#I started trying to figure out the time line

[enderlovez]

Big Secret

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 2100+

Summary: You've tried to hard to keep your daughter a secret from Spencer after her father left, but what happens when this secret finally comes to light?

Content Warning: fear of abandonment, abandonment of pregnant woman, reader gets anxiety

A/N This was requested, and I'm not to sure how I did here. There'll probably be a bunch of mistakes because I'm really tired right now.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The first time Spencer asks if something's wrong, you almost laugh. Not because you find it funny in any sense of the world, but because there is something wrong, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him.

He's studying you with those piercing eyes, like he can read every thought you've ever had. His brow is furrowed in that way that makes him look younger than he is, and for a split second, you wonder if he really can hear your thoughts.

"You've been a little off lately," he says, the concerns in his voice too subtle for most people to notice, but you hear it. "Is... everything okay?"

You smile, forcing the curve of your lips to stay steady. "Everything's fine, Spence. Just a lot on my mind, you know?"

It's the truth. Sort of. Work is, as always, chaotic as hell. But there's something gnawing at you, something you can't make yourself say out loud.

Spencer doesn't push, but you know he's watching, waiting for you to say more on your own. That's the thing about him—he's patient, a quality you greatly admire. But when he wants something, he tends to get it.

You've had a few drinks together after work, spent quiet hours in coffee shops, talking about cases, about books, about life. You think you're starting to let yourself like him.

You think he might be starting to like you, too, even though the lines between friendship and... something more are still blurry, and you haven't yet figures out how to cross them without making a mess.

Then, of course, there is the little secret of your daughter—the very secret that keeps you up at night, wondering if you've already ruined whatever future could happen.

"Is everything really fine?" Spencer asks again, his voice a little softer now, like he's trying to coax the truth out of me without making it feel like an interrogation. It feels like one anyway.

You nod quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Yeah. Really. Just... personal stuff."

He watches you for a beat longer, clearly not entirely convinced, but also not going to press for more. Spencer isn't like that. He respects boundaries. He respects you, in a way that makes your chest tighten every time he looks at you, like you're something he can lose if he doesn't handle you with enough care.

And maybe that's it. Maybe you're afraid of him seeing the part of you that isn't as easy to love, the part that you're still learning to love yourself.

Maybe that's why you've kept Isla a secret, but you've never mentioned her in passing conversations, or even when he asks about your life outside the job.

You want him to see you as someone who can go out for a drink after a case without having to worry about a three-year-old waiting for her mother to come home.

But that's not you. You've got Isla. You've got your little girl, and one day, Spencer's going to have to know, as terrifying as that thought is to you.

You're not ashamed of your daughter, you could never be ashamed of your little girl.

But the last man who found out about her—her own father—ran for the hills before she was even born. The thought of Spencer doing the same, of him walking away the second he finds out about Isla, has been eating away at you from the first time you went out together.

You tell yourself it's not about him being a bad guy, because he's not. Spencer's kind and thoughtful and he doesn't seem like the type of man to judge.

But it's not like you can help the fear, that he might not want a woman with a child, especially one as young as Isla. She's the center of your world, she will always come first, and you can't risk losing Spencer for the same reason you lost Isla's father.

"Are you sure?" Spencer's voice cuts through your thoughts, soft and insistent. He's still looking at you, like he's waiting for the truth to slip from your lips, like he knows it'll happen eventually. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it a little difficult to breathe. His words, so simple, so caring, somehow makes the weight on your shoulders heavier.

What would it feel like to tell him?

To let him in, to share this huge part of yourself with someone who could very well walk out of your life when he finds out?

It's easier to just nod and pretend everything's fine. It's easier to lie, to keep him at arms length, than risk him seeing who you really are—a mother, sure, but also someone who's terrified of being left again.

But Spencer doesn't deserve that. You know he doesn't deserve that, to keep wondering what's going on inside your head when he's done nothing but be there for you, day after day.

"I..." You hesitate, your breath catching in your chest. "There's something I should tell you, but it's really... it's going to complicate things."

Spencer doesn't say anything right away. He just watches you, and for a brief moment, the distance between you feels impossible to manage. You take a step forward, closing that space as best you can.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready to," he says finally, his voice so gentle that it almost breaks you. "You never have to feel obligated to tell me anything, I just want you to know I'm here if you wanna talk."

And right then, something shifts.

You're not entire sure what, but something deep inside wonders if maybe—just maybe—it might be time to tell him about the life you've tried to hard to keep hidden. About your precious little girl, and about her father who she's never known, and about the fears that keep you awake at night.

About the little girl who's waiting for you at home, her smile the only thing that keeps you going when everything else is so shaky.

"I have a daughter," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She's three. Her name's Isla."

He blinks, processing, before his expression softens. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you with (gorgeous) eyes of his that feel almost like they can see right into your soul.

You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction. You're expecting him to step away from you, to give some polite excuse and walk out the door.

But instead, he surprises you. "I'd really like to meet her, if that's something you'd be okay with."

You blink at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. "You... you would? You want to meet Isla?"

Spencer smiles, just a little, but it's blindingly bright in your eyes. "Of course, I want to meet the little girl who obviously means so much to you."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You stand outside your apartment door, fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag, suddenly feeling like you're about to do something you can't undo.

Which, you are, but that doesn't stop your heart from thumping uncomfortably, or your stomach from fluttering with anxiety.

Spencer's standing beside you, his eyes scanning the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks calm, maybe even a little curious, but you can tell he's waiting for you to make the first move, to invite him inside where everything will change.

It helps knowing that, if you happen to change your mind, he'll leave the second you ask him to.

The familiar hum of the building's old pipes is the only sound between you. You're about to let Spencer see Isla. You're about to let him into this part of your life you've kept so carefully hidden. And it is terrifying.

