come in,” Irene said brightly, waving you in with a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ polite.”

You stepped inside, immediately hit by the unmistakable scent of old books and something faintly herbal beneath it all — like dried sage or mint tea left too long on the stove.

The house was cluttered in the way only an old woman’s house could be. Not messy, exactly. Just… lived in. The kind of clutter that came from decades of refusing to throw away a good basket, or realizing too late that your cat had claimed the best reading chair. There were stacks of mail, ceramic knickknacks on every windowsill, and faded photographs nestled in dusted frames.

A shawl draped over the back of a chair. A teacup still on the table from last night.

“Ignore the mess,” Irene said, already shuffling toward the kitchen, voice lilting like it was just part of the house itself. 

You smiled despite yourself, shrugging off your coat and glancing around the room.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve seen worse!” you said, following her into the kitchen. “You should’ve seen my grandma on my mother’s side. Now that woman could hoard.”

Irene chuckled under her breath, reaching for the kettle. “Ah, well—there’s a difference between hoarding and holding onto what still works. The trick is knowing which is which.”

She cast you a look over her shoulder — knowing, almost playful — as she set out two mismatched mugs and pulled a tin of tea from the shelf.

“You like mint?” she asked. “Or are you one of those fancy girls who needs three adjectives in her drink order?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Mint is fine.”

Steam curled up from the kettle as she started the steeping process, moving with the practiced ease of someone who made tea as often as she breathed.

“So,” you asked, watching her hands, “what is it you wanted to show me?”

“I brought my laptop and notes, like you told me to…”

You couldn’t help the flicker of anticipation in your chest. Irene had mentioned it offhand at the coffee shop — her late husband, the history teacher, his collection of old maps and books. Stuff that might help you. Stuff no one had digitized or indexed or filed away in some library basement.

“Old maps. Articles. Some books from my late husband, He taught history before he passed. Big on the weird stuff, like you.” 

You’d repeated the words in your head all night. Weird stuff. Like you.

Irene handed you a mug. “Perfect. Go sit in the living room, wherever you’re comfy. Make yourself at home.”

You nodded, taking the warm cup in both hands and moving back toward the front room, the scent of mint trailing after you. Irene, meanwhile, was already in the kitchen again, humming faintly as she sliced into the lemon cake she'd promised.

You sank into the nearest armchair, careful not to disturb the crocheted doily draped over the back. The tea was hot and sharp on your tongue, a welcome shock to your system after the restless night. Irene reappeared a moment later with two chipped dessert plates balanced in one hand, a slice of lemon cake on each.

She handed you one, then lowered herself onto the floral loveseat with a dramatic exhale.

“God, these knees,” she muttered, rubbing one of them as she settled in. “Don’t get old, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

You smiled, curling one leg under the other. “I’ll try to dodge it.”

Irene grinned, fork already diving into her cake. “So. You really flew all the way from Washington for this paper of yours, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing a bite. “I know, it sounds a little unhinged.”

“Mm, not to me,” she said through a mouthful of cake. “My Harry would’ve called that dedication. Or madness. Or both, depending on whether you interrupted his football.”

That made you laugh. “He was a history teacher, right?”

“Thirty seven years,” she said proudly. “High school mostly, then he did some community college stuff after he retired. Couldn’t quite give it up. The man had a brain like a bear trap and no filter whatsoever.”

You sipped your tea, already picturing him: cardigan, chalk dust on his sleeves, a thousand strong opinions.

“He sounds like someone I’d get along with.”

“He’d have loved you,” Irene said simply. “Especially with all this witch trial business. He was obsessed with that era. Said it was where the country first learned how to be afraid of itself.”

That gave you pause. You looked up. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

“He had his moments,” she said, smiling down at her cake. “Used to come home with weird little newspaper clippings or dusty first editions from estate sales. I’d be halfway through cleaning and find something like Witchcraft and Folklore in New England shoved under the sink.”

You laughed again, warming more and more to the space around you.

“Do you still have any of it?” you asked gently. “His books?”

Irene glanced toward the back of the house. A pause. A breath.

“Most of it’s still in his study,” Irene said. “Haven’t really gone through it since he passed. But I think it’s time.”

She stood, slower this time, pressing a hand to her hip with a faint grunt. She glanced back at you, her eyes catching the light — something soft in them, thoughtful, and just a little unreadable.

You offered her a small smile, taking a quick bite of lemon cake with a happy little hum before setting your mug down and rising to follow. Irene shuffled down the hall with the practiced sway of someone who knew every creaky board, and you trailed a few steps behind.

The hallway was narrow, wrapped in white wainscoting that had yellowed slightly with time. A dozen photos lined the walls — some black and white, probably from when Irene was a girl, and others full of faded seventies tones and wide collars. A few featured Irene beside a kind looking man with a thick mustache and a proud posture that had to be her late husband, Harry.

You smiled to yourself. Even something as simple as old family photos had the ability to make your historian heart flutter. Just a glimpse into another time, another life — preserved in paper and frame.

God, if only time machines existed. You’d sell your soul just to skip the guesswork.

Irene glanced back to make sure you were still with her, and something about it tugged at a distant memory — the first time you’d visited Agatha’s house.

Except Agatha hadn’t looked back. She’d just opened the door and walked in, certain you’d follow.

Agatha always seemed to know.

Know what you’d do. What you’d ask. What you were searching for.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until the soft click of a door jarred you from your thoughts. Irene had opened a glass paned door near the end of the hallway, dust lifting in the light as her hand curled around the knob.

“Here it is,” she said quietly.

The room smelled of paper and time. The kind of smell libraries tried to bottle and candles couldn’t quite replicate. It was musty, yes, but it had a kind of warmth beneath the dust — like the room had been waiting, patiently, to be remembered.

Your gaze swept the room — tall bookcases, the edges of volumes just barely visible through the haze of time; a sturdy desk piled with boxes, folders, and notebooks; and more stacks tucked into corners, waiting to be unearthed. You only recognized a handful of titles at first glance.

The sight made your chest ache in the best way.

It reminded you of the library back in Washington — the one you’d practically lived in. You wondered if Mrs. Calderu had noticed your absence. She always gave you that silent, knowing look whenever you missed a day, like a librarian’s version of a guilt trip.

Eight days now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but… yeah. You were starting to miss home.

