#that line and she immediately moves to the side and walks out of the building to let veronique kill him THATS fucking hard

[therealturbovicki]

I haven’t really seen anyone talk about this yet so there’s a possibility I could be the only one but I hate Chevreuse and how they wrote her

Even if I ignore the fact that she’s a cop and most cop-like characters piss me off anyways, within the context of the region she’s apart of, she’s just plain boring. As it stands we already have a good handful of characters in the game, a lot of them from Fontaine already, with the exact same motivations and high held personal morals; the law is there for a reason, if people enact revenge and take what they think is just and right All The Time, then there would be chaos and unfair violence everywhere. And from a real life ethical lens it WOULD be really chaotic if anyone, anywhere at anytime could take their views of justice into their own hands.

but that’s the thing!! kind of like how it is In the real world, Fontaine is not a wholly just and fair nation (e.g. the Entirety of the Fortress of Meropide, the trafficking and various other crimes that constantly happen within the nobility of Fontaine and the fact that it has yet to be thoroughly investigated/solved and continues to happen, the extreme economic and social juxtaposition between the court of Fontaine and its underground Fleuve Cendre area and Poisson) And it really sucks that the game fails to admit that or acknowledge it because then you have characters who they Want you to believe are doing the right thing and fighting for the right causes, but it winds up feeling meaningless when what they’re fighting for is the law of Fontaine.

Chevreuse would’ve been an Infinitely more interesting and compelling character if her passion for justice wasn’t rooted in upholding the law and order of the nation, but rather what justice means for individuals. How the injustice and discrimination happening in that nation breeds people’s want for revenge and justice outside of the law.

And yeah I get that they wanted another character who fights against evil and is unwavering in her beliefs of what’s right in the very conventional and legal way, but I find it really funny that Chevreuse herself says what makes the argument for her character being boring In the same event quest; when asked about possibly changing the ending and meaning of the Two Musketeers, she says she wants to keep the ending the way that it is because fiction exists in a realm separate from that of reality, where things like the morals of what’s just and unjust can be explored. and like!! that’s it’s!!! I’m literally sitting here playing a Fictional game that has the opportunity to showcase just how fascinating it can be to talk about those kind of things in a fantasy setting where your main player character has literally Killed mostly innocent human people before because they betrayed someone they cared about deeply. but whatever. WHATEVER!!!

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, sickfic, SFW, requested.

Mara is surprised to see him. "Hey Captain Riley."

He nods. “She in the back?” The knit between her eyebrows is quizzical, and she shakes her head.

“What? No… she went home. Hours ago. Said she didn’t feel well.” He doesn’t bother to school his expression into neutrality, and she turns sheepish, like somehow she’s the one in trouble now. “I told her to call you. She was nearly falling asleep back there. Almost face planted in the batter of these cookies.” She points to an artfully arranged tower of chocolate chip cookies, their little placard labeling them as ‘brown butter’. What that means, he’s not sure. 

“How long ago did she leave?” He had no idea you were sick. Worse, you didn’t say anything. You lied by omission, sending your usual morning text messages, your before lunch check in with zero mention of feeling unwell. 

He’s not angry with you, because he understands you. This is uneven footing, new territory, a lot to learn for his little fawn. You’re finding your way in this new life, and he has plenty of time.

 A learning experience, that’s all this is. 

“Like… an hour ago? Maybe two?” A frown tugs his lips towards his chin. 

“Her car is still in the lot.” 

“Oh yeah… she walked.” Walked? You walked? 

Your ass is going to be sore for a week. 

There’s a queue forming behind him, so he steps back, gives her a parting glance before turning to leave. “Thanks Mara.” 

“Tell her I hope she feels better!” 

You live on the fourth floor. The elevator in your building is busted, along with the front door’s lock, and there are no cameras, no security, nothing stopping anyone from walking inside. 

Just his baby in a fourth floor apartment with a measly deadbolt and chain. 

You’ll be so much happier at home with him.

It takes three tries for you to come to the door, and when you find him on the other side, your expression splits in two, one side saturated with relief, the other, buzzing with nerves, but somehow still half asleep. 

“H-hi.” You croak, sweating and shivering, standing there in only a t-shirt. 

Miserable. You look miserable. 

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, stepping inside, immediately placing the back of his hand to your forehead, trailing down your chin to find your pulse fluttering beneath your jaw. It’s elevated, and you’re burning up, tears gathering on your waterline, threatening to fall.

"D-daddy," you hiccup, trembling, reaching for him just as he pulls you into his chest with a palm against your neck, rubbing circles at your nape as he takes a quick look around. He’s never been inside your apartment before, though he’s been tempted multiple times, made the trip to your building often, ensuring you’re home safe, watching the comings and goings of others who live here, looking for any red flags or reasons for immediate concern. He’s inspected empty units, tested the standard locks, checked for mold and mildew. It’s adequate, but your own flat is too cramped, and he knows you feel boxed in. 

"I'm here baby, I'm here. Let me look at you." He tips your chin up and moves into your line of sight, glassy, glazed eyes tracking him the whole way. "Have you seen a doctor?”

“No,” you sniffle, immediately planting your face back into his sternum, “’s just a cold.” 

“You don’t get a fever with a cold sweetheart. Have you taken anything?” He doesn't panic. It's not in his programming, not a part of his reality but seeing you like this, in distress, suffering, is starting to rewire long dormant standards.

“Don’t have a fever.” There’s a short hallway across the living room, two doors on either end, one he assumes is your bedroom, and he starts moving that way, keeping you tucked against him. “I took some naproxen.” You’re floating along with his direction without a single peep, barely recognizing where you are when he sits you down on the edge of your bed. 

First things first. He has to get you out of these clothes and into something dry. “This has to come off baby girl, it’s wet.” 

“Wet?” You’re barely holding yourself up, and he probably only has a few minutes before you’re out. 

“Your body is trying to regulate it's temperature, so you've been sweating.” He finds pajamas in the top drawer of your dresser, lips rolling into a smile as he unfurls the t-shirt. “Gremlins?” You throw him a squinty glare. 

“It’s a good movie.” He brushes his lips across your forehead, tasting the slick of salt before pulling away and tapping your shoulders. 

“Arms up.” You oblige without question, the trust that sometimes gets lost in this newfound dance shining through brilliantly. His hands brush against your ribs, your belly as he slides them beneath the hem of your shirt and tries not to wince at the scorching temperature of your skin. “Good girl. Don’t want you going back to sleep all sweaty do we?” He quickly pats the sheets, relieved to find them dry. 

“No daddy.” Such a sweet girl. You roll instinctively, burrowing in the mound of things in your bed, knees curling up towards your belly. There are at least three different colored fuzzy blankets in your bed, six pillows, and a stuffed cat of some kind, something about it vaguely familiar but difficult to place. A crumpled notebook with loopy handwriting and small drawings adorning the pages is wedged beneath your hip, and there’s a kindle sitting on the other side along with an empty water bottle. The frame itself has a shelf at the head of the bed, and it’s lined with stuff… a small lamp, a ceramic cupcake, a collection of seashells, chapstick, lotion, an empty mug, a glowing mushroom, along with two pairs of glasses and a few candles. It’s clear this is your space, where you’re safe and comfortable, a nest of your own making, a place just for you, and it’s fitting, all of it. Each little piece is perfect just like you. 

He lets you sleep while he cleans and refills your water bottle, finds the naproxen and your towels, pulling a washcloth out so he can run it under cold water for your head. You definitely have a fever, but if you can break it on your own there’s no reason to take you to a doctor. Time will tell, but if it gets worse, you’ll have to go immediately. 

Tally marks for today’s transgressions sit quietly on a slate in the back of his mind for far later, satisfying realization settling in against his soul. You’ve earned a spanking, and stricter rules. 

It’s a fine line. He doesn’t punish for the sake of punishing, there’s nothing good in it for him, or you, but he will punish you for things like this, things that put you in harms way, things like not telling him you’re sick and in need of help. Things like fucking walking ten blocks home. He’ll punish you for stepping outside a boundary, or failing to follow a rule, all of it a double edged sword, one he wields delicately, because often, punishments come with their own rewards, whether they be emotional or physical.

You rouse a bit when he comes back, making little sounds as he props you up to take more medicine, dabs the cold washcloth around your face, cooling you down and wiping some of the stale sweat away. He smooths a palm over your forehead. “We’re going to have a long talk about rules when you’re feeling better.” 

“Mmkay.” You press your nose into his neck. “Are you going to lay with me?” He kisses your temple. 

“In a little bit, I have some work to take care of. Close your eyes for now.” You nuzzle down into the mattress against his thigh and he can’t resist placing his hand atop your head, holding you there, your cheek bleeding heat through his pants, warm, wet breath building a damp spot. 

“But you’ll be here?” You mumble it, and like you’re afraid the answer will be no, you wrap an arm around the width of his thigh. He chuckles. 

“I’ll be right here.” 

[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!

[writingunderneathawillow]

everything works out in the end (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: yours and bucky’s relationship is one fight away from being over. at least that’s what it feels like. when he is offered a glimpse of the future, he gets to see you and discovers that not all hope is lost. mcu timeline placement: post thunderbolts* content warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, relationship troubles/anxiety, reckless driving (don’t do it), grumpy!bucky, yearning, fluff, no use of y/n, bucky’s pov, brief thunderbolts and bob appearance, will be edited later, so just ignore any mistakes word count: 2.4k a/n: haven’t written anything good in a month but i guess i’m back :) also the angstier version is coming soon (i hope! I’m feeling a little blue so i choose to cope by making y/n’s life hard)

Bucky’s chest heaved as he slammed the door behind him. Regret filled him immediately, but he kept walking. Down the corridor, out of your apartment building and onto the street. He stopped for a few seconds to peer up at your window and a cold iron ring settled around his chest. The curtains were drawn but he could have sworn he saw the fabric move. He guessed that you were watching, waiting to see if he would come back. The two of you had been fighting for weeks now. About everything, anything. His work, the risks he was taking, his disagreement with Sam. You weren’t necessarily not on his side, but you kept urging the two of them to talk, to find a way to get along and it was driving him insane. So, you argued. And he yelled back. And you called him an idiot. And he slammed the door. He didn’t feel ready to go back and talk it out with you, so instead he brought his bike to life and drove off, ignoring the speed limit and street signs. The howl of the motor wasn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts, replaying the argument over and over again, and neither was the grinding of his teeth.  When he arrived at the Watchtower, his jaw hurt from the strain.  He parked the bike and had to physically stop himself from kicking it in frustration. He didn’t want to fight with you; he didn’t want to be angry with you. It was killing him to see the two of you on different standpoints.  The constant arguing was getting to him, settling deep in his stomach and not quite letting go, even after reconciling with you. It was as if you two were stuck in an endless circle of disagreements and then making it up to each other. It ate away at you, too. He saw it. In the way you sighed when he came back after a fight, or in the bags under your eyes after either one of you sleeping on the couch.  A few more hairs in his beard had lost their colour, and when he looked in the mirror, he saw a few more pronounced lines between his eyebrows. Disagreeing with you was threatening to make him look closer to his actual age.  The idea that one day you wouldn’t hear him out anymore, wouldn’t let him apologise or would refuse to say sorry for your own harsh words, haunted the back of his mind. That one day, you might decide to break his heart into a million pieces, for the better of both of you; it lingered. It ate him alive. 

The elevator dinged chirpily as the doors slid open to reveal Walker, Yelena and Ava sitting together in the common area, sharing a bowl of snacks while watching the news. Well, only really John was watching – Yelena and Ava were stacking chips on his head while he was absolutely absorbed in the military documentary playing on screen. “You’re back!” Alexei’s voice boomed through the room, and despite Bucky’s more than solid form, the Soviet’s Supersoldier clap on his shoulder sent him staggering a few feet forward. Yelena’s head whipped to them and even from the distance, Bucky saw the knowing look on her face.  He hated that he had a tell – and even more so that she knew it – for when he fought with you. John’s attention was momentarily captivated by Bucky’s return and the chips tumbled down onto the couch which elicited a sign from Ava.

“Oh, oh, why the long face?” Alexei asked, as he took in Bucky’s appearance and Yelena chortled.  “Trouble in paradise, again?” She teased while grabbing a chip from Walker’s collar, throwing it in the air and then catching it with her mouth. Bucky grunted some non-committal sound and strode past them, heading for his room. “Come on, you have to tell us all about your troubles. I know much about relationships,” Alexei called after him and Bucky wished he didn’t have supersoldier hearing when he picked up Yelena’s response.

“Which relationship is it that’s troubling you? You and the missus or you and Sam?” “We’re all fine,” he grunted and then disappeared into his room, planning on hiding there until his statement came true.  Not five minutes later, a knock sounded at his door.  “Jesus wept,” Bucky whispered to himself and got up, opening the door with more vigour than necessary.  Bob stood there, an anxious smile on his lips as if he wasn’t sure if his presence was appreciated or not (- it wasn’t). “I know I’m probably the last person you wanna ask about relationship advice-,” he began, and Bucky cut him off. “Yeah, you got that right.” Bob gave him a short apologetic glance but then continued. “All I wanna say is that maybe not all hope is lost,” he insisted but Bucky interrupted him again. “’Cause it isn’t. Never said it was.” “Right, but you look like she ran over your grandma and then danced on her grave, man. Listen, maybe I’m not the best person to go to with problems like this but the last time someone almost broke up with me, I took a nap and then talked it out with hi- them, uh, once I felt calmer.” “We’re not gonna break up,” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  Bob nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying, give it time. Get some sleep. Not that you need it or have to listen to me or whatever. Just… things usually get better when you take a nap.” Bucky stared at him disbelievingly, then sighed.

“Fine, I’ll take a nap,” he mumbled. He probably would have agreed to whatever Bob said in order to make him go away so that he could lick his wounds in peace. Bob’s face lit up slightly and he gave him a quick smile before retreating. Bucky let the door fall shut with a little more force than needed. Still, he found himself wanting to follow the other man’s advice and settled down on his bed reluctantly. He was exhausted, mentally and physically but still he didn’t find peace immediately. Instead, he grabbed his phone, opened the messages app and clicked on your contact info. For a few seconds his finger hovered over the call button. Your contact picture – one that he had taken not too long ago – smiled up at him, tearing at his heartstrings in both longing and wounded pride.  “Goddammit,” he whispered and locked his phone again, discarding of it on his nightstand where one of your necklaces lay as well. Dread washed through him at the sight of it. Bucky still felt too angry to reach out, not wanting to make things worse than they already were with comments thrown out in an emotion induced state.  “Can’t believe Bob’s fucking right,” he murmured and closed his eyes, praying that sleep would come to claim him quickly.

He woke with his senses on high alert. Something was off and it raised the hair in the back of his neck.  Within milliseconds, he sat up straight in bed, scanning the room. The air was lighter, and sunbeams filtered through the curtains, giving everything a golden glow. Had he slept through the entire night? How the hell did he- wait. Curtains? Bucky practically jumped out of bed, running over to his window.  Now, he was a man with priorities. Functionality, cleanliness and stability. He had a solid bedframe, a tall wardrobe and an organised desk, the only clutter in his room a few books and worn picture frames. Never in his life had he bought curtains. Or a vanity table. That specific piece of furniture adorned the wall opposite of the door, standing there as if it belonged. Two small scratches were carved into the wooden flooring next to it, seemingly proving that someone had tried to rearrange the layout of it without the needed strength. “What the hell?” Bucky murmured to himself as he took in the rest of his room. Pieces of clothing were splayed across a fuzzy chair that he had never seen before in his life. As he picked up one of the shirts, dizziness hit him. It smelled like you.  He swayed on his feet, threatening to stumble back against the wall as panic gripped his chest.  What is going on? He lunged towards the door and would have ripped it open, if the pictures on the wall hadn’t caught his attention. It was a collection of polaroids, hung up in a specific order. Two of them he recognised, even though to his knowledge, they were supposed to be in his wallet.  The furthest one left was the first picture of you two ever taken. Outside the tower, you curled up into his side, shielding your eyes against the sun while holding onto him. His arm wrapped around you and a not quite serious, not quite happy expression plastered across his face. That had been eight months ago, when you had met the team for the first time. Afterwards, Alexei had insisted on taking a polaroid of the two of you (“To make you never forget this great day!”). The other one with which he was familiar, was one he had stood behind the camera for, himself.  It showed you wearing Bucky’s leather jacket, and half of his metal arm was in the frame as well. You had reached out for it, trying to get him into the picture, too, but he had been quicker, snapping the polaroid to only display you, a bright smile and eyes full of love as you had called out to him to join you.  A shiver ran through Bucky as he stared at the other pictures. There were more than twenty, hung up in four neat lines. It was clearly a timeline of your relationship, some posed, others clearly taken in the moment, and his heart dropped as his eyes arrived at the last picture.

His photograph-self was on one knee, holding a velvet box, while you had your hands flung across your mouth, the shock and joy on your face obvious even despite the image’s terrible resolution. Sam stood in the back corner, a proud smile on his face as he looked at whoever had taken the picture.  Bucky’s head was spinning. He must be dreaming. The fight with you had taken over his subconscious and now he was dreaming of a future of you because he didn’t want to lose you.  Like a cartoon character, he pinched his arm. And felt the pain. You can’t feel any pain in your dreams. He knew that. So, he pinched harder. And it hurt.  “What the fuck?” He mumbled, slapping himself once. His cheek stung. He held his breath until he almost passed out. Ok, so not dreaming. Maybe he had rolled out of bed and hit his head real hard, causing him to hallucinate. Or maybe he was dead and this was heaven.  Yeah, that didn’t make sense; he had survived falling hundreds of feet off a train so dropping onto his hardwood floor in his sleep would surely not send him beyond the pearly gates. And then he heard it. Your voice. He would know it anywhere, in life, in death and in whatever messed up situation he found himself in now. The sound ghosted through the closed door like it was beckoning to him, asking him to find his way to you.  His fist closed around the doorknob, pulling it open in a slow trance. The sound of your voice grew louder, and he recognised the song you were singing along to.  Desperation grabbed him. He had to see you. So, he stepped forward, following your voice and it led him to the kitchen of the tower.  Before walking around the corner, Bucky paused. He still didn’t know what was going on. If this was real or if it was some kind of co-dependency induced vision; his mind was theoretically cleared by Shuri but who knew? Maybe he was truly starting to lose it.  As his thoughts spiralled, he didn’t hear the footsteps closing in on him.  You almost bumped into him, eyes wide with shock and then the skin next to them crinkled softly as you smiled at him. “Hi, baby,” you greeted him, “I was just coming to wake you.” You reached out for him, your right hand coming up to his face to brush your knuckles across his cheek. It was such a familiar gesture, one that you had gifted him a million times before. Still, he could have dropped to his knees as you reached out for him. And that’s when he saw it, the ring sparkling on your ring finger. The one, that he had put there – apparently. Or was going to.  He didn’t know how he knew but he did. This was not a dream, not a vision born from injury, insanity or mind control.  This was his future. This was a promise. For once the universe seemed to be on his side, allowing him this brief glimpse, telling him it was going to be alright. Everything would work out. “Hi,” he rasped and leaned into your touch. The second his skin connected with yours, a smile spread across his face. You looked at him with a mix of adoration and concern.  “You feeling okay, baby?” You asked, resting your hand on his forehead. He nodded immediately and like the love drunk fool he was, he would have done anything to prevent you from worrying about him – or anything at all ever again. “Yeah, I just missed you,” he whispered. 

He woke with a jolt, sitting up as straight as a candle in bed. It was dark in his room. There were no sunlit curtains, no vanity desk and no polaroids on the wall.  He reached for his phone and looked at the time. Barely an hour had passed since he had fallen asleep.  Set on a mission to not spend a second more than necessary without going to you and pleading for your forgiveness, he got to his feet and pocketed his phone.  He was already halfway out the building when he almost sent Bob to the floor with the force of his walk.  “Sorry,” he called out but then stopped himself from stepping into the elevator. He turned to face Bob and pulled him into a hug. “I fucking love you, Bob. You were right. A nap was all it took.”

He left the other man standing there, looking absolutely flabbergasted and slightly flushed.  Bucky pressed the elevator’s button and wondered how many traffic laws he could break on his way to you in order to shorten the amount of time spent apart from you.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[levigarden999]

nice shot 𝜗ৎ gamer!nagi x reader

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ theme : you distract nagi ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warnings : smut , oralsex!male receiving , choking , sloppy , blowjob , +18

nagi was sitting at his computer, a controller in his hands and a blue headset on. his white hair was a little more disheveled than normally, which obviously indicated that he had played the whole damn day. again.

his half-lidded eyes lazily scanned the screen as the fortnite characters ran around the fields, nagi’s facial expressions not changing one bit even if he shot someone or was about to be shot himself. he just stayed there, slumped, like a damn sloth. an attractive sloth, at that.

”seiii-” you whined. desperately needing nagi’s attention, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck from the back.

”what, doll?” he asked with that soft and caring, yet so nonchalant tone.

you could here reo cursing distantly from his headphones.

”what can i do to end your session? you’ve been at that for hours” you continued whining as your eyes scanned the screen where his character currently flew to another battle from the bus. you placed your nose against the skin of his neck, softly smelling the sweet yet musky scent that lingered on his pale skin.

”i’ll quit soon. just one more game” nagi answered lazily, his eyes never leaving the screen. you wondered how was it even possible he was so damn ripped when all he did was sit at his computer all day? not to mention how skilled he was at soccer, he barely even practiced.

”sei, where are you? there’s nothing here” you heard reo speaking again from the other side of the line. he always played fortnite with nagi, even though reo apparently hated the game.

”at the lowest floor. i found a chest” nagi answered with a casual tone as he currently picked the whatever stuff the chest gave him.

suddenly, you got an idea.

you moved away from behind him, crouched down and crawled underneath the desk in front of him.

without even glancing at you, nagi began to speak ”doll, what are  you-” but he was quickly interrupted by the sound of his pants being unzipped.

”sei? is your girlfriend there?” you heard reo ask, with small disdain in his voice. he never learnt to like you, because you practically stole nagi from him. or that’s how he felt, at least.

”i- um, yeah, she’s- uh, studying” nagi quickly said and for the first time today, you heard his voice waver a little. bingo.

you smirked as he shifted to allow you to pull his pants down, and you did so. you could already see the semi-hard outline of his thick cock from under the fabric of his boxers.

you began to slowly and teasingly palm his cock through the warm fabric and you felt him twitch. you knew you had to remain quiet and careful, nagi would absolutely die from embarrassment if reo realized what was going on.

”look out, reo, someone’s in the building” nagi said and as you looked at him, you noticed a slight clench of his normally relaxed jaw. even his voice sounded a little more urgent than normally.

you slowly lowered his boxers as well, his freed cock immediately slapping against his stomach. his tip was already flushed pink, the delicious pale shaft slightly throbbing as the blood rushed through the thick veins.

it seemed like he had a slight kink for dangerous play like this.

you wrapped your fingers around the flushed tip, teasingly rubbing circles on the most sensitive part of his body. nagi shifted his hips, obviously telling you to go on.

you looked up at him as you kissed his tip, sucking the small leak of salty precum from his cock which made his muscular thighs tighten under your elbows. fuck, it was so hot.

you heard the way his fingers moved fast on the controller as you slowly stroked his shaft now while suckling on his tip.

”reo, take that one-” nagi spoke but his voice was cut off with you suddenly taking his whole damn lenght down your throat. he inhaled sharply and for once you saw those damn lazy eyes widening and glancing down at you. his pale cheeks were slightly flushed, that pretty mouth agape with lust.

”what?” reo asked with mild confusion.

”um-, the one, in the backyard” nagi quickly continued, his voice a little shaky now. you pumped your mouth on his cock, your lips tightly wrapped around the skin there as you enjoyed the feeling of a fat cock making your jaw ache. your tongue licked the underside while you effectively drooled all over him, allowing less friction and more sloppiness.

”there’s no one there, idiot. are you okay?” reo huffed, with genuine concern.

your eyes shut closed now as you barely managed to take him down your throat, his tip pressing annoyingly against the back of your mouth. even your lips were aching at this point as you sucked him with all the possible force and skill you had, and you felt his hips and thighs beginning to tremble under your arms.

”y-yes, just, i thought someone was there” nagi answered with obviously through gritted teeth. he was holding back a moan – no – a whimper. his voice was softer and whinier than usually, obviously doing his all to prevent a desperate whine escaping him.

nagi shifted again and he slightly began to pump his hips, obviously looking for more pleasure. his cock hit the back of your throat now, a few tears glistening in your eyes at this point as you pulled back with a wet plop.

nagi let out a small shaky breath and once you opened your eyes, the man was literally sweating. a couple drops of sweat was falling down his forehead, his mouth still agape and eyes hazed with lust. he glanced down at you again and his eyebrows furrowed desperately – he was silently pleading for more.

you only smirked and did a long, teasing lick from the bottom to the top, while never breaking the eye contact with him. he bit his lips together, and desperately shifted his hips once more.

you then sucked him all the way in again, your lips tightly wrapped around his throbbing shaft while your hand groped his balls. you couldn't help but let out a small moan yourself as your lips were coated with your own saliva which dripped down his cock so tantalizingly.

suddenly, you felt a shaky hand grabbing your hair and pushing you all the way down on his length - making you gag from the sudden pressure. nagi's hand guided your head up and down now, the sting on your scalp and the feeling of his cock down your throat making your eyes fill with tears again. you managed to glance up at him, and the way he was staring at you intently with half-lidded eyes and blushed cheeks told you everything you needed to know - he was fucking close.

”watch out, sei!” you suddenly heard reo’s louder tone, which snapped nagi back to the game. he quickly pulled his hand back and focused on the screen, but you didn't stop.

you choked on his cock and kneaded his balls with one firm hand, making his jaw clench and cock pulse. it didn't take more than two seconds until you felt warm ropes of cum spilling down your throat and the inside of cheeks, successfully filling your mouth.

with a shaky, needy exhale and a few faster clicks on his controller, he apparently killed someone while filling your mouth with hot seed.

”nice shot” reo chuckled.

yes. a nice shot indeed.

[alive-gh0st]

❝Always You❞

Mark Grayson x Childhood Friend!Reader ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

-ˋˏ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ˎˊ-

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❀ summary: you showed up uninvited, made his dad question all his life (and facial hair) choices, and never left. now you’re older, hotter, still annoying—and mark? very much in love. congrats.

❀ contains: sfw. childhood friends to lovers. slow-burn vibes. emotionally repressed!reader. soft!mark. reader has a difficult home life. light trauma but make it casual. fluff, banter and comedic tension. mark grayson being stupid-in-love.

❀ wc: 1899

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: first time posting just to feed y’all some mark grayson fluff.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You don’t remember exactly how you ended up in the Graysons’ house that first day.

You’d only just moved in next door, and your mom was already yelling about boxes. The man she was with—this week’s guy—smelled like beer, sweat, and no patience.

So you left.

Well… not really, but something along those lines.

You wandered down the sidewalk barefoot, dragging your backpack behind you, until you spotted a house that looked safe. Lived-in. Rich. You rang the doorbell like it owed you something.

Debbie Grayson opened the door, took one look at your face, and smiled. “Hi there, sweetheart. You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked right past her like you belonged there.

Mark was on the floor with a comic book. He looked up, mouth half-open.

You pointed at his dad. “Is that mustache glued on, or is it a punishment?”

Nolan nearly dropped his coffee. Debbie choked on a laugh. Mark blinked, unsure whether to be offended or amazed.

You were five.

By the end of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on their carpet, eating cookies like you’d always been there. You told Nolan he “sounded like a guy on TV,” which earned another chuckle from Debbie and a long sigh from the man.

By the end of the week, you were staying over so often Debbie started keeping a toothbrush for you.

By the end of the month, you were helping Mark build Lego towers in his room—then immediately yelling at Nolan for knocking them over “on purpose.”

(He did. He 100% did. Nolan Grayson, Earth’s strongest man, had personal beef with a five-year-old and no shame about it.)

And before long, Mark couldn’t remember a life where you weren’t in it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Being around you was chaos wrapped in kindness.