It's one thing to share a drink or talk about drinks. It's an entirely different thing to show another person the most vulnerable part of yourself.

The next door over swings open, and your neighbor, Maria, steps out. She looks up from her phone when she spots you, waving with the hand that's holding Isla's favorite stuffed bunny—she probably left it there at some point.

"Hey, just finished feeding her a few minutes ago," Maria says with a smile, but there's a hint of urgency in her voice as she checks her watch. "I was just 'boutta call you, gotta head out. You good here?"

You nod, forcing a smile as you take Isla's stuffed animal from Maria. "Yeah, thanks. She's been good today?"

"She's always good, she's a sweetheart," Maria says before turning on her heel, heading towards the stairs with quick steps. She glances back at you once to make sure you're alright before she's gone.

You watch her go, your breath catching in your throat as you unlock the door.

Every part of you is screaming that this isn't a good idea, that you're making a huge mistake by letting Spencer in, but you push those thoughts away as best you can, forcing yourself to step inside and gently pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Come on in," you say, trying to sound casual, but the words sound all wrong in your own ears, and they surely sound the same to Spencer.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before stepping through the doorway. The second his foot crosses the threshold, something in the air shifts, though neither of you can name what it is.

Isla's small shoes are lined up neatly by the door beside yours, and you can hear her humming softly from the living room. It's the sound of home.

Some of the anxiety fades away. It's more strange than anything to have Spencer here, where it's all real and in front of him.

You move towards the living room, trying to steady your breath. There, sitting on the floor with a coloring book spread out in front of her and a variety of markers and pencils at her side, is Isla.

Her hair's a bit messy, the way it always gets after a nap, but her wide eyes light up the moment she notices you.

"Mommy!" Isla calls, her little face breathing into a grin as she scrambles to her feet. She's barely two and a half feet tall, one of her little hands clutching her stuffed bunny tightly, the other wrapped around your legs.

You plop down on the sofa and ruffle her hair affectionately, a soft smile gracing your lips.

And then, she sees Spencer.

For a moment, Isla just stares at him, wide-eyed and quiet. Spencer's already crouched down, his hands resting gently on his knees, not moving, simply waiting for her to decide if she'll approach him or not.

You hold your breath, watching the moment unfold in real time—you've never had to share this part of your life with anyone. You've never had to share her with another person. And for a brief moment, you're more worried about how she'll react.

And then, like she's made up her mind, Isla takes a few tentative steps toward Spencer. She looks up at him, her face a picture of innocent curiosity, and before either of you can say anything, she reaches out, quickly offering him her stuffed bunny.

Oh, thank God.

Spencer looks at the bunny, then back at her, his expression softening. "Thank you," he says, his voice gentle, as it's as if a part of you clicks into place. Like he's not only accepted you, but now, he's accepting Isla, too.

He's accepting your baby, and you feel like you're going to cry.

She smiles up at him, and for a second, it feels like everything's going to be okay. He doesn't look at her like she's an obstacle, or like he doesn't know what to do.

He looks at her the way he always looks at you—with patience, and something else that you have a hard time naming.

Isla giggles, her small hand still holding the bunny, as then she shyly crawls into your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Spencer chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he sits down beside you, observing the interaction. You rub your hand up and down Isla's back and press a firm kiss to the top of her head.

After another quiet moment, Isla crawls off you again, sitting back on the floor in front of her coloring book.

"So, uh, do you like coloring?" Spencer asks, his voice carefully light, as he looks over at Isla, who's now holding a crayon like it's the most important thing in the world.

She nods solemnly, but then grins up at him. "I like pink," she says, matter-of-factly, and then she goes back to her drawing.

Spencer's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Pink's a great color," he agrees, and you can't help but smile.

Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

[bubblegumgothglados]

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

[rainroses45]

If I see one more plant!

𖧧description: You happen to be pregnant with a certain angel's baby, and with great power comes great responsibility... so here is how your powers and hormones give the Winchesters several heart attack...enjoy? Castiel x Pregnant Fem! Reader 𖧧a/n: I am obsessed with poison ivy's powers and so I was like hmmmmm "I should write this" and I did (Not Edited) 𖧧song Inspo: Kiwi - Harry Styles 𖧧warning: uummm none that I know of except maybe that pregnant reader gets emotional a lot BUT CAN YOU BLAME HER SHE IS TRYING HER BEST

The first time your powers when haywire was at a small-town department store when you were four months pregnant. Nothing out of the ordinary, nor the usual places the Winchesters frequented, but after a long hunt, they all decided a little downtime wouldn’t hurt especially since they found out you were pregnant.

The Winchesters had all sorts of equipment-guns, knives, books, *cough cough* trauma- but booster seats, cribs, and diapers, not so much. So with that in mind, they didn't argue when you dragged them out to different department stores.

Sam was poking around the electronics section ( his computer screen was stuck on busty asian beauties. com again), Dean was trying on a ridiculous-looking novelty hat, and you were wandering the aisles, following a trail of pink and blue onesies, cute little shoes, and soft blankets.

You hadn’t been feeling emotional at all that morning—really, you hadn’t. The pregnancy was going well, the baby was healthy, and you had Castiel by your side. What could go wrong?

Then, you spotted it: a tiny pair of shoes. They were so small and cute, pink with little flowers on them. Your heart absolutely melted.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes going wide. “They’re just… they’re so tiny! And adorable! Oh my god, what if… what if they… the baby wears them, and I'm having a little baby girl! Oh look they have them in blue too and—and… I just can’t handle this!”

Dean, who had been half-heartedly inspecting a display of bizarre looking mannequins, turned at the sound of your voice. “What the hell is going on over there?”

Before anyone could answer, you started tearing up. Big, dramatic, teary-eyed sobs as your emotions got the best of you. “It’s so cute! This is so cute! OMG why is everything here so cute?!”