Irene made her way to the desk, brushing dust from a large cardboard box. “So, Harry was… not exactly what you’d call organized,” she muttered, her lips twitching in a fond sort of grimace. “No matter how much I hounded that man.”

You giggled, stepping deeper into the room and peering into the box beside her as she began pulling out old papers.

“Some moon landing clippings in this one,” she said with a sigh, rubbing her temple. Then she turned with practiced ease and crouched — slowly — beside another box on the floor.

“I’ll help you look for anything about the witch trials. I know there’s a few boxes full. Harry was about as obsessed as you are.”

She tossed you a teasing look over her shoulder — eyes glinting with mischief.

“Except his obsession was with the history ,” she added. “Not a certain mysterious woman.”

Your face burned as you ducked your head, trying to hide the sudden flush. “No—well—maybe,” you laughed, shaking your head and waving a hand at her. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Irene said, smiling as she handed you the first folder.

Irene helped you sift through the first couple boxes, making soft commentary here and there — the way someone might talk to themselves when they think no one’s really listening.  

“That’s from the old newspaper that used to run in the sixties — folded faster than it started.”  

“Yep, that’s Harry’s handwriting — barely better than chicken scratch.”  

“Oh, now this might be something, though it’s mostly speculation. He liked collecting fringe theories. Said the truth was usually hiding in the weird.”

After a while, she straightened up with a quiet grunt, brushing her hands on the front of her cardigan. “Alright, you’ve got your bearings. I’ll leave you to dig. I know how serious you research girls get.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks again for letting me look.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the truly bizarre stuff.”

She waddled toward the hallway, then paused in the doorway. “I’ll be back in a bit. Brought your bag in from the kitchen — figured you might want your computer or your notes.”

True to her word, she reappeared twenty or thirty minutes later, gently setting your bag on the floor beside the desk without interrupting your focus.

You murmured a quiet “thank you” as you sifted through another box — mostly political clippings from the 1970s and some odd astrology magazines.

Nothing helpful. At least not yet.

You kept digging. Some folders held property records, maybe even relevant for local witchcraft accusations — but it was mostly dry stuff. Minutes from old council meetings. Reprints of school articles. A few references to “land disputes” that might have hinted at something darker if you squinted hard enough.

You leaned back, sighing. Glancing down at your hands with a small grimave, your fingers had dust in every crease.

Then your fingers caught on the corner of a heavier box tucked behind the desk, half smothered under an old afghan. You dragged it out, coughing softly at the plume of dust it kicked up.

It was heavier than the others. Marked in faded black ink: 

WITCH / 1692-1694 — underlined twice.

Your heart skipped.

Inside were folders bound with string. Notes scribbled in the margins in different inks. Theories. Names you recognized. Names you didn’t. One old manila envelope labeled simply:

  The Hollow Wood Incident.

And in the bottom of the box, tucked between two larger books, something handwritten. Ink faded. Cover soft from wear. The title had been crossed out and rewritten in different pens over the years, the most recent inscription scrawled in blue ballpoint:

“Witch Lore, Local Accounts (Unverified — H’s Notes)”

You smiled, slowly, as your fingers curled around the spine.

Now this — this felt like a breakthrough.

The cover was soft with age, the paper inside a patchwork of different types — thick yellowed pages, some brittle as if they’d been near a fireplace too long, others torn from notebooks, or scribbled on napkins. No order, no index. Just thoughts, theories, clippings glued haphazardly alongside Harry’s looping scrawl. 

You flipped carefully through the first few pages — passages on local legends, sightings of women vanishing into the woods, ritualistic markings found on trees. Names. “Ann P.—seen at the river with no reflection.” “Martha K.—claim of glowing hands in the tavern.” Half of them sounded made up. The other half? Too detailed to ignore.

And then, something stranger: a loose sheet fell free from the back of the notebook and drifted to the floor. You bent to pick it up.

The texture was different — thicker, smoother. Almost waxy. The edges were scorched, as if it had been near a candle flame. The ink wasn’t black or blue, but brown. Dried blood, maybe. Or just very old.

It wasn’t English.

You held it up to the light. Latin — you thought. Though some words didn’t quite track. At the top, it was labeled:

"Invocatio ad Angthetham"

Underneath, a hand-scribbled note in English, smaller, messier:

“Can’t translate fully. Name unclear — resembles 'Agatha' but no root found in Latin dictionaries. Possibly fabricated. Possibly phonetic.” 

The rest of the text was indecipherable. A chant? A ritual? You didn't know Latin — not really — but you could pick out the rhythm. Repetition. Phrases beginning with veni... aperi... da nobis. 

Come.  

Open.  

Give to us.

You glanced toward the door, as if someone might be watching. The room had gone oddly still.

Tucked behind the page was something else — a photograph. You hadn’t noticed it fall. Black and white, faded. A group of people in front of a stone circle. Too many shadows to make out their faces, but one woman stood at the front.

She looked like Agatha.

Or maybe that was your brain playing tricks again. You squinted — the photo was too grainy to be sure.

You set it down, hands slightly trembling now, and dug deeper.

At the bottom of the box, under another folder marked simply “Misc” , was a bundle wrapped in muslin. You untied it carefully.

Inside were remnants. Objects. A short black candle, burned nearly to the base. A few half melted wax drips clung to it. A matchbook with only one match left inside. A pressed sprig of some herb — mint, maybe, or sage. A dull stone, smooth and egg sized. A dried flower. A brass coin with a pentacle engraved on one side.

And another slip of paper.

"Tested 3/19/85. Results inconclusive. Felt presence. Weather shifted. H refused to try again." 

The words felt heavy in your chest.

You sat back in the chair, blinking. The air in the room felt different. Stiller. Thicker.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

You had no idea what any of it meant — not yet. But you’d found something. Something real.

And if this Angthetha was just a name… or if it was more than that…

You swallowed. Maybe Irene would have thoughts. She knew this town. Knew you well enough already to raise an eyebrow at your obsession.

And if not Irene…?

Well, there was always the forest.

Always Agatha.

You sigh, arms full of findings — the handwritten book, the scorched page, the photo, a few of the stranger objects wrapped in muslin. You cradle them against your chest like you're afraid they might vanish if you let go.

Back in the living room, Irene’s sitting. The lemon cake has been nibbled down to crumbs, and a half empty mug of mint tea sits forgotten on the end table. Her knitting rests in her lap — the same project you’d seen at the coffee shop, the same slow, steady progress. maybe a scarf, maybe a blanket. Hard to tell. She looked up when she heard your footsteps.