You’d stick your tongue out at Mark and Nolan the second Debbie turned her back, then curl into her side during movie nights like you were her own kid.

You terrified Nolan with the things you said—adult questions in a child’s voice, bold and unfiltered. Like asking, “If you flew into space too fast, would your brain explode?” Or, more memorably: “Do aliens poop?”

“Enough,” Nolan muttered one night after your fifth question. “You’re worse than a Pentagon interrogation.”

“But I’m cuter,” you argued, and Debbie nodded like that settled the matter.

You were nine when you figured out Omni-Man’s identity.

You’d been watching the news over cereal, Mark beside you, both in matching Grayson hand-me-downs.

With squinted eyes at the screen, you groaned in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s your dad’s disguise? I can recognize that ugly mustache from space.”

Mark froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what?”

“Dude, it’s so obvious.”

You didn’t even flinch when Nolan walked in seconds later, fully suited up but holding his slippers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning,” you said sweetly. “Nice cape.”

Nolan grunted and turned on the coffee maker without a comment.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Debbie adored you. Nolan, surprisingly, respected you—maybe because you always challenged him without fear. And Mark? Mark had someone who understood him without even trying.

Your home life, though, was never something you talked about.

It wasn’t bad, not technically, but it didn’t feel like a home. The yelling never stopped. The guys came and went. You learned early not to ask questions, and that silence was safer.

So you stopped asking.

But one night—when you were eleven—you showed up at Mark’s window with bruises on your arms and dirt on your knees. You didn’t say anything. Just climbed inside and curled up next to him on the bed.

He didn’t say anything either.

He just pulled the blanket over you and let you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

After that, the Graysons stopped asking if you were coming over. It was just assumed.

That’s how it always was.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

By middle school, the two of you were inseparable. You walked to class together, bickered over who got to name the group projects, and ganged up on anyone who tried to mess with either of you.

One day, in the cafeteria, some eighth grader bumped into you hard enough to knock your tray.

“Watch it,” he sneered, clearly expecting you to back off.

You looked him dead in the eyes while tilting your head innocently. “Try that again and I’ll make sure you’re crapping Jell-O for a week.”

The kid blinked.

Mark stepped in beside you. “She means that in a… non-lethal way.”

“Do I?” you asked.

Mark turned to you, deadpan. “Can you not threaten to rearrange someone’s insides with pudding in front of the lunch monitors?”

You gave him a shrug. “No promises.”

People thought you’d grow apart in high school. That Mark would change. That you would change.

But you never gave him the chance to drift. You clung—stubbornly, fiercely—like you knew if you let go, something in you would unravel. And Mark never wanted to be anywhere else anyway.

High school didn’t change you much. If anything, you just got bolder.

Mark got taller. You got sharper. People asked if you were dating. You both said no.

But neither of you looked too convinced when you did.

You still wore his hoodies. He still shared his fries with you without asking. You stole his blankets. He carried an extra charger in his bag just in case you forgot yours.

He never forgot your birthday. You never missed a single one of his baseball games.

It wasn’t just friendship. Not really.

Not with the way you rolled your eyes at affection from anyone else but melted instantly when Mark laid his head on your shoulder.

Not when you’d fight with him one minute and be curled up against him the next, hoodie sleeves too long, fingers grazing his under the blanket.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Mark watched you far more than he should’ve.

He noticed the way your laugh cracked just a little when you were too tired.

The way you hugged too hard, like you were making sure someone stayed.

The way you’d stand between him and anyone who dared to mouth off—like you were the one with superpowers.

He didn’t need to know the exact moment he fell in love with you. For him—it was always there, he just hadn’t been smart enough to understand.

Maybe it was that one day when you were watching cartoons on the floor, and Mark was pretending not to stare at you. You turned to him, grinning, and said something dumb like, “You’d probably get beat up in a real fight.”

But your eyes were soft.

He smiled back, and thought, God, it’s always been you.

But he never told you. Not really.

Because every time he almost did, you’d turn away. Or laugh. Or call him something close enough to a slur and throw popcorn at his face.

Maybe that was your armor. Or maybe it was his fear.

Either way, the words never made it out.

So he held onto them in silence. Carried them like bruises from a fight—but these ones never quite healed. Let them bleed out slowly over the years through lingering glances, soft touches, and unspoken understanding.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You were sixteen when he nearly told you.

It was late. You’d been watching horror movies with you curled up against him, almost half-asleep.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“You know I—I really—uh, care about you, right?”

You cracked one eye open. “Mark, if this is your weird way of trying to tell me you love me, just do it.”

His breath hitched.

You snorted. “Relax. You’re too chicken to actually say it.”

“Am not.”

”Then say it.”

He paused.

You reached over, poked his cheek, and mumbled, “Didn’t think so.”

And then you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, blissfully unaware of how badly his heart was racing.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Even now, sitting in his room, you’re stretched across his bed with a random comic forgotten beside you, legs tangled in his blanket like you own the place.

(Because you kind of do—not that he’d give you the satisfaction of knowing that.)

Mark watches you from his desk chair, ’Seance Dog’ comic in hand, but he’s not reading a word.

“You’re staring again,” you mutter from his bed, cheek half-squished against his pillow, voice muffled and judgmental.

“I am not,” Mark lies—incredibly unconvincingly.

You glance over with one brow raised. “You always stare when you’re thinking something gross.”

“It’s not gross!”

“So it is something.”

“…Maybe.”

You sit up, stretching your arms overhead with a dramatic yawn. “If you’re about to tell me you’ve been in love with me since we were, like, eight, just say it. Don’t do the weird broody stare like you’re in some CW drama.”

Mark blinks. “I mean… okay, not since eight. But maybe since… twelve?”

You blink at him.

Then before he can overthink like always—you let out a long, theatrical sigh and flop back dramatically again. “Ugh. Finally.”

Mark startles. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” You shoot him a lopsided grin. “Do you know how annoying it is being the only one aware of the mutual pining in this room? I’ve been carrying this ship on my BACK.”

Mark’s mouth opens. Closes. “Wait—you like me?”

“I’m literally lying in your bed, wearing your hoodie, and insulting you in front of your anime figurines. What do you think?”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

You pause. Then smirk. “So… now what?”

Mark thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I mean, I could kiss you, but I’m 99% sure you’d just roast me for it.”

You hum. “Depends. Are you going to do that thing where you hesitate awkwardly and make a weird-ass face?”

Mark throws a pillow at you.

You cackle, catching it midair. “I’m kidding, dumbass. Come here.”

And when he does—grinning like a total idiot, heart thudding like he’s about to leap off a building for the first time—you tug him forward by the collar of his hoodie and kiss him first.

It’s warm, a little clumsy, way too long overdue.

And when you pull back, breathless and smug, grinning against his mouth—whispering, “Took you long enough, Grayson.”

Mark laughs, his cheeks tinted pink.

His fingers are still in your hair.

And for the first time in years, his heart feels lighter than air.

Because he’s always been watching you.

But now, finally—you’re looking back at him the same way.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

-ˋˏ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ˎˊ-

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Later, as you both lay tangled in blankets and shared warmth, Mark breaks the silence.

“…Do you think my dad knew?”

The question lingers in the air, and your mind drifts back to the old days—the easier ones—before your eyes open.

You blink up at the ceiling. “That you’re in love with me? Yeah. He always knew.”

Mark groans. “Debbie probably has a betting pool going.”

“She does,” you say without hesitation. “Amber’s in on it too. I think William’s the bookie.”

Mark gapes at you. “Are you serious?”

You grin, smug. “Dead serious. I’m pretty sure I just made someone twenty bucks.”

Mark buries his face in the pillow. “God.”

Patting his back, mock-comfortingly, you snort under your breath. “Don’t worry. You’re still the last one to find out.”

“…That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

And somewhere in the house, Debbie smiles to herself in the kitchen, sipping her wine like she didn’t just win her own bet.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Series Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Pt. 2 Summary: Things between you and Bucky are beginning to change. He's embracing his role as a father well, making sure to connect with you along the way. Are you developing a crush? Does he like you back?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

You sit across from Bucky, still clutching the mug you’ve long since forgotten to drink from. The living room is quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows in hazy golden streaks. Daisy plays on the floor in her usual chaos—stuffed animals scattered, blocks dumped out, her bunny lying on its side like it’s recovering from a long day.

Bucky’s there too, something that's become a usual sight over the past few weeks. Not right beside her—but close. Sitting a few feet away, legs crossed, his arms draped loosely over his jean-covered knees. He’s just… watching. Not in a weird way. Just kind of soft. Thoughtful. Like he doesn’t want to intrude, but can’t help being near her.

She doesn’t seem to mind. Every so often, she glances at him, then returns to whatever she’s doing—lining up blocks, then knocking them down. He offers her a little smile once or twice when their eyes meet. She grins back.

Then, out of nowhere, she stands up, wobbling on unsteady legs, and toddles over to him with purpose.

“Build fort?” she asks, looking up at him with her big, bright eyes.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “A fort?”

She nods seriously. “With blankies.”

Bucky looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do. He glances toward me—just briefly—then looks back down at her. “Uh… sure,” he says slowly. “We can try.”

She beams and immediately grabs a throw blanket off the couch, dragging it behind her like a cape.

He follows her without hesitation now, kneeling on the floor and scooping up a few pillows. “Okay, kid. Where are we building this masterpiece?”

“Right here,” she says, plopping down beside him.

And then, it starts.

Bucky pretends the cushions are impossibly heavy, making exaggerated groaning sounds every time he lifts one. “This one’s the size of a mountain,” he mutters, flexing his metal arm dramatically. “Might need backup.”

Daisy giggles. “You're strong!”

“Only because I had my oatmeal this morning,” he tells her, deadpan.

It earns a small chuckle from you. You watch from the side now, your mug still untouched. The fort takes shape slowly, with blankets stretched across the backs of chairs, cushions propped upright, and Daisy offering creative direction with every step.

He lets her lead. Never takes over. Just helps, asks questions, follows her excited little ideas without hesitation.

She crawls into the half-formed space, pats the floor beside her. “Come in!”

“I think I might be too tall,” he says, glancing up at the blanket ceiling. “But I’ll try.”

He ducks inside, legs sticking out awkwardly as Daisy shuffles in with her bunny and one of her books. You find yourself smiling—genuinely, this time. The sight of it… It’s strange and gentle and a little unreal.

After a few minutes, the fort begins to tilt ominously and Bucky eases out, letting Daisy settle in alone. He sits just beside it, his back to the couch.

You move slowly, walking over and lowering yourself to the floor a few feet from him. Not too close. But close enough to talk.

“She really likes you,” you say quietly.

He glances toward the fort, then back to you, something small and sheepish in his expression. “She’s funny,” he murmurs. “Kept handing me things like I knew what I was doing.”

“You did alright.”

“I’ve built a few bunkers in my day,” he replies dryly. “Guess forts aren’t that different.”

“She doesn’t usually warm up to people this fast,” you admit. She's had a hard time not being shy around many of the other Avengers. When they come around, she insists on being near you.

He tilts his head slightly, arms draped over his knees again. “Guess I’m lucky.”

“No,” you say, meaning it. “You’re just… careful with her. That matters.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then: “I don’t really know how to be around kids,” he admits. “ I haven't delt with them since my younger sisters were around. Didn’t expect it to be… like this.”

“Like what?”

“Easy. Kinda,” he adds quickly. “Not all the way. But… she makes it easier.”

You nod. That familiar warm feeling fills your chest.

“I, uh… I don’t wanna mess this up,” Bucky says after a moment. “Being around her. Or you. I like being with you guys.”

Your breath catches a little. He doesn't mind being around me. At first, I was worried he wouldn't like talking to me. The truth is, I haven't had friends in years. Kinda hard to make them in captivity. I don't really know what to say or do anymore. I was worried things would be extremely awkward between the two of us, the only thing keeping us connected being Daisy.

“You’re not,” you manage. “Messing it up, I mean.”

He meets your eyes briefly. Doesn’t say anything, just nods.

Daisy crawls to the edge of the fort again, poking her head out. “More blankies!”

Bucky chuckles and leans over to pass her another one.

You sit there a little longer, watching them. Watching him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you need to brace yourself for something bad. For once, the room safe.

----

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, your back propped against the edge of the couch while Daisy babbles softly beside you. She’s got her little plastic doll cradled in one arm, trying her best to mimic what you just showed her—gently brushing its hair with the tiny pink comb from the toy set. You’ve got another doll in your hands, holding it upright and giving it a “very serious” voice for the tea party you’re clearly late to.

“And where is your invitation, Miss Daisy?” you ask in your best snooty British accent.

Daisy giggles. “I dunno!”

You laugh softly, heart warm and aching all at once. There’s something so fragile and beautiful about these quiet moments. The soft buzz of the compound feels a million miles away. It’s just you, your daughter, and a pair of overworked plastic dolls.

Then you hear his footsteps.

You glance up to see Bucky hovering in the doorway, one hand on the frame like he’s not sure if he should come in.

His gaze lands on you and Daisy, and something softens in his expression.

You smile at him—tentative, but real. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, voice low and warm. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” you say quickly, shifting to the side and patting the floor near you. “Wanna join the tea party?”

He huffs a quiet laugh but stays standing. “I, uh, actually came to ask something.”

You tilt your head, curious. Daisy is completely absorbed in brushing the doll’s hair again.

Bucky shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would you… wanna go out with me? I mean—not like that,” he adds quickly, eyes wide. “I just mean… would it be okay if I took you and Daisy out? For ice cream. Just a short trip.”

Your heart jumps, panic and wonder flaring all at once.

“Out?” you echo, your voice thinner than you’d like.

His brows knit together, like he’s trying to read your face without scaring you off. “Only if you want to. We’d stay close. I found a little place with outdoor seating and—thought it might be nice.”

You look down at Daisy, who’s now dressing her doll in a sparkly piece of mismatched plastic clothing.

She’s never really been outside before.

You haven’t been outside in what feels like forever.

But you see something in Bucky’s eyes—patience, not pressure.

You swallow thickly and nod. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds… nice.”

The smile that spreads across his face is small but genuine. “Alright. I’m going to go get ready. You can take your time.”

He turns to leave, then pauses. “Also, there’s a car seat already in the car. Just so you know. You don't need to worry about it.”

Your heart twists in your chest. “You thought of that?”

“Course I did,” he says, almost shyly. “Her safety's important.”

You watch him go, stunned. Over the past few weeks he's really shown up. From the moment he found out about her, he's done his best to offer some sort of presence in Daisy's life. He thinks about her. He considers what's best for her. For the both of you.

You glance down at your daughter.

She holds up her doll with a proud smile. “Ice cream, Mama!”

You chuckle and brush her curls back from her face. “Yeah, sweetie. Let’s get you ready to go.”

----

By the time you manage to corral Daisy’s wild hair into two fuzzy buns and coax her into socks and shoes, there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“It’s just me,” Bucky calls, his voice low and calm through the frame.

You shift Daisy to one hip and open the door.

He’s standing there in jeans and a dark henley, sleeves pushed up, hair tucked neatly behind his ears. His metal hand catches the hallway light. It should make him look dangerous. It doesn’t. Not to you. Not anymore.

He gives Daisy a small smile, eyes crinkling. “You ready, kiddo?”

“Ready!” she says brightly, gripping your shirt with one hand and waving the other at him.

Bucky chuckles—quiet, like the sound still feels unfamiliar—and glances at you. “You ready?”

You hesitate. The world outside feels like another planet entirely.

“I think so,” you say. “Yeah.”

He nods and steps back, giving you space. You follow his steady footsteps into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

The walk to the garage is quiet. Daisy hums a tuneless melody and babbles to her stuffed bunny—“Bunny, we go bye-bye!”—waving at everyone you pass. No one stares. That’s new. It's not often there's children in the compound. Daisy tends to draw attention.

Then, stepping outside, the sunlight hits you like a wave. You blink up at the sky. It’s so blue. So open.

You stop for a second, stunned. The breeze brushes your shirt, gently kissing the skin underneath, and somewhere, birds are chirping. You forgot how loud the world is. How beautiful the earth can be.

Bucky slows beside you, his eyes gentle. “You okay?”

You swallow. “Yeah. Just… taking it in. I haven't been outside like this in a long time. It's a little overwhelming..1”

He doesn’t rush you. Just waits. And when you nod, you both keep moving.

You reach the car—a dark SUV, plain and sturdy. Nothing flashy. You like that.

Bucky opens the back door, and you lean in to buckle Daisy into her car seat. She kicks her feet against the seat and clutches her bunny tight. “We goin’ ta ice cream!”

“Yes, we are,” you murmur, adjusting the straps and brushing hair from her forehead.

You shut the door gently and find Bucky holding the passenger door open for you.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I wanted to,” he says simply.

Your cheeks warm as you climb in. That's definitely something you weren't expecting.

The car smells clean—new leather and a faint trace of mint and Bucky's cologne. The radio’s off. Everything feels still.

He starts the engine. “Let me know if I drive too fast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that something I need to worry about?”

He smirks. “I’ve been told I’m heavy on the gas.”

“Noted,” you mutter, buckling up.

The compound fades behind you as the drive begins. The world outside unfolds like a pop-up book—streets, people, cars, color. It’s overwhelming. And beautiful.

Daisy presses her face to the window. “Big! So big!”

You can’t help but whisper, “You’re not wrong.”

“You okay?” Bucky asks, glancing your way.

You nod. “It’s just… loud. Fast. I forgot.”

He nods, eyes flicking back to the road. “I remember the first time I came back to the city. Everything was too much.”

You glance over at him. “How’d you deal with it?”

“I didn’t,” he admits. “I went home and hid in my room for three days.”

A laugh slips out of you—sharp, surprised. Real.

He smiles softly. “That’s a nice sound.”

You look away quickly, heart thudding.

A few more turns, and you pull up to a little ice cream shop with pastel trim and a crooked sign that says “SCOOP!” with a cartoon cone. It looks like something from a picture book.

Bucky parks and gets out, jogging around the front of the car to get to your side. Once again, he opens the door for you. He keeps a comfortable distance as you climb out of the car, thanking him. You open the back door and unbuckle Daisy. She clings to you for a second, then spots the sign and gasps. “Ice cream, Mama! Pink one, please!”

“We’ll see, baby,” you say with a small laugh.

Inside, the shop is warm and colorful. Chalkboard menus line the walls. A bell jingles as you enter. The girl behind the counter has glittery eyelids and a big smile.

You freeze.

The menu blurs in your vision—chocolate explosion, birthday cake crunch, mango swirl. Too many choices.

“You okay?” Bucky’s voice is beside you again, steady.

You nod, embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. I don’t know what’s good.”

“Mint chip’s solid,” he offers. “Or cookies and cream.”

You nod slowly. “Cookies and cream. That sounds nice.”

Daisy jabs a finger toward the bright pink tub. “That one!”

“Good choice,” Bucky says. “Matches your spark.”

You order, grab your scoops—yours and Bucky’s in paper cups, Daisy’s in a tiny cone—and find a seat outside beneath a striped umbrella.

The breeze tugs at Daisy’s hair. She kicks her legs and hums to herself, getting more ice cream on her cheeks than in her mouth.

Bucky hands her a napkin. She squints at it, puzzled.

He chuckles. “Here. Let me.” He leans across and gently wipes her cheek. His touch is tender and soft. Like he's afraid to somehow accidentally hurt her.

“Thank you.” she chirps, fingers sticky.

“No problem, peanut,” he murmurs.

Your chest aches at the sound of the nickname. He started calling her nicknames a few days ago, a sign he's getting more comfortable with her. It makes you feel happy.

You sit quietly. The noise around you—cars, birds, laughter—feels like the kind of thing you used to take for granted.

Then he turns to you.

“You ever think about what it would’ve been like… if HYDRA hadn’t taken us?”

You nod. “All the time.”

He stirs his ice cream with the little spoon. “I used to imagine a normal life. Brooklyn apartment. Maybe a dog. A job that didn’t involve blood.” He says it quietly, almost shyly.

You glance at Daisy. She’s squishing her cone now.

“I think about that too,” you whisper. “I had so many goals. Dreams. Things I wanted to do. But then I look at her… and I realize, I wouldn’t trade her for anything. Not even for a normal life.”

His eyes find yours. “That’s how I know you’re strong. Most people would wish the pain away.”

“I do wish the pain away,” you admit. “But not her. Never her. I’d go through it all again if it meant having her.”

There’s a pause. Then he clears his throat.

“You wanna take her to the park before we head back?”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

He nods. “I know a quiet one. Not far.”

The park is tucked behind a bookstore and apartment complex, half-hidden by trees. A small playground sits beside a patch of wildflowers.

Daisy runs wild with wonder, darting from flower to flower. A squirrel makes her shriek with joy.

Then the guilt creeps in.

She’s never seen this before. And it’s your fault.

“She was born in a lab,” you whisper, not even sure why you’re saying it out loud. “She deserved better.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “You gave her everything you could. You kept her alive. That’s not nothing.”

You look at him, eyes burning. “But it still feels like not enough.”

He nods. “I feel that too. I didn’t know.. If I had—I would’ve found you. I swear I would’ve.”

You believe him. God, you do. You regret not telling him.

But today is supposed to be happy. You can’t stay in that place.

You kneel beside a patch of white flowers and call out, “Hey, kiddo. Come here.”

Daisy skips over, eyes wide.

“That’s what you’re named after,” you tell her, brushing a petal. “You’re my Daisy.”

She gasps. “Me?! I’m speshul!” She grins.

“You really are.”

Bucky smiles and carefully plucks two of the flowers, handing one to each of you.

“For you ladies,” he says.

Daisy giggles at the word ladies but clutches the flower tight.

Your heart does something dangerous.

You look at the flower. Then at him.

He’s kind. Gentle. Thoughtful.

And you think you like him.

You haven’t liked anyone in a long time—not like this. Not in the way that makes your stomach twist and your chest ache and your brain spiral all at once.

Especially not someone who notices you.

No one ever really noticed you before. You were the smart one. The soft one. The big one.

The girl boys didn’t flirt with. Didn’t even glance at. And now? You’re even softer. More changed.

But Bucky sees you.

And somehow, that terrifies you more than anything.

He doesn’t notice you’re lost in thought—he’s crouched beside Daisy, showing her a tiny roly poly crawling across his palm.

She squeals in delight.

Eventually, you head back to the car. Daisy falls asleep the second you buckle her in.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, watching the road blur past. “For taking us out. I needed it. Just… didn’t know how to do it alone.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” he says gently. “I’m going to help you.”

Those words nearly bring you to tears.

Back at the compound, he opens your door. This time you're expecting it. You unbuckle Daisy. Then you look at him.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Would you like to carry her in?”

He pauses. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

You’ve seen who he is. What he’s like. And it’s time you let him know you trust him.

He nods. “I’d love to.”

You pass her over, and she melts into his arms like she was always meant to fit there. The image makes you smile.

Inside the room, he lays her on the bed and tucks her bunny beside her. She murmurs in her sleep. He lingers, brushing a curl from her forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?” you whisper back.

“For letting me be part of this.”

“Of course. She's your kid, too.”

His eyes meet yours, and something unspoken stretches between you.

Then he straightens, glancing around at the room—at the small pile of toys, the neatly folded clothes.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’m finding you two a real room. Not this.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he says firmly. “You’re both my responsibility. And you deserve better. It’s the least I can do.”

Your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, then quietly excuses himself.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the daisy from earlier still in your hand, your heart pounding.

You think you might be starting to really like this man.

And that thought… that thought terrifies you.

But it also makes you feel alive again.

----

That night, sleep doesn’t come easy.

You lie still in the dark, the soft sound of Daisy’s breathing beside you offering some comfort. But your own breath feels too shallow. Your skin feels too tight. The room, though warm, feels hollow. Like the walls are closing in.

You close your eyes, try to force it—sleep, peace, anything. Instead, memories flicker behind your eyelids. The sterile white walls. The flickering overhead lights. The voices that twisted your thoughts. The coldness of being completely, utterly alone.

You sit up quietly, careful not to disturb Daisy. She doesn’t stir, curled into her blanket, her bunny tucked beneath her chin. You tuck it a little closer, just in case.

And then, without thinking too hard about it, you step out into the hallway.

You wander until the quiet hush of night leads you outside to one of the patios. The air is colder out here than you expected—sharper, but not in a bad way. The kind of cold that feels like it keeps you present. Alive.

That’s when you see him.

Bucky’s already out there, sitting on a long stone bench under a light that flickers slightly. His jacket is draped over a thin white tank, sleeves rolled up, the rest of him still and thoughtful. His fingers are laced together, resting on his knee. He looks lost in thought as he stares out at the plants on the patio.

I wonder what he's thinking of?

You hesitate.

“Hi,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a breath.

He looks up, snapping out of his trance.

You falter. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can go, I just—”

“It’s okay,” he says before you can finish. “You don’t have to leave.”

You blink, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nods, eyes warm under the dim light. “C’mere. Sit.”

You cross the patio slowly, sliding onto the bench beside him. Not too close. But not far, either.

The silence stretches a beat before he speaks. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “No. I, um… I have nightmares sometimes. Flashbacks.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see something shift in his eyes. Recognition. Understanding.

“It’s hard to feel safe falling asleep,” you admit. “Even here.”

He nods, looking straight ahead. “I know the feeling.”

You glance over at him.

“That’s why I’m out here too,” he says softly. “Some nights, it’s like I can feel it all again. The chair. The cold. The words they used to say to me before I forgot everything again.”

You stay quiet, letting him speak.

“They wiped me so many times, I don’t even know what’s real anymore. I’ll remember something… a voice, a smell, a face… and then it’s gone. Or I’ll think I made it up. There’s so many gaps, it drives me crazy sometimes. It's like living in a confusing movie.”

Your chest aches for him. “That sounds unbearable.”

He exhales slowly. “It was. Still is, some days.”

You nod slowly. “They played a lot of games with me, too. Psychological stuff. Isolation. Manipulation. They tried to convince me I didn’t exist unless they needed me to.”

Bucky turns to look at you, his expression dark with empathy.

You swallow. “I thought I was going to die in there. And then… one day they told me I was pregnant. The embryo had taken.”

He goes still.

“I didn’t even understand how it had happened at first. I mean, I knew the process, I did a study on in vitro in high school. But the whole experience was hazy from the drugs they gave me. I was just so numb. And scared. I didn’t know what to think, or how to feel.”

You look down at your hands.

“It was hard at first. Every change my body went through… I didn’t have anyone to ask questions. No one talked to me. They just watched. Studied. Like I was some experiment they forgot to write the purpose of.”

His jaw tightens.

“But then… then she kicked,” you say, your voice cracking. “And for the first time, it wasn’t just me in there anymore. I wasn’t alone. There was a real baby.”

You feel your throat tightening, but you push through it.

“I started talking to her. Telling her stories. Whispering about the world. I think… I think she saved me. Just by being there.”

Bucky’s gaze never leaves you.

Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “She kept me going.”

He’s silent, letting your words settle in the air between you. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reverent.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

You laugh, a wet sound. “Sorry for trauma-dumping.”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately. “I wanted to know. I needed to. I wasn’t there when it happened, but… this helps me understand. Helps me feel closer to Daisy. To you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink away the tears, the cold air stinging your cheeks.

“I didn’t want this to be the way things went,” you say honestly. “But I’m glad… I’m glad I’m not doing it alone now. I’m glad it’s you. That you’re her father. You care so much about her, and it really shows.”

His eyes soften, and there’s something in his expression—something so deeply sincere it knocks the wind out of you.

“She’s lucky,” you continue, voice shaking. “You’re kind. And patient. And you’ve been… you’ve been nothing but understanding. I haven’t had that in a long time.”

He leans forward slightly. “I’m grateful you’re her mom. You love her so much. I can see it. And you… you were there for her when I couldn’t be. You saved her. You saved both of you.”

You don’t know what to say. You just sit there in the silence that follows, heart beating too loud.

Then a breeze blows through, colder now, and a shiver sneaks up your spine.

Bucky notices immediately.