Castiel, who had been silently standing by, watching the situation unfold, immediately stepped forward, his face softening in concern. “Y/N, sweetheart, it’s okay. Just… breathe. I understand the tiny items are cute.”

But it was too late for your boyfriend's soft words to soothe you. Your powers had already started to react to the uncontrollable emotions. Tiny flowers began sprouting from the ground beneath your feet. They were delicate little blooms—daisies, roses, violets—pushing through the cracked, textile floor. The flowers spread out around you, their sweet fragrance filling the air, and color overshadowing the cute clothing.

Dean, who had been watching you with a mix of confusion and curiosity, with a hint of amusement, quickly turned to Sam. “Okay, this I did not sign up for.”

Sam was trying to hold back his laughter, but when a single daisy bloomed in the middle of his shoe, he couldn’t help it. “Dude, you’re telling me you didn’t think this would happen? She’s practically the real life poison ivy!”

Dean shot Sam a glare. “Not the point, Sammy. We need to figure out how to fix this before we turn this store into the weirdest garden party ever.”

Meanwhile, while the boys were observing the weird scenario happening some people also were starting to notice. A lady in the aisle who was eyeing the chupones (I don't know what this is called in English sorry) next to you was giving you a curious look, unsure whether she should be worried or mental.

“Uh, hey, ma’am,” Dean said, stepping into her line of sight with a big grin. “Nothing to see here. Just, uh, a bit of… plant therapy going on.” He flashed a grin, trying to divert her attention.

The woman blinked at him, her eyes darting between Dean and the flowers. “Are you… sure? I mean how did the flowers appear out of no where? I mean isn't that a bit odd?”

Sam noticing his brother struggling with getting the lady away from the scene, stepped in, “Oh yeah, it’s totally normal. She’s just… you know, super into horticulture. All natural, totally organic stuff.”

“Yeah, you know,” Dean added with a wink, having no idea what the hell was horticulture was. “Just don’t touch the plants. Some of them bite- fuck." Dean cursed under his breath as he was too late catch his mistake.

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning if she’d accidentally stumbled into a strange dimension or if this was all just an elaborate joke. “I see…” She backed away slowly, nervously laughing while she looked around hoping to see a video camera or something.

Cas on the other hand was doing his best to calm you down. He crouched beside you, gently taking your hands in his, his gaze soft yet filled with concern.

“Y/N, sweetheart, listen to me,” he said in his steady, calming tone. “I know it’s overwhelming, but you need to control your breathing. Focus on me, okay?”

You wiped your tears, sniffling, still a little overwhelmed by the sheer cuteness of the tiny shoes. “But Cas… What if I mess up? What if I’m not a good mom? What if… what if the baby doesn’t like flowers?What if the baby doesn't like the shoes I get them? What if they don't like me? What if I-”

Castiel’s eyes softened even more as he took a deep breath, leaning forward to gently press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re already doing wonderfully. The baby will love whatever you give it—because it will have you. You’ll be perfect.”

You took a shaky breath, your tears subsiding as his words sank in. Slowly, you wiped your tears which seemed to be the same effect of brushing the flowers away from your feet, watching as they melted back into the ground, leaving behind only the faintest trace of green.

Dean and Sam returned to your side, looking almost relieved the situation was under control.

Dean let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okay, that was fun… but if I ever see a store more than five feet away from a hunt again, I’m gonna have to rethink my life choices.”

Sam chuckled softly. “What, you don’t like shopping with us?”

“I don’t mind it,” Dean said with a grin, “but the next time I see any more flowers in this place, I’m throwing a fit.”

You managed a small laugh as you wiped your eyes, the overwhelming emotions still there but a little easier to manage now. “Thanks, guys. I think I’m okay now. But… seriously, I’m never going near baby shoes again.”

Castiel smiled at you, offering a hand to help you back up. “Perhaps we should just stick to something a bit more practical next time?”

You nodded, still feeling a little sheepish. “Yeah, maybe… like, I don’t know, diapers?”

Dean smirked. “I’m all for the diapers. Less flowers, more action.”

The second time it was a quiet morning, and the everyone had decided to take a much-needed break from hunting. After a long few weeks of tracking down monsters, a little downtime at a cozy diner seemed perfect. You, being six months pregnant, were very excited about food. And when you’d glanced at the menu and seen pancakes, you didn’t hold back. You ordered everything—pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, and just about every side dish they had to offer. You were starving. Nothing was going to get in your way between you and your maple syrup.

You slid into the booth with Dean and Sam, Castiel sitting beside you on the opposite end of the brothers. He did look a little out of place in the cozy diner with his trench coat still on, but so did a pregnant lady wearing a Bluey onesie, and two other guys in cowboy outfits.

The brothers were already halfway through their coffee, talking about the next hunt, but your mind was purely focused on the delicious serving of food coming your way.

Dean glanced at you with an amused grin. “You really going to eat all that, or is that just for show?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. “I’m pregnant, Dean. I feel like I just ordered an appetizer. Do not judge me.”

Sam laughed softly. “ Leave her alone Dean, she is carrying an angel's baby and a superpowered one at that. Let the girl eat whatever she wants."

Dean just shook his head. “Well, just don’t blame me when you can’t move after. I didn’t order the mountain of food.”

Just as you were about to playfully strangle Dean, the waitress brought over your huge order, but something was off. You had your eggs, you had your bacon, waffles, omelet, but something was missing. There was a stack of pancakes for Sam, a stack of pancakes for Dean, and a stack of pancakes for Cas— everyone got fluffy stack of pancakes except for you.

“Hey,” you said, frowning at the waitress. “Excuse me Miss, where are my pancakes?”

The waitress blinked, clearly flustered. “Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’ll get them right out for you.” She hurried away not before giving you a smile.