"Find anything useful?" she asked, her needles pausing midstitch.

You let out a long breath and lowered everything onto the coffee table, careful not to scatter the contents. "Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Definitely weird."

That got a chuckle out of her.

You picked up the old notebook — Harry’s notes — and turned it toward her. “This was at the bottom of a box labeled 'Witch / 1692-1694.' It’s all handwritten. Half of it reads like folklore, the other half like he was genuinely trying to make sense of it. There’s even a section called The Hollow Wood Incident.”

That got her attention. Her knitting paused again, this time for real.

“Hollow Wood?” she echoed, one brow arched just slightly. 

“I thought maybe it was just a coincidence,” you said, flipping to the burnt sheet of Latin text and sliding it toward her. “But then I found this.”

Irene leaned forward, pulling her glasses down from her forehead and resting them on her nose. She looked over the page without touching it.

“Latin,” she murmured. “Or something trying to be. Not your usual bedtime reading, I hope.”

You smiled faintly, watching her eyes narrow.

She squinted at the title. “Angthetham…”

You cleared your throat, feeling a little silly now that you were saying it out loud. “I thought… I mean. Doesn’t it sound kind of like Agatha?”

Irene didn’t respond at first. Her eyes lingered on the strange name, on the scrawled chant, on the note that mentioned Harry refusing to try again. Finally, she leaned back with a quiet exhale.

“Well,” she said, voice soft. “Harry always said the old names changed. Slipped through tongues like river stones. Wore down into whatever people could pronounce. You ask me, Angthetha could’ve been Agatha once. Or maybe something that came before her.”

You blinked. “Before?”

Irene just gave you a little shrug. “Who knows. Names have long shadows.”

You stared at her for a moment, but she was already knitting again, as if she hadn’t just casually nudged open the door to a hundred new questions.

“Irene,” you said slowly. “Do you think this… I don’t know. Do you think it could actually do something? Like — a spell?”

She glanced up at you with that same dry look from the coffee shop. “Do I look like someone who speaks dead languages and dances naked in the moonlight?”

You coughed on a laugh. “Not exactly. ”

“I think…” she paused, knotting a bit of yarn. “I think Harry believed more than he let on. That’s why he never threw that thing out, even after the fire in the shed. Said some things should stay buried. But he also kept it all boxed up . I think he wanted someone else to find it, eventually.”

That quieted you.

She glanced at you again, her voice gentler. “You think your Agatha’s tangled up in this?”

You nodded, sheepish. “I don’t know. Maybe. It feels like it.”

Irene smiled — soft, but with something bittersweet behind it. “Then maybe you’re meant to find her. Just… don’t go calling up things you don’t understand, sweetheart. Not all of them are interested in being found.”

You swallowed.

Too late, maybe. 

After that, you stayed a bit longer and finished her lemon cake. And true to her word, it really was a mean lemon cake.

But after a moment of silence, a question crept in, unshakable.

You glanced up. “Hey, Irene?” you asked, hesitating. “Can I ask something kind of… personal?”

She looked up, her expression still but open.

“How did Harry pass?”

Irene hummed low in her throat, setting her knitting aside. Her eyes drifted off, brow furrowing like the memory was a wrinkle she still hadn’t smoothed out. “Well… it wasn’t anything medical. No heart problems or cancer. My Harry was a health nut — even when he’d stay up all night with some historic mystery buzzing in his brain.”

You nodded, quietly, urging her on.

“He was found,” she said, voice distant. “Deep in the woods. You mentioned you went to the cemetery? Near the ranger park?”

You hummed in agreement.

“He was just past that. Some teenagers found him while they were camping. Maybe partying, I don’t know. I can’t remember now.”

She picked up the knitting again, though the rhythm had slowed.

“His body was mauled. By… something.”

You didn’t breathe.

“The last thing he told me before he left was that he was going out to do some research. Of course I said it was fine — my Harry never got into trouble… or, well, not that I knew of.”

You didn’t dare speak. You were on the edge of your seat.

Just what was out in the Hollow Wood forests that could’ve done that? 

And you’d been there. At that very cemetery. With that feeling — that creeping, awful sense that something was watching you.

“I thought it was murder, at first,” Irene went on. “Told the police it couldn’t have been some bobcat or wild dogs. I mean… his eyes were gouged out.”

You flinched.

“But the police…” she sighed. “They said animals always go for the soft spots first.”

You gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Irene sighed back, heavier. “No worries. I’m old now. And I’ve heard enough sorries.”

Then she turned to you, face suddenly more serious than you’d ever seen it. “So don’t go wandering near that cemetery again. Not while you’re here.”

You gulped, a chill dragging down your spine. You glanced at the stack of notes on the table… then at the clock ticking in the corner of her living room.

3:23 PM.

“I won’t,” you said, quietly.

You stood, shrugging into your coat, the weight of everything settling deep in your bones. “I guess I should get going. Digest more of this.”

Irene nodded, watching you move. “Take Harry’s things. The Latin. The notebook.”

You turned, surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”

She was already rising — muttering about her knees — and crossing to the table. She handed the items to you, her hands staying on yours just a moment longer than expected. Her eyes were steady, serious.

“I have no use for them,” she said. “Whatever Harry was doing… or looking into… he had to’ve been on the right track.”

She gave a faint, hollow smile.

“People don’t just die.”

---

Later that night, back at the hotel, you’d tucked some of Harry’s things into your bag — others were spread across the desk, waiting for a once-over.

Irene’s words echoed in your head.

People don’t just die. 

You chewed on your nail in thought, eyes drifting toward the window. It was nearing dark… probably an hour left of light.

Irene had warned you not to go back to the cemetery. Especially after dark. 

And she wasn’t the first.

“Though I wouldn’t recommend making late night cemetery visits a habit.” “Well. Don’t go again. It’s dangerous.” 

Agatha’s voice joined the chorus in your head.

Your stomach knotted. Irene knew something. Maybe the same thing Agatha did. They had to have met. Irene had mentioned her — back at the coffee shop.

And if Harry had been digging into this the same way you were…

And he’d ended up mauled in the woods. 

You grumbled.

Your mind wandered to Agatha again — her house, her voice, that look in her eyes last time when she told you to leave. Would she even let you in again?

You groaned and flopped onto the bed, arm flung dramatically over your face.