“You cold?”

You try to shake it off, but he’s already shrugging off his jacket.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to you.

You freeze.

It’s such a sweet gesture. Kind. The kind of thing no one’s done for you in so long.

But your brain kicks in.

What if it doesn’t fit?

What if it clings in the wrong places?

What if he sees?

“I—” you stammer. “It’s alright. The cold… it helps ground me.”

He pauses. His hand stays outstretched for a second longer, then slowly lowers it to his lap.

“Oh,” he says. His voice is careful. “Okay.”

You glance at him. He doesn’t look angry. But there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of hurt, maybe. Not from rejection, but from knowing you don’t feel safe enough to accept something as simple as a jacket.

You feel awful.

He doesn’t push. Just keeps it on his lap, just in case.

You both sit in quiet for a moment longer. Then you sigh softly.

“She really likes you, you know,” you say. “Daisy. She talks about you all the time.”

He smiles, something soft and real. “She’s… amazing. I don’t even know how to describe it. I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to… feel this.”

“You’re good with her.”

“I’m trying to be.”

You nod.

Then a thought crosses your mind, and your stomach flips.

“I should check on her,” you say quietly. “It’s been a little while.”

Bucky straightens. “I’ll walk you.”

You don’t say no.

The walk back is quiet but comfortable. Your arms brush once, and you don’t pull away.

When you reach your door, he hesitates. Then says, “I talked to Tony.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“You’re getting moved,” he says. “Out of the hospital wing. Into the residential part of the compound. With the rest of us.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“I really… I don’t know what to say. Thank you—”

“You don’t have to,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

You linger at the door.

“Goodnight,” you say softly.

His smile is warm. “Goodnight.”

You step inside, heart beating far too fast, and shut the door gently behind you.

Daisy is still asleep.

But you?

You’re wide awake—this time for a different reason.

------

The next morning, there’s a knock at your door just as the first pale light of dawn begins to seep through the blinds. It’s soft—barely more than a gentle tap—but it cuts through the quiet like a bell. Your eyes flutter open, the haze of sleep clinging stubbornly to the corners of your vision. You blink once, then again, and slowly sit up, your limbs heavy with the weight of half-shed dreams.

Daisy stirs beside you, her tiny body curled like a comma beneath the blankets. She must have climbed into your bed at some point during the night. Her hand rests lightly on your side, her fingers twitching as if chasing something in her dreams. She lets out a small, contented sigh before settling again.

Careful not to disturb her, you slide out of bed, the cold floor a shock against your bare feet. You pad quietly to the door and open it just a crack, still adjusting to the way the fluorescent hallway light stings your sleepy eyes.

Bucky stands there with a stack of flattened cardboard boxes in his arms. His hair is messy—flattened a bit on one side like he slept hard—and his gray t-shirt clings loosely to his frame. He looks like he’s been up for a while, though. Alert, steady. His face is unreadable at first, then softens when his eyes meet yours.

“Morning,” he says, voice gravelly and quiet so as not to wake the child behind you. “Brought some boxes.”

Your gaze flickers down to the stack in his arms. A twinge of nerves stirs in your stomach. Today’s the day.

“Morning,” you murmur, voice still husky with sleep. “Thanks.”

He tilts his head toward the boxes. “Figured we’d get started early. Thought you might want a hand.”

You step aside, opening the door for him. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

He nods once and walks in, setting the boxes down near the foot of the bed. His eyes drift toward Daisy, who’s still snuggled beneath the covers, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like a halo. His expression shifts—gentle, something soft you haven’t seen on his face often, but it’s there now. He lingers a second longer than necessary, like he can’t help it.

Daisy’s eyes flutter open.

She blinks at him sleepily, then beams. “Hi.”

Bucky offers her a rare, lopsided smile. “Hey, trouble.”

Daisy giggles and wriggles out from under the blanket. She runs to him, arms outstretched, and he doesn’t hesitate. He accepts her hug, gently crouching down to give her a hug back.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs to her.

She leans her head against his shoulder, already halfway to dozing again. You watch them with a strange ache in your chest, a mix of gratitude, fear, and something else—something warm and tentative and terrifying.

Packing doesn’t take long.

You don’t have many possessions to begin with. Most of what you own fits into two cardboard boxes: one for you, one for Daisy. A few changes of clothes. Her stuffed animals. The blanket Natasha gave you that she clings to when she’s scared. Some books, a worn hairbrush, and a handful of drawings you and Daisy have done together. You press your thumb against one, trying to smooth the bent edge, your heart catching in your throat.

Bucky doesn’t let you do much of the heavy lifting. Every time you reach for something too large, he’s already moving it. You try to argue, but he just gives you a look—not stern, exactly, but firm. Protective.

“I’ve got it,” he says. “Just take care of Daisy.”

She’s toddling around the room, chattering to herself and occasionally picking up things she’s decided are hers. A sock. A pen. Your water bottle. She tries to carry all of them in her tiny arms, swaying like a baby deer as she waddles across the floor.

When it’s time to move, you follow Bucky down a quieter hallway—one you’ve never really had a reason to walk through before. It’s warm here, the lighting dimmer, softer. The walls are lined with muted artwork instead of sterile metal. You notice how Daisy keeps glancing up at him as you walk, like she wants to make sure he’s still there.

“She does that when she’s nervous,” you say quietly.

Bucky glances down at her and reaches out his vibranium hand, fingers twitching slightly. Daisy hesitates, then takes two steps forward and clasps it without saying a word. The way he looks at her—so focused, so still—it makes your breath catch.

You stop in front of a door.

When he stops in front of a door, he shifts the box in his grip and glances toward you, almost sheepish. “So… this one’s next to my room,” he says, eyes flickering to the door beside yours. “I thought it might be good to be close. In case Daisy ever needs anything… or you do. But if you want more space, I totally get it. I can show you some other options.”

You blink at him, heart catching on the thoughtfulness laced in his tone. “No,” you say quickly, then softer. “No, Bucky… This is perfect. Really.”

He looks relieved, nods once, and opens the door.

He steps aside so you can enter first. The moment you enter, your breath catches in your throat. It’s beautiful.

The room is… different. Nothing like the cold, temporary space you’ve been staying in. This one is soft, warm, welcoming. The walls are painted a calming off-white, and the huge windows let in golden morning light that makes the space glow. There’s a couch in the corner, not regulation-issue like the rest, but something plush and lived-in. A thick rug sprawls across the floor, perfect for little feet and afternoon naps. There’s even a small wooden table set low to the ground with tiny chairs—and already scattered with coloring books and blunt crayons.

You spot the beds next. One large one with a thick, quilted comforter. And a smaller one, clearly made for Daisy. It’s painted a pale shade of pink, with soft star-shaped pillows and sheets printed with tiny moons. Above it, hand-painted onto the wall in elegant lettering, is her name: DAISY.

You stare at it, your throat going dry.

“I—I didn’t know what kind of theme she’d like,” Bucky says awkwardly behind you. “But stars seemed… safe. Not too much.”

You turn slowly. “You did this?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “She needs a place that’s hers.”

You look at him, really look, and there’s something in his face that’s both raw and uncertain. Like he’s hoping—maybe—this was the right thing. Like he’s not sure if he overstepped.

Daisy lets out a squeal and darts across the room, launching herself onto her little bed. She hugs one of the star pillows tight, then immediately starts jumping, giggling with abandon.

“She loves it,” you whisper. “You… you didn’t have to do all this.”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah, I did.” He clears his throat. “I’d also like to take you out. Get you both some clothes of your own, maybe some toys for Daisy. Whenever you’re ready to go back into the city.”

You open your mouth to argue, to say you’ll pay him back somehow—but he cuts you off before you can. “Don’t worry about it. Really. I don’t want anything.”

Daisy giggles from her little bed, holding up her stuffed bunny for you both to see.

“Has she always had this much energy?” Bucky asks, grinning a little.

You laugh. “Pretty much. As soon as she learned how to walk, she didn’t stop running.”

He chuckles, then hesitates. His gaze lowers. “Would you… mind telling me about that? Her milestones, I mean. What it was like when she crawled… or talked?”

Your chest tightens. “You want to know?”

“I know I wasn’t there. But I want to understand her. And you.”

So you tell him. About the first time Daisy pulled herself up. How she used the stool in the visitation room. How determined she was to stand. The first time she babbled “mama” and how happy it made you feel. The first steps, the clumsy falls, the way your heart swelled with every new moment.

He listens closely, eyes shining with something bittersweet.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here,” he says softly. “Like I missed everything.”

You touch his arm gently. “You belong here, Bucky. Daisy loves you. That’s what matters. And there's a lot of other milestones she's still got to hit that you can be a part of.”

He swallows. “Thanks.”

Daisy grabs his hand, tugging him toward her bed. “Play!”

He looks at you like he wants to keep talking, but you nod. “Go on. She’ll pout if you don’t.”

-----

That night, you’re sound asleep when the nightmare comes.

You’re back there again.

The cold is the first thing you feel—concrete under your spine, slick with something wet. Blood. You’re not sure whose. Likely yours. The air is sterile and metallic. You can smell it, taste it. You can barely move. Every inch of your body is on fire.

You're surrounded by a group of white coat covered doctors. Their faces are blocked by a dark medical mask. They watch pain wrack through your body over and over again, taking notes every few minutes on their notebooks. They completely disrespect you, observing your body without your consent. They don't offer you a blanket to cover up or a rag to wipe your face. In the moment, that's the last concerning thing. All you feel is pain. Just pain.

When you beg for some relief, an epidural or something, they quickly shoot you down, insisting it's better for the baby this way. Their eyes tell you something different. They like seeing you in pain.

No one offers you a hand to hold. No one helps guide your baby out. They just stand and observe, preparing for Daisy's arrival.

The contractions hit in waves, unbearable and sharp. You scream, but it’s hoarse, broken. No one helps. They never do.

The lights overhead are blinding. Fluorescent and buzzing. Too bright and too loud. You want to close your eyes, but you can’t. You have to push. You have to survive this.

Your body feels like it’s tearing apart. And then—

A cry.

Not yours.

Tiny. Raw. Alive.

She’s here.

You don’t even have time to look at her.

You reach out, your arms trembling, blood-covered hands desperate to hold her. They swoop into action, one of the doctors snatching a small prepared blanket. Gloved fingers are already lifting her away. The cord that's been connecting the two of you, her lifeline for all these months, is severed, breaking the connection to your baby. They crowd around her like vultures waiting to attack. You scream again—“No! No, please—give her back, please—”—but it doesn’t matter. They’re taking her. You can’t even see her face. Just a glimpse of pink skin, squirming limbs, a wail that slices through your chest like a blade.

Someone states that it's a girl, sending the other doctors into a fury as they write in their notebooks. It all happens so fast.

The door slams shut.

You’re left in the dark.

Bleeding. Empty.

Alone.

You’re screaming her name when hands gently shake your shoulders. A voice calls your name, low and steady.

“Y/N. It’s okay. Hey. Wake up. You’re safe.”

Your eyes fly open, chest heaving. Bucky’s there—his hands hovering but not touching. Daisy is sobbing softly from her bed in the corner.

“She’s okay,” Bucky whispers. “You’re okay. You had a nightmare. Daisy’s right here. No one’s taking her.”

You can’t stop shaking.

“I— I didn’t mean to wake you—”

“Shh, don’t worry about that.”

You stumble out of bed and rush to Daisy, who's confused and scared. You pull her close. She clings to you, tiny fists curled in your shirt. You rock her gently, trying to breathe. Trying to silence the storm in your mind.

Eventually, she calms in your arms. Her breathing slows. You tuck her back into bed and turn around—Bucky’s still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. Are you alright?”

You sit beside him, your body trembling. “I saw it all again. The day she was born. It's always the same dream, and you'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still terrifies me each time.”

He waits, patient.

“I was cleaning. Just… scrubbing floors. When my water broke, they dragged me to the lab. No hospital. No help. Just that cold table.”

Your voice cracks.

“They didn’t give me anything for the pain. They said it might hurt the baby. I was alone. Screaming. And when she came out, she—she was screaming. And then they took her. I couldn’t do anything about. Didn’t let me see her. Didn’t let me hold her. I was so scared, Bucky. So scared. And all I wanted was to see my baby and make sure she was okay.”

You’re crying now, openly, sobs shaking your frame.

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. You turn and hug him. Hard.

He freezes for a second—then wraps his arms around you, protective and warm. You bury your face into his chest, crying into his shirt. He rubs gentle circles on your back, whispering comfort.

“You’re safe now. She’s safe. No one’s taking her from you again.”

He doesn’t speak anymore. Doesn’t rush you. Just holds you.

You lose track of time. Eventually, you pull back, sniffling. “I got your shirt wet…”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t mind.”

He hesitates, then brushes a tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb. His eyes search yours. You feel your heart flutter.

“Again, I’m sorry I woke you—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been there. I get it.”

You nod. “I don’t know if I can fall back asleep.”

His voice is quieter now, almost unsure. “Do you… want me to stay? Just for the rest of the night. In case… you need anything.”

You blink at him, raw from the nightmare, but comforted by his presence. You don’t even hesitate.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. I’d… like that.”

He nods, standing slowly like he doesn’t want to jolt you. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

You expect him to settle back on the bed, but instead he turns and makes his way across the room toward the small couch near the window. He tugs the throw blanket off the back and bunches it up like a pillow, already sitting down, his long frame folding awkwardly into the tight space.

You sit there for a beat, watching him adjust—his knees nearly to his chest, the throw barely covering him—and your stomach twists.

“Wait,” you say quietly. He pauses.

You fidget with the edge of the blanket, your voice tentative. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. The bed’s big enough. If you want to sleep here. I mean—you don’t have to—but if you’re comfortable…”

You’re rambling. You can feel it. And panic starts to rise when he doesn’t answer right away.

“I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay,” you rush to say. “I get it. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want you to think you had to sleep over there—”

“It’s not that,” Bucky interrupts gently.

You glance up. His eyes are soft, mouth tugged in the faintest, almost shy smile.

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You feel your cheeks heat, and your heart stutters. “You’re not. I’m sure.”

Another pause, and then he rises from the couch and walks back over. He climbs onto the far side of the bed, careful not to disturb you or take up too much space. He stays on top of the covers, arms folded under his head, facing the ceiling.

You settle beneath the blankets, eyes staring into the soft dark. You can hear his breathing—slow, steady. Not asleep. Just… calm.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs back.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep.

But for the first time in what feels like years, your body doesn’t stay locked in that panicked, rigid state. It eases. Unwinds. Your mind floats. And the darkness of sleep, when it comes, doesn’t feel like a trap this time—it feels like rest. Bucky's presence helped chase the nightmares away.

-----

The morning light is soft when it wakes you.

You’re warm. Warmer than usual. The blankets are gone—pushed down to your ankles sometime during the night—but you’re not cold at all. Something solid is pressed behind you, curved around your body. A firm chest, rising and falling with slow, even breaths. A strong arm, heavy and protective, slung over your waist.

It takes a moment for you to remember.

Bucky.

He stayed.

You freeze, blinking at the pale light filtering in through the curtains. Your head is tucked under his chin, your body curled against his like puzzle pieces meant to fit. You feel his breath ghost along your forehead.

And then you feel something else.

Peace.

Your gaze drifts across the room, trying not to move too much, not to wake him. Daisy is sitting on the floor near her little pink bed, babbling softly to herself while stacking blocks and placing her bunny beside them. Her chubby fingers move with quiet determination.

She hasn’t noticed you're awake yet.

Carefully, slowly, you start to wiggle free from Bucky’s hold. But his arm—his metal arm—is locked tight around your waist, like even in sleep, his instincts are to keep you close. Protected and anchored.

It takes effort, but you manage to slide out without waking him.

You sit on the edge of the bed, glancing over your shoulder at him.

He looks so different like this. Asleep, his face is relaxed, no tension in his brow or jaw. He looks younger. Softer. Like the weight of the world isn’t crushing him for once.

You find yourself staring too long.

A soft babble from across the room pulls your attention back. Daisy.

You cross the room and kneel beside her, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her curly hair.

“Good morning, baby,” you whisper.

"Morning, Momma." She giggles and pats your cheek, then offers you one of her blocks like it’s the greatest treasure in the world.

You play with her for a few minutes, feeling the lightness of the moment settle around your shoulders. The shadows of the night have faded for now.

Behind you, the bed shifts.

You glance back and see Bucky sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room like he’s orienting himself, his gaze finally landing on the two of you.

He blinks once. Then smiles.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still husky with sleep.

You smile shyly, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Morning.”

Daisy toddles over and climbs into your lap, settling in as you rock her gently.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, gaze flickering over you.

You nod. “Yeah. I actually… slept.”

His expression softens. “Good. You needed it.”

You glance away for a second, then back. “I hope I didn’t keep you up. I think I move around a lot.”

“You were fine,” he says. “Actually… I slept better than I have in a long time.”

You blink. “Really?”

He shrugs a shoulder, a little sheepish. “I guess having someone else around helps. The silence at night—sometimes it gets too loud, y’know?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

Daisy’s tummy grumbles, loud and clear. She makes a dramatic little face and pats her belly.

Bucky grins. “Someone’s hungry.”

“She’s always hungry,” you tease, tickling her side. Daisy squeals and squirms in your arms.

“I know a good diner,” he says, already moving to stand. “Not too far. We could go. If you’re up for it.”

You smile, heart fluttering just a little too fast in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say. “We’d like that.”

As Bucky disappears to his room to get ready, you gather Daisy’s things and try to quiet the storm inside you. Because it’s not just comfort you feel around him anymore. It’s something deeper.

Something warm.

Something dangerous.

You glance at your daughter, who’s happily chatting to her bunny again, and you know one thing for sure:

Whatever you feel for Bucky… it comes second to her.

But the truth is, you’re already starting to imagine what life could look like if he stayed.

Not just in your room.

But in your world.

------

You’re still thinking about the way Bucky held you last night, the feel of his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, long after he leaves to get ready.

Your stomach is fluttery in a way that has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the quiet way he looked at you when he said good morning.

You try to focus on brushing Daisy’s hair and getting her dressed in a cute pink shirt and blue jeans. She chatters away the whole time, bouncing in place and clearly excited to go out.

When Bucky returns, he’s wearing a soft navy blue henley that fits him way too well, his hair tucked behind his ears and slightly damp like he just ran his hands through it after washing up. You look up and blink, feeling a little breathless, which is ridiculous. It’s just Bucky.

But then he smiles down at Daisy and then at you—warm, soft, and easy—and your heart gives a little kick again.

“Ready to go, girls?”

You nod. “Yeah. Thanks again for… all of this.”

He brushes it off with a shrug, but he glances at you again, gaze lingering. “Of course.”

The diner is small and old-fashioned, tucked on a quiet corner just a few blocks away from the compound. Bucky says it’s one of the only places in the city that still serves pancakes the way he remembers them. The staff knows him by name. He gets a booth in the back, where it’s quieter, and pulls out the chair for you before helping Daisy into the seat next to him. She lights up when he gives her the kid’s menu and a little pack of crayons.

You sit across from him, trying not to stare at the way he smiles at your daughter like she’s the most amazing little thing he’s ever seen.

You’re wearing jeans and one of your nicer shirts—a soft cotton one with a subtle, slightly deeper V-neck than usual. Nothing revealing, just a bit more shape than you usually show. It makes you feel... a little exposed. But today, you wanted to try. You wanted to feel pretty.

“She likes strawberries on her pancakes,” you mention softly. That's something you found out when she tried pancakes for the first time last week.

“I’ll make sure to tell them,” Bucky replies, already flagging down the server.

There’s something in the way he keeps checking on you throughout breakfast that’s different. It’s not just casual attentiveness—it’s protective. Like he’s constantly scanning the room out of habit, but his focus always circles back to you and Daisy.

You’re not used to someone being like this. Not for you.

Across from you, Bucky settles in with that watchful calm he always carries. His jacket creaks slightly as he leans forward to help Daisy open her straw, and his hand lingers for a second longer than it needs to near yours. You try not to read into it.

But there’s something different today. He keeps looking at you—not in a way that makes you nervous, but like he's noticing you for the first time in a new light. Like you're not just someone he’s helping anymore. Like you’re something more.

Breakfast is easy. Comfortable. He helps Daisy scoop bites of scrambled eggs onto her toast, and when you laugh at the little dance she does after getting syrup on her fingers, he smiles—actually smiles, and it reaches all the way up into the corners of his eyes.

For a while, you forget everything else. You even stop worrying about how you look in this shirt. Because when Bucky looks at you, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t judge. His gaze settles on you with quiet warmth, and you feel a little more like a person again.

When your hand brushes against his accidentally while reaching for the napkins, you both pause. He doesn’t move away. His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you feel suspended in that quiet, gentle gaze. It makes your pulse skitter.

Eventually, Daisy starts getting squirmy, and you gather her up in your arms as Bucky flags down the waitress for the check.

“I’ll wait outside with her,” you say softly.

“You sure?” He glances toward the window. “It’s still a little chilly.”

You nod. “She needs the air.”

He doesn’t argue. “I’ll be quick.”

The diner’s warmth lingers on your skin as you step outside, Daisy’s small hand wrapped securely in yours. The morning has settled into that sweet spot between late spring chill and gentle sun, the kind of weather that teases summer without quite committing. You take a breath and tip your face up toward the sky. It's a rare quiet moment. Daisy’s giggling, hopping from one sidewalk crack to the next.

Your shirt catches a breeze that brushes along your skin. You cross your arms casually, not out of shame, just… cautiousness.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

The voice hits you like a chill. You tense before you even fully turn.

A man stands just off to the side, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for something—or someone. His hoodie’s unzipped, revealing a graphic tee stretched tight over his stomach. His smile isn’t friendly. It’s calculating. Greedy.

You instinctively step back, placing yourself between him and Daisy.

“I’m not interested,” you say, polite but firm. The words come out shakier than you’d like.

He chuckles. “Didn’t ask if you were. Just sayin’ hey. You got a name, sweetheart?”

You grip Daisy’s hand tighter and angle your body away. “Please don’t talk to me.”

“Aww, don’t be like that. You and I could have a good time. Don’t you think? You’re standing out here lookin’ like a snack and expectin’ no one to notice? That’s not how the world works, baby.”

Your skin crawls. Daisy senses your unease and hugs your leg, her small face pressing into your thigh. This isn't shit you want your daughter listening to. You look toward the diner window, heart stuttering, hoping Bucky will come out soon so you can leave—but you can’t see him through the glare.

“I’m with someone,” you try, voice barely above a whisper. “Please just leave me alone.”

But he steps closer, eyes flicking over your neckline, a lecherous glint in his gaze.

“Bet he ain’t treatin’ you right,” he says. “Someone like you needs a real man.”

You stiffen. Fear flares like ice in your chest. You’re frozen—too aware of Daisy beside you, too afraid to escalate it. You want to scream, to grab her and run, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat tight.

Then a shadow moves behind the diner’s door.

It swings open with a sharp creak, and Bucky steps out.

He’s got that casual stride you’ve come to recognize, but it falters when he sees the scene in front of him. The way you’re backed against the brick wall. The man towering too close. Daisy gripping your jeans with white-knuckled fists, shoving her head into your plush thigh.

Everything about him changes.

He’s no longer relaxed. He’s ready, eyes dark, posture coiled tight like a spring. You’ve seen him in training before, but this is different. This is personal.

“Step away,” he says, calm but commanding. His voice is low, smooth, with a lethal edge.

The man turns lazily, trying to play it cool. “What’s it to you, man? Just chattin’.”

Bucky’s eyes don’t leave yours as he walks toward you. His jaw ticks once. “You’ve got three seconds to walk away.”

The guy scoffs. “Jesus, relax. What, she your girl or something?”

Bucky steps directly in front of you, placing himself between your body and the man without a word. His hand hovers behind him until it finds your arm—his touch is feather-light, just grounding enough to make you feel safe again.

“She said no,” Bucky says. “ Respect that and walk away.”

The man’s bravado falters. For a second, it looks like he might say something else, but then he meets Bucky’s eyes—sees the fire banked behind them—and decides against it.

“Bitch ain’t worth it anyway,” the guy mutters as he backs off and crosses the street, disappearing into the morning traffic.

Bucky doesn’t chase. Doesn’t gloat.

He just turns to you with such a sharp contrast of gentleness it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now. Softer.

You nod, blinking hard, because the adrenaline is crashing and your knees feel like they might give out.

He kneels down to Daisy first. “You good, peanut?”

She nods and wraps her arms around his neck without a word. He picks her up easily, one arm steady around her, the other reaching out to you.

His hand hovers at your elbow. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You don’t realize until later that he never let go of you the entire walk to the car. Not once.

------

The sun is warm on your skin, dappled through the canopy of leaves above the patio garden. A breeze carries the soft scent of lavender, brushing gently against your cheek as you watch Daisy stumble through the grass in her crooked little walk, chasing a butterfly with her tattered stuffed bunny clutched in one hand.

You wish you could bottle this moment—press it into your memory like a dried flower and keep it safe forever.

She laughs, shrill and delighted, and the sound fills your chest with something light and fragile. For a few seconds, you forget the way your mind has been knotted lately. The way Bucky looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The way your heart has started to ache when he’s not around.

You’re just beginning to reach for your water bottle when it happens.

The shift is almost imperceptible—just a strange sound. A soft click. Mechanical. Wrong.

You blink, eyes flicking to the far edge of the garden where the trees meet the wall. There—movement. Too smooth to be a squirrel. Not natural.

And then you hear it.

Bootsteps. Definitely not Bucky's. You've memorized the sound of his steps, the sound of him.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out. No one is supposed to be here. No one.

You stand slowly, carefully.

“Daisy,” you call, keeping your voice light, masking the ice creeping into your veins. “Come here, baby.”

She doesn’t sense the danger. Of course she doesn’t. She toddles toward you with a smile, holding her bunny up in triumph.

“Buh-fly!” she shouts.

You’re reaching for her when you see them.

Three figures step from the trees like shadows ripped from a nightmare—black gear, masked faces, purposeful steps. Hydra insignia on their arms.

Your stomach drops so hard you feel like you might vomit.

You don’t think. You run.

You grab Daisy and bolt toward the nearest sliding door, adrenaline thundering through your limbs. She’s screaming, clutching your neck, her bunny falling somewhere behind you—but you don’t stop.

You can’t.

You slam into the security panel with your elbow—jammed.

“Come on, come on, open—!”

Glass shatters behind you. You scream, twisting your body to shield Daisy from the blast as shards rain past your head. You get the door open just wide enough and shove through, shoulder first. The pain is instant—white-hot and sharp. Your ankle twists wrong as you hit the floor on the other side. You manage to curl Daisy into you protectively, shielding her from the floor.

But you don’t stop.

You run the best you can down the hall.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a war drum. Daisy sobs into your neck, tiny fists tangled in your hair.

You take a sharp left and nearly collide with Natasha.

She doesn’t ask questions. She takes one look at your face—at the blood already soaking your sleeve—and her eyes harden.

“Get out of sight. Now.”

She’s gone before you can answer, a red blur sprinting back down the hallway.

You limp through another door—Tony’s old lab. Dusty. Unused. But secure. Maybe.

Hopefully.

You scan the room with frantic eyes and spot a storage cabinet tucked behind a bench.

You fall to your knees, dragging the door open with trembling hands. It’s small, but enough.

“Baby, listen to me,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I need you to go in here, okay?”

Daisy’s eyes are round with confusion and fear. “No, Mommy! Don’t wanna! Mommy!”

You want to break. You want to sob and hold her and never let go. But you can’t.

You stroke her hair, trying to stay calm even as your body trembles.

“Bucky’s coming, okay? He’s coming. And you’re going to stay in here and be so brave. Just for a little bit. You don’t come out unless it’s me or Bucky. Only us. You understand?” He has to be coming.

Her lower lip trembles, but she nods.

You kiss her forehead and close the door as softly as you can. The click of the latch sounds too loud.

Then you turn.

A long metal rod lies on the bench. You grip it with both hands, ignoring the fire in your shoulder and the blood pooling at your side. You stand to guard the door.