You sighed, staring at your plate, which now had way too many waffles and not enough pancakes. You pouted slightly. “I really wanted those pancakes…”

Castiel, who had been silently observing, stood up with his usual determination. “I will go get them for you, my beloved Y/N.” He headed toward the counter before anyone could stop him, his eyes already focused on the task at hand.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Cas, relax. It’s not like it’s a big deal—”

But before he could finish his sentence, two women seated by the counter noticed Castiel, eyes widening as they took in his rugged, angelic demeanor. They exchanged a quick glance, their faces lighting up with interest.

One of them, bold and confident, immediately stood up and walked toward him. “Hey there, handsome,” she said, flashing a playful smile. “I couldn’t help but notice… you’re not from around here. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

Castiel, oblivious to the subtleties of anytype of human interactions, blinked in confusion. “I am simply retrieving pancakes for my girlfriend.”

The woman laughed, clearly not getting the hint. “Oh, you have a girlfriend? That’s cute." She dragged her freshly done nails over his chest. "But I bet she’d let you have a little fun, right?”

You, sitting back at the booth, started to feel that familiar irritation rise up, and your fingers twitched. Maybe a little too much.

Before you could stop it, the ground beneath you began to tremble slightly, and tiny cacti started sprouting from the floor, little spinky plants pushing up through the checkered text tiles and spreading outward. A few even shot out from the booth’s cushions, their thorns digging into the fabric around you.

Dean and Sam exchanged a panicked glance, both of them groaning in unison. “Not again,” Sam muttered, rubbing his temples.

Dean just sighed, glancing over at the growing cactus problem. “I swear, Cas better wrap this up before we turn this place into the weirdest garden party.... again!”

You were too far gone to notice their worried glances. Every little flirtatious giggle from the women sent your emotions spiraling, and more and more cacti grew—thick, spinky, sharp, cacti. There were even a few sprouting from nearby tables and counters, causing customers to take wide-eyed steps back.

The women, realizing that Castiel wasn’t giving them the attention they wanted, glanced around nervously. They tried to get a little closer to him, but he was still looking at them with that same confused expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a frown, “but I am in a committed relationship with my amazing, gorgeous girlfriend, and we are expecting a child together. I cannot- no I will not accept your advances because I find your lack of beauty and personality disgusting. So please let me return back to my girlfriend, or I will have to fry your face.”

The women blinked, their smiles faltering. “Oh… uh, I didn’t know you were expecting,” one of them said, her voice wavering. “Well, uh, congratulations, I guess… sorry to bother you.” They quickly backed away, clearly embarrassed, but your plant-related meltdown was far from over. A faint whispers of, "please don't kill us."

"Asshats." Cas muttered as he watched the two ladies walk away, patches of Cactus sticking out of their skin.

Dean and Sam rushed over to your side of the booth and tried calming you down. Sam immediately started pushing the closest cactus plant down into the ground. “Please, Y/N, just calm down! We’ll get your pancakes! We’ll get everything you want!”

Dean took the opposite approach, shoving a plate of his own pancakes toward you, trying to distract you. “Here! Just have mine! Pancakes! See? Everything’s fine!”

You looked at both of them, your eyes wide with irritation as another cactus popped up in the middle of the table. “I don’t want your pancakes, Dean! I want my own pancakes! I want my own boyfriend! I want my loyal boyfriend to bring me pancakes!”

More cacti began sprouting around the booth, some growing from the floor, while others were now tangled between the chairs. Sam was frantically trying to push them back down, his face a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. “Why is she always so persistent when it comes to the plants?! Why couldn’t she just shoot a man like the rest of us?!”

Dean held up his hands, trying to calm you down. “Okay, okay. No need to start a whole desert in here. Cas! Tell her we’re fine. Tell her you already turned down the STD whores!”

Castiel returned to the table, completely unaware of the level of destruction the plants had caused. He placed the pancakes in front of you, a serene smile on his face. “Here you go, beautiful. Your pancakes, I even got them with whip cream.” He placed a kiss on your head. "Would you like me to cut them up for you?"

You took a deep breath as you reached for your pancakes, but you couldn’t help but smile at him even as you felt like you were going to twist his guys inside and out. He’d turned the girls down. And so calmly, too. It was like it wasn’t even a second thought.

Dean and Sam were still working together to keep plants from growing into the booth’s walls. Sam was pushing one of the cacti down, while Dean was shoving another out the door, his eyes twitching with disbelief.

“Guys, I swear,” Dean muttered, “if I have to fight off one more cactus, I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“You’re lucky we’re not going to die from these plants,” Sam grumbled, attempting to swat at a rogue vine that had started climbing up a nearby window.

You laughed softly, the last of the cacti finally retracting as you calmed down. You were feeling better, but now the diner was definitely looking a lot more like a desert garden. “Sorry, guys. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

Castiel smiled down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “It’s alright, darling. I would never allow anyone to take my attention from you.”

You smiled, feeling a little sheepish. “Thanks, Cas. You really handled that well.”

Dean and Sam, clearly exhausted from the plant chaos, collapsed back into the booth with you, still eyeing the last few cacti with suspicion.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Dean said, eyeing the growing cactus garden with disbelief. “Next time, we’re sticking to delivery pizza, okay? No more pancakes, no more plants.”

The third time seemed to be no different. It was another quiet morning on the road. The Impala had made a pit stop at a gas station, and the Winchesters, along with Castiel, were inside grabbing snacks and supplies. You were trying to hold it together, but being six months pregnant made everything a little… well, more difficult. You’d been looking forward to getting out of the car and stretching your legs, but the moment you stepped out of the car, you felt the weight of your growing belly.

It had taken a toll on your body. With new stretch marks, and odd cramps and cravings, you didn’t expect to out grow your clothing so fast.

Inside the convenience store, you were eyeing some snacks when Sam, in his usual well-meaning but oblivious way, made the comment that would unintentionally set things off.