You couldn’t just show up at her place asking if she knew some eighty year old woman with a knitting hobby and a haunted past. That’d be a one way ticket to being kicked out permanently.

Your gaze slid toward your duffel bag.

There, right on the floor — the T-shirt and sweatpants Agatha had given you. Crumpled on the floor. Still probably smelling like her.

You paused. Took your nail out of your mouth.

…Okay. So maybe you couldn’t ask about Irene.

But you could return her clothes.

A harmless excuse. A friendly gesture. A reason to knock on her door again.

You shot up from the bed like a girl with a plan, grinning as you grabbed the clothes and tucked them neatly into your bag. You slung it over your shoulder, then paused in front of the mirror, giving yourself a onc over.

“You, beautiful lady,” you said to your reflection, dead serious. “Are brilliant. ”

And with that, you peeled out of the room.

---

The walk was quicker this time.

You slipped into the woods with practiced ease, past the cobblestone bridge, a left down the trail lined with old, whispering willows, then over the second bridge — the one that made it easy to cross the stream without getting your Shoes wet.

It was practically muscle memory now.

Your heart gave a small flutter. You were getting giddy. To see Agatha. 

Would she be happy to see you? Annoyed? Maybe a little smug that you'd come crawling right back?

Not that she should be surprised — you’d told her you were leaving for now, not that you were never coming back.

There was a rustle in the trees.

You paused, then brushed it off. Just Hollow Wood wind. Probably.

The pep in your step? Honestly? It should be studied.

Actually—scratch that. They’d find too many disturbing things in your brain.

The sun was sinking faster than you expected, but you were close.

Right on cue, you pushed past the final thicket and stepped into the clearing.

And there it was.

Agatha’s Victorian house. Just like before.

Purple door, ivy trailing up one side.

You smiled, soft and stupid, and marched right up the creaking porch steps like you were an old friend who belonged there.

There was another rustle behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing. Just wind. Again.

“The weather here is odd,” you muttered under your breath.

You raised your hand, just like you had the first time, and knocked three times on the door.

You hummed. Shifted from one foot to the other.

Nothing.

You thought back to your first visit — how she’d taken a moment to open the door, and how you’d tried to avoid that awkward mid-knock face-to-face. 

So you waited.

And waited.

You sighed, glancing up. The sun was nearly gone now. The porch light clicked on overhead.

You jumped. 

Then immediately giggled at how dumb that was.

You looked back at the door. Still nothing.

Should you knock again?

It didn’t take this long last time.

You leaned in, knocked three times again. Counted to thirty.

Still nothing.

Again.

“What the hell…”

You huffed and leaned toward the side window, trying to peek through. Were the lights on? Was she just… ignoring you?

No lights.

You squinted, searching for movement. Anything. And that’s when—

Rustle. 

Close.

Too close.

Not like wind.

Not like leaves.

Like… breathing.

On the back of your neck.

You spun around fast — heart pounding — eyes scanning the woods.

Nothing.

But something moved. 

Far back, between the trees.

You squinted.

Your pulse thudded behind your eyes.

Not a bunny.

Not the wind.

Something was out there.

Panic spread through you.

Instantly, you knocked harder on the door.

“Agatha!”

Nothing.

You pounded your fist against the wood, harder now. “Agatha, open the door! Please!”

Still nothing.

Silence.

Too much of it.

Even the birds were gone.

You turned, something primal in your chest pulling your gaze toward the trees.

Something was watching you. 

You felt it before you saw it—goosebumps erupted across your skin, your throat went dry. The air turned sharp, metallic.

And then—

There it was.

Between the trees. Half shrouded in shadow, standing too still to be human.

Tall. Lanky. No real shape to it. Like it was wearing a human silhouette like a costume. 

No face.

Just a stretch of black. And eyes—

No, not eyes. Not really. But two pale yellow lights.

Like fireflies.

Faint. Flickering. But locked on you.

You couldn’t breathe.

The scent of blood hit you all at once—thick and iron rich, like a slaughterhouse left out in the sun. You gagged on it, stumbled back.

The thing didn’t move.

Not a twitch.

But it was there. Waiting. 

Your fingers fumbled for the doorknob again, hands shaking. “Agatha,” you whispered, hoarse. “Please.”

The lights blinked. Closer now. Somehow.

You blinked tears. It wasn’t moving. But it was closer. 

The woods around it swayed, but it didn’t.

Then—

The screech split the sky above you.

You ducked, but it was already on you—black feathers, flapping chaos, claws tearing through your sleeve and ripping your arm .

You screamed, hands over your head, stumbling off the porch. The pain was sharp, slicing.

The crow— that crow—was attacking.

Or that’s what you thought. 

You swatted at it, adrenaline flooding your veins. You turned and ran , sobbing.

“Get off me! What the fuck— what the fuck— ”

Branches tore at you. Roots caught at your boots. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. 

Your lungs ached. Your throat burned. Your arm was bleeding.

And behind you—the screeching stopped.

And so did the eyes.

Gone.

The thing— whatever it was —had disappeared. Just like that.

And the crow?

Nowhere to be seen.

Next Chapter

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

I can’t stop thinking of demon! Adam going through development and reaching the point of like,, doing something nice without anyone telling him to do it, purely for the sake of doing it. Something he never would have done before. Even if it’s something as small as sitting down with you while you’re watching your favorite movie or show and not shitting on it the whole time, just to keep you company. Or something like that. I dunno. I’m just a sucker for slow burn subtextual romance.

THAT, and the reader seeing his face beneath the mask, looking him the eyes, and smiling a little. Even if they say nothing. I feel like that would stick with him.

Exactly. Demon!Adam lives in my head rent free now. I know this weren't a request of sorts but I kinda wrote something for this

random ficlet below

Demon!Adam x GN!reader (Fluff)

DemonSinner!Adam is something that plays on my mind a lot. He still doesn’t believe in the whole redemption shit that Charlie is laying down but if it gets him a glimpse of seeing heaven again he is willing to try.

-----

Adam was bored and needed something to do that would put off the inevitable “therapy” session with Lucifer’s brat later. So that must be why he finds himself outside your room. He knocks lightly on your door. You didn’t answer, he knocked again louder this time. Still no answer. So he opens the door and peers in.

“Hey errr (Y/n) Charlie asked me to check on you.” A blatant lie but he won’t tell you that.

He sees you’re watching TV.