The AI is offline. Every defense Tony built… silent.

The lights flicker. And die.

Darkness. Total.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

The hallway outside falls silent.

You can hear your own breathing, shallow and shaky.

Then—

They’re here.

The door bursts open.

Two agents flood in, weapons up. One scans the room. The other locks eyes with you.

“There she is,” he snarls.

You don’t wait. You swing.

The rod cracks across his helmet with a sickening thud. He stumbles, caught off guard. But the second one is already grabbing your arm, wrenching it back. You scream, twisting, kicking.

You fight like your life depends on it—because it does. Because hers does.

A sharp pain blossoms in your side. A knife. It slices in deep, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

You’re going down. The floor slams into your back. The world tilts sideways.

You hear Daisy cry from the cabinet. She must’ve heard you scream. She must know something’s wrong.

You try to get up.

But everything hurts.

The agent steps closer, raising something in his hand.

And then the door breaks down into pieces.

Bucky.

He doesn’t enter—he erupts into the room.

His metal arm crashes into the first man’s head, sending him into the wall with a crunch that turns your stomach. The other Hydra agent doesn’t even have time to react. Bucky’s already on him, fists flying, a snarl twisting his face into something wild. It all happens so fast.

You blink. You try to move. To speak.

He’s there before you can form a word, dropping to his knees beside you, covered in blood—not his.

“Y/N—Jesus—no, no, no—stay with me,” he says, hands already pressing to your side.

You gasp. “Closet. She’s in the closet—”

Steve bursts into the lab, his hair matted with sweat.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Steve!” he yells. “Get Daisy! She's in the closet.”

Bucky lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. His supersoldier strength. He curls you into his chest, clutching you tightly.

You’re bleeding. You know it. You can feel the warmth trickling down your back from your side. The copper taste in your mouth.

“Bucky,” you whisper, barely there. “Don’t let her see me like this.”

His jaw clenches. His voice breaks. “No one’s seeing you like this. You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you.”

You try to nod, but everything fades.

The last thing you hear is Steve telling Bucky to get you to the hospital wing.

---- Bucky POV ----

He had only stepped out for an hour.

Just an hour.

He’d seen a little stuffed bunny in a shop window that looked exactly like Daisy’s, and he bought it, heart warm. Then daisies in a flower bucket on the corner reminded him of Y/N’s smile. He bought those too.

He was almost back to the compound when he saw Peter webbing down two men in dark gear.

“What's going on?” Bucky demanded.

“They tried to sneak in. Hydra —somehow they got in the compound. They shut everything down and hacked our systems.”

Bucky’s blood turned ice-cold.

He bolted. Inside the building was chaos. Workers yelling. Agents fighting. Alarms screaming.

He sprinted toward the housing wing. Bodies. Shattered glass. And on the ground—Daisy’s bunny.

His chest caved in. No. No.

He scooped it up and ran, yelling their names, barreling through halls, slamming into walls, looking everywhere. He was halfway to the labs when the power went out.

He heard fighting. Screaming.

Then—

There she was.

Lying on the floor. Bleeding. Broken.

And they were still hurting her.

He lost control. The Hydra agents didn’t stand a chance.

He knelt beside her, panic rushing in.

Then Steve came. Found Daisy. Her little arms went around his neck, sobbing. Bucky was already scooping Y/N into his arms.

“Get her to the hospital wing,” Steve said. “I’ve got Daisy.”

And then he was running. Her blood warm on his skin. Her pulse—weak.

"Bruce!" Bucky barked as he stormed in.

Bruce was just shifting back to himself, shirt torn. “What the hell happened—”

“She’s bleeding out. She’s stabbed, concussed. Help her!”

“Put her down—give me space!”

Bucky hovered until Bruce barked at him. He backed up, but only barely.

Outside, Steve handed over Daisy. The toddler was sobbing, reaching out.

Bucky pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight. He kissed her forehead—first time ever.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mommy scared,” Daisy cried into his neck. “Loud noises.”

“I know. I know, baby.” His voice broke. “But you’re safe. I swear. I’ve got you.”

Steve stood beside him, covered in blood, holding the squished bunny.

“I wasn’t there,” Bucky muttered, eyes on the door. “They got to her. To Daisy. And I wasn’t there.”

“You didn’t know,” Steve said. “None of us did.”

“It’s my job to protect them,” Bucky snapped. “And I failed.”

Steve rested a hand on his shoulder. “All you can do is be there for them now.”

Bucky held Daisy tighter, tears stinging his eyes as he stared through the hospital glass… praying Y/N would wake up.

He wasn’t there in time. He broke his promise to protect Y/N and their daughter. And it kills him.

But he's here now.

And he’s not going anywhere.

-----

Darkness gives way slowly—thick, heavy, reluctant.

You blink against the light bleeding in from the corner of the room, every muscle aching like you’ve been dragged through fire. Your head throbs in dull waves. There’s a sterile scent in the air. The steady beep of a monitor somewhere near your ear.

Hospital.

You’re alive.

It takes effort to turn your head.

And when you do—your breath catches.

Across the room, on a long bench pressed against the wall, you see them.

Bucky.

He’s slumped back, one arm stretched protectively around Daisy, who is curled against his chest with her head tucked beneath his chin. Her little bunny is half-crushed in her arms. Her thumb is in her mouth, and one chubby hand fists the collar of his shirt.

She’s safe.

They both are.

Relief crashes over you in a sudden, overwhelming wave, and tears sting your eyes before you can stop them.

You shift slightly, a quiet groan escaping your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Bucky stirs.

His eyes open sluggishly, unfocused at first, blinking against sleep. Then they find you.

And everything changes.

“Y/N?” he breathes, voice rough and low, like it’s been fighting to come out for hours.

You offer him a weak smile. “Hey.”

His whole body tenses like he’s about to bolt from the bench, but then Daisy mumbles in her sleep, her grip tightening on his shirt.

He stills, hand pressing gently to her back. His eyes never leave yours.

You’ve never seen him like this.

His expression crumples.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, like he’s still trying to believe it. “God, you’re awake.”

You nod, barely.

“Daisy… she’s okay?” Your voice is hoarse. It hurts to talk. Everything hurts.

He nods quickly, eyes glassy. “She’s okay. Shaken up, but… she’s okay.”

You glance down at your side, where the pain is worst. Thick bandages. IV lines. Your arm is bruised from shoulder to wrist. There’s a stitch of fire still pulsing in your head—probably a concussion.

“You saved her,” you whisper, throat tightening. “You got there in time.”

He flinches like you hit him.

“No,” he says, voice thick. “I didn’t. I should’ve been there sooner. I wasn’t there. You were out there alone, fighting for your life—fighting for her—and I was—” His voice breaks. “I was buying her another fucking stuffed bunny.”

He gestures to the toy in her grip like it’s poison.

You blink slowly. The pain is catching up to you now, bleeding into every nerve. But your heart hurts more than any of it.

“Bucky…”

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “You could’ve died, Y/N. If I’d been five minutes later—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched. “She needed me,” he chokes, almost inaudible. “And you… you needed me. And I wasn’t there.”

There’s so much pain in his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Love, too—undeniable, raw, and trembling on the edge of every breath.

You lift your fingers, trembling, and reach toward him. He shifts forward instinctively, leaning in to meet you halfway, his large hand gently covering yours where it rests against the mattress.

“You are here,” you whisper. “We’re both alive. That’s what matters.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods slowly—but the torment doesn’t leave his face.

Daisy stirs again, mumbling something in her sleep. He looks down at her and adjusts the blanket around her tiny shoulders.

You see it—the way he looks at her. The way his expression softens with something that looks an awful lot like home. Like she belongs there. Like he does, too.

“I don’t want to ever see her that scared again,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you. “I never want her to look at me and wonder why I wasn’t there.”

“It's okay,” you whisper. “You didn't know, Bucky. No one knew. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He just leans his forehead gently against Daisy’s hair and closes his eyes. For a long, quiet moment, there’s only the sound of the machines and the soft hum of ventilation.

You watch him, your chest aching—not just from the injuries, but from something deeper. Something heavier. Something blooming in the space where fear used to live.

You’ve been scared for so long.

Of being alone. Of never being enough. Of always running.

But here—right now—you’re not running anymore.

You’re lying in a bed, broken but breathing, watching a man cradle your daughter like she’s everything in the world.

And in that moment, you know something with absolute certainty.

You’re not alone.

Not anymore.

------

The hospital smells like too much bleach and quiet grief. You hate it.

You grip your crutches tighter, the rubber pads biting into your palms as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Your ankle is still swollen—purple and angry beneath the compression wrap—but you can bear weight now, at least enough to hobble along if you have to.

“I’m okay,” you say, even though your voice lacks conviction. “I can do this.”

Across the room, Bucky watches you, unmoving. His arms are folded over his chest, but not out of impatience—more like he’s holding something in. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just crosses the room slowly until he’s beside you, his presence a wall of warmth.

Then, without a word, he slips his hand just beneath your elbow, steadying you.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he murmurs, so softly it feels like it slides directly into your chest.

You hesitate. It’s instinct to resist help, to prove you can handle it. But your body aches in ways you can’t push through tonight. So you nod once, small and reluctant.

“Thanks.”

He walks beside you, matching your pace exactly. One hand stays light on your back, the other at your forearm. He doesn't guide you so much as offer himself as a quiet anchor. His warmth seeps into your skin every time your shoulders brush.

The walk back to your room is long. The compound is still a fractured version of what it was before—scorch marks trail along the walls like smudged shadows. One hallway still smells faintly of smoke. Construction drones whir softly overhead, climbing scaffolding, piecing shattered metal and glass back together.

When you reach the residential wing, the air feels heavier. Familiar, but haunted.

The door opens to your space and before you can even step inside, Daisy spots you.

“Mommy!”

She shrieks your name and bolts across the room, her bare feet slapping the floor, arms open like she’s going to catch you. She doesn’t reach you—Bucky gently redirects her to her toys—but she clutches her stuffed bunny tight, her eyes bright and excited.

She’s okay. She’s okay.

The relief hits you so hard you nearly stumble, and Bucky’s hand immediately steadies your hip.

You make it to the bed, and he helps you down with careful precision, lifting your leg onto a stack of pillows without being asked. You sigh and let yourself lean back. Everything hurts. But not as much as it did before.

“You alright?” he asks, crouching beside you again.

You nod. “Thanks to you.”

His gaze lingers on you, eyes flickering over every bruise, every bandage.

“I know the building’s being patched up,” he starts, voice a bit lower now, “but if you want... I could stay in here. Just to keep you two safe. Just until things are back to normal.”

Your heart flutters—not fear this time, but something warmer, something unfamiliar and fragile.

“You want to stay?” you ask, tilting your head.

“If it’s okay with you,” he says, and his eyes are earnest, almost shy. “I’d sleep on the floor. Or the couch. Just... I don’t want anything getting past me again.”

There’s a quiet beat before you answer. He’s not pushing. He’s giving you a choice.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He nods once, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

The night unfolds slowly. Bucky helps Daisy into her pajamas, gently untangling her hair with his fingers when it knots behind her ears. You watch from the bed, silent, stunned at how easily he’s become part of your world.

Later, he’s sitting cross-legged beside Daisy’s little mattress on the floor, holding up a book with colorful pages.

“And then,” he says in a ridiculous voice, “the monster said, 'That's MY sandwich!'”

Daisy giggles uncontrollably, clutching her bunny to her chest. Her laughter bubbles in the air, warm and familiar.

You watch Bucky read, swapping voices between characters—gravelly one second, high-pitched the next. You’ve never seen this side of him before. It’s soft. Silly. Human.

When Daisy finally starts to drift off, Bucky leans in and brushes her hair back with two fingers. Then, gently, he presses a kiss to her forehead.

Your breath catches. Something about it is so tender, so instinctive, that your chest aches.

He rises quietly, turning toward the couch without fanfare. But before he walks away, he looks at you.

“You need anything?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking to the too-small couch, then back to him.

“If you want… you don’t have to take the couch,” you say. “You can stay here. On the bed. Like before.”

Bucky blinks, surprised. “You sure?”

You nod, your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I mean—it’s not fair for you to take the couch.”

He waits for one last signal from you. You lift the corner of the blanket slightly. He walks over and eases himself down—on top of the sheets again, not too close, but closer than before. The heat from his body spreads toward you like sunlight.

You both lie there, eyes on the ceiling, breath slowing.

“Goodnight, Buck,” you whisper.

“’Night,” he replies, voice low.

The room falls quiet, save for Daisy’s soft, even breathing.

You feel him shift slightly beside you, just enough that your hands almost brush. The comfort of him is magnetic. Steady. You close your eyes and feel safer than you have in days.

----

You don’t mean to fall asleep so close to him. It just… happens.

The night slips by in silence, warm and calm. And at some point—maybe hours after you both whispered your goodnights—his arm finds your waist.

Your bodies mold together, soft and steady, like they’ve been doing this for years. One of your hands rests against his chest, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your palm. His breath warms the top of your head, slow and even. He smells like soap and faintly of cologne.

You wake slowly, the way sunlight filters through cracked blinds. The air feels thick with comfort, soft with the weight of shared dreams.

And then a tiny thump jolts the bed.

“Mommy.”

A familiar voice, high and curious and so close.

You blink groggily. Daisy climbs up onto the bed in her little mismatched pajamas, a picture book clutched tightly in both hands. She’s smiling. Barefoot. Completely unaware of the fragile, tangled thing she’s just walked into.

You realize then: Bucky’s still holding you.

And you’re holding him.

His arm is snug around your waist, your legs a mess of tangled sheets and warmth. Your face is tucked into the hollow of his throat. There’s a beat—a held breath—as Bucky wakes up too. You feel his body tense against yours, a sharp inhale like he doesn’t know where he is or if he’s done something wrong.

You keep still. Let him have the moment.

Then you feel it. His grip eases. His body stays close, but less guarded. He doesn't pull away entirely. His hand remains right where it was, fingers spread softly over your side. Like he chooses to stay.

Your heart flutters, pounding almost embarrassingly loud in your chest.

Daisy plops down between you, wedging herself into the middle without a second thought. It forces a small space between you and Bucky, and the loss of his warmth makes your skin ache, just a little.

“Read book,” she demands, thrusting it toward him like a sacred offering.

Bucky blinks, still fighting sleep. “Yeah? You want this one?”

She nods emphatically, waves bouncing, and settles back against his side with the book in her lap.

You shift, sitting up slightly with the pillow behind you, careful not to jostle your ankle too much. Bucky adjusts too, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with you again, but neither of you mentions the way you woke up. You both feel it lingering in the air. Unspoken. Heavy in a good way.

He clears his throat, flips open the book.

The illustrations are colorful and round. Cartoonish creatures—tiny fuzzy things that look like puffballs with eyes—smile from every page.

“This one’s about a family,” Bucky says, his voice still scratchy from sleep. “See? There’s a momma, a baby, and… a daddy.”

Daisy leans forward, inspecting the pictures. Her little finger points.

“What’s a daddy?” she asks, curious.

You see the way Bucky’s jaw tightens for just a second. Like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. He glances at you, then back at her.

“Well…” he starts slowly, “A dad takes care of you. He keeps you safe. He makes sure you have food, and helps you when you’re sad. He’s someone who’s always there.”

Daisy turns, squinting at him. “Like you?”

The question hits the air like a firework. Your breath catches. Bucky stiffens again, visibly unsure—he doesn’t want to overstep. Not without your say.

You see it in his eyes. The hesitation. The longing.

You reach over and place your hand gently on his.

“Yes, baby,” you say softly, your voice warm and certain. “Bucky is your daddy.”

There’s a pause.

Then Daisy breaks into the widest, sunniest grin you’ve ever seen. Her little cheeks puff up, eyes sparkling.

“I like havin’ a daddy,” she says, the words slightly squished in the way only a two-year-old can manage.

Bucky just stares at her. His lips part, breath shallow, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“Daddy!” Daisy says brightly, testing it out. Then again. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Something melts on Bucky’s face. His eyes go soft. Wet, even. His mouth trembles with a smile, wide and stunned.

He pulls her into his arms with such care, so much reverence, like she’s made of glass and starlight.

He presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I’m your daddy, peanut.”

Your heart caves in on itself in the best way. You feel it all at once—the heat behind your eyes, the warmth in your chest, the quiet, overwhelming love blooming between the three of you like spring after a long, brutal winter.

Daisy giggles, nuzzling into him. “My Daddy,” she says again, soft and sure.

And this time, Bucky doesn’t hesitate at all. He presses a long, tender kiss on her forehead.

-----

The lounge is quiet except for the animated voices coming from the TV. Daisy is curled up on a floor cushion in front of the screen, her wide eyes fixed on the bright colors flashing across it. Her bunny is tucked beside her like a second limb. She's so absorbed in the movie that she hasn’t said a word in ten minutes—something of a miracle.

You’re seated on the couch, your ankle elevated on a pillow placed on the coffee table in front of you. Your hands wrap around a cup of tea that’s long gone lukewarm. Bucky is beside you, just close enough that your legs brush every so often when either of you shifts. He’s lounging in an effortless way—ankles crossed, one arm slung over the back of the couch.

That arm is the first thing that starts to short-circuit your brain.

He doesn’t touch you. Not directly. But it’s there, his arm resting behind you, a solid presence that makes it impossible to think straight. And it isn’t just that—it’s the way he tilts slightly toward you as he watches the movie, like he’s more interested in the way you laugh quietly than the film itself.

Your heart flutters wildly, hopelessly.

Is this… something?

Or is he just stretching? Just getting comfortable? He’s a nice guy. A gentleman. Maybe he doesn’t even realize what it’s doing to you—how every molecule in your body is suddenly on edge, how your brain is running at full speed trying to analyze the angle of his elbow.

You keep thinking back to the little things: the way he carries Daisy like she’s the most precious thing in the world. The way he always checks on you before you even know you need help. The way he held you last night, asleep but instinctively protective.

He doesn’t treat everyone like this… does he?

But then again—he’s kind. He’s good. This could all be nothing. Just who he is.

You shift slightly, pulling your cardigan tighter around you, hoping the movement will ground you. His fingers brush your shoulder when he adjusts his arm just a little—just enough to make you swallow hard and stare intently at the movie like it holds all the answers.

And then Daisy scrambles up onto the couch and wedges herself right between you. “Daddy!” she chirps, her grin wide. “Play with me!”

His arm drops from behind you without hesitation, and he turns toward her with a warm smile. “Yeah, peanut? What do you wanna play?”

You try not to miss the heat of his arm behind you. Try not to feel like something just slipped away. Natasha passes by the lounge, catching the scene from the doorway. She raises a perfectly arched brow as she glances between the three of you—Daisy bouncing on her knees, Bucky giving her his full attention, and you, very clearly flustered and overthinking.

She doesn’t say a word.

Just smirks, gives you a look that speaks volumes, and walks on.

You’re left there, heartbeat still tangled up in your ribs, wondering what she saw.

----

Later that day, you’re back in the lounge, needle and thread in hand as you patch up a tiny rip in one of Daisy’s shirts. The soft hum of laughter filters in from the patio—Daisy’s bright giggle and Bucky’s lower, amused chuckle as they chase shadows and bugs across the concrete.

They’re far enough that they can’t hear you, but close enough that you keep glancing at the glass doors like you can’t help it.

Natasha slides into the seat beside you like she’s been waiting for the right moment. She leans back, long legs crossed, and eyes the shirt in your hands.

“She’s lucky to have you,” she says, her voice casual but not careless. You've started to get to know her. You trust her.

“Thanks,” you murmur, tying a knot in the thread.

A pause. Then—

“So… you and Barnes?”

You look up, blinking. “What about us?”

She lifts a brow. “Are you together?”

You nearly prick your finger on the needle. “No! No, we’re—he’s just helping me. Helping Daisy. He’s… being nice.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is amused, not mocking. “He asked you out yet?”

You laugh softly, a little too tightly. “He doesn’t like me, Nat. He’s just being a good guy. That’s who he is. He's being a good coparent.”

Natasha gives you a look that cuts through all the excuses you’re clinging to. “That’s not what I see.”

You glance toward the patio again. Daisy is squatting in the grass now, poking a tiny stick at something, and Bucky is crouched beside her, totally engrossed in her world. The way he looks at her, like she’s everything.

Like you’re everything, when he looks at you.

“We’re friends,” you say, quieter now. “He’s been through hell, I've been through hell. We're just being there for each other and our daughter. And I’m just… someone he’s helping. That’s all. We're friends.”

Natasha leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Bucky doesn’t treat his friends like this. He’s polite to everyone, yeah. But you? He shows up for you. He’s with you every second he can be. He dotes on your every want and need. He doesn't do that with Steve. He looks at you like he’s afraid to blink.”

Your stomach flips, and your hands go still in your lap. That is true. He doesn't buy Steve flowers. His fingers don't linger on Natasha. He doesn't spend nearly as much time with everyone else as he does with us. Over the past few months that we've gotten to know him, his visits have evolved from a couple of minutes here and there to a couple of hours and eventually most of the day.

Well, that could just be because he wants to spend more time with Daisy. She is his kid after all. There's no way to avoid me since I'm usually with Daisy.

What if he's helping me because he thinks I'm too weak? That I can't do things on my own.

No. He wouldn't think that. Our friendship is not out of pity.

Right?

“I think he’s falling,” she adds confidently. “And I think you are too. You just don't know it yet.”

You don’t have a response. Not yet. The truth is loud in your chest, but fear muffles it. Fear of being wrong. Of reading too deeply again.

Outside, Bucky lifts Daisy high into the air while she squeals with delight, the sun catching in his hair, that rare smile on his face.

Your heart aches with something you’re not sure you’re ready to name.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

----

The kitchen smells like butter and garlic, like comfort and warmth and something that almost feels like home. You’re seated at the edge of the counter on a stool, your injured ankle propped on a pillow beneath you, a cutting board balanced on your lap. The knife moves slowly but confidently in your hand as you slice through carrots and celery for the soup.

Across the kitchen, Bucky stands beside Daisy at the island, helping her stir the cookie dough in a large mixing bowl. His hand gently covers hers on the wooden spoon, guiding her in a steady rhythm.

"You’re doing great, peanut," he says with that soft voice that turns your stomach to absolute mush. Daisy beams up at him like he hung the moon.

“I’m makin’ cookies!” she declares proudly, holding up the spoon, which promptly drips batter onto the counter.

Bucky chuckles. “You sure are.”

You can't help but smile as you listen, glancing up from your cutting board to watch the two of them. Your chest flutters. They're... adorable. Domestic. The way he gently brushes batter from Daisy’s cheek, the way she leans into him like he’s been her safe place forever. It all makes something warm pool low in your belly.

You stir the soup with one hand, slowly, carefully. A thought occurs to you, and you frown slightly, scanning the cabinets.

“We’re missing the bouillon cubes,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

You turn toward the seasoning cabinet and rise from the stool slowly, favoring your good leg. The cubes are at the very top shelf. Of course they are.

You stretch up carefully, balancing on your toes—but pain shoots up your ankle, sharp and immediate. You wince, hissing through your teeth, and start to lower yourself.

But then he’s there. Bucky.

You don’t even hear him move, but suddenly, his hand is gently pressed against your back, steadying you. He’s so close behind you, his presence almost overwhelming in the best way. His breath brushes the side of your cheek as he reaches up, grabbing the bouillon package from the top shelf with ease.

“Got it,” he says softly, handing it to you.

You take it from him, blinking, your fingers brushing his as you do. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest.

You realize just how close he is. His chest almost touches your back. His face is inches from yours, his jaw tense, brows drawn with concern.

“You shouldn’t be reaching for things like that,” he murmurs. “You’re still healing. Let me get things for you.”

Your mouth feels dry. “Thanks,” you say, your voice just a little too soft.

There’s a moment—a beat—where neither of you move.

His eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second. Your breath catches.

Then—

“Daddy! I put too much flour!” Daisy calls from behind.

He turns, giving you a little squeeze on your arm before stepping away. “Duty calls.”

You’re left standing there, breathless, clutching the bouillon package like it’s a lifeline.

Your ankle still aches.

But your heart? That’s what’s really throbbing.

----

Later that afternoon, the kitchen is warm with the scent of soup and cookies. Daisy is at the coffee table in the adjoining lounge, fully immersed in her coloring books, her feet kicking back and forth while she hums to herself off-key. You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your ankle propped up, still sore, though less than before. The pain comes and goes, but the stiffness sticks around.

Bucky’s leaning near the counter, drying off the last of the cookie trays with a towel in his hand, his sleeves pushed up. The sun streaming in through the windows hits him in all the right ways — softening the edges of him, catching in his hair, setting his skin in warm light. He looks domestic, handsome. You try not to look too long. Fail, obviously.

He glances at you, and his eyes are already waiting. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, lifting your cup. “I’m fine. Just stiff. Sitting helps.”

He hums low in his throat, tossing the towel onto the counter. “I meant from earlier.”

You blink, caught. “Oh. That. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You looked like you were in pain,” he says, taking a slow step closer. “You shouldn’t have tried to reach that shelf.”

“I didn’t think it would hurt.”

“You never think it will,” he says quietly, his mouth tugging into a crooked half-smile. “You’ve got this whole brave face thing down. But I see you.”

You look up at him, heat blooming beneath your skin.

He stops in front of you. Doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, with quiet ease, he drags the chair next to yours just a few inches closer before sitting down, the space between you now nonexistent. You feel the brush of his arm as he rests it casually along the back of your chair, not quite touching you — but enough to feel the air shift.

Your breath stutters. Your heart pounds. You feel like a teenager again, excited by the proximity of your crush.

He’s watching you again. Not teasing, not smirking. Just… watching. With that unreadable expression that makes your stomach flip.

“You don’t have to reach for things, y’know,” he says, voice low. “I’m right here.”

You don’t know what to say to that — because it’s not really about the soup or the cabinet anymore. Not really.

You try to recover, offering a quiet, “Thanks. For helping.”

His fingers brush the edge of your chair lightly — and your shoulder leans into it before you can stop yourself.

He notices. Doesn’t push it. Just lets his knuckles rest there, barely grazing you.

“Anytime,” he murmurs.

And just when it feels like your heart might rattle right out of your chest, Daisy looks up from the floor and proudly announces: “I drawed a daddy!”

Both your heads turn.

She’s holding up her page, her crayon scribbles a colorful mess, but there’s a stick figure with brown hair and a metal arm. You don’t even have to guess.

Bucky smiles — the softest thing you’ve ever seen on him. It takes over his whole face. His chest rises slowly, then falls. “That’s me, huh?” he says gently.

Daisy grins. “You got arms!”

“I do got arms,” he agrees, and he winks at her.

You can’t help it — you stare at him again. The way he looks at Daisy. The way he smiles. The way his voice softens around her name. The way it’s already become instinct for him to be near you.

And when he looks at you again, he doesn’t look away. You’re still wondering — does he know what he’s doing to you?

Then his hand, resting behind you, moves just a little closer. Not enough to press fully into your back. But enough to feel the heat. Enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You say nothing.

Neither does he.

But the space between you hums like something ready to bloom.

-----

Night settles softly over the compound, cloaking the broken halls and half-fixed walls in silence. Somewhere down the corridor, the distant hum of drills and welding sparks fades into rest, leaving your little shared room in a gentle hush.

You sit on the bed, leg propped up on a pillow. The dull ache of your ankle is manageable now, a background hum compared to the louder thoughts in your mind.

Natasha’s voice still echoes in your head.

He looks at you like he’s afraid to blink.

Your heart has been doing gymnastics all day, especially after that quiet moment on the couch—his arm behind you, his body leaned just a little too close. It could have been nothing. But maybe… it wasn’t.

You hear Daisy giggling, her voice muffled by the wall separating the sleeping nook from the rest of the room. Bucky is reading to her in that same funny voice he always uses, shifting tones between characters. You smile to yourself as you catch the tail end of it.

“…and that’s how the sleepy squirrel finally found his nut,” he says with exaggerated flair.

Daisy laughs. “Silly Squirrel!”