“Y/N,” Sam said, glancing up from the bag of chips he was holding, “I think you should get bigger pants or something. I mean, it might help you feel more comfortable, you know? I don’t want you to strain yourself or the baby.” He smiled, thinking the simple hardships of the beginning of motherhood would be appreciated by the soft comfort of jeggings.

You froze. The words hit you harder than Sam could’ve known. Of course, you were aware of your growing belly, but you weren’t expecting to be reminded of it so bluntly (it was no where close to being blunt). You gave him a tight smile, but inside, it stung.

Dean noticed the shift in your mood almost immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and concerned.

But before Sam could even register the impact of his words, you felt the anger and hurt bubbling up inside you. The next thing anyone knew, thick vines began sprouting up around you, twisting and curling out from the ground, wrapping themselves tightly around Sam’s legs, his arms, and even his waist. He froze, eyes wide in shock as the plants continued to tighten around him.

“Y/N, what the hell?!” Sam gasped, struggling against the vines. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Dean stepped forward, panic rising in his voice. “No, no, not again—come on, Y/N, you gotta calm down.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a can of weed repellent, spraying it in the air in an attempt to keep the plants at bay. “I knew this would come in handy.”

But no matter how much Dean sprayed, the vines didn’t seem to back off. Sam was now fully encased in a web of thick, green vines that pulled tighter with every second, making it hard for him to move.

“Y/N, please—I didn’t mean it that way!” Sam was practically pleading now, his voice muffled by the plant growth surrounding him.

Dean, frantic and trying to get to you, turned to Castiel. “Cas, help! She’s gone full jungle, and Sam’s about to become plant food!”

Cas, who had been silently observing the whole thing with wide eyes, turned to you with a soft, comforting expression. “Aww, sweetheart, it’s okay. He didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dean shot Cas a look, as if to say, Are you kidding me right now?

“It’s not okay,” Dean snapped. “Cas, help me! We’re running out of weed repellent, and Sam is literally about to get swallowed by the vines!”

“Those are actually not weeds they are-“ “They could be dancing salsa beans for all I care help me!”

Castiel looked at Dean for a moment, before turning his attention back to you. He took a slow step toward you, his voice gentle. “Y/N, I know you’re upset, but it’s okay. Sam didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You were still angry, but hearing Cas’ calm tone seemed to ease the tension a little. The vines wrapped around Sam loosened, just slightly, but it was enough for him to gasp for air. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it, Y/N. Please… I just thought you might be more comfortable, that’s all. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings I’m so sorry.”

You glanced at Sam, then to Castiel, who was smiling softly at you. The reassurance in his voice had a calming effect, but the vines—now with a mind of their own—had a different idea. They snapped back at Sam one last time, tightening around his chest, almost as if to say, this is what happens when you mess with my girl.

Dean, now frantically spraying more weed repellent, hissed, “Cas, please do something! We’re losing Sam to the vines!”

Castiel stepped closer to you, his hand gently resting on your arm. “Y/N, honey, just breathe. Everything’s fine. Sam didn’t know how his words affected you.”

Dean, now out of repellent, was genuinely losing his patience. “Cas, seriously, do something! He’s gonna get tangled in the damn plants forever if you don’t!”

You took a deep breath, the vines finally relaxing around Sam, though he was still stuck. You raised an eyebrow at Dean’s frantic expression, your anger dissipating into something more mischievous.

“Oh sorry,” you said, your tone finally softening. “I’m sorry Sam, I just- I don’t know what came over me it’s been hard controlling everything you know?” The vines retreated slowly, leaving Sam tangled up in a few stray leaves, looking slightly defeated.

Dean let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Thank God. If I had to deal with you two and the plants much longer, I was about to set the whole diner on fire.”

Sam, now free of most of the vines, shot you a sheepish look. “No it’s my fault. Sorry, really. I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But I guess I should’ve worded that differently.”

You finally gave him a small smile, the tension breaking. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m sorry for letting my powers get the best out of me. It’s hard to tell wether it’s the baby or me who’s in control.”

Dean threw up his hands, looking exasperated. “It’s not okay! You almost turned this place into Jurassic Park! We can’t keep dealing with this every time you get upset!”

Cas, with his trademark calm demeanor, reached over to gently rub your back. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You just need to know it’s okay to express your feelings.”

You smiled at him, grateful for the comfort.

Dean rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted from the ordeal. “I swear, if I have to fight one more damn plant, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” you said, laughing softly, “I think we’re done with the plants for now.”

Dean shot a glare at the nearest cactus sprout. “Yeah, well, let’s hope so.”

*Cue the meme*

Dean after not seeing a plant  incident

“wow i haven’t stubbed my toe in 5 months” I said with joyous

(you go into labor and cause a whole rainforest)

I was then shot 57 times in the chest

[mawlaeina]

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT | SAGAU Childe

🍊 content: SAGAU! Childe x Reader

✦ content w: none! fluff or plain or smthn along that line. Though, I think you should read Birthdays | SAGAU! Childe first before this for context igs.

It’s been a few months since Childe was acting weird in the game.

At first, you thought it was just your game lagging—with Childe just abruptly stopping in the middle of a run, or when you’re using another character and for some reason Childe switches in.

But it happened a little too often after a while.

Everytime you’d try to use another character, he would either switch with them out of the blue or the entire game would freeze.

Maybe your phone was being faulty, or the storage was at its maximum capacity (archons, you hoped not).

Whatever your reasons were, it had all been thrown out of the window on the day before Christmas.

It started out like any other day for you—no work or classes, just another day to grind in the game again (and another day to appreciate Childe ofc). You figured you could still play the game despite all the problems you’ve encountered so far, since those weren’t gonna stop you anyway.

While fighting the Pyro Regisvine with Childe, your screen suddenly freezes and glitches for a moment before the fight continues.

Wait…

Continues???