“Huh? What no shitty nickname this time?” You mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. Adam walks over and flops down on the couch next to you.

“Oh yeah, nah I didn’t really feel like it.” He grabs a handful of your popcorn.

You quirk a brow.

“Also Charlie said nooo giving nicknames to people that demean them and also who don’t want it and people were given names to be used blah blah blah.” He shoves the popcorn into his mouth. “So what are we watchin?”

“I'm watching a movie I really like so if you're staying either shut up or fuck off.” You sink back into your blanket cocoon.

*10 minutes later*

“What the fuck! This guy clearly likes her but she goes for the other bozo. Is she blind . . . . as well as ya know hot.”

You choke on your drink. You didn’t think that this would be his kinda thing but here he was emotionally invested in the film you had picked. You had really wanted to just wallow in your depression by binge watching trashy romcoms but what was really making you feel better was watching the ‘dickmaster’ himself rooting for the underdog to open up about his feelings to the lead woman.

You go to grab some popcorn but see the bowl is empty.

“Gotta pause.” You go to stand but he stops you.

“I got this.” He hides the good deed by quickly saying “And I need to piss anyway.” You pass him the bowl.

“Not in the popcorn I hope.” You rearrange yourself back in your blanket burrito.

“HAA, You nasty but don’t watch without me. Coz that is a dick move.”

“You know all about those.” You mutter into the blanket. But Adam had gone to the hotel kitchen to make popcorn.

You chose to scroll on your phone until he got back. There were a few messages but you didn’t really feel like answering them. You flop on your side. You can always move when he came back.

While you waited in silence for Adam. You think back on how he really was getting better. After seeing him slowly open up to Charlie’s ideas and seeing that he can be a good guy when it suits him. You smile to yourself.

Your door slams open.

“Okay I’m back bitch.”

Nevermind looks like he has thrown up his walls again.

He lays out the armful of snacks and the bowl of popcorn that looks way bigger than the bowl he left with. He sees you on your side.

“You comfy down there?”

You groan and slowly sit up again. He sits back down but wraps an arm around you and hugs you into his side and nothing more.

“Okay we can continue now.” He grabs the popcorn and rests it on his lap.

You set the movie going again and snuggle just a little bit closer. For popcorn reasons of course not that Adam was nice and warm and you felt safe next to him.

“Clearly she don’t know a good thing when she sees it.” You pipe up after about three minutes into the film again. You had seen this film so many times but there was one scene that always brought out annoyance in you.

“Right!! She needs to open her eyes this guy clearly loves her for who they are and not some fake ass bs that other . . . what?” Adam stops mid-sentence looking down at you resting against his chest.

You blink a few times before realising you are staring “Huh oh nothing.”

You focus back on the screen in front of you.

The climatic end of the film was approaching and the main lead were confessing their love and as the credits role you can here someone crying. You glance up and see Adam wiping away tears.

“You okay.” You sit up and reach for the tissues on the table to hand them to him.

“What!!! I’m fine. Of course I’m fiiiine. Shut up bitch.” He grabs the tissue box from you.

“If it helps I cried the first time I watched this movie.” You wrap the blankets tighter around yourself.

“I . . . ah . . shit.” He saw you curling further in on yourself. He feels guilt crawling into his stomach. “Sorry, I’m . . .Ugh. Look I’m bad at these feel your feelings crap that Charlie spouts. But it was a good film and yeah I cried but . . .”

“It don’t make you any less of a man.”

“Yeeeah I know. Of course I know. I’m the first man.”

“Huh back to that are we.” You bump shoulders with him, making him laugh.

He pulls you back into his side “So what are we watching now?”

------

I really didn't mean for this to be as long as it was. I'm sorry

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi! Do you think Alastor and Lucifer are foils?

Hi!

Yes, of course they are!

Alastor and Lucifer's foiling starts in Dad Beats Dad (obviously), where they fight over Charlie's affection. They might seem as opposites throughout the episode, but they are actually the same, as they both try to impress Charlie with their powers:

[ALASTOR:] They say, when you're looking for assistance It's smart to pick the path of least resistance [LUCIFER:] Others say, that in your needy hour There's no substitute for pure angelic power!

Still, Charlie doesn't care and all she wants is for her parental figures to support her:

Charlie: How come he can have faith in me, but my own father can't?

In short, Alastor and Lucifer find pride in their abilities, but need to let go of it, in order to show their love for Charlie. By the end of the episode, they both accomplish this. However, they succeed in slightly different ways, that fit their shared motif of shadow and light. In particular:

Alastor is linked to shadows, as his abilities let him manipulate shadows

Lucifer is linked to light, as his name means morningstar and his powers manifest in light-beams

As a result:

Alastor's development happens in the shadows, whereas Lucifer's in the light - This is true also on a meta-level, as Alastor's arc is the secondary plot-line of the episode, whereas Lucifer's is the main one

Alastor acts as Lucifer's jungian shadow and becomes a catalyst for him to change. Similarly, Alastor himself is challenged to grow by his own jungian shadow, aka Husk

What is the jungian shadow? It is the repressed part of a person. In stories, a character might meet another one, who embodies this hidden part of the self. By integrating with the shadow, the character evolves. In other words, Alastor represents a repressed part of Lucifer and Husk a repressed part of Alastor. Let's see how it all plays out.

ALASTOR, HUSK AND MIMZY

Alastor and Mimzy's bond is unhealthy, as they both enable negative sides of the other. On the one hand Alastor keeps covering for Mimzy, no matter what she does. On the other hand Mimzy feeds Alastor's ego by praising his power and abilities.

So, Mimzy never faces the consequences of her actions:

Mimzy: Thanks for helpin' lil' old me out of a though spot. You're always such a pal.

And Alastor feels respected and appreciated:

Alastor: It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry Husker. Who in their right mind would cross me?

However, the reality is that Mimzy is using Alastor and Husk points this out:

Husk: You and I both know Mimzy only shows up, when she needs something. That bitch is trouble and who knows what kinda demon she fucked with to come running to you this time?

Not only that, but he openly calls Alastor out on his pride:

Husk: Big talk for someone, who's also on a leash.

Which results in Alastor reacting in anger:

That said, Husk is proven right. It turns out Mimzy has willingly brought chaos to the hotel, so that Alastor could solve things for her. Because of this, Alastor finally cuts ties with her:

Alastor: You deliberately brought danger to this place just to have me clean up your mess. I can't have that here.