Bucky chuckles, and you can hear the mattress creak slightly as he helps her settle under the covers. “Alright, peanut. Time to close your eyes.”

You hear a tiny yawn, followed by a quiet, “G’night, daddy.”

“Night, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right nearby.”

A few moments later, the lights dim, and you feel the shift in the bed as Bucky makes his way back to you. This time, he doesn’t ask. He just climbs in beside you, slow and quiet, like it’s second nature now. Like he belongs there.

And maybe he does.

You don’t look at him right away—you’re not sure you can without your face giving something away. But you feel his warmth beside you, the edge of his blanket brushing against yours. You both lie there in the hush, the only sound the occasional rustle of Daisy shifting in her little bed.

Then—his hand finds yours.

It’s hesitant at first, the brush of his fingers against your knuckles making your breath catch. You glance down and see his hand, open, waiting—not grabbing, not pushing, just there, asking without asking.

And you give in.

You slip your fingers between his, and he holds on. His touch is warm, grounding, steady—and yet it makes your heart stutter in your chest like a drumline.

You can feel the smile tugging at your lips, even in the dark.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the tension drain from his shoulders. The way his thumb gently brushes against yours—like he’s just as relieved as you are.

Like this has been building for a while now, and he’s finally taken one step closer.

And you’re glad.

You’re so, so glad.

Sleep creeps in slowly after that, soft and easy with his hand in yours and the weight of him beside you. You close your eyes with your heart fluttering, your mind already imagining waking up the next morning with his fingers still tangled with yours.

You fall asleep hoping for more tomorrows like this one.

Maybe this isn’t just a crush.

Maybe it is the beginning of something real.

----- 3rd POV -----

The clang of metal echoes through the Avengers' training gym — rhythmic, sharp, familiar. Bucky grunts softly as he finishes his set of pull-ups, dropping lightly to the ground with practiced ease. Across from him, Steve is at the punching bag, sweat glistening at his brow as he moves with precise, controlled jabs.

They’ve been working out in silence for a while now, just like the old days. No need for words when muscle memory and old habits take over. But even now, Steve can sense it — something different in Bucky’s expression. Something weighing on his mind.

“You good?” Steve asks without looking up, landing one last hit before he lets the bag swing back into stillness.

Bucky pauses as he wipes his face with a towel, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he says, then follows it with a sigh. “No. I don’t know.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Talk to me.”

Bucky leans against the weight bench, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes drift to the floor. “You remember how I used to be with girls?”

Steve snorts. “How could I forget? You’d flirt with anything that breathed.”

A small grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, but it fades just as quickly. “Yeah. That guy… he was cocky. Easy charm, you know? Now, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something, and I don’t know how to take the next step.”

Steve’s smile softens. “This about Y/N?”

Bucky hesitates, but then nods. “Yeah.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and finally meets Steve’s eyes. “She’s… different. Not just from the girls I used to chase — I mean from anyone. She’s strong, kind, funny. She doesn’t treat me like I’m dangerous or broken, and when I’m with her, things feel… lighter. Better.”

Steve listens quietly, nodding.

Bucky continues, his voice lower. “And Daisy — that kid… she’s like sunshine, Steve. And she looks at me like I’m something good. Like I’m her world. And I want to be that. I want to protect them. Keep showing up for them. But it’s not just about being there. I want more.”

“You’re falling for her.”

Bucky’s expression is almost sheepish. “Yeah. I think-I think I am.”

Steve studies him for a moment. “So what’s stopping you?”

“I haven’t been on a date since before the war, Steve. Before Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier. I don’t know how to do this anymore. And she’s been through so much. I don’t want to mess this up, or make her uncomfortable. What if I read this whole thing wrong?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re not that guy from before the war anymore. And that’s not a bad thing. You’re someone stronger now. Someone who’s been through hell and still wants to love again. That’s not weakness — that’s courage.”

Bucky exhales, eyes distant. “She makes me want to be better. Softer. But I keep thinking… what if I’m not what she wants?”

Steve chuckles. “Buck, if you could see the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching, you wouldn’t be asking that.”

A beat of silence.

Bucky chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You think?”

“I know,” Steve says, a grin on his face. “You’ve already got one foot in the door. Just take the next step.”

Bucky’s shoulders loosen a little. There’s still doubt, still nerves — but now, there’s a flicker of hope too.

“Maybe I’ll ask her soon,” he murmurs.

Steve nods. “You’ll know when it’s the right moment.”

And for the first time in a long while, Bucky starts to believe that maybe — just maybe — he deserves that moment.

-----

It’s been a few weeks since the attack, and though you’re still adjusting to everything, today feels like a small step back into normalcy. Bucky’s been patient with you, never rushing, always understanding your hesitations. But today—today he’s determined to get you out of the compound, get you out of the bubble that’s formed around you, and take you shopping. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like you could do something like this, but Bucky wants to help, and you’re willing to try.

Daisy is practically bouncing off the walls, excited for the trip. She’s already picked out a few toys in her mind, but you know today is about more than just her. Bucky wants to make sure you have what you need too, and while that sounds wonderful, there’s a knot in your stomach that you can’t quite shake.

You haven’t been shopping for clothes in a while—not since before everything changed. You’re not sure how to feel about it, especially with your body and the changes it’s gone through. The idea of clothes shopping is a little nerve-wracking. You try to shake off the unease, but it lingers as you walk beside Bucky, who seems completely at ease in the bustling city.

His hand brushes against yours as he leads you into the store, a quiet gesture that makes your heart flutter, but you quickly distract yourself with Daisy’s chatter. She’s holding your hand tightly, pulling you toward the toy aisle, her excitement infectious. For a while, you forget about the worries in the back of your mind, watching as Bucky helps her pick out some new toys. He’s so attentive, so gentle with her, and it warms your heart to see them interact.

After a while, it’s time for you to pick out clothes. You feel a little nervous, not sure how this will go. Bucky’s voice is gentle when he tells you, “You deserve some new clothes, Y/N. Not just the stuff you were given.”

You start to protest, feeling the familiar tension in your chest. “I’m okay with what I have now, really—”

But he cuts you off, his tone firm but caring. “No. You deserve better than that. You don’t have to settle. Let me do this for you, okay?”

Your heart stirs at the way he says it, and you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s like this. He’s right. You do deserve to feel good about yourself, even if it makes you nervous. So you give in, nodding slightly, and follow him toward the clothing section.

Bucky leads you to a small section of dresses, watching as you sift through the racks, trying not to let the nerves show on your face. You’re not sure how to feel about the clothes in front of you—so many choices, and none of them feel quite right. There’s a beautiful dress that catches your eye, though, hanging on a rack in the corner. You run your fingers over the fabric, feeling how soft it is, how delicate. Maybe this one.

But when you pick it up, you hesitate, suddenly unsure. What if it doesn’t look good on you? What if it’s too much? Your insecurities swirl in your mind, and you find yourself questioning everything—Is it too tight? Too revealing? Will he think I look ridiculous?

You let out a small sigh, but you know you need to try it on. You want to try it on. So you grab the dress and head to the changing room. Bucky stays outside with Daisy, and you hear their laughter through the thin walls as you step into the fitting room.

You slip into the dress, the soft fabric hugging your curves in a way that feels unfamiliar, but also comfortable. You stand in front of the mirror for a moment, turning this way and that. The dress isn’t too tight; it’s just right, the color flattering your skin tone. But the uncertainty still lingers. You feel a little vulnerable, exposed. What if Bucky thinks it’s too much?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach. You feel beautiful, but also unsure. You wish you could ask someone—anyone—what they think.

And then, suddenly, you hear a soft bang bang bang on the door. You glance at the door, a little startled. “Mommy, come out! Mommy!” Daisy calls from the other side, her voice so sweet, so innocent, it makes your heart melt.

Bucky’s voice follows, softer, coaxing, “Daisy, let’s wait a little longer, okay? Mommy needs a bit of time.”

But Daisy isn’t having it. She starts tapping her little hands on the door, her impatience building, and before you know it, you can hear her feet shuffling.

You chuckle softly to yourself, feeling a warmth in your chest as you move toward the door, ready to open it for your little girl. You take one last glance at yourself in the mirror, hoping you look okay. You can do this.

You open the door, and there she is—Daisy, standing there with her wide, eager eyes, a grin spreading across her face. But her expression changes as soon as she sees you, and her eyes go wide.

Bucky is standing behind her, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently. But when he sees you, his gaze sharpens, the usual casual ease slipping away for a moment.

He freezes, and you notice the way his eyes widen as they roam over you, taking in the way the dress fits you, the way it flows and catches the light. His lips part slightly, and there’s a moment—a brief, breathless pause—before he says, “You... You look... stunning.”

The word lingers in the air, and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. You’re not sure what to say to that. You suddenly feel exposed, standing there in front of both him and Daisy. But you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Daisy, oblivious to the tension in the air, claps her hands, excited. “Mommy looks pretty!”

You bend down to give her a kiss on the forehead, still a little flustered. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Bucky clears his throat softly, and when you glance up at him, you see the way he’s still watching you—like he’s trying to commit the sight to memory. His gaze softens, and there’s a tenderness in his expression that makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t look at you like he’s just looking at the clothes. He looks at you like he sees you—like he’s amazed by you.

“You should get it,” Bucky says quietly, his voice low, sincere. “You deserve to feel good. To feel beautiful.”

You smile, a little unsure, but thankful for his words. You nod, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll get it. Thanks, B.”

For a moment, he freezes at the nickname, something he's never heard from you before. He smiles back, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before turning to Daisy, who’s now pulling on his hand, eager to move on to the next adventure.

“I’ll keep her entertained,” Bucky says, his voice soft, “You take your time. No rush.”

You nod, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest, as you step back into the dressing room to make your decision.

As you slip back into your regular clothes and head back to the main store area, you feel a sense of gratitude toward Bucky—his kindness, his genuine care for you. Maybe today is about more than just shopping. Maybe today is about him showing you that you deserve everything good that’s come your way.

You glance at Bucky as he helps Daisy pick out another toy, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

----

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

Taglist: @svtbpbts @vicmc624 @baw1066

[natalievoncatte]

Alex and Kara looked at each other. Kara stood before her desk in full Supergirl regalia, cape feeling heavy on her back.

“There has to be an explanation for this,” said Alex.

Kara couldn’t accept that. If Lena had gone no-contact for a time, that would be reasonable. She’d sometimes hole up in her lab for days at a time, barely sleeping or eating, consumed by an idea- but she would warn Kara first. She definitely wouldn’t no-show a brunch da… a brunch friend meetup between friends at their favorite patisserie and then go totally off radar for three days.

“She didn’t show up to our brunch,” Kara said. “We have to find her. I need to know she’s okay, Alex.”

Her sister sat back in her chair and looked back at her over her desk.

“Have you looked? You can cover more ground and do it faster than we ever could.”

“Of course I’ve *looked*,” said Kara. “That’s why I’m so worried. I flew past her apartment and things weren’t right. There was a mug of tea left out on the counter. The place was messy. Lena doesn’t do messy.”

“But no signs of a struggle,” said Alex.

“I called Jess and she said Lena left her a message saying she needed a few days away and she’d be back by Friday.”

“So,” said Alex, “sounds like you should wait until Friday.”

“She missed our date, Alex.”

There was a heavy, uncomfortable pause. Alex went very still, examining Kara with calculating eyes. She picked up a pen and toyed with it in both hands, frowning.

“Maybe she just needs space?”

“Why would she need space. I’m her best friend. We were having Sunday brunch. We have Sunday brunch every Sunday.”

Alex rocked slightly in her desk chair.

“Okay. I’ll order Brainy to start a search and we’ll see if we can pin her down, but Kara… she’s your friend. Sometimes friends need space. Something may have come up.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Then why wouldn’t she tell me? She wouldn’t just ghost me, Alex. I’m telling you she wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Alex began, “alright, like I said, we’ll start a search.”

She said something else, but Alex’s voice was drowned out by another.

Lex.

“Hello, Kara. Don’t move, don’t react. I’ve hacked the DEO systems and I’m broadcasting on a frequency your charming sister can’t hear, only you. You’re going to follow my instructions. Say okay, or there will be consequences.”

“Okay, Alex,” said Kara, “I’ll go home and try to relax.”

Kara had to use every ounce of her Kryptonian control over her muscles and breathing to appear calm.

“I’ll let you know if we wind anything.”

Kara nodded and turned to leave.

“Go to your locker, and change. You’ll find one of my agents has left a note with an address. Go there, and do not change back into that cheerful little costume of yours. This one is for Kara Danvers.

Thinking along the way, Kara walked silently to the locker room. Once she was inside, and free of cameras, she hurriedly texted Alex, urging her not to react or do anything obvious but that the system had been compromised and there was at least one Cadmus goon in the building.

Then, she changed. The note was in the pocket of her shirt.

Grinding her teeth, Kara left the DEO as a human did, on foot, and traversed National City as a human did, slowly. It didn’t take long for her to spot the drones; she was being watched.

The address wasn’t far, a small commercial building about ten blocks from the DEO, a nondescript brick block with roll-up garage doors not unlike a dozen others on the same street. Kara walked around to the side of the building where a glass door buzzed and unlocked.

Kara opened it and stepped inside. Immediately inside the entrance was just an empty vestibule with an occupied receptionists’s counter and an old chair. A sticky note hung on the wall with an arrow.

Following it, Kara found a solid door that was lined on the inside with lead, as were the walls, of course. She turned the knob, super-hearing amplifying the turning of its oiled core, and stepped through.

On the other side was a large pod hooked up to a variety of tubes and cables. As she walked in, Kara passed a bank of monitors lining the wall with the door. A Bluetooth speaker sat on a folding table. Lex’s voice carried from it.

“Hello, Kara.”

“What is this?”

“I know you’ve been frantically looking for my sister. She’s been here the entire time. Look- but don’t touch. You won’t like the consequences.”

As he spoke, the outer shell of the pod rotated open, revealing a tank of amber liquid. Lena floated inside, an oxygen mask on her face and sensors stuck to her body. She was dressed in a black bodysuit, and looked changed somehow. Kara wasn’t sure how, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Sleeping beauty herself.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Well,” said Lex, “it’s quite a long story and you’re a bit too dull to grasp the complexity so I’ll sum up: a little bit of Harun-El here, a bit of your DNA that my mother stole there, and a tiny sprinkle of a special bespoke Kryptonite with a very short half life… the short answer is that I’ve given my sister superpowers.”

Kara blinked.

“You… what? Why?”

Lex laughed, tinny and distant. “It’s simple really. It’s all about the final, secret ingredient, another type of Kryptonite radiation courtesy of my… what’s the word I’m looking for… my inferior imitator, Max Lord. You may remember it.”

“Lex,” Kara said. “What did you do?”

“Let me show you.”

The pod’s inner transparent walls opened and dumped Lena on the floor. She landed on her knees, gasping as she yanked the mask away from her mouth and stood up.

“Kara?” she said. “Where are we? How did we get here? I was about to leave for… I feel strange.”

Lena looked at her with wide wild eyes and Kara edged closer, her heart pounding harder with every step. Her dark hair was slicked back over her neck from the fluid in the tank and she looked pale, but her cheeks were just a touch fuller.

Then it hit Kara, why Lena had looked different. She looked to have put on fifteen pounds at least of muscle, adding a blocky quality to her shoulders, thickening her legs and biceps. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Lena dear,” said the tinny speaker, “sister mine. I must tell you something.”

Lena winced. “Why is he so loud? Wait, Lex? What is this? What did you do?”

Kara froze, a cold ball forming in her stomach. Oh great Rao.

She could see it. A faint hint of a red sparkle in the whites of Lena’s eyes.

Courtesy of Max Lord.

“Lena,” said Kara. “Listen, okay? Try to stay calm. I’ll get you som help.”

“No, listen to me,” Lex said. “I have a little secret to tell you.”

Lena’s gaze snapped around to the speaker. Behind Kara, the monitors turned on, and Lena’s eyes went wide. Kara paused for a moment and then turned, dread coiling like a serpent in her guts.

One monitor showed her catching a bullet. Another, yanking open her shirt to reveal the crest. Another… another… another. There was even one with a feed of her changing out of her suit in the DEO locker room.

“Kara Danvers,” Lex intoned, “is Supergirl. She lied to you. She’s been lying to you. She’s always lied to you. It’s just as I said- the alien has been using you since the start.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “He’s lying.”

Lena looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. “About you being Supergirl?”

“No, I am,” Kara admitted, “but I would never use you. I have my reasons why I didn’t tell you and I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first you need help. Lex has poisoned you. You will get very sick if we don’t take you back to the DEO.”

“So she can take your powers!” Lex said. “The powers I gave you. I didn’t poison you, I made you a god. We’re going be gods together, Lena. Once we rid the world of these alien freaks we’ll show the world a better tomorrow.”

“Lex,” said Lena, “shut the fuck up.”

“She lied, she lied!” the speaker cackled.

Lena looked at it. “Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you’ve dealt with the Kryptonian.”

Lena smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a baring of teeth.

“I see. I need a moment in private with Kara.”

Lena glanced at the speaker and it exploded in a shower of sparks and melted plastic, leaving scorch marks on the table.

Oh Rao. It took Kara years to use her heat vision. Lena had tapped into it in what, a minute?

“Lena,” Kara said, as softly as she dared. “I need you to listen to me.”

“No, you’re going to listen.”

Lena blurred. The impact shook Kara to the bones, rattled her teeth in the sockets. Before she knew what happened, she was against the wall, wrists held firmly in Lena’s hands, pinned above her head. Lena leaned in close, languidly pressing her entire body against Kara’s.

“Do you remember,” Lena husked, “that day in my office when you were being a little brat about doing your job and I called you to the carpet for it?”

Kara blinked.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I don’t think brat is the word I’d chose.”

“I would,” Lena said, her voice low and sultry, as she looked at Kara through her lashes. “That’s exactly what you were until I put you in your place, and then you were ready to be a good girl for me.”

Kara’s brain short circuited. It took her a half minute to stammer a few nonsense syllables as a jolt shot up her spine from low in her hips to the crown of her head, like she’d been plunged into frigid water.

Kara stared back at her, feeling a strange squirming pressure that she quickly realized was Lena pushing her thighs apart with one of her own, pressing her knee between them to drive her thigh muscle into Kara, against the apex of her legs.

“Interesting,” Lena whispered, her blow eyes scanning Kara’s features. “The flush is obvious… but the heat bloom on your skin and the pupil dilation.”

Kara gasped.

“See,” Lena whispered into Kara’s lips. “Good girl.”

Kara honest to God whimpered.

“My brother. Silly boy, probably thought I was going to go into a rage and kill you because you lied to me for so long.”

Kara nodded. “Yeah that was probably his plan.”

“He’s such a silly goose,” said Lena. “I’m sure he’ll be surprised when I rip his head off his neck.”

“Lena!”

“Oh come on, you know you want to. You must have thought about it. It would be so easy to just… finish it.”

“I have,” Kara admitted, “but it wouldn’t be right. I can’t just murder a man in cold blood.”

Lena’s body undulated against her.

“Please stop.”

“Why?”

“He exposed you to Red Kryptonite. You’re not thinking straight. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“It seems I’m the one who’s pinned you, miss Danvers. I don’t think you’re taking advantage.”

“Lena,” Kara said, “I want to talk, okay? I want to talk about all of this and… and take things slow. Your brother is probably watching this.”

“Let him,” said Lena. “I’ll be the icing on the cake. You know all this sturm and drang of his is just Lex throwing a tantrum because Clark wouldn’t fuck him.”

“Lena!”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kara. The way you look at my tits. We both know you want this.”

“Okay maybe I was looking,” Kara admitted, breathing harder. “You’re v-very… very pretty and I’ve been feeling things for you for a long time and… and Lena please I don’t want to do this like this.”

Lena drew back.

“You’re terrified.”

Kara nodded, biting her lip. Slowly, Lena released her grip on Kara’s wrists and stepped back.

“Please come with me to the DEO. It hasn’t been long but the longer you go without treatment the worse you’ll get. Pretty soon it won’t matter if I say no.”

Lena recoiled, horrified. “I would… I would never.”

“When I was poisoned like this, I threw Cat Grant off a building.”

“Apparently, it didn’t work. I’m sure she had it coming.”

“I almost killed Alex.”

Lena frowned. “Oh.”

Kara extended a hand. “Come with me, okay?”

Lena hesitated, then closed a firm grip around Kara’s outstretched palm and let Kara lead her back to the door. Kara took a sharp breath and guided Lena outside.

As soon as they hit the open air, Lena clapped her hands over her ears and screamed.

“Kara! Kara, what’s happening, what is this?”

“It’s your super-senses. Just try to focus on one sound. Here.”

Kara pulled her into an embrace, guiding her ear to Kara’s chest as Eliza once did for her. Gritting her teeth, Lena locked her arms around Kara and breathed hard, squeezing Kara’s ribs.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

Finally, Alex showed up with five vans full of DEO agents. Kara focused on guiding Lena into the back of one of the vans.

“Was he here?” said Alex.

“Clear the building and all that but get us back to the DEO now,” Kara demanded. “Tell Brainy to get the Red K protocol ready.”

“What? Oh God, Kara, have you been exposed?”

“No, Lena has.”

Alex blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Just get us back!”

Alex turned and made a motion at the driver and the van backed into a j-turn. Lena was still clinging to her.

“Kara, it’s too much, it hurts.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get you some noise canceling headphones when we get back. Just listen to my heart, okay?”

Lena nodded against her chest.

When they finally arrived, Kara gently picked Lena up and carried her inside and directly to the med bay, laying her on a the sunbed, while Brainy helped Alex set up the Red Kryptonite scrubber protocol.

Lena relaxed into the bed as Kara placed the headphones on her.

“Kara,” said Alex. “A word.”

Kara followed her outside, then immediately dumped everything on her.

Alex blinked a few times.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” said Kara.

“You didn’t have to be that detailed, Kara. I could have gone without you describing Lena doing the knee thing to my little sister.”

“The what?”

Alex rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. She’s going to be okay. Except she has superpowers now. She still needs a complete physical, just to make sure he didn’t do anything else, no surprises.”

“Right.”

“I can’t believe that was his whole plan. Make Lena a super and expose her to Red Kryptonite?”

“If he could give her powers, he could give himself powers, or someone else. This is serious, Alex.”

“I know, but seriously, what did he think was going to happen? She’d lose her mind and attack you?”

“I think that was the idea, yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is a lot. One step at a time. We’ll need to find him. Let your girl sleep off the treatments and we’ll talk to her, see what she knows that might help us.”

“My girl?” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes.

Kara was on the balcony when Lena joined her, having changed into a borrowed set of DEO fatigues. She nervously walked out into the night air and leaned next to Kara.

“Have you adjusted to the noise?”

“Yes, but I…” she trailed off.

Lena stood up and her gaze fell upwards. She stared at the sky, dumbfounded.

“There’s… there’s an aurora. There’s an aurora and… colors. My God, is this how you see it?”

“Yeah,” Kara said softly, too busy staring at Lena.

Finally, Lena looked at her.

“About earlier. I’m sorry. I pushed boundaries and… thinking about it scared me. I would never hurt you, Kara.”

“I know,” said Kara. “I know that, but I also know what it’s like to be exposed to that stuff, to have all your worst thoughts come to the surface. To not feel control of yourself. I forgive you.”

Lena nodded, wringing her hands.

“About what I said, though.”

“About what you said.”

Kara turned and lunged, pulling Lena to her, lifting her slightly off her feet. Lena’s eyes went wide.

“Is this okay?”

Lena blinked a few times and nodded.

Kara kissed her.

She kissed her freely, without worrying about injuring her. She held her the same way, pressing firmly. Lena’s hands curled around her arms with stunning strength and Kara felt her belly do a backflip as Lena actually pushed her back a step and into the balcony railing.

Kara didn’t have to worry about hurting her. She didn’t have to hold back. Lena apparently had never even considered holding back, because she was apparently going for the Knee Thing again. Kara thought she heard the sound of something cracking, but that made no sense.

“Kara!” Alex barked.

Kara broke from the kiss, looking over Lena’s shoulder to find Alex glaring at her.

“Kara,” said Alex, “I’m glad you two dipshits finally realized that you’re dating, but please do not destroy the building.”

Kara furrowed her brows, then looked down to realize that her butt had cratered the retraining wall behind her.

“Oh,” said Kara. “Right.”

“We need to talk about next steps. Lena, I need to know what you know about-“

“Lex is, or was, at an old LuthorCorp satellite lab in Central City. I recognized the background sounds while he was talking.”

“Oh. Okay. We should-“

“Later,” said Lena.

Alex put her fists on her hips. “I don’t work for you, Luthor.”

“True, but your sister does,” said Lena. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Um, yes,” Kara said softly.

“I hate my life,” Alex muttered, as she stormed back inside.

Lena turned her full attention back to Kara, tilting her chin down to look at her through her eyelashes and smirk.

“Now, let’s pick up where we left off.”

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise  your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

[kysstar]

SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER THREE : DARK CORNERS

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.

genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

chapter warnings : : mention(s) of 'y/n', fear of darkness, tight spaces

word count : : 3.9k

[series masterlist]

—Of all the things Captain Kim Hongjoong had planned for the day, strolling through the fish-stinking streets of Sakaris with a royal pain in his ass at his side wasn’t one of them.

Yet here you were, and here he was.

He walked a step behind you—on purpose. Close enough to keep you in reach if you did something reckless, but far enough to pretend he didn’t have to talk to you. You were quiet, for once, which he appreciated. Still, it was obvious you were trying too hard not to look lost. You held your chin high, but your boots scraped awkwardly against the cobblestone, like you hadn’t quite figured out how to walk without someone smoothing the path for you.

“You’re walking like the ground personally offended you,” Hongjoong said, voice dry.

You didn’t even look at him. “And you’re following me like I’m going to vanish into thin air.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a royal lied.”

You gave him a side glance. “I said I needed five minutes to deliver a letter, not launch a coup.”

“Same thing with your people.”

You snorted, turning back to the street. “Your bitterness is exhausting.”

“And your entitlement is loud.”

You said nothing, but he caught the faint twitch at the corner of your mouth. Not quite a smile. Just a crack in the armor. He hated that he noticed.

You moved through it all with careful footing, eyes scanning the storefronts until you spotted it. A narrow wooden shop pressed between two crumbling stone buildings. No sign, just a small brass symbol carved into the frame—Jihoon’s mark. You knew it immediately. The edges of your shoulders loosened as you stepped toward the door.

“This is it,” you said, half-turning toward him.

He glanced at the shop, then at you. “Huh. I was expecting something with more guards and secret passageways.”

“He’s a merchant,” you said. “Not a revolutionary.”

“Same thing,” he muttered.

You stepped closer to the door, placing a hand on the latch, but Hongjoong followed with a step of his own.

“I’ll go alone,” you said, pausing to look back at him.

He raised a brow. “Yeah, no. I don’t trust you not to signal a fleet from under the floorboards.”

“Are you serious?”

He gestured vaguely to your whole existence. “You’re royalty. Lying is practically in the training.”

“I’m not asking to disappear,” you said, your tone calm, clipped. “I’m asking for privacy. This is for my brother.”

He studied you for a beat too long. Then, with a huff and the kind of reluctance you could feel, he leaned against the wall beside the shop door, folding his arms. “Five minutes,” he said. “If you’re not out by then, I’m kicking this door in.”

You tilted your head, unfazed. “I’d expect nothing less from a pirate.”

He smirked. “And I’d expect nothing less from a princess than making me regret this.”

You opened the door and slipped inside without another word.

Behind you, Hongjoong stared at the door, jaw tight, arms crossed. He didn’t like you, didn’t trust you, didn’t even fully understand why you were still on his ship. But one thing was certain: if this went sideways, he wouldn’t hesitate to burn the entire street down to keep it contained.

Even if it meant dragging you back through the smoke himself.

—The shop was quiet when you entered—cooler, dimmer, lit only by narrow windows and the soft gold of a hanging oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with everything from ink jars to bolts of fabric, stacks of papers to chipped ceramic cups. It smelled like old wood, ink, and lavender.