You watch, completely dumbfounded as Childe moves on his own. You try to tap on any of the icons but it doesn’t work—it’s like he was alive and conscious as he fought the large boss plant.

What surprises you even more so was the fact that he transformed… into Foul Legacy…? You rubbed your eyes, hoping that maybe you were just tired or maybe even dreaming.

After the fight was done, Childe settled in place, still in his Foul Legacy form as the Regisvine falls to the ground. He turns around, his attention seemingly focused on you before the screen turned black.

You take in the first few moments of silence, thinking what was that just now—like, no seriously, what just happened?

Reaching out to your device, you began to make an attempt to turn in back on again, but nothing happens. You sighed, scratching the back of your head as you wondered what you were going to do now.

You figured you could go celebrate Christmas—that’s no fun, you’d hate to celebrate Christmas by yourself, you’d rather spend the day grinding for primos or something.

Well, not like you had a choice anymore. After all, your device was broken—playing Genshin Impact was no longer an option at the moment. Begrudgingly, you began to decorate your room a bit.

You started with a small, white Christmas tree you found somewhere in the storage room, adding a few decorations and lights to its leaves—making sure that it wasn’t too much or too bare.

After that you just added a few more things here and there to the room, lights and all that to make the atmosphere a bit more festive and warmer than it usually is.

Once you finished, you take a step back, sitting on a nearby chair as you pondered what to do next.

Out of pure randomness you just decided to bake some cookies instead—it would keep you busy for the remaining hours of the day, and maybe Santa would even grant you a wish if you leave some out for him.

No, you never really believed in Santa, but anyways-

You baked some classic chocolate chipped cookies, and neatly arranged them on a plate before placing it on the desk inside your room.

You partnered the cookies with a glass of milk, and a shot glass of vodka because why not? it was yours to drink in the morning anyway���at least, that’s what you thought.

You do a few more other things to tire yourself out before heading to bed, kissing your hydro slime and Childe plushies goodnight—hoping that by tomorrow your device is back to normal, and that what happened earlier was just a random glitch.

Eventually, you fell asleep, at a much earlier time than you usually do.

Meanwhile, when the screen turned black, Childe had noticed since your face had disappeared, and he couldn’t hear you anymore either.

He’s been trying to communicate with you or even move freely on his own—to show you that he’s conscious. But doing so was messing up the boundaries that keep you two separated (aka the device).

He turns back to his normal self, the after effects of Foul Legacy weighed down on his physical body a bit when he does so.

He steadies himself, as he wishes to himself again that he wants to see you.

Not just through the screen—he wants to meet you, physically. He thinks that by doing so he may be able to sort his conflicting emotions out, which have been growing by the day for some reason.

It amuses him in a way. How much you like him despite his nature, how he came to be who he is now, and despite knowing what he does.

You just like him as he is, and it was very unlike him to be swayed by it.

It was unlike of him to reread the letters that you sent to him, to look forward to his birthday every year—hell, to look forward everyday whenever you come online.

He keeps telling himself, that he could never feel the same way as you do. Being worlds apart only meant that it was futile to even entertain the idea.

But he somehow dislikes it when you use other characters, whether it was to buff his damage or to heal him, he just disliked it.

So, while picking up the rewards from defeating the Pyro Regisvine, he unconsciously finds himself wishing to meet you, even if it was just for a moment.

He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes and folding his arms, contemplating about something. When he opens his eyes once more, he immediately makes a double take.

He’s suddenly in a different room. He feels different too, he doesn’t know how or why, but he just does.

He looks down on himself for a moment, checking if there were any changes. A small, red and white hat falls from his head and onto the floor when he does, catching his attention.

He crouches down for a moment to pick it up. Once it was in his hands he inspects it—triangular in shape with a white ball at the top. He decides to hold onto it for now before looking around the room.

The place looks comfy, and warm and soft. It was definitely much different from his own room—with a lot of stringed lights, and a snowy…

A fake, snowy tree with a few decorations.

The design wasn’t overwhelmingly festive, it was just right for whatever ocassion the owner of the room prepared for.

He remembers that you had mention something about this in one of the letters you’ve written to him on his birthday. Merry Christmas was it? It was something about gifts and presents, though he’s not entirely sure.

He takes a few steps around the room, wondering how he got here—maybe the work of an Abyss Mage? He shakes the idea away, sitting down by the edge of what he thought was an empty bed.

As he places his hand behind him, he pauses as he felt the curve of a leg. His head turns, finally noticing you who was almost drowned by the covers, and surrounded by soft materials that resembled him and some hydro slimes.

Oh.

Oh.

He was frozen in place as it registered to him, his thoughts were suddenly racing, with an odd rhythm and pulse coming from his chest.

He was excited.

It wasn’t the same excitement that came from battling enemies, or fighting with strong people.

No, this was entirely different. It was like he was thrilled to see you, to meet you, face to face without any barriers or boundaries for the first time.

“Comrade?” He speaks, his voice is quiet—almost afraid to wake you when you looked so peaceful in your sleep.

But he also wanted to wake you up, and ask for your name.

He squints his eyes and gets off from the bed. He feels weird staying in such close proximity to you.

He walks over to your nearby desk, deciding to check out some of your stuff. He wanted to investigate—unable to help his habits as a Fatui harbinger.

Seeing a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a shot of alcohol on the desk, he was left rather confused and intrigued. What on earth were you up to?

Against his better judgement, he picks up one cookie and examines it. It looks good.

It doesn’t seem to be poisoned. So, there’s no harm in trying them, right?

Before he knew it, he’s eaten about half of the cookies, a fourth of the glass of milk, and took the shot of alcohol—which was much to his liking.

He comes back to you, sitting by the edge of the bed once more as his eyes watch how you snuggle with the toy that resembled him.

“You really love me that much, huh comrade?” He speaks to himself before scoffing quietly in amusement.

He tries to sort out his feelings as he just stares at you.