This choice is important and it shows how the people around him are slowly impacting Alastor. On the one hand the Radio Demon listens to one of his subjects' advice. On the other hand he acts to protect the hotel. As a matter of fact the moment Alastor steps up as the Host of the Hotel isn't when he sings to Charlie in Hell's Greatest Dad nor when he transforms into a giant and fights. It is when he sends Mimzy away and sacrifices a little bit of his pride to do so. interestingly, this happens as nobody is looking at him, so he isn't really trying to impress nor to trick the others. He acts selflessly in the shadows.

LUCIFER, ALASTOR AND CHARLIE

Lucifer and Charlie's bond is strained:

Charlie: We just have never been close. After he and mom split, he never really wanted to see me. He calls... sometimes, but only if he's bored or like, needs me to do something.

At the root of this conflict there is Lucifer's inability to show his daughter how much he cares. He struggles to express his feelings and hides them behind a prideful persona:

Charlie: I told you when you called me five months ago. Or did you not listen? Lucifer: No, no, no, no. Just, you know, I just forgot. I've just been really busy, ya know with um... important things.

Instead of openly admitting his depression and sadness he prefers to look cold and uninterested. Even dismissive and condescending, like when he arrives at the Hazbin Hotel:

Lucifer: Wow, this place sure looks, uh... Uh-uh. Yeah. Uh-uh. It's got a lot of character!

Lucifer is initially too focused on what he cares about - meeting his daughter - rather than on what Charlie wants - for him to help her with the hotel. He happily hugs Charlie and then immediately moves on to pet Keekee, Razzle and Dazzle, who are his own creations. Only later he considers the welcome Charlie and the others have prepared for him. Even then, he still misses the point and tries to buy Charlie's love by showing off his magical powers:

Haha, looks like you could use some help From the big boss of Hell himself

Except that what Charlie wants from him aren't champaigne fountains or caviar mountains, but an appointment with Heaven, which he negates her. Not only that, but instead of being honest about his fears, he deflects everything on Charlie herself, by dismissing her plan:

Lucifer: Alright, listen, I love that you want to see the best in people, but these sinners... You know, they're just the worst. I, I don't know how much you can realistically expect from them in Heaven.

Luckily, the Radio Demon is closeby, as he forces Lucifer to show his true self.

On the one hand Alastor brings out Lucifer's insecurity and fears:

I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond You're like the child that I wish that I had I care for you, just like a daughter I spawned It's a little funny, you could almost call me dad

He juxtaposes moments of everyday life and affirmations of affection to Lucifer's materialistic and fancy promises. In this way Alastor highlights the faults of Lucifer, as a father. He points out that Lucifer is never there for Charlie.

On the other hand Alastor embodies the kind of sinner Lucifer despises:

Lucifer: Ya see? What I tell ya? Charlie, sinners are violent psychopaths, hell bent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There's really no point in trying.

And yet, such a violent psychopath is more willing to help Charlie than Lucifer himself:

Charlie: Dad, stop! He's defending this hotel. It may be a bit more sadistic than I'd hoped. But he's doing it for me!

This realization leads to a confrontation between father and daughter and to an admission on Lucifer's part:

Lucifer: I just don't want you to be crushed by them like... like I was.

The problem isn't Charlie, but Lucifer himself. It is not that Charlie's dream is silly, but that Lucifer's one has been destroyed. This revelation is important because Lucifer's mask comes off and he shows Charlie his weakest and most broken self. He swallows his pride and has Charlie see who her father really his. In all his mistakes and his hurt. And to his surprise Charlie accepts him. Not only that, but she admires him:

So in the end, it's the view I had of you That showed me dreams can be worth fighting for

Symbolically the song More than Anything starts with Lucifer and Charlie in the shadows:

They are repressing a lot and have no idea who the other is. Still, as the song goes on, they get to understand each other:

All that I'm hopin', now that my eyes are open Is that we can start again, not be pulled apart again 'Cause in the end, you are part of who I am

And they end the song surrounded by light:

What is initially in the shadow comes to light in three different ways:

Lucifer shows Charlie his true self

Lucifer sees Charlie for who she is

Lucifer exhibits his weakness in front of the whole Hazbin Hotel. He lets the sinners he dislikes so much witness the mess that he is.

His fragility is in full display. It is in the light for everyone to see.

PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWERS! ITTY BITTY LIVING SPACE!

Another similarity Alastor and Lucifer share is that they are two powerful beings that give much importance to free will:

Alastor: You should know better than anyone what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate.

Charlie: Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity.

And yet, they are both trapped:

Alastor: I'm hungry for freedom like never before The constraints of my deal surely have a backdoor Once I figure out how to unclip my wings Guess who will be pulling all the strings?

Charlie: As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he had created, never allowing him to see the good that came from humanity, only the cruel and the wicked.

On the one hand Alastor controls many souls, but his own is owned by someone else. On the other hand Lucifer is the strongest being in all of Hell, but he is regarded as a disgrace by other angels.

Moreover, they both project their unhappiness on others. Specifically, Lucifer blames sinners like Alastor:

Lucifer: Our "people", Charlie, are awful! They got gifted free will and look what they did with it! Everything's terrible!

While Alastor lashes out on his prisoners, like Husk:

Alastor: If you ever say that again, I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me.

Still, the point is that Lucifer is exactly like Alastor. He is a gifted creature, who messed up royally and cursed humanity. Alastor instead is exactly like Husk, a powerful overlord, who still finds himself chained. Lucifer is the most hated being in all of creation and Alastor is on a leash. They are both lonely and desperate, but too proud to admit it. In other words, they are both losers:

Husk: There was a time I thought no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight! We're all livin' in the same shit-sandwich

Just like everyone in Hell. And yet, this is not bad per se. Even if you hit rock bottom, you can still climb back up, as long as you let go of self-importance and start to earnestly empathize with others. As a matter of fact it is only through community and bonds that a person can be redeemed and heal:

Out for love Love Think of who you care about Protect them and be out For love Love You're gonna fight without gloves Long as you're out for love

This is what Alastor and Lucifer are learning through Charlie.