Behind the counter, Jihoon was hunched over a ledger, muttering numbers under his breath, quill scratching away. He looked older than the last time you saw him. His hair was longer now, tied back at the nape, and there were faint lines near his eyes.

“Jihoon?”

He didn’t look up at first. “One second—almost finished with—” He stopped midsentence, eyes lifting slowly.

He blinked. Then blinked again. His brow creased. “Can I… help you?”

You blinked, then gave a tight smile. “Wow. That’s a warm welcome.”

He squinted at you. And then—very slowly—it clicked.

“Wait… no.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Yes.”

He stared for a long second, his mouth parting. “What—what the hell—?” He rounded the counter without hesitation, eyes wide, voice dropping. “What happened to you? You disappeared. No one’s heard anything. There are rumors—”

“I know,” you interrupted gently.

He stopped in front of you, not quite reaching out, but clearly wanting to. “You’re wearing—what are you wearing? And what happened to your face?”

You tried to smile, weakly. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You are very obviously not okay,” he said, looking you up and down again. “Are you alone? Where have you been?”

“I can’t say,” you replied too quickly. “I—I shouldn’t say.”

Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “Are you being watched?”

“No—yes—not like that. I just...” You stopped, exhaling. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he echoed. “Your family thinks you’ve been kidnapped.”

You winced. “I know.”

“Everyone’s saying—”

“I know.”

You sank onto the bench by the counter, suddenly tired. “I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Then what happened?”

You looked at him, trusting him more than you probably should’ve in that moment. “My parents arranged a marriage. Prince Chanwoo.”

His face twisted with instant revulsion. “Are you serious? The one from—”

“Yes. That one.”

Jihoon looked like he might throw something. “He killed his wives, Y/N. That family is—”

“Superstitious. Cruel. Ruthless. I know.” You gave him a tight smile. “My parents don’t care. They wanted the alliance.”

“And what, you just… ran?”

“I didn’t want to disappear,” you said quietly. “I just needed to buy time. If I can stay away long enough—just a few weeks—their timeline falls apart. They’ll call it off. I can go back without a noose disguised as a wedding ring.”

He stared at you for a long moment, jaw clenched, then looked away like he needed to pace but didn’t have the room for it.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the small folded letter you’d written that morning. “I need you to get this to Taeyang. Quietly. Make sure it’s him who reads it.”

Jihoon stepped forward and took it gently from your hands. “You’re telling him you’re safe?”

You nodded. “Safe enough. I just don’t want him to waste resources or—” You faltered. “He’ll tear the continent apart if he thinks I’ve been taken.”

Jihoon exhaled slowly, folding the letter with careful hands. “He’ll listen to me. I’ll get it to him.”

“Thank you.”

Jihoon suddenly pulled you into a hug, the kind that didn’t need words to mean something. You stiffened for half a second, then melted into it.

It had been too long since someone held you like that. Not as a bargaining chip. Not as a political piece. Just you.

“Next time,” he said into your hair, “warn me before you show up in disguise.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Wasn’t exactly planned.”

He pulled back but kept his hands on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to see what you weren’t saying.

“Don’t get caught,” he said.

“I won’t.”

You stepped back from Jihoon, giving him a final, grateful nod before opening the door and slipping back into the street.

Hongjoong was exactly where you’d left him—arms folded, one boot braced against the wall, expression bored but alert. His eyes flicked to you the second the door opened.

“Took long enough,” he said.

You walked past him, ignoring the bite in his tone. “It was a letter, not a duel.”

He fell into step beside you as you merged back into the crowd. “Didn’t look like just a letter. You two were talking like old friends.”

“We are.”

“Right.” His voice dropped. “And I’m sure he didn’t slip you a secret knife or instructions to sneak out of my ship in the night.”

You gave him a sharp glance. “Must be exhausting, thinking everyone’s plotting against you.”

“I sleep great,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes and kept walking.

The crowd shifted around you, merchants shouting, the breeze catching the scent of salt and dried fruit and engine smoke from one of the cargo ships being offloaded near the dock. The noise was too loud, too chaotic. You barely heard the clang of armor over it.

But you saw it and your heart stopped. Ahead—barely ten paces—three guards.

No, Royal guards.

You knew those uniforms. The crest on their breastplates. The colors. The way they stood—stiff, alert, scanning faces with forced calm.

Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed Hongjoong’s coat sleeve.

He stopped, frowning. “What now—?”

“They’re here,” you whispered, eyes locked ahead. “Guards. From the palace.”

His head snapped toward the direction you were looking, and for a second you thought he wouldn’t believe you. But then his eyes narrowed, jaw tightening when he caught the glint of metal and the unmistakable gold-and-crimson trim of the kingdom’s crest.

“Shit,” he muttered.

You didn’t wait for him to decide. You pulled his arm hard and ducked behind the nearest stall—one covered in baskets of spices, the air thick with pepper and dried rosemary.

“What are they doing here?” Hongjoong hissed, crouched beside you.

“I don’t know,” you said quickly, peeking between sacks of grain. “They must be checking port towns. Looking for me.”

He glanced around the market—narrow alleys, back routes, hundreds of people—but nowhere to hide if they got spotted.

“Stay low,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist. “Don’t argue.”

“Where are we—”

But he was already moving, dragging you with him, weaving through bodies and crates, dodging between vendors and half-covered stalls. His grip on your wrist was firm—not painful, but close. Like if he let go for a second, you'd vanish.

You glanced over your shoulder and spotted one of the guards looking in your direction.

“Faster,” you hissed.

“I know,” he snapped.

You ducked under a merchant’s hanging linens, the fabric snapping against your face like sails in a storm. The world narrowed to motion and instinct—Hongjoong’s hand still wrapped tightly around your wrist, the shout of guards somewhere behind you, the sharp stink of fish and seawater and rusted iron choking the air.

The gangway creaked as the two of you bounded up the narrow ramp, your breathing uneven, lungs burning with each pull of air. Your boots hit the deck hard. Crew members looked up from their tasks, startled by the sudden arrival.

Seonghwa was the first to move. He stepped forward from the port side, brows drawn. “What happened?”

Hongjoong didn’t slow, barely glancing over his shoulder. “The princess’s royal dogs are here.”

You pulled your hand out of his grip roughly, chest rising and falling. “I didn’t call them.”

“But they’re here because of you,” he snapped back.

You spun on him, eyes blazing. “If you hadn’t kidnapped the wrong girl, none of this would’ve—"

“Enough,” Seonghwa said, sharp. “Both of you.”

He turned toward the helm. “We need to move. Now.”

You were still catching your breath, the ship’s deck suddenly feeling too exposed, too wide. Before anyone else could speak, they heard knocking from the bottom of the ship.

Hongjoong moved toward the edge of the ship, leaning carefully over the side.

Below, docked against the hull, stood two men in royal guard armor—clearly trying to look casual, but failing. One was already lifting his hand to knock again.

“Shit,” Hongjoong hissed.

He turned on his heel, scanning the deck with a sharp flick of his eyes. “Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung looked up from a barrel he was leaning on. “Captain?”

“Hide her. Now.”

Before you could react, a hand wrapped around your wrist again—tighter this time, pulling you away from the open deck.

“Wait—”

“No time,” Wooyoung muttered, already dragging you toward the stairs below deck, moving fast but quiet, his eyes flicking toward the edge of the ship.

You reached the lower deck, dim and swaying, lit only by the occasional lantern hanging low from rusted hooks. Barrels and crates lined the walls. Rope coils, sacks of dried goods, locked cabinets of supplies. But no obvious hiding place.

Wooyoung was scanning everything, teeth gritted, muttering to himself as he moved. “Come on, come on, where—where the fuck—”

You followed him, heart hammering, feet echoing against the old wood. The knock from above sounded again. Muffled now, but closer. Heavy bootsteps overhead.

“They’re already on the ship,” you whispered, voice tight.

“I know,” he hissed.

Finally, he stopped in front of a large wooden storage hatch. It looked like it hadn't been opened in a while—sealed tight, the kind that blended into the floor. He dropped to one knee, hands working the latch free.

He pried it open, revealing a black pit of a space—barely large enough for you to curl into. Musty air wafted out, thick with salt, rot, and something old. You peered in.

It was dark. Utterly lightless. A small box of nothing.

“No,” you said instantly, stepping back. “Not in there.”

Wooyoung turned to you, eyes wild. “It’s the only place.”

“There has to be something else.”

“There isn’t,” he said, voice rising just a notch. “Every other room has a door they can open. You hide behind a curtain, they’ll find you. You hide in a crate, they’ll open it. This is it.”

You shook your head. “I—I can’t. I can’t see anything in there.”

He stood quickly, grabbed your arms. “Look at me.”

His face was close, too close, his voice lowered now but firm. “They are going to tear this ship apart. Do you understand that? If they find you, it’s over. For all of us.”

You clenched your jaw, heart stammering, eyes flicking back to the hatch. That space was so small. Too dark.

Wooyoung gently but forcefully turned you, guiding you down, his hands pressing between your shoulder blades. You resisted at first, but your legs gave way under the weight of fear, and before you could stop him, you were crouching, being pushed forward into the crawl space.

The scent hit you fully inside—dust and wood and salt and stillness.

“No, no, Wooyoung—”

“You’ll be fine,” he muttered, forcing the lid halfway closed. “Just breathe.”

And then darkness.

—The two royal guards stood at the edge of the ship, sunlight gleaming off their armor, polished and pristine like they had marched straight out of the palace halls. They looked too clean for Sakaris. Too stiff. Like they’d never once slipped in fish-gutted mud or ducked a thrown bottle.

Hongjoong met them at the center of the deck, arms crossed, coat brushing his boots in the sea breeze. His face was unreadable. Pleasant, almost. Neutral in the way that made people uncomfortable without knowing why.

“Captain,” the older one said. His voice was formal. Flat. “We’re looking for someone.”

“Someone important, I take it,” Hongjoong replied casually, as if they were discussing spoiled cargo.

The younger guard stepped forward slightly. “A woman. The Princess of the Eastern Court. She went missing from the capital and was last seen near this port.”

“A princess,” Hongjoong echoed, with just the right amount of amusement. “Can’t say we’ve had any tiaras come through here. Wrong ship for that, I’m afraid.”

The older one didn’t blink. “May we look around?”

Hongjoong's smile didn’t falter. His eyes flicked to the side—just in time to see Wooyoung emerge from below deck, walking slowly across the deck like he had all the time in the world. His posture was casual, face unreadable, but just before he reached the others, he caught Hongjoong’s eye and gave the smallest nod.

Hongjoong turned back to the guards and grinned. “Of course. Be my guest.”

The guards split off—one heading toward the bow, the other down into the belly of the ship. Hongjoong followed them, slow and deliberate, Seonghwa appearing like a shadow at his side.

The older guard began opening crates, checking behind barrels. His hands were methodical. Hongjoong’s eyes moved ahead of him, scanning for anything out of place—anything that might give you away.

And then he saw it.

A glint of pearl on the floor—tiny, pale, nestled against the base of a supply shelf.

Hair clip.

His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. He stepped forward casually, just as the guard turned his back to check a barrel.

With a lazy flick of his foot, Hongjoong kicked the pearl clip under a wooden crate near Seonghwa’s boots.

Seonghwa caught the movement, crouched beside the crate like he was tying his boot, and in one smooth motion, slid the pearl into his coat pocket.

By the time the guards finished searching, they’d found nothing. Not a scrap of silk, not a hair out of place. Not even a fingerprint the sea couldn’t claim.

Back on the main deck, the older guard gave a tight nod. “Thank you for your cooperation, Captain.”

Hongjoong dipped his head slightly, all charm and cordial distance. “Of course. I hope you find your princess soon.”

And the second their boots hit the dock, Hongjoong’s smile vanished like it had never been there at all.

“Seonghwa!” he snapped, voice cutting through the air like a crack of lightning. “Get us off this dock. Now. Sails up, ropes off. I want distance between us and Sakaris before the next royal worm decides to knock.”

“Aye, Captain,” Seonghwa called from the helm, already moving.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong barked next, eyes scanning the deck. “Where is she?”

Wooyoung had just barely exhaled when he answered, nodding toward the lower deck. “Storage hatch. The hidden one under the dry goods. She’s fine. Just—”

But Hongjoong was already moving, boots hitting the wood hard as he crossed the deck and stormed down the steps. The noise of the port faded behind him as he descended, the ship groaning around him, the lanternlight casting flickering shadows across the narrow halls.

He reached the hatch Wooyoung had described and crouched low, fingers brushing the edge of the lid. It wasn’t locked. Just heavy. His hands wrapped around the edge and lifted, slowly, careful not to slam it or startle anything below.

What he found made something in his chest pull taut.

You were curled in on yourself, knees drawn close, arms hugging your sides, eyes shut tight. You weren’t asleep. Not really. But you weren’t fully here either—lost somewhere in the dark. Your breathing was too shallow. Your fingers trembled just slightly.

He should’ve guessed—people like you, raised in light, wrapped in candlelit halls and silken beds, weren’t made for pitch-black crates that smelled of salt and rot. You weren’t built for stillness like this. Not like this.

Hongjoong leaned down a little, his voice dropping low, steady. “Hey.”

Your head jerked slightly, breath catching.

“It’s just me,” he said. “They’re gone. Come on.”

He didn’t wait. His hand reached down, not rough this time, waiting. You hesitated at first, but then, slowly, you took it.

He pulled you up gently, easing you out of the dark like peeling something delicate from the sea. You stood, shaky at first, eyes squinting against the dim lantern light, hair clinging to your face.

For a second, he didn’t say anything else. Just looked at you.

Then, because he couldn’t help himself, because he was him, he cleared his throat and let the softness bleed from his face.

“You really are high maintenance,” he said suddenly, tone flipping like a switch. “Can’t handle a little darkness now?”

You blinked once, the sting of his words hitting harder than they should’ve. That brief flicker of warmth—the care, the voice that didn’t bite—gone like it was never there.

You glared at him, but it lacked heat. Your voice was quieter now. “I wasn’t built for hiding in holes.”

“No,” he said, stepping back, smirk curving his mouth. “You were built for thrones, I’m sure.”

You stood straighter. “And you were built for gallows.”

He gave a low laugh, already turning away. “There she is.”

You just turned on your heel, boots thudding with more force than needed, your back straight despite the ache in your shoulders, and your voice gone quiet—not because you had nothing to say, but because he didn’t deserve to hear it.

—The sea was quieter at night. Not silent, but quieter. The creak of the wood beneath your boots, the faint whisper of wind through the rigging, the rhythmic hush of waves licking the sides of the hull.

You stepped out onto the main deck, expecting it to be empty. It usually was, at this hour.

Maybe you’d pass Seonghwa or Yeosang near the helm, the former quietly adjusting stars, the latter flipping through maps by lamplight. But the moment your boots hit the planks and your eyes adjusted to the dark, you saw him.

Hongjoong.

Standing near the railing, coat draped around his shoulders, head tilted slightly up like he was studying the stars. The wind tugged at his hair—black and blonde messy in the breeze—and his hand held a mug, probably full of whatever rotgut they called rum on this ship.

Your first instinct was to turn back. Leave. Return below deck and spare yourself whatever mood he was in. After everything, the last thing you needed was another round of whatever he considered conversation.

You started to pivot on your heel—

“Leaving already?” His voice cut through the quiet, flat and sharp all at once. “That’s unlike you. I thought royalty liked making an entrance.”

Slowly, you turned back. “I was trying to avoid a headache.”

He chuckled, low and humorless. “Should’ve tried that before getting kidnapped.”

You stepped onto the deck, squaring your shoulders. “I wasn’t exactly scheduling that part.”

“Right,” he said, taking a sip. “Poor thing. Must be hard, going a day without someone bowing in your direction.”

You walked past him, just enough to keep a breath of space between you, and leaned on the opposite railing. “Do you ever get tired?”

“Of what?”

“This,” you said, waving a hand at him. “The sneering. The constant need to remind me how much you hate me. Or is it just pirates in general?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said evenly. “I hate everything you represent.”

You turned to face him. “And what’s that, exactly?”

He gestured with his mug. “Power you didn’t earn. Comfort built on someone else’s back. People with rings worth more than entire villages, making laws for people they’ve never spoken to.”

Your jaw clenched. “You think I wrote those laws? You think I wanted to be part of this—this cage of silk and strategy and marriage alliances?”

“Doesn’t matter what you want.”

“It does when it ruins my life.”

He turned back toward the sea, quiet for a second. Then:

“You still have a life to ruin.”

That one cut deeper than it should’ve.

You looked at him then—not at the captain, not the pirate, but the man. And all you saw was a wall. Stone and salt and jagged edges. A man who hated you for the name you carried, for the blood in your veins, for things you never asked to be born into.

And yet somehow, standing here under moonlight, you hated him more.

You hated the way he looked at you like he already knew who you were. Hated that he wouldn’t let you forget it. Hated that you were stuck on his ship, in his world.

You hated him.

And you’d gladly drown him in the very sea he thinks he owns.

© kysstar

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[aleese1111]

the check up | na baek jin x fem!reader

summary: Sent by Mr. Choi to check up on her, Baek Jin arrives to find her lounging provocatively by the pool, teasing him with every move. As their playful tension builds, their flirtation suddenly takes a sharp turn, leaving the air thick with unspoken promises and the lingering question—will they cross the line, or will something stop them at the last moment?

warnings: suggestive content, forbidden romance, mdni.

author's note: im gonna eat him upppp... his scrumptious soft looking lips. requests

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

the sky was so blue it hurt to look at. the sun poured down like molten gold, bleaching the pale marble that ringed the massive pool behind the estate. it was the kind of afternoon that made the air shimmer, the cicadas hum louder, and idleness feel almost erotic.

she was sprawled on her stomach across a lounger by the pool, her body barely covered in the smallest bikini she owned—black, strappy, sinful. the strings curved high over her hips, the top a daring arrangement of triangles and hope. she lounged like she ruled the estate, sunglasses perched on her nose, her skin glistening with tanning oil. a half-melted glass of something cold and citrusy sat within arm’s reach, untouched.

two maids were folding towels and adjusting umbrellas nearby, talking quietly.

the heavy wrought-iron gate at the side of the estate creaked open.

she didn’t lift her head. she didn’t need to.

the footsteps that followed were slow, deliberate. a man’s pace. familiar weight.

she smiled to herself. “unless you’re here to oil my back,” she said, voice syrup-smooth, “walk away.”

a pause.

“no oil,” came that deep voice, steady as always. “just me.”

now, she moved.

without glancing at the maids, she flicked two fingers in the air—a lazy, deliberate gesture. a queen dismissing her audience.

the maids paused, exchanged a knowing look, and swiftly made themselves scarce, disappearing through the house with trained silence. by the time she slid her sunglasses down to glance up, only he remained.

“tch. even worse.”

he stepped into view, casting a long shadow across her sunbed. he looked like a disruption—black slacks, crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, collar loosened just slightly. the light caught the veins in his forearms. his expression, as always, was unreadable. but his gaze? absolutely not.

she could feel it on her skin. the heat of it.

“uncle send you to check if i drowned?” she asked, flipping her sunglasses up with one finger and glancing up at him from under her lashes.

he didn’t answer immediately. his eyes moved slowly—down the elegant line of her spine, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass just barely covered by her bikini bottoms.

“something like that,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “he wanted to make sure you’re behaving.”

she smirked, shifting slightly so the top of her thighs lifted, arching just enough to tease. “define behaving.”

his eyes lingered on the movement before he looked away like it cost him. “no fires. no scandals. no bodies.”

“well,” she said with a sigh, “two out of three isn’t bad.”

he didn’t laugh. but his mouth twitched.

she flipped onto her back slowly, letting her legs part just slightly, one bent at the knee. her bikini strained with the movement, barely containing her.

“you’re staring,” she murmured, not looking at him.

“you’re impossible to ignore.”

she smiled up at the sky. “good.”

his voice darkened. “do you always sunbathe like this?”

“only when i want to be seen.”

his gaze swept over her again. “you’d get arrested if you stepped outside the gate.”

“but i didn’t,” she said, lifting her head and meeting his gaze directly. “you came inside.”

another pause. tighter this time.

“you do this often?” he asked, cocking a brow. “lay out half-naked knowing someone might walk in?”

she propped herself up on her elbows, legs still stretched out and gleaming under the sun. “only when i hope it’s you who walks in.”

the admission hung in the air between them like smoke. heavy. tainted with something electric.

he didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. he watched her like he was waiting for her to blink first.

“you really don’t care who sees, do you?”

“there’s no one left to see,” she murmured, tilting her head. “i sent them away the second i saw it was you.”

his jaw twitched. “dangerous habit.”

“is it?” she sat up now, her thighs parting, body angled toward him, unbothered by the exposure. “you think i can’t handle the consequences?”

“i think,” he said slowly, “you like to see how far you can push me.”

“i think,” she countered, rising to her feet in one graceful movement, “you like being pushed.”

he said nothing. his eyes followed her as she walked up to him—hips rolling with every step, the pool water glistening off her skin.

when she stopped in front of him, chest nearly brushing his, she reached up and plucked an imaginary speck of lint from his shirt. “all this tension,” she whispered, eyes locked on his lips. “and for what?”

baek jin said her name lowl and intensely, yet softly

“you can say my name softer than that,” she teased, fingers trailing down the line of his tie.

he caught her wrist before it dipped any lower. not rough. but firm.

“if i touch you, i won’t stop.”

“i’m not asking you to.”

“mr. choi-”

“isn’t here.”

“that doesn’t mean he won’t find out.”

she leaned in, breath ghosting across his jaw. “then you’d better make it worth the fallout.”

he exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from effort. restraint. he looked down at her—defiant, seductive, deliciously untouchable.

and she smirked like she knew she had him by the throat.

“still pretending you don’t want me?” she asked, voice just above a whisper.

his fingers tightened on her wrist.

“still pretending you’re not dying to find out what i taste like?” she continued.

“you’re spoiled,” he said, but his voice was hoarse now.

“i’m insatiable,” she corrected.

and then she leaned up, brushing her lips just barely against his. not a kiss—just a dare.

a test.

he didn’t fail.

his mouth crashed down on hers, rough and unyielding, like the dam had broken. her arms went around his neck instantly, pulling him closer, mouths locked in something hot and devastating.

she moaned into it, soft but eager, her hands fisting his shirt as he walked her backward toward the lounger. when her legs hit the edge, he broke the kiss, breathing hard.

she looked up at him, lips swollen, hair a mess, eyes gleaming with challenge.

“so much for self-control.”

he looked down at her like he wanted to devour her. “i haven’t even started.”

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[daycourtofficial]

Deceptive Domestication

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 7.7k | Warnings: sexism, misogyny

Summary: The two of you have to pretend to be a married couple for a mission. Can you live with this false reality? Or will your feelings for Azriel eat you alive when it’s over?

Author’s note: started making it, had a breakdown, bon apetit

“Angel, where are you?”

Azriel’s deep voice moves on the wind, finding you at the back of your cottage. You twist the new ring adorning your fourth finger, the skin beneath it showing no tan lines, “I’m back here, just one second!”

Azriel laughs, his voice sweet and full of honey, “the wife’s an avid gardener. When we were first considering moving here, she insisted we check the soil to make sure she would be able to have her prized blackberries.”

You appear from the side of the house, wiping your hands on the apron around your dress. Azriel’s arm reaches around you, clasping you on your shoulder as you get next to him. 

“He’s right, I love my blackberries greatly,” you say, reaching out to shake hands with your new neighbors. They lived in the house closest to yours, a red thatched roof adorning the black building. Delicious smells came from it, and judging by the smoke from the chimney, they were likely preparing dinner when they saw you two.

“We just wanted to come by and meet the two of you, we saw you come in last night and wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Arben,” the male points to himself, “and this is my wife, Alija.”

You nod to both of them - they looked to be a good bit older than you and Azriel, wrinkles adorning their tanned faces. “Thank you, this used to be my Uncle Sal’s home. Since he passed away recently, he left the home to us and we wanted to leave our home village.”

“I’m so sorry about Sal, sweetheart,” he says, a sympathetic look in his eye, “he was a nice male, talked about you all of the time. Alija has to finish dinner, but we’ll see the two of you around, yeah?”

You press your lips into a firm smile, nodding before pressing into Azriel’s side and turning back to the house. His arm on your back guides you to the door of your new home, his touch a familiar warmth amidst all of the new. Once you cross the threshold, shutting the door behind yourselves, Azriel’s hand falls from your back and he immediately puts distance between you two, walking towards the bedroom he was staying in. His smile drops, the air in the room frigid. Rhys’s words clang through you, a shock to your senses.

Go to this village as a married couple. I’m unsure how long it will take.

You jolted as Azriel slammed the door behind him. Sighing, you move to your own room, taking in the bags left to unpack. You had taken great care to pack enough to last you as the season changes. The two of you were here indefinitely, marooned in a quaint village of about forty-three people.

Move in, become friends with the neighbors, find out what you can.

There was a circle of villages in the western part of the Night Court where females kept disappearing - six had gone missing in the last month. The villagers were not speaking to outsiders, but Rhysand thought a long term mission might allow the spies to get close enough to get some questions answered.

So he decided on you and Azriel.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

It had been strange seeing Azriel play this version of a spy, even if it had only been a day. You were so used to him lurking in the shadows, it felt so strange to watch him play the part of a doting husband, and to do it well. Introducing you to the neighbors and random villagers, a hand kept on your skin at all times - on your lower back, your waist, your shoulders. It was so easy to get swept up in the illusion you two were selling - even you were convinced you were newlyweds, moving for a fresh start.

Until he slammed his door, reminding you it was all fake, a farse for information.

Things between you and Azriel have always been easy. You two were the best of friends, most of your free time being spent with him since joining the Inner Circle two years ago. The two of you spent countless nights sitting together when sleep wouldn’t find you, you two had even developed a code - open bedroom doors at night were a silent invitation for the other to come in, spending most nights in each other’s rooms, wrapped up in sheets that smelled of the two of you.

All of that ended very suddenly a few months ago. Suddenly his door was always closed to you, your own cracked every night. A call to him, begging him to acknowledge you.

You started keeping your door closed a month ago. It didn’t feel right, shutting him out, but clearly you had done something wrong. Your entrance into a room would cause him to leave immediately, changes in his training schedule to avoid you, abruptly turning around when he saw you.

It was all pissing you off.

The rest of the Inner Circle were just as clueless as you were as to what happened to cause Azriel’s sudden distance. Cassian tried to interfere - making plans with both of you for dinner at a restaurant and ditching, trying to force you two to spend time together.

Azriel just left once he caught sight of you.

That was your tipping point. You stopped going to training, you pulled back from family dinners. They were his family first, and you wanted to give him whatever space he needed. Everyone protested, telling you it was his problem, and in Cassian’s words “if he’s going to be a jackass, I don’t want him around anyway.”

Still, you retreated, hardly seeing much of the family you had forged over the past few years. No matter how much it hurts you to do so.

Once you began accepting this new Azriel-less reality, Rhys had called you into his office. The high lord looked almost conflicted, your entire family aware that something weird was happening between you and Azriel. None of them dared to ask Azriel, his darkened mood making it incredibly easy to anger him, and anytime they asked you they were met with a shrug and a soft, “I don’t know.”

All of them had been scratching their heads, desperate for an explanation for the sudden iciness between you two. It had been weeks of this, and everyone missed seeing the two of you exchanging whispers in the corner or watching Azriel’s shadows wind through your hair.

Which was why Rhysand decided to insert himself into the situation. He called you into his office, and after asking you to take a seat, he began asking after your week. Your eyebrows knitted, confused about the formality of it all, when you realized you haven’t actually seen Rhysand in almost a month. 

You had taken up residence in the House of Wind - since you were a scholar it lended easy access to your work, and whenever you wanted to leave, you asked Azriel to ferry you around. You tried to remember the last time you saw anyone in the inner circle that wasn't Cassian or Nesta, and it was when Cassian offered to fly you into town to get lunch with Feyre three weeks ago.