It’ll pass.

He was quiet for a long while, sitting still beside your sleeping figure. After a few moments he finally lets out a sigh, telling himself that he’ll think it through another time.

It’s not love.

He tells himself again, firmly believing it as he takes out the red and white hat from earlier.

He reaches out to the toy version of himself, carefully placing the hat on top of it as to not wake you up.

Seconds after doing so, he immediately finds himself falling to the familiar ground of Teyvat.

He groans as he stands up, clearly annoyed of what just happened. He scratches the back of his head, clearly confused how he got sent back to Teyvat in such a manner.

“Huh… I didn’t get the chance to say Merry Christmas.”

✦ it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so this is a bit rough, also a bit rushed? idk, it’s not that great *sad noises*

✦ late Christmas / holiday fic for everyone, sincerely from ur favorite trash writer

✦ I love him sm, can I cry-

✦ not lore accurate Childe, don’t come at me

✦ lots of grammar mistakes, don’t mind it pls

[boykisser4]

The Breakaway

pairing: Naoya Zenin x male reader

warnings: toxic & abusive relationship, things get physical, no nsfw

Naoya Zenin sat at the counter of his favorite coffee shop, the warm glow of the pendant lights reflecting off his glasses. He stared at the steaming cup of black coffee, his thoughts swirling like the milk in a latte art design. The scent of freshly ground beans filled the air, a comforting aroma that was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. His thumb traced the edge of the worn book in front of him, a habit when he was deep in thought. The barista called out the next order with a cheerful tone that grated on his nerves, pulling him out of his introspection.

The door chimed as the m/n entered, the cool evening breeze bringing a hint of rain with it. He scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on Naoya. A flicker of something unreadable crossed Naoya's face before he forced a smile, beckoning him over. As m/n approached, Naoya took in his damp hair, the way his sweatshirt clung to his frame, and the faint scent of rain on his skin. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that their relationship had been strained for months. m/n slid onto the stool, setting down his own book. They used to share a passion for reading, but lately, it felt like the only thing they had in common was the silence that stretched between them.

Naoya took a sip of his coffee, the bitter taste doing little to warm his soul. "You picked a good night to come out," he said, trying to keep his voice light. m/n nodded, his eyes flitting to the book Naoya had been staring at. "What's new?" The question hung in the air, a loaded invitation to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

m/n hesitated, then slid his own book across the counter. "Just started this one. It's supposed to be a gripping thriller." Naoya recognized the title, a bestseller he had read last year. He nodded, searching for something to say that didn't involve the heavy weight of their reality. "I remember the plot twist at the end," he said, smiling faintly. "It's a real page-turner."

The silence grew heavier, each tick of the clock behind the counter echoing in the space between them. Naoya's stomach clenched as he considered the state of their relationship. It had started off with late-night study sessions and stolen kisses in quiet corners, evolving into something beautiful and full of promise. But somewhere along the line, it had turned toxic. Jealousy and accusations had seeped in, corroding the foundation they had built.

"Look, I know things have been... rough," Naoya began, his voice low and earnest. He reached out, placing his hand over the m/n's. It was cold from the rain outside, but the gesture was met with a tense stillness. "I just want to fix this, okay?"

m/n's eyes remained on their joined hands, his own grip tightening around his coffee cup. "I don't know if it's that simple, Naoya," he said, his voice laced with a weariness that hadn't been there before.

Naoya felt the temperature in the room drop as m/n's words settled over them. He withdrew his hand, the sudden absence of contact leaving his skin feeling cold. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice strained.

m/n sighed, his gaze finally meeting Naoya's. "I mean that maybe we can't just fix this with a conversation over coffee," he said, his voice steady but laced with sadness. "It's been going on for so long, and I've tried to ignore it, to believe it would get better, but..." He trailed off, taking a shaky breath.

Naoya's expression hardened, his grip on his mug tightening until his knuckles turned white. "What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice raising just a notch.

m/n's eyes widened at the sudden shift in Naoya's demeanor. He took a step back, the stool scraping against the tiles. "I'm saying we need a break," he clarified, his voice trembling slightly. "Some time apart to figure things out."

Naoya's jaw clenched as he processed the words. "A break?" he echoed, his voice a dangerous whisper. He stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled over, the clatter startling the nearby patrons. "Is that what you think this is? Just something to put on pause?"

m/n's eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape from the confrontation that was escalating rapidly. He took another step back, his hand hovering near his book as if it could serve as a shield. "Naoya, please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a murmur.

But Naoya didn't hear the desperation in his tone. The anger had taken over, turning his eyes a stormy shade of blue. He took a step closer, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think you can just walk away from this?" he spat, his voice a mix of fury and disbelief. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

m/n heart raced, his eyes searching for any sign of the person he had once loved in the man before him. "Naoya, please," he said again, his voice shaking. "This isn't good for either of us. We both need some time to think."

But Naoya's anger was a living thing, coiling around them like smoke from an unseen fire. "Think about what?" he snarled, stepping closer still. "Think about how you can't trust me? How you think I'd ever hurt you?" His hand shot out, grabbing the reader's wrist, his grip painfully tight.

m/n flinched, trying to pull away, but Naoya's hold was like a vice. "Naoya, please," he gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "You are hurting me."

Naoya's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening. "You think I don't know what you've been thinking?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You've been pulling away for weeks. Do you have someone else?"

m/n's heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing to find the right words. "It's not about that," he said, his voice shaking. "It's about us, Naoya. We're not good for each other like this."

Naoya's grip on m/n's wrist tightened, his eyes flashing with rage. "Don't lie to me," he spat, leaning in so close that their noses almost touched. "You've been seeing someone else, haven't you?"

m/n's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide with shock and fear. He tried to shake his head, but Naoya's grip didn't allow it. "No, Naoya," he managed to choke out. "I haven't. Please, you're hurting me."

But Naoya was beyond the point of reason. His eyes searched m/n's face, desperation and anger melding into one volatile cocktail. Without warning, he yanked m/n closer, their bodies colliding. m/n stumbled, his mug of coffee slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. The sound of porcelain breaking seemed to echo through the room, the scalding liquid splattering across their shoes. The other patrons looked over, a mix of curiosity and alarm on their faces, but no one dared to interfere.

Naoya's hand was around m/n's throat now, his thumb pressing into the delicate skin. m/n's eyes watered as he struggled to breathe, his hands clawing at Naoya's wrist. "Tell me the truth," Nate growled, spittle flying from his lips. "Who is it?"

m/n's eyes searched the room, desperate for help, but the coffee shop patrons had retreated to their corners, their eyes averted from the scene unfolding before them. His vision began to blur, and he knew he had to act fast. He brought his knee up sharply, connecting with Naoya's groin. Naoya's grip loosened with a pained grunt, and m/n took the opportunity to wrench himself free, stumbling backward.

Naoya doubled over, clutching his crotch with a snarl of pain. "You fucking...," he managed, his voice strained. m/n took a step back, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath. "You think you can just leave me?" Naoya's voice was a mix of agony and rage as he straightened, his eyes never leaving the reader's.

m/n own anger began to boil over. "You're the one who's making this impossible," he shouted back, his voice echoing in the suddenly quiet coffee shop. "You're the one who can't control yourself. Who can't handle the truth!"

Naoya's hand shot out again, grabbing m/n's shirt and yanking him closer. m/n's eyes blazed with a mix of fear and determination as he shoved Naoya away with all his strength. Naoya staggered back, knocking over a nearby chair with a clatter. The barista called out a warning, but the two men were lost in their own tumultuous world.

"Don't touch me," m/n spat, his voice shaking. "You're not going to bully me into staying with you."

Naoya's face contorted into an ugly sneer, the rage in his eyes burning hotter than the coffee that now stained the floor. He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists. "You think you can just walk away?" he roared, his voice echoing through the coffee shop. The other patrons had gone silent, their conversations stilled by the explosive tension that hung in the air.

m/n took a step back, his own anger rising to meet Nate's. "I've had enough of this," he said, his voice firm. "I don't want to fix things if it means living in fear of your temper."

Naoya's eyes narrowed, his hand flexing into a fist. "You think you're so above this?" he sneered. "You think you can just leave me like I'm some sort of disposable toy?"

m/n felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he took another step back. "This isn't about pride, Naoya," he said, his voice shaking. "It's about respect. And right now, you're not showing any."

Naoya's face twisted into something almost feral, and m/n could see the muscles in his arms tensing. "You want respect?" he yelled, his fist slamming down onto the counter, making the coffee cups jump. "You'll get it when you admit you're mine!"

m/n's eyes filled with a mix of anger and despair. This wasn't the Naoya he had fallen for, the sweet, gentle soul who had whispered poetry into his ear during those early morning study sessions. This was a monster, a shadow of the person he used to know. "Let go of me," he said, his voice low and firm.

[tropics43]

Title: Remember When part 2

Azzi x Paige

Flashback

It’s been 6 years since Paige has known Azzi. The first time Paige had seen azzi was at a Christmas basketball tournament in Virginia. Azzi and her AAU team were playing in the 2nd game of the night. Paige was in town playing in her own AAU basketball tournament when Paige’s coach had suggested to the team on going to scout the other competition. Once in the gym the team had gotten separated and it was a free for all on seating. Paige and her teammate Destiny somehow found their way courtside and sat in the only two empty seats in the gym. Throwing back some popcorn and exchanging laughs with destiny it seemed to Paige this was going to be a fun experience.

The starting lineups were being announced and Paige was closely paying attention. The announcer on the PA system announced the 5’10” 8th grader wearing the number 35 jersey. When Azzi stood up to high five her teammates, eyes looking directly in front of her locked on to Paige. It was almost as if Azzi was giving Paige the 1000 yard stare. Paige immediately felt a warm sensation rush her chest and cheeks almost embarrassed. Thinking to herself, who is this girl… within the first 4 minutes of the game Azzi already had 3 steals, 8 points and 2 blocks. Paige can hear someone talking in her ear but she can’t make out the words. All Paige can seem to concentrate on is the girl wearing the number 35 jersey. “Earth to Paige” Destiny says, waving her hand in front of Paige’s face. Paige quickly snaps back to reality saying “huh”. Destiny says “number 35 is pretty good, she has handles like you” “yeah” Paige says but doesn’t really have any other words. All Paige knows is 2 things.

1. Paige needs to be on the same court as her

2. Paige needs to hear her voice

The game had ended with a score of 72-53 in favor of the curly haired brunette’s team. With the conclusion of the handshake line ending, Azzi had went to the bench to grab her gym bag and to scan the crowd for her parents. When Azzi had successfully spotted them she had turned to tell her teammates goodbye but only found a 6’0 blonde standing in front of her with a shy grin on her face.

Azzi: uhh

Paige being nervous couldn’t control the rapid fire of questions about to leave her mouth. All she wanted to know was what her voice sounded like.

Paige: not gonna lie you were pretty good out there..I’m Paige by the way, My team is playing here tomorrow. Are you playing again tomorrow?

Paige was about mid question when Azzi hears her dad yell for her.. Azzi turns back towards Paige and all she says is “I’m azzi, I gotta go..” she then proceeds to turn and walk away.

“Azzi” Paige’s says almost as a whisper to herself so she doesn’t forget her name.

Present

With the dynamics of Paige and Azzi’s friendship/relationship there have been multiple occasions where Azzi has often wondered if there would ever be a turning point for them to actually become serious.

There once was a brief moment back in USA basketball where Paige was the most vulnerable and expressed to Azzi that there was a possibility of