TWO DADS, ONE DAUGHTER

Season 1 sets up Alastor and Lucifer as two mentor figures to Charlie. They share this role in a way, which makes them almost perfect mirrors. Some examples:

Lucifer gives Charlie the hotel building and Alastor calls it Hazbin Hotel

Alastor helps repair the Hotel in the beginning, while Lucifer assists Charlie in building it anew by the end

Lucifer guides Charlie to Heaven, as he sets up her meeting with Sera and Emily. Alastor instead guides Charlie in Hell as he introduces her to Rosie and helps her inspire the cannibals

Both Alastor and Lucifer believe in Charlie, when she is at her lowest. Alastor does so before the final battle, whereas Lucifer after the fight

Alastor and Lucifer fight Adam (another foil of theirs) in the final episode. Moreover, both belittle his abilities and highlight how he is strong, but unskilled:

Alastor: You lack discipline, control and worst, you are sloppy!

Lucifer: So, this is what you've been up to since Eden? Gotta say, you really let yourself go buddy.

In particular, Alastor is the one supposed to take Adam down, but fails and Lucifer steps in by the end. This is just like in the beginning Lucifer is supposed to support and help Charlie with her project. Still, he is absent and Alastor fills the spot.

In other words, Alastor and Lucifer are unwillingly complementary and so far one has appeared when the other has been incapacitated. We'll see if this pattern continues. As for now, they are clearly framed as key to Charlie's development, so it is possible they will come to embody different sides of her:

Alastor represents the sinners Charlie wants to reach and all their pain and complexity. He is also linked to fear and the unknown. He is the ally she finds by herself. He is the found family Charlie chooses.

Lucifer represents the angels Charlie wants to communicate with. He is also linked to dreams and ideals. He is the legacy she inherits. He is the biological family Charlie wants to re-connect with.

In short, they are both parts of who Charlie is and she needs them to grow into herself. Just like they need her to mature and find redemption and happiness.

[sinofwriting]

Figlia Mia - Charles Leclerc (Part Two)

Words: 1,927 Summary: What do the 2024, 2025, and 2026 season look like with Enzo Ferrari’s granddaughter having taken over the Ferrari F1 team? Read part one here Note(s)/Warning(s): This is a very different fic to what I normally write. The story is mainly told with news headlines and only has 3 blurbs in it. But if you want me to expand on anything in the news headlines or want to see a part three told also with news headlines for the 2027, 2028, and 2029 season let me know! And thank you to @eleetalks for the Italian translation! Also, I shouldn’t have to say this but: How I write the drivers in these fics is not based on my feelings for them, it is just what I need them to be.

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2024

January 2025

“I feel like I’m in trouble.” Daniel jokes, as he follows her through the hallways. “I think you just like being trouble.” He grins at her, winking. “Gotta keep you on your toes, huh.” She shakes her head, but grins. “Was the drive okay?” “Better than most. I’ve got a room at the hotel for the next few days as I house hunt.” “No flat?” He scoffs, “for three years? And with the amount of development we’re doing? Fuck that. I’ll go crazy.” She hums, sending a smile to Anita as they pass by her who tuts when seeing Daniel.

“What was that about?” “Anita likes her peace. It’s why she’s worked for us for so long.” “I can be peaceful!” He protests and then immediately makes a face. “Okay, I can try.” She snorts, shaking her head as they reach the dining room.

“Daniel!” Her grandfather greets, a wide smile on his face as he pats Charles hand before the younger moves to her side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Signor Ferrari!” Daniel cheers, moving to the older man’s side and bending to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re looking amazing. It’s the enchante merch, isn’t it?” He jokes, having sent some to both Ferrari’s right before the 2024 season ended. Enzo huffs out a laugh and she watches Daniel’s face as her grandfather sticks out his leg, sliding his slipper off and Daniel’s jaw drops as he sees the enchante sock on his foot. “Healing properties.” “Holy fuck.” Daniel breathes and they all can’t help but laugh. “I told you, nonno that you’d break him.” Enzo grins at Charles, putting his slipper back on. “I’ve got to keep you kids on your toes.” She rolls her eyes, squeezing Charles upper arm, before moving to properly greet her grandfather. Pressing a kiss to his weathered skin and holding his hand in hers for a few seconds.

“Now tell me as we eat how the car is.” He demands as soon as everyone is sitting and food has been served.

—

“He really overdid it.” Charles murmurs as they both work to get Daniel on the bed. She sighs. “He was talking about house hunting here before we joined. The split hit him a bit harder than I thought.” He frowns, eyes sad as he looks at the man that for a good few years was pretty much his second godfather. “Has he said why?” “Racing. This year was supposed to be his last, but 2024.” She shakes her head, a sad but fond smile on her face. “It really hit him how much he wasn’t ready to leave yet and F1 wasn’t ready for him to leave either. She didn’t want him to go this long, didn’t want to deal with the weird long distance and traveling.” She shrugs. “It sucks, but is fair.” “Is it rude to be grateful that we won’t have to deal with that?” He asks, wrapping an arm around her waist and tucking her body against his as they look at Daniel, who's starting to really drift off. “No, il mio destino. Only natural.” My destiny He hums, pressing a kiss to her neck before sighing and unwinding their bodies. “Let me take off his jeans so he’ll be more comfortable.” “I’ll get him a glass of water and make sure to put another pillow under his head, when you lay like that your neck always aches in the morning.” The last part is a murmur and he flushes at her remembering that. Such a small, simple thing.

When Daniel wakes up the next morning he groans at the dry throat he has and the gross feeling of not changing before falling asleep for the night. Turning to the left, his eyes close for a quick second as he murmurs a prayer of thanks before reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand and draining it.

It takes a few minutes for the water to settle in him and for him to realize that he doesn’t have jeans on. He blinks, but shrugs. It wouldn’t be the first time he stripped while asleep, but those were one of his tighter pairs of jeans.

“Daniel.” She greets when he stumbles out of the bathroom and finds himself in a small kitchen. “Morning Stella, Charles.” He rubs at his eyes, clearing the last of sleep away as he sits in the small breakfast nook.

Charles and her share an amused look when the smell of coffee makes Daniel perk up, his face instantly brightening.

“That smells amazing.” She passes a cup to him and Charles presses the small basket slash tray of sugar, creamer, and things closer to the Australian. “Thank you.” He murmurs to both of them before doctoring his cup, murmuring another thank you when a small bowl of fruit is placed in front of him, Charles doing the same.