You’re not certain how to tell Rhysand the past few weeks had been filled with silence, whatever happened between you and the shadowsinger led you to avoid Cassian and Nesta, avoid training, avoid anything that wasn’t being buried in your work in the library.

You look into violet eyes, and you check your mental shields because he’s looking at you as if he already knows how sad this whole situation has made you.

You take a deep breath, shrugging. “Time is passing, I suppose.”

Rhys’s face falls a bit at just how dejected you sounded. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - they all knew there was something between you and Azriel, they all saw how you two gravitated towards each other. Neither of you would open up about whatever it was that shifted things so quickly and easily and it was pissing all of them off.

“I need your help with something.”

It was the best plan they could come up with to try to salvage things.

-

You woke up early the next morning, determined to tend to the garden before the sun reached its peak in the sky. You had plans later in the afternoon to meet with a few of the women of the village, but you had to get to working on this garden. There was no time table on this mission, and the two of you only had food stores to last you a few months.

If you were to be stuck in this purgatory that long, you needed new food to replenish whatever you use.

Your story to tell the villagers was that the two of you were quite young from the other end of Illyria. The two of you were extraordinarily lucky that one of the older fae males in this village happened to pass away a few weeks ago, allowing the two of you an easy in. You merely reviewed some family records, and were posing as his beloved niece, here to lead a new life with her husband.

You tended to the garden behind the house - the weeds had grown wildly in the previous owner’s absence. Your ‘uncle's absence, that is.

You spent all morning pulling weeds, making quite an improvement to the garden before you decided to go in and make yourself lunch. You came in, rinsing the dirt from your fingers, the water feeling nice against some of the minor cuts you acquired outside. After drying off, you pulled out a loaf of bread, slicing the bread to prepare some sandwiches. 

You hummed to yourself, trying to fill the silence of the house. It wasn’t large - a quaint two bedroom house with two bathrooms, a nice little kitchen, and a sitting room. You were a bit surprised at how well the interior of the house had been maintained by your ‘uncle’. 

Azriel was headed with the rest of the males to the war camp, spending his day training as a lesser ranked Illyrian. He was glamoured to look enough not like himself to the other Illyrians that they wouldn’t think anything of him. You had also glamoured some of Azriel’s siphons, only allowing one on his chest to remain. He was not happy about it, not wanting to seem so much weaker than he truly was. He wouldn’t listen to any of your points about it, but Rhys eventually convinced him to allow your glamour to cover six of his siphons because “it’s quite obvious who you are”.

Azriel’s refusal to listen to even your opinions on the mission was grating. You wanted to get to know the local females, and Rhys agreed with you, but Azriel kept arguing that ‘it wasn’t safe’.

Stupid Illyrians and their stupid pigheadedness, you suppose. If you’re not supposed to speak with the other females, why were you even here?

You knew this mission would be difficult for Azriel - his hatred for his own people fueling centuries of anger and resentment. You thought being trapped here was an appropriate punishment for how he had iced you out of his life.

You had just finished making your sandwich when there was a knock at the door. You brushed your hands down your dress, glamouring wings back to life behind you, breathing deeply before you answered the door.

An Illyrian woman stood in your doorway, her dark curls slightly hiding her tanned face that was turned down. She was taller and broader than you, but still small for an Illyrian. Her demeanor told you they treated her that way as well. Her wings were tucked in tight behind her and her shoulders shook lightly before you.

Her voice was weak as she told you, “we go every day, bringing lunch to the males, if you wish to accompany us.”

Wish.

You knew the reality of coming here - you knew they would give a few days of grace to settle in, set up your garden, bereave your uncle before they assigned you to a chore rotation. In communities like this one, everyone had to pull their weight.

It was just astonishing how ‘pulling your own weight’ made the females seem two to three times heavier than the males.

You nod your head to the female, closing the door behind you as you meet her outside. You had no idea where the war camp was, knowing it mustn’t be too far from the village. You vaguely remember Azriel and Rhys discussing the three villages that filtered into the camp, how all three were short walks from the villages.

Dirt crunches beneath your boots as you walk alongside the female, her deep brown eyes downcast towards the ground, shoulders hunched to make herself as small as possible as you walk. “What’s your name?” You ask, your voice causing her to flinch. Her eyes were wide as they looked at you, shock at being addressed you presumed. It was astonishing how awfully they must treat her, because her face resembled a wounded dog’s.

“Kaltrina.” Her words are mumbled, and you have to strain your ears a little to hear her. 

“Kaltrina - it’s nice to meet you. Um, are you married?”

Not your usual first question, but around these parts marriage was as good as social standing. Also any unwed women over the age of 24 were considered ‘unwanted’ or ‘untameable’. This village was harsh on women - even by Illyrian standards. The males of this village made Devlon look forward and free-thinking.

“No, not married. I live with my brother, Dardan.”

Her tone didn’t suggest anything about him, but you weren’t sure exactly what it meant. She offers you a smile and a soft nod, “is your husband nice?”

You offer the same soft nod before you hear her say, “he’s quite good looking, too.”

You pause, trying to remember everything Cassian and Rhysand had told you about Illyrians to prepare for this - they told you males were incredibly territorial, treating their wives more like trophies and laborers rather than spouses. A male would take this as a compliment - one mention of a good-looking wife would be something to boast about, mentioning it more than once would be an offense.

But how did the females treat their husbands, how did they speak to each other about them? It was the biggest gap in your knowledge, but you suppose you can explain away any discrepancies on how far away the two of you came from.

“Yes, he’s quite pretty.”

She giggles at your words, and you feel a swell of pride at getting it right. She walks next to you, standing a little straighter for the rest of the walk.

The two of you made it to the war camp, joining the other females to distribute food to the males. The males look at you like you’re not much more than a piece of meat or some dirt on their boots, but your eyes scanned the crowd for Azriel, not finding him the entire time you’re there.

You do get a chance to speak with a few of the females as you all head back to the village, carrying leftover food with you. Most of them seem to welcome you - suggesting what crops grow best in the area, telling you to reach out if you need any help with anything.

The other females head off at the fork in the road, telling you and Kaltrina they would see you the next day. You breathe deeply, looking to Kaltrina once more. She hardly spoke once the two of you had met up with the other females at the war camp, keeping her distance from them the entire time.

“How’s your brother?” You ask, the innocent question causing Kaltrina to flinch. 

“He’s a fine male.”

Her answer feels so dry, so rehearsed. You don’t press the issue, changing topics instead. “How will you spend the rest of the afternoon?”

“Chores.”

You listen to the birds singing around the both of you, their song a beautiful melody across the skies. You eventually pass a house similar to your own, but a bit smaller, the roof not well cared for. Kaltrina gives you a small wave before turning down the path to her house, disappearing behind the door. 

You kept walking towards your own house, but you did see her appear in the window briefly, watching you walk down the road. It made the hairs on your neck stand up, but you quickly looked forward again, making your way back to the house, determined to finish unpacking this afternoon.

-

You had finished unpacking by the time you heard the door open, Azriel traipsing through the house. 

“Hello my loving husb-“

Your sarcastic words die as you turn to see his face, a cut on his lip and a black eye. He shakes his head, trying to tell you it’s nothing, and he starts moving to just head to his room, but you’re not having it.

“We have some bandages in the bathroom.” Your words don’t have a command in them, but he heads towards the bathroom. You pick up a bottle of alcohol, dabbing some on a rag. You motion for him to sit on the edge of the tub, and he goes.

You’re a few inches from his face, the closest you’ve been in months. His scent was so comforting, you just wanted to wrap yourself in it and stay for a while. He stays silent, his face a blank slate you could slap any emotion to. 

His shadows have been having fun whizzing around the house. He had told them they had to stay completely hidden if they were to come to the war camp with him, otherwise they had to stay in the house or go off wherever they wanted. They didn’t like the options, but most of them stayed with him, tucked into his boots, his pants, the hilt of his sword. Now that he was back, they scattered across the house, energetic wisps of darkness moving through the house, through your hair, against your skin.

“What happened?”

He huffed, his fingers dancing on his thighs in irritation. “I’m a new male, they’re just seeing if I can take it.”

You nod, and from the irritation in his voice, you know he’s shutting you back out. You hold the alcohol covered rag up to his lip, cleaning the blood from his face. He had healed a good bit since he received the beating, and you notice his knuckles are bloody. 

Hopefully he put up a good enough fight. 

“I went with some of the women to the war camp to distribute food.”

His eyes snap to yours, his wings rustling behind him. His eyes were dark, a look to them you’ve never seen directed at you. He reaches his hand up to your wrist, his grip tight but not uncomfortable.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

You’re taken aback by his tone - even if your relationship was tenuous, he never took such an aggressive tone with you. In all your years of friendship, the most strain in his voice you had heard directed at you was when you were free climbing up the cabinets of the kitchen to get to the top shelf for some cookies.

“Because Rhys thinks-”

“I don’t give a damn what Rhys thinks when it comes to you, I said it was a bad idea and to stay away from them.”

“They’re battered females, Azriel! The males treat them like dirt! And their friends and sisters and mothers have gone missing. I can help them, I know I can - that’s why we’re here!”

His hand tensed around you before he pulled his hand away from you. He looks away from you, his harsh breathing echoing through the small bathroom.

“You’ll only get yourself hurt by talking to them.”

He snatched the rag from your hand, pushing past you out the bathroom and into his room, slamming the door on your once again. You want to scream or stomp your feet at how ridiculous he was being.

“I’m not a kid you can boss around, Azriel.”

His silence didn’t make you so certain about that.

-

The next week goes by much like your first full day in the village - you wake up after Azriel’s gone, tend to the house (your ‘uncle’ left it in semi-decent shape, but it did need a few repairs), head with Kaltrina to the war camp to feed the males (where you were even able to meet Kaltrina’s brother and several of the female’s husbands), and spend your afternoon preparing dinner for the two of you.

You’re not on speaking terms with Azriel after his outburst while you cleaned him up - every day he’s returned with some minor cut and scrape, and all you do is point to the alcohol and provide him with fresh rags. You won’t clean him up yourself, you’re too pissed at him for that, but you still urge him to do it himself

You still care, despite it all. 

Despite the ice between you and Azriel, the females of the village began opening up to you, accepting you as one of their own. You join them every day to serve lunches to the males, and several of them even invited you to their homes to help teach you how to cook with the regional vegetables. 

“Your husband’s too skinny,” one said, “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult, but you took it for what it was - an offering. You spent the afternoon with her, learning how to smoke pig ‘the correct way’. She had told you her name was Bora, she and her husband have lived in this village for several centuries, and she has had many, many smoked pigs.

“None compare to my family recipe.”

She was quite intimidating, and you could tell she took shit from no one, not even her husband. You were touched that she would share her family recipe with you so readily, thinking perhaps she took a special interest in you until another female stopped by and, after telling her Bora was teaching you her family recipe, she told you, “it’s how she inaugurates new females to the village’.

You were less touched and your ego deflated a bit, but you were still grateful she would spend so much time with you. The afternoon flew by, time not registering as you helped Bora peel her vegetables while the pork cooked. 

You looked up, noting the dark sky through the window, dropping the zucchini. “Oh no,” you mutter, running out of the house to the road, eyes wide to find Azriel running up the road, blades drawn. His siphon was glowing in the dark, it’s cobalt blue blazing with intensity.

He was frantic, and you could have sworn you saw his shadows frantically zipping around him, moving in and out of houses. His body visibly relaxes as he spots you, rushing towards you. His arms wrap around you, crushing you into an embrace. His breathing is ragged, “I thought- I thought- you-”

His words come out choppy, but he pulls back, his hands on your face. He’s breathing hard, trying to string words together. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement.

“Is everything alright?”

Bora’s voice startles Az, and one of his shadows whips into a defensive position before you shoo it away. He quickly collects himself, moving one of his hands to the back of your head, pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry, I got worried when I got home and my wife wasn’t there.”

He pats your hair, his hands combing through them softly. “Just need her to be safe, s’all.”

Bora nods, perhaps more understanding than she should be of Azriel’s concern. “Ah, to be newly married again. She was safe,” she turns away before adding, “she’s always safe here with Bora.” 

The older female waddles back inside for a moment before coming back out to the two of you, the tray of pork and vegetables on it. “Here’s dinner tonight - Bora’s family recipe.” She winks at you, and the two of you politely thank her before heading back to your house. You carried the tray, but Azriel kept both of his hands on you the entire walk back.

The walk back is mostly quiet, Azriel’s heartbeat slowing as the adrenaline leaves his body. You swivel your head around, noticing no one out in the village at this hour.

“Why were you being so nice and touchy to me out there and anytime we see the neighbors?” Your words come out barely more than a whisper, but you knew he heard them. “The men in this village hardly view their wives as more than livestock, it might be more suspicious for you to be so nice to me.”

He turned, just enough for you to see the side of his face, to watch his mouth as he said, “I could never do that to you.”

You spent the rest of the walk in silence, spending the entire time dissecting the way he said “you”.

-

Your house with Azriel is still quiet, the two of you living separate lives behind the oak door. Sleeping apart, eating dinner in different rooms. You two only spoke when you were outside of the house. 

A few days after cooking with Bora, you and Kaltrina were headed back to the village from the camps for lunch when she offered to help you make dinner. 

“I want to say thanks, for being my friend.”

Her words make you feel terrible over how strange you had found her. Maybe she was just awkward. You weren’t sure, but you knew you’d be safe inside your own home, so you agreed to let her stay. 

The two of you prepare dinner, Kaltrina seeming a bit nervous as she skitters about your kitchen. You make idle small talk, but the air in the room seems so off you can’t put your finger on it.

“What will your brother be doing for dinner tonight?” 

She looks a bit downcast as she tells you, “he has plans tonight, he’s eating at his friend’s house.”

Her tone tells you not to ask anymore, and you don’t press the issue any further. 

The two of you eat in silence, Kaltrina’s eyes moving around your house, taking in every detail. She excuses herself to the bathroom, and you show her where it is. 

In Kaltrina’s absence, Azriel makes his way through the front door, his shadows beginning to spread throughout the house in contentment. You quickly shake your head at the tiny wisps that come to you, sending them back to Azriel. You point towards the bathroom, jerking your head at the noises from behind the door trying to tell him someone was here.

The water runs, and Azriel quickly moves across the room, his arms circling your waist. Your eyebrows pinch, but you quickly relax them as Kaltrina leaves the bathroom. Her steps halt at seeing Azriel, her eyes wide at his sudden appearance.

“Kaltrina, this is my husband. Valon, this is my friend, Kaltrina.”

He nods to her before squeezing your waist and giving a swift kiss to your temple. Kaltrina’s eyes linger on the display of affection, not breaking contact even moments later. Azriel rubs your back, eyes fond as he looks to you, “I’m going to head to bed, take your time with your friend, but don’t leave me waiting too long.”

Was that a signal? You two slept in separate rooms - what did his words mean? You lean up, kissing his cheek before rubbing at his jaw and nodding. He turns his attention towards Kaltrina, “it was nice meeting you Kaltrina, my wife is quite fond of you. Have a good night.”

Her mouth is slightly ajar, her cheeks a harsh shade of red as she squeaks, “good night.”

Azriel nods at her and he slips into your bedroom, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You turn back to Kaltrina, her eyes lingering on the door to your bedroom, and you could almost feel the yearning radiating from her. 

“Come on, we should clean up a bit.” The two of you head into the kitchen, cleaning and scraping the dirty dishes from earlier. You two work in silence, the only sounds in the room are the scrubbing of pots.

“Your husband seems quite nice.”

Her voice is full of want and yearning. You stop cleaning pots before you, Kaltrina’s eyes fixed on you until you look. She turns her eyes away, looking back to the pots.

“Yes, he is very kind.”

“He’s unlike any of the males around here.”

This conversation felt a bit dangerous. Azriel said it was fine, that he couldn’t treat you the way any of these males treat their wives - like servants, like cattle, like nothing. But you knew the females of the village would notice how he treated you, if they haven’t already. You start to wonder if they had noticed, discussing the odd outsiders, figuring the two of you out, getting you-

“He’s very good-looking.”

Kaltrina’s voice startles you, and you look to find her not even looking at you, gazing off to some point on the wall. Had she meant to say that out loud? The two of you finish up cleaning, although it is mostly you doing the work, Kaltrina’s gaze is lost somewhere on your kitchen wall. You quickly escort her out, wishing her a good night. You offer to walk her home, but she declines, saying she’ll be fine on her own. 

You close the door behind her, taking a deep breath. Azriel was in your room - your room - the one with the unmade bed, clothes haphazard around the space. You two used to frequent each other’s private chambers, but now you can’t recall the last time he laid in your bed, perused the books on your shelves, or sat in the chair in the corner of your room at the House of Wind.

You push open the door to find him pacing in front of your bed, his shadows lounging lazily on your bed. You nod to him, picking at your fingernails.

“I think it’s Kaltrina. I think she’s the one doing this.”

“Kaltrina?” His voice is full of surprise and misunderstanding. “You think Kaltrina, that little thing is behind all of this?”

“Yes! I just.. Don’t know why.. The way she talks about you…”

“We can’t go off of silly little feelings when convicting someone of a crime, you know.” He stands in front of you, his wings blocking the light from the candles, casting shadows across his face.

“I’m well aware-”

“You have to think - where would she keep them? How could she overpower so many Illyrian women? And besides, why does it matter what she thinks of me?”

Your anger was bubbling to the surface, his condescending tone leading you to yell out, “what the fuck is your problem, Azriel?”

He looks at you, turning away quickly while muttering, “we are not doing this here.” His shadows are ever so slightly trying to push him back towards you, but he ignores their attempts, plowing through them to your kitchen.

“No, I think we are doing this right here, right now. I’ve let too much shit go by and I can’t keep acting like everything’s okay anymore.” You take in a shaky breath. “I’m tired of pretending. Just tell me whatever it was that I did that made you hate me and we can move on!”

“No.”

His curt reply annoys you even more, and you’re directly in front of him poking his chest.

“Just tell me what I did!”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s clearly not the case.”

He groans in frustration, running a hand down his face, but you are unrelenting in your pursuit for the truth.

“We were friends, you used to like spending time with me. I don’t know what happened that made you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you.”

You laugh, “well you could have fooled me. For months everyone’s been asking me what happened between us, and I have no clue! It’s like you woke up one day and decided we couldn’t be friends anymore!”

“That’s not what happened-”

“Oh, it’s not? So you were pretending to be my friend while you secretly hated me before cutting me off one day?”

“I HAD TO.”

His eyes were wide with an almost feral-like look to them. He looked almost more beast than fae.

“I had to. Those fae that were trafficking females and males, they… “ His hand shakes as he curls and uncurls it, his scarred fingers twitching with the motion. “One of my spies found your name in one of their notebooks, reported it to me immediately.”

His ferocity is turned on you, hazel eyes looking into your own, as if he was searching through your soul. “Don’t you get it? They know you, they know who you are.” His voice raised an octave, squeaking, “because of me.”

“So, what? Because someone knew that I was important to you, you cut me off?”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Oh, no, was it that someone pointed out to you that I was important to you and you didn’t like that?” Your voice was raising, getting louder, but you couldn’t care. 

“That’s not-“

“I’m a big girl, Az, I deserve to know everything before making decisions. I don’t deserve my decisions to be taken from me.”

“Will you let me speak?”

His shadows were covering the windows, the doors, the walls. His chest was heaving as he tried to get the words out, tried to make you see.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“So instead of explaining this to me, you cut me off like I meant nothing to you? Why couldn’t you just tell me that? Why couldn’t you tell me-”

“You would talk me out of it! Convince me it was in my head. I needed you to be safe, for cauldron’s sake!”

You sniffle, eyes catching on the door. “I have a lot to think about,” is all you say before storming out, closing the door behind you. You walk from the house, your boots sinking into the grass at your feet as you walk aimlessly around the village. Your thoughts whirled and swirled of Azriel’s words, your hands pulling at your hair in frustration.

“Hey, there.”

You whip around, fist raised, to find Dardan looking back at you. You quickly drop your fist - he could still tell the others you showed defiance towards him and you’d be in a lot of trouble. 

“Oh, hey, Dardan, right? I must not have heard you. How are you tonight?”

You try to make your voice sound as pleasant as possible, as feminine as possible. 

“Just taking an afternoon stroll,” he muses, “care to join me?”

You look around, noticing you’re much further from the village than you intended. Even though you were a married female to the rest of the village, it was still disrespectful towards your husband to be seen on the outskirts of town with an unmarried male. 

“Um,” you start turning around, your gut trying to tell you this was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Actually, I should get back to my husband. I need to start working on dinner soon.”

You turned your head just in time for something hard and metal to make contact with it, the last thing in your vision was the ground before complete darkness.

-

Your head was killing you, your neck at an unnatural angle as you opened your eyes. The room was dark, but still too bright for the pounding of your head. You take a deep breath, trying to note your surroundings. 

Your hands were bound behind you, some fabric you should be able to easily pull apart. You were on the ground, some dirt beneath your body as you laid on the cold ground. You began tugging on the fabric, trying to maneuver your hands to slip through the knot.

“Tug all you want, we got a talented witch in these parts.”

Your body goes cold at the voice.

Dardan.

Fuck.

You want to slam your head on something, but there’s nothing. Your breathing speeds up, your mind moving through all your interactions with Dardan.

You thought he was nice. He had been amicable to you at the war camp, you barely even thought of him during this mission. You thought it was Kaltrina. How could you have gotten things so wrong? 

He smiles as he watches your brain try to figure things out. His smugness was a new look for Lee - one that made him look very unattractive. “We knew one of Rhysand’s dogs was bound to show up at some point, just didn’t think they’d bring a pretty bitch like you with ‘em. Color me surprised when my little sister brought you around.”

You snap at his words, “bitches bite.”

He goes by to sharpen whatever knife he was wielding before replying. “We got big plans.”

Dardan wouldn’t say more than that, continuing to sharpen his blade before inspecting it. Once it was to his satisfaction, he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you from the ground. You scramble, trying to get your feet on the ground, kicking at the dirt he was dragging you across to gain some footing. His pull on your hair was unrelenting, even as your arms flailed back trying to hit him.

Eventually you’re able to get your feet beneath you, trying to keep up with his steps. He opens the doors to the structure you were kept in, the light of dusk surprising you. There was no way to tell time in that barn.

“It’s almost sunset, girl.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, trying to take a big inhale so you can scream. The sound was piercing - a loud screech coming from you. Dardan just laughed. “Screech all you want, no one’s around for miles.”

Rhys’s words echo in your mind.

Stay close to Azriel.

A warning you had forgotten when you stormed off. Dardan’s tight grip brings you towards a clearing full of other Illyrians from the village you had been staying in and several of the nearby villages. You’re about to call, to beg them for help, when you notice six of the males are each dragging a female in some way towards the center of the clearing. You can’t see over the wings and heads in front of you, but the crowd parts for your eyes to land on a stone altar with ancient languages carved into it.

The crowd gave enough space for the six Illyrians to stand in a circle around the altar, each one cradling a woman by their neck with a blade pressed to it. You start fighting back against Dardan, trying to scratch him, hit him, but he throws you towards the altar where two winged males stand, catching you in their arms easily. You throw out your hand, making contact with one of their jaws, a soft “bitch” hissed at you. 

You throw your bound hands into the other one’s gut, but the first one grabs your elbow, twisting harshly. You struggle in the hold, winding your head back to headbutt him, but the other one grabs your head, holding it in place. You start kicking your legs out, hoping for any kind of contact, but a male from the crowd comes up and catches your ankles. 

The three males hold onto you, moving you on top of the altar. Your movements do nothing to stop them as they clamp down your feet, moving towards your hands, shackling them to the altar as well. Your pleas to be let go fell on deaf ears.

You turn your head to the left, two of the females coming into your view. Their wings twitched as their captors held them, not much fight in them. You yell to them, begging for them to fight back against the males at their backs. Tears stream down the side of your face, leaking into your ears as you watch their complacency, what they’ve been conditioned for. 

Nausea rolled in your stomach at the idea of how long they’ve been aware of this fate. These girls have been missing for weeks and months of their lives, kept Mother knows where to beat them into compliance. 

They stood at attention, knives to their throats, unmoving. 

Your eyes water seeing Kaltrina amongst them, her eyes downcast.

It was sickening.

Dardan comes from the crowd, looking down at you over the crook of his nose. He raises a knife to your throat, your skin nicking on the blade as your breathing quickened. 

“Any last words?”

You look up at Dardan, mustering every ounce of defiance onto your face as you pull back, spitting into his smug face. His face falls for a moment before wiping the saliva off. Dardan looks towards the sky, “just a moment until sundown. If only your pretty little shadowsinger could be here now, to watch you become the ultimate sacrifice.”

Breathing gets harder as the seconds tick by, knowing the sun will set at any second. You felt a cool breeze blow over you. 

Not a breeze.

A shadow.

“Get your fucking hands off of my mate.”

Your heart stops in your chest, something sparking deep within you at Azriel’s growl of warning in a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Dardan’s knife is still pressed to your neck, but you’re able to move your eyes enough to see wisps of shadow pulling the knives away from the necks of the other females in the circle. 

You tilt your head back, barely able to make out Azriel standing behind Dardan, his shadows angrily darting all around him. Several more of them make their way to you, almost cloaking you in the scent of their master.

Dardan’s arrogance doesn’t balk at the sight of Azriel, his grip on the knife tightening. 

“You can drop the ‘mate’ act, freak,” Dardan spat out, his words causing the shadows to whirl in agitation. “We need her-”

In a flash the shadows coating you slithered up your torso, slithering around the wrist that held the blade. They pulled the wrist away, the knife narrowly avoiding slicing your throat. At the same time, Azriel moved for Dardan, his fist connecting with Dardan’s jaw causing a crack across the clearing. Dardan hit the ground, but Azriel dove after him, landing punch after punch.

In the chaos of the fight breaking out, the crowd was in hysterics, all of the males attempting to fly or flee, pools of shadows surfaced at their feet, tripping them up, their bodies slowly disappearing into the darkness. Some of them tried to crawl from the darkness, but to no avail. The crowd quickly went from about 30 males to just the six females left, all unharmed, huddling together for some form of protection.

Azriel was choking Dardan out, scarred fingers forcing the breath from Dardan’s lungs. “I will enjoy taking my time with you.” Azriel’s words hung in the air as Dardan slowly slipped into the shadows underneath him, but Azriel remained on the grass. He quickly got to this feet, most of his shadows gone, likely to keep the Illyrian prisoners in check.

He stumbles over to you, quickly undoing your binds before wrapping you in his arms, pulling you from the altar.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” are all he says, his words repeating as you feel tears fall onto your shirt. You gripped him just as tightly, finding it easier to breathe in his presence for the first time in ages. 

“I can’t live in fear anymore.”

He lunged for you, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s rushed, full of fear and trepidation. 

But by the cauldron was it warm and full of life. 

He pulled back, wiping spit from his mouth, his fingers covered in blood pushing the hair out of your face. “When I heard that your name was on one of those books, the bond snapped for me. I flew in a rage, killing all those traffickers. But I knew there were more like them out there.”

His eyes were full of regret, “I should have told you, but I thought you’d be safer not knowing. Then I figured this mission was my last time to actually have you, to play pretend.”

You laugh at the ridiculousness of it, pulling him in closer to you. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling that deep smell of cedar that you adored more than anything. It felt like coming home.

“I’m still pissed at you for not telling me.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound you haven’t truly heard in ages, “can I make it up to you? I won’t keep secrets from you ever again.”

He holds your face in his hands, his own eyes wet with tears. One of his hands pulls away, his tan skin radiant in the moonlight. You bring up your hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You keep your eyes on his, “no more secrets. From either of us.”

He nods, a bargain tattoo beginning to snake its way on your skin. 

“No more running.”

The tattoo wove its way on your skin, dark tendrils solidifying where your forearms meet. When you pull your hand away, the tattoo is incomplete, missing the gaps where Azriel’s arm belongs.