“I had your luggage delivered to the house.” She states when Daniel is fully awake and halfway through his fruit bowl. His brows press together, hand stilling. “What?” Charles brings his cup to his mouth to hide his smile. “Your luggage, it was brought to the house. Nonno is the only person that lives here full time, Anita, Matteo, and Luca live here when we are not and sometimes when we are. And Charles and I have this whole wing to ourselves, this kitchen, a small living space, a few smaller rooms that were converted into offices, and four bedrooms. We’d like to have you live here as well. Or in the guest house.” Daniel blinks at her. He had forgotten how much she steamrolled and bulldozed through things, it made his lips twitch up into a smile before he turned his attention to Charles. “And you're alright with this?” “You’re family.” Charles states and Daniel can feel tears spring to his eyes at the easy way he says it. “We may have lost sight of that for a few years and only regained it recently, but you are family, Daniel.” He swallows thickly, “fuck.” He breathes, a few tears running down his face before he nods. “Alright, kids. I’ll move in.” And then in a move that shocks Charles, Daniel places a hand on the back of his neck and draws him close before he kisses his forehead and the gesture makes Charles well up. “Jules will kill me for letting you drown for so long.” Charles shakes his head and neither man notices that she has left the room, leaving them to a grief that they share. “No. He’ll be proud we became family again.”

May 2025

She smiles as she watches Ferrari get another 1-2 podium, the third of the season already and it was Charles winning his home race once again.

“You are glowing.” “Maman.” She says, turning slightly to look at Pascale. “I promise that we aren’t hiding anything. We just got married. It’s a newlywed glow.” Her mother in law huffs. “And when will I get my grandchildren?” She shakes her head. “You and my grandfather both. Eventually, I promise. Not right now though. Neither of us are ready for that.”

November 2025

“Daniel, do another lap.” “What?” The word comes out a bit loud and harsh but he listens to Stella, ignoring the checkered flag and starting another lap. “What’s going on, Stella?” It’s quiet for another moment but as he approaches the straight, she speaks. “Daniel, congratulations. You are the 2025 world champion!” “What?” He slows as he takes the turn, her words not registering even though it had been all anyone had been talking about since the weekend started. “You won, Daniel! You’re a world champion!” “Holy fuck.” He curses and as he gets on the straight he realizes why she had him continue and he stops the car in the middle of it, grandstands perfectly able to see it as he quickly unbuckles his harness and gets out to stand on the car, raising a fist in the air as he screams.

2026

@cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @crystals-faith @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy @bibliosaurous @skepvids

[lucifers-rubber-duck]

Hello, hope you’re doing well! Really loving the Hazbin posts you’ve done so far, they’re wonderful ☺️

If it’s alright, could I please request some platonic HCs with Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Sir Pentious for a slightly younger reader than the rest of the cast who’s on the shy and anxious side, very easily rattled in hell, but takes a liking to their fellow demon(s) enough that they feel comfortable around them to express themselves a bit more and start to develop a sibling/parental sort of bond with them?

Sorry if that’s a bit specific of a request, but thank you for reading!

A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long Anon but I absolutely loved your ask! Shy!Reader is so me tbh. Hope you enjoy it.

𖤓Charlie

• She's mostly concerned about how young you are, not that you're a teenager or something, but the age you died is concerning since you're younger than anyone at the hotel.

• She's an extrovert so she might not notice how shy you are at first because she's just so excited to have you around that she is already showing all of her hotel to you and wishing you a good stay.

• Even with that bubbly personality of her's, it's actually pretty easy for you to feel comfortable enough around her to express your feelings, she's just so sweet like that. You feel like you can tell her all of your problems that she would listen to carefully within a day of meeting her.

• She's the type to be a sister figure, she's always trying to make you open up more with weekly trust exercises and besides her looks wouldn't hesitate to put a demon in their place if they treat you badly. She considers everyone at the hotel family, but you're the one that needs most protection out of them, so she's going to be the best host you could ask for.

𖤓Vaggie

• She's the least chaotic of the people in the hotel, she likes to solve things calmly and sometimes with brute force but only when it's necessary. Your more timid demeanor is a breath of fresh air from all these sinners full of themselves.

• She's the one that gets more rational the moment she sees you're not dealing very well with the things around, she gives you space and time to be comfortable around the place, especially because she feels that you really want to change for the better. She also calms Charlie down when she's being too excited around you.

• She wants to help you be more sturdy tho, Hell is a dangerous place and you need to fight for yourself, so she gives you private fighting lessons on basic self defense, she can get a little too aggressive while training but if you actually get hurt she'll say sorry and help take care of you.

• The way she makes you feel welcomed is very different from the others, she makes you feel safe, she protects you from Angels comments and teaches you how to stand up, she's just like an older sister that wouldn't hesitate to kill for you and has a strong sense of bonding.

𖤓Angel

• He finds you almost adorable, he probably just enjoys having someone that kinda looks up to him as an example, you almost envy his personality and how easy-going he seems to be, he enjoys the attention and praise.

• Will eventually grown attached to having you around but he's very good a not showing it, he's an actor for a reason after all, but he can still be very sweet with you and sometimes even protective, not so much, but he'll tell a demon to suck a dick if they are mean to you.

• He helps you try and lose up more, be more extroverted, he takes you to drink on bars or go to clubs so you can try to make more friends. He can easily get distracted if Cherri is also there and might not notice if you get uncomfortable at first, but don't be afraid to tell him that you want to leave, he won't be mad at you and will do as you ask.

• He really makes you feel like you belong, especially when you two are just doing skin-care and telling gossips, he feels like a older brother and you appreciate how much he takes care of you.

𖤓Sir Pentious

• Daddy issues? Naahh, this man got child issues if that's even a thing. He craves for the feeling of having a child like it's something he misses deeply without even knowing why, so the moment he realizes that you, the shy one of the crew is looking up to him he's being all clingy with you.

• He tries to look cool, something that either he fails at or his Egg Bois do it for him, he wants to make up to your expectations towards him because you're one of the little people who treat him nicely. You mainly admire him because besides being a little timid like you, he's a very intelligent inventor.

• He makes you gadgets for your self defense and makes sure one of his Egg Bois is always following you to keep you safe, they can't do much but are very useful as bait so you can run while they get attacked.

• Expect a bunch of drama and dad jokes coming from him, that's his way of trying to sound cool and reliable to you, he wants to be a good father figure or whatever figure you need and that's what makes you feel so welcomed and cared for when you're around him. Make sure to give him a hug everytime he does nice things to you, he appreciates it.