Much like a one-sided duet, your tattoos look empty without the other there to complete the song that echoed in your chest, the song that hummed at the sight of him. The bond didn’t feel so much like a snap as a slow sinking, as if you had finally opened your eyes after so long. 

Wrapped in his arms, the two of you had a lot to figure out - the females, what to do with the strange occult Illyrians, but the two of you could do it.

He promised - no more running.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

[thebumblebeesworld]

BIG • BROWN • EYES

annie x smoke • fluff

summary: smoke lays his eyes on annie for the first time and is immediately taken by her beauty. as he notices the way she makes his heart beat fast in his chest and his hands stop trembling like they had for so long, he realizes that he has love for someone other than his brother.

cw: fluff, use of the nword, brief mention of trauma, stack being an annoying younger brother, nothing reallyy. just my cute loves

a/n: yea soooo three uploads in three daysss,, inspired by @margepimpson !!! thank you so much, love! i so needed that fic list you made

masterlist

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He saw her first in town, walking from shop to shop, clearly checking off things from a mental list of necessities. Her walk was full of a grace that he adored. Something in her stance commanded every space she walked in. It made heads turn on a swivel just to keep up with with her. It made eyes bulge while she checked the firmness of watermelons or the quality in a gingham fabric.

The next thing he adored about her was the kindness in her smile. Every time she paid a cashier and collected her things, she graced them with a genuine smile and a honest thank you. It made his heart burst with infatuation.

One thing he couldn’t look past was her body. She was round and full-figured in a way that made him want to grab and hold onto her for dear life. Her hips were full and bounding. Her backside had a curve in it that made him want to run his hands along her dress. And her chest was plump and sitting high.

But despite this—and everything else he had found a joy in about her—what he seemed to love most about the mysterious woman was her eyes.

Big, brown, knowing eyes.

As he watched her drift through downtown—his body rested against the side of his car—he dreamed about what it would feel like for her to bless him with just one glance. That’s all he needed: to look directly into her eyes just one time.

Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore had never felt this way about a woman. He was by far no loose-man like his brother—tending to the needs of women who just couldn’t wait to rub it in the faces of women who hadn’t gotten a chance to lay with a Moore twin. But Smoke wasn’t a saint either.

He sinned hard and long into the night, lusting after women he didn’t have no business being with.

But the woman he peered at from across the street was like none other he had ever encountered. His stomach erupted in a funny feeling as he traced a line of sweat that ran from her neck and down the center of her chest. It was like his insides were twisting and turning with something fierce. Like when he’d gotten a bad batch of tamales from town but different.

This feeling was pulling at his soul.

It was aching.

Needy.

Desperate.

Before he saw her, Smoke’s hands had been trembling like they were known to do. His time in the war and years spent under the roof of an alcohol-abusing father had done that to him; And as he tried to patiently wait for his brother to return from collecting some cash they were owed, one sight of the woman eased his tremble and remedied his internal pain.

“Shit,” Stack shouted as he emerged from the building. "Took longer than I expected." He patted his brother on the shoulder and began to climb into the passenger seat but saw Smoke’s far-away gaze. “You good?” He asked after not receiving any indication that his twin was paying attention. He watched as Smoke's gaze was fixed across the street, watching a lady strolling about. He thought to call out to him again: “Smoke!”

“What, boy," he grumbled, not yet peeling his eyes from the woman. He tilted his head to get a better look at the way her arm swayed at her side and how her dress flooded nicely around her calves. "Don’t you see I’m busy?”

Stack huffed, not being put off by his brother's combative nature.

“I see you bein’ a weird ass nigga, starin’ at folks," Stack voiced unapologetically. His gaze was now fixed on her too, admiring the way she moved and enjoying what he saw. But one look at Smoke's face, and he knew she was already claimed. "What you lookin’ at her like that for?”

“You don’t see her?” Smoke neglected his question, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows ruffled at the annoyance his brother could be at times.

“‘Course I see her," he answered with an obvious tone. "That don’t answer my question though.” Stack prodded at his brother, trying to get him to be honest without so much of a fight.

“Nigga, she beautiful," Smoke spoke, voice dripped in a dreamy cadence—like he was imagining what life would be like now that he had gazed upon someone so gorgeous. Stack nodded along to his words, eyeing the side of his twin's head to see if he could read his mind. Stack knew his brother, and Smoke had never been this drawn to anyone before.

They had seen the world, and some of the most beautiful women there ever were called Mississippi home, but there was something so evidently different in the glint of Smoke’s eye.

Stack set his mind on making sure Smoke and the mysterious lady met face-to-face. He stepped forward, raising his hand and his voice.

“Aye! Pretty lady,” he yelled loudly, getting the attention of everyone in the town’s center and the woman Smoke’s heart now belonged to. She squinted her eyes at Stack, eyebrows drawn close together at the way he was attempting to wave her over.

“What you doin’, boy,” Smoke hushed in embarrassment. His teeth were bared, and his eyes had shifted downward in order to not meet anyone’s gaze.

“I’m getting you laid,” he spoke as if it was obvious. He began jogging across the street as the woman walked away. He shouted over his shoulder at his twin. “That’s probably why yo’ ass always so fuckin’ uptight. You need that good shit.”

Smoke completely recoiled from his brother’s brashness. His mellow and calm was now gone. His fingers began to shake again, causing him to pull a cigarette from his suit pocket that Stack had rolled for him earlier in the day.

He watched Stack gain the woman’s attention with a gentle tap on the shoulder, but the look she gave him was completely lacking the kind eyes she once had.

“I don’t take too kindly to men beckonin’ me like I’m some dog,” she punctuated, not backing down from the taller man. She found offense in the way he expected her to cross the street. She looked up at him, shoulders back and lips pressed into a flat line. It made Stack’s blood run cold and made Smoke’s heart jump.

He loved to know she was a no nonsense kind of girl.

“I ain’t mean nothin’ by it, miss,” Stack apologized , voice quieter than before. “I’m sorry that I offended you. I’m Elias ‘Stack’ Moore. And you are?” He took his hat off his head and placed it to his chest. His hand was held out to shake hers—though she refused to accept it.

“Annie Laveau,” she voiced, trying to get to the point of the conversation without any unnecessary fluff.

“That’s real pretty,” he smiled widely, chuckling just a little to lighten the mood. He wiped his hand on his suit jacket to push away the burn of rejection. The sun was beating down in them hard, and the way she looked at him with those big, brown eyes made his insides burn even further. “You one of them fancy Louisiana niggas?”

She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight onto one foot. Completely avoiding his idiotic question, she asked:

“What did you want again?”

Stack was taken aback. He stumbled over he words slightly and looked back to see his nervous brother, smoking a cigarette to quell that uneasy feeling he had often.

“Well, you see my brother over there,” he said, pointing to the twin, “he said he think you beautiful.”

“Is that so,” Annie questioned but in a voice that didn’t expect a real answer. Her eyes met Elijah’s from his spot across the street.

When they looked at each other, it was like the world stopped moving, even for just a moment. It was like they were the only two people in the world. Like Clarksdale wasn’t bustling and moving with an economic fervor spurred on by the production of cotton. Like neither of them had experienced a lifetime of pain and had to push through the trauma to survive. Like they somehow knew everything there was to know about each other but still desired to learn more.

That feeling was back in Elijah’s stomach. And the nervous feeling in his hands was gone again, causing him to throw his cig on the ground and stomp it out like it had never existed in the first place. He straightened his clothes and removed his hat, all while looking directly into her kind eyes.

Annie swallowed hard. She had met many men in her life and had entertained plenty of suitors, but the man across the street—who was the spitting image of the one who had offended her so—had won a special place in her soul just with one look in his eyes.

She cleared her throat and reluctantly turned back to Stack. He had a smile on his face that was buzzing from the show he had just witnessed.

“Tell ‘im if he think I’m so beautiful, he gon’ have to do more than just follow me with his eyes and send his twin to beckon me,” she said with less confidence than she had before. She kept glancing up to sweep her eyes over his body—how he had previously been leaned against the car but was now stood at attention.

“He ain’t send me over here,” Stack rushed out, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m just a better talker than him, you know. Wanted to see if you wanted a chance with the less fun version of me.” Stack ran his hands along his face and neck to show her all his glory, but it just made her laugh in his face.

“You really don’t know how to talk to women, do you,” she chuckled at his audacious manner. Him coming to see if she wanted “a chance” was more offensive than what he’d done before, but she still looked up at the man across the street one more time before deciding what to do.

“Girl, I stay with an arm full of fillies,” he huffed, ego hurt more than he cared to admit. “I can handle a conversation wit’ a woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she breathed heavily and raised her eyebrows, tone full of sarcasm. Her mind wandered, knowing that if she left without at least speaking to the other twin she’d live to regret it. “Fine,” she grumbled as if she was being drug to the cross, “I’ll go talk to ‘im.”

But she was giving in so willingly.

Her long legs crossed the street with that grace Smoke loved dearly. His brother stayed back, sending raised thumbs his way as an attempt to ease his anxiety.

The entire time, Annie’s eyes were on him, tracing the crisp line down the center of his pants legs, the hat that was clutched in his palms, the straining veins in his hands, the bulging of his adam’s apple, the softness in his brown eyes. She looked at him like he was the world.

And he looked at her the same.

It was then that Smoke realized his true feelings. As she walked across the street and through crowds of people, he realized that what he felt was love.

He met her halfway, a sweaty hand outstretched. He had seen how she reacted to his brother and feared the same fate of a heavy hand left unaccepted, but that fear was soon overcome.

She grabbed ahold of his hand.

Hers was soft yet solid against his calloused one, causing his head to swirl at how good it felt to touch her.

“H-hi,” he stuttered, tripping over his words as he tried to push the nerves away. Annie laughed sweetly at him, enjoying the way she had him shaking in excitement and a delicious nervousness.

“Hello,” her Louisiana accent rang out, pulling him in even further. “I’m Annie Laveau.”

She waited for him to say something back, but he just gawked at her with his lips slightly parted and body too close to hers for a public setting. She didn’t move away though. She stepped closer and squeezed at his hand that she still had a firm grip on.

“Sorry,” he apologized, placing a kiss to the back of her hand, indulging in the warmth of her. “Nice to meet you, Annie. I’m Elijah Moore. You can call me Smoke.”

Annie tilted her head to the side and smiled softly at him. She adored that sweet drawl in his voice, and she realized then that even if Elias considered himself the better talker, she’d do anything in the world to hear Elijah say her name again and again.

It was like the taste of honeysuckles and the scent of magnolias in bloom all at once. Her name had never sounded so good.

Annie stepped impossibly closer to his body, effectively stopping his breathing as he surrendered to her delightful gaze.

“I prefer to call you Elijah,” she nodded to herself, eyes glancing down at his lips and over to the dimple in his cheek as he smiled at her, “if that’s ok with you?” The smile he’d given her made her body feel numb. Prior to that, she had only seen his straight, far-too-serious expression, but here he was, showing her full teeth.

Elijah nodded his head with way too much enthusiasm, causing Annie to blush with laughter and Stack to shout at him from across the street.

“Damn, nigga,” he yelled at his twin, “she punkin’ yo’ ass.”

They both ignored him, sighing and rolling their eyes at his unique way of being. Annie and Elijah stood there, enjoying the calm that surrounded their bodies and envisioning a future full of love and possibility and each other.

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

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[suhnshinehaos]

❀ spring into summer

series synopsis: taking a week-long vacation to a beach house with your circle of friends doesn’t seem too bad of a situation. unless your circle of friends also include the guy who broke your heart into pieces, the guy that wants nothing more than to be the one to mend it back together, and the one that is actually — and unknowingly — piecing it back together. pairing: svt 95z x gn!reader genre/s: non-idol au, angst, fluff

this summer: day one (1/2)

wc: 1.3k

previous  ➤  prologue next  ➤  day one (2/2) spring into summer  ➤  masterlist

“Ynnn!”

You practically break into a sprint as soon as you hear Sana’s voice resounding across the sunlit parking lot. She meets you halfway, immediately wrapping her arms around you as soon as she gets close enough to do so. “Two years is too long.” 

“You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” you reply, pulling away but keeping her at arm's length. “Congratulations.”

Finally turning towards Soonyoung who had been standing a few feet back, “I told you this when you started dating, and I’m telling you again now, you better take care of her.”

Soonyoung gives you his signature ear-to-ear grin and pulls you to his side for a hug, “Miss you too, Yn. And you know I will.”

“Hope you guys didn’t forget you were picking me up too.” You hear Jeonghan’s voice from behind you, pulling both yours and his bags along with him.

Both Sana and Soonyoung laugh as they give him quick hugs and excited nice to see you agains before taking the bags from his hands. 

“Let’s go!”

“I know we’re past the point of small talk, but I have to ask- how are you guys?” Soonyoung asks excitedly from the driver’s seat, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel to whatever summer-hit was playing on the radio.

Your throat dries up, fingers clenching and unclenching as your eyes meet Sana’s expecting gaze, her body turned towards you and Jeonghan from the passenger seat. Your lips part but you can’t quite find the words you wanted to say.

How were you? If Soonyoung had asked you the question a year ago, it would have definitely been easier to answer. The move's still tough, the new job is exciting, you and Seungcheol were making it work despite it all. 

How you wish the answer could have stayed the same, instead Jeonghan pipes up from beside you, “I got a pet rock.”

“Does it have a name?” Sana’s brows shoot up in surprise, a small smile playing on the corner of her lips. “Is it just there… in your apartment?”

”Doljjong, has a little room and everything. You know, only the best.”

You let out a breath of relief as Sana asks question after question on Jeonghan’s pet rock, placing your focus instead on the scenes outside the car window. You can’t help but let your eyes widen in wonder at the clear, bright summer sky, the kitschy little souvenir shops with chipped paint on their wooden signs, the small, seemingly family-owned diners and restaurants, locals and tourists alike throwing their heads back in laughter as they walked on the paved sidewalk, ice cream cones and soda cups in hand.

It’s certainly a stark contrast to the tall, imposing concrete buildings and the people in suits rushing to get to their next meeting that you had grown accustomed to in the past couple of years. 

“What about you, Ynnie? How’s life treating you?”

Soonyoung’s voice snaps you out of your trance and you realize there’s no escaping the question.

“Yeah, I’m alright… you know, still busy as ever…” Your voice trails off, so quiet and unsure that you don't quite recognize yourself. It’s technically not a lie, you were in fact busy as ever, but the silence tells you that Sana and Soonyoung were waiting for more. 

You feel Jeonghan’s gaze on you, brows narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. It’s a look that’s not exactly uncommon.

It’s the same look you’ve seen on him when he reads an urgent email outside of office hours, or when it’s his turn to move in a board game. Calculating, carefully contemplating his next move.

Except his eyes this time around seem softer, gentler.

The exact same look you had seen when you told him you and Seungcheol were going through a bit of a rough patch.

Also technically not a lie. 

“Yn got a promotion.” He replies, gently nudging you with his shoulder, “So being that busy actually led to something. I don’t know what they’re being so humble for.”

He laughed with the same charming, teasing air that your friend group had known him for. You mouth a ‘thank you’ and he simply offers a small smile and a shrug in response. 

“Guess we have a lot to celebrate then!” Sana claps excitedly and all you could do was let out a quiet exhale.

It’s a forty-five minute drive from the airport to the beach house and you fill the time by asking Soonyoung and Sana if they had anything planned for the wedding; it takes everything in you to think of the box beneath your bed, the one that contained invitation samples, the business cards of the best bakers and florists in the city.

Before you know it, Soonyoung is pulling into the driveway and you’re hit with the overwhelming scent of salt air and the lulling sound of waves crashing into the shore as soon as you step out of the car. 

In front of you is the charming beach house which would be your home for the next seven days, with its white wooden panels and wrap-around porch, and little flower bushes.

The door opens before you could even reach for the handle, Jun almost immediately engulfing you in a hug. “Come in, come in. Welcome to my home.”

You tilt your head to the side, “You own this place?”

You’re not too shocked, given his line of work, but he shakes his head. 

“Oh no, it’s an Air BNB, I just found it online.” Jun winks, grabbing your bag from Soonyoung’s hand. “I’ll bring your bag up, a certain someone is still on his phone. Main bedroom right?”

”What? Who’s on his phone?”

Before Jun could answer, Soonyoung’s voice calls out, “Guys, Yn and Jeonghan are here!”

There’s a lack of a response back, his voice seemingly echoing across the wooden walls. 

“Where is everyone?” Jeonghan asks, looking around, “You said we were the last ones to get here.”

Instead of a response, you hear the whoosh of a sliding glass door, one that led to the patio. What greeted you was the last man you expected, let alone wanted, to see.

Choi Seungcheol.

The world feels like it’s closing in on you, whatever shock that you’re sure is reflected on your face is certainly not reflected on his. He stands there, the smile that you had fallen in love with now completely foreign toward you. 

You feel two gentle pairs of hands push your back towards him.

”Surpriseeee! Can you believe this guy almost wouldn’t come? If me and Soonyoung hadn’t-”

Whatever else Sana was saying tuned out into a distant murmur as you see Seungcheol walk towards you. Your hands stay completely frozen by your sides as he wraps his arms around you.

”They’re watching, Yn.” He mumbles by your ear, low, wrapping his arms tighter around you, as if he were proving a point. 

“I’m certainly surprised” You stutter out as Seungcheol pulls away, watching wide-eyed as he gives Jeonghan a side-hug and taking your bag from Jun. 

“Yn must be tired from the trip, I’ll take them up to our room.” He grins, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers, pulling you towards the direction of the stairs.

You follow him in a daze, sure that your hands are sweating in his grip. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to hold his hand. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, you repeat over and over again in your mind. As if saying it enough times would magically bring you back to your apartment, overwhelmed by the bright city lights and car horns honking instead of the feeling of Seungcheol’s hand grasping yours. 

The second the door to the bedroom closes, you immediately drop his hand and walk towards the farthest corner of the room. 

“Yn.” He exhales, his shoulders slump forward, completely dropping the act. “I didn’t want this either.”

Your feet feel like they have been glued to the carpet, lips zipped shut. But the second you see him take a single step towards your direction, your brain tells your body to make the most logical decision it could think of.

Locking yourself in the en-suite bathroom. 

from reese, with love <3

and the vacation begins !! i’m so excited to bring you on this journey as we go through this crazy crazy week hehe i’d love to know what you think so far, asks and reblogs and replies are more than appreciated !! thank you for reading, hope you’re all well and see u all next week :)

[twistyfish]

prompt~ non-mc reader feeling sad because she feels she lacks the relationship mc has with the lads. requested by anon!

Zayne

Her long, straight brown hair fell in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with slender fingers. Her laughter filled your ears like sticky molasses, and you couldn’t wash it out no matter how hard you tried.

In front of her kneeled Zayne, wiping a cut on her knee with a wet tissue and bandaging it, kissing it gently. You watched as he chided her for being careless and getting hurt.

You wished he would scold you like that.

They stood up and walked away, his arm subtly resting around her waist to support her.

She rested her head against his shoulder. She was so brave. She got injured often because of her profession.

You were an accountant. Your last injury was a paper cut.

The wind blew her hair into Zayne’s face, and you watched him brush it away and arrange it neatly on her shoulders with a smile.

They walked away into the distance, and all you could do was watch.

Sylus

“Can you get my back?” Sylus asked, holding out the bottle of sunscreen to MC.

She nodded and began working the cream into his back, massaging his shoulder blades as she went.

Sylus smiled as she used her strength to massage him. “Nice arm, kitten.”

You sat next to your sandcastle, patting the wet globs of sand together into rough turrets. It was coming together, sort of.

Sylus crouched down next to you. “How’s the castle coming along?”

“It’s getting there.”

“Do you want to come surf with us?”

You hesitated. Truthfully, you weren’t very adventurous. You were a little nervous to ride the waves.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” MC smiled at you, her surfboard held under her muscular arm.

“Um, no, I’m okay,” you responded shyly.

“Alright. Have fun building, then.” She waved at you and they both turned, running into the waves. MC squealed as the cool water hit her legs, and Sylus laughed his deep, rich laugh. He splashed her, grinning as she made various high pitched noises in response.

You sat with your sandcastle, smoothing the sides with no zeal at all. Your focus was gone. All you could think about were her hands on his back, his grin as he splashed her, their shared laughter as they ran into the water.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Sylus shouting. “Hey! Come in, it’s nice and cool.”

You shook your head.

Rafayel

“Wow, your drawings are ass,” Rafayel remarked.

“Shut up, loser.”

“Look at __’s drawing. It has such a nice composition.”

You felt pride swell in your chest at his compliment. “Thanks, Raf.”

“Of course, cutie. I’m just telling it as it is. Ms. Bodyguard could learn a thing or two from you.”

“I don’t understand how you can get everything so proportional,” MC grumbled.

“Here, let me show you.” He stood up and positioned himself behind her, taking her hand with the pencil in it and mapping out rough lines.

“Just make the general shapes first,” he murmured, hand guiding hers across the paper.

You looked away, trying to focus on your own drawing. You could hear him softly instructing her, and you sort of wished you were a beginner too in that moment.

You mindlessly sketched, and you ended up with a lazy looking cat.

“Oh, is it sad?” Rafayel asked peering over your shoulder.

“No, it’s sleepy.”

“Sleepy all the time, just like you,” he said playfully to MC, elbowing her.

“I’m not sleepy all the time! You’re thinking of Xavier,” she argued back. They continued to bicker as you watched.

Maybe it was a little sad.

Xavier

You rang the bell out of politeness despite knowing Xavier’s door code. You had made some banana muffins, and you wanted him to try them. When there was no answer, you figured you would just go inside and drop them off in the kitchen.

You entered the door code and walked inside quietly. As you passed through the living room, you had to stifle a gasp. Xavier and MC were laying together on the couch, under the blanket.

You immediately looked away, setting the muffins on the counter and moving to tiptoe out of the room. Unfortunately, the rustling woke them up.

“__? Is that you?” Came Xavier’s groggy voice.

“No- yes! Um, I just came in to drop off some muffins. I’m leaving, don’t worry!”

Xavier sat up, the blanket falling off his shoulders and pooling around his bare chest.

Your eyes widened and you turned around.

“Hey, __. Where are you going?” MC was off the couch (wearing clothes, thankfully) walking towards you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We just got back from training and crashed. We were both exhausted,” Xavier said.

Oh. They were sleeping.

“Sorry for waking you guys.”

“Don’t worry about it. Want to nap with us?”

You paused. “I’m good, don’t worry. I’ll just be going now.” With that, you awkwardly put your shoes back on and left the house. The image of them snuggling under the blanket was cemented to your brain.

That night, you slept hugging a pillow.

[cyberseong]

after hours.

pairing: seonghwa x f!reader

genre: smut/pwp, established relationship, idol au.

warnings/topics: there’s quite a bit of plot before it gets to the actual smut, seonghwa is pissed in the beginning, somnophilia, but everything is consensual, slight dacryphilia, dry humping, unprotected sex, plot twist(?) at the end ig.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: hi! this fic is slightly proofread but there’s still a possibility that there might be minor errors, but regardless, enjoy!!

seonghwa quickly exited the dressing room and back into the waiting room backstage; y/n was not present, so he began to check other locations such as the makeup and hair rooms and the small kitchenette.

he eventually concluded that she was simply not in the building.

seonghwa dialed her number over 10 times, each going directly to voicemail. anger was bubbling up in his throat; what reason would y/n have to leave the venue, especially after that was the only thing she promised not to do?

“hey, i know you guys don’t plan on leaving right away— but i’m tired, and… y/n is waiting for me at the hotel. so i’ll be leaving early. everyone did great and i’m so proud of all of you, but we’ll speak more tomorrow!” seonghwa tried to sound the kindest he possibly could, knowing the circuits in his mind were about to overheat and spark with fury and betrayal. he definitely didn’t want the rest of ateez to see him like that.

he ran out of the side door, immediately rushing to their van where their manager was waiting. “hey, could you take me back to our hotel early? i– i’m really not feeling well,” seonghwa’s words came out fast and nearly incomprehensible. the manager looked at him with worry, but he quickly nodded and started driving. their hotel was only 3 minutes away by car, so it didn’t take long for them to appear in front of the building. to seonghwa, however, it felt like ages until they reached their destination— he had no idea what y/n was doing right now, or even exactly where she was, and that thought alone was killing him.

as soon as the vehicle went into park, seonghwa jumped out of the van, quickly thanking their manager before rushing into the lobby. he entered the elevator, which, thankfully, was completely empty. he was way too distracted for fan interactions at that moment. his sole objective right now was to see his girlfriend.

slowly, the elevator approached the hotel's highest floor, and as soon as that ‘ding’ was sounded, seonghwa bolted out through the elevator doors and into the hallway. he found his way to room 1117, where he tapped his keycard against the door and opened it once he heard the lock click.

the room was dark, but he noted that the shoes y/n wore to the show earlier were the first thing he saw when he walked in. that was a dead giveaway that y/n was in this room.

“y/n. care to explain to me why you left the venue mid-concert? i’ve been looking everywhere for you, i mean you could’ve left a text, or a note, or someth– oh.” seonghwa’s confronting words quickly came to a stop when he realized y/n wasn’t listening; she was sleeping peacefully on the king mattress that swallowed the entire room. she wore one of seonghwa’s oversized animal crossing shirts and, from the dark out line of her hips and thighs, what seemed to be nothing but underwear on the bottom half of her body.

seonghwa’s entire being shivered at the sight— even imagining y/n coming back to their hotel room to wait for him like this sparked arousal within him. he took a deep breath before quickly kicking off his shoes, trying to get into the bed with the least movement and noise possible.

as his eyes had gotten a chance to adjust to the room's darkness, seonghwa could fully take in the view before him. the shirt had bunched up around y/n’s waist, presumably from moving around in her sleep. she wore a white lace thong that didn’t even try to cover her ass— seonghwa whimpered at the glimpse alone, his pants getting tighter with each thought that formed in his mind about y/n and he just knew he had to do something other than whine quietly like a bitch in heat.

seonghwa held his hips close to y/n's, thrusting up slightly in hopes of feeling any form of friction he could get against his dick. one hand of his rested on your hip as to hold it in place; the other remained over his mouth to block any of the sounds he was making from the oversensitivity. it’s not like an effort to keep quiet would work anyway— seonghwa’s lips were only a few inches from y/n’s ear, and they both knew seonghwa was rather vocal whenever he was worked up. the soft yet violent bucking of his hips against y/n’s soft skin caused her to move in her sleep a little, but seonghwa was too far gone that he couldn’t get his body to stop. tears began to drip from his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed, not being able to handle the feeling of his clothes against his overstimulated cock anymore.

his whimpers were no longer even given an effort to be held back anymore as he pushed his pants and boxers down his legs, using precum as lube before sliding carefully into y/n’s pussy in hopes that it wouldn’t wake her from her slumber. seonghwa couldn’t hold his moans in any longer as he bottomed out— his mind was overwhelmed in such an amorous haze, feeling as if nothing he was doing could help him reach his release. he couldn’t even thrust properly, which led to his hips randomly bucking harshly against y/n’s cervix. he was subconsciously holding a strong grip on y/n’s hips to the point where he was almost sure there would be bruises in the form of handprints in the morning. he placed is face against the crook of y/n’s neck in attempt to muffle the noises that proceeded to slip from his lips, causing vibrations to spread through y/n’s body. seonghwa felt y/n push back against him slightly— the unexpected movement caused him to snap as he immediately felt his body reach it’s climax. he thrusted deeply a few more times before pulling out, immediately painting his cum across y/n’s ass. his frame twitched violenty from overstimulation as he laid on his back, attempting to catch his breath and come down from his climax.

after a few seconds of silence, y/n turned onto her other side to face seonghwa. propping her head up with her arm, she confronted seonghwa. “you could’ve woken me up, you know i wouldn’t have minded.”

seonghwa jumped at the words— he had been way too fucked out to realize that y/n was awake. “what? wait, how long have you-”

“how long have i been awake?” y/n giggled slightly, placing a soft kiss onto seonghwa’s lips before she continued speaking, “since you came through the door, hwa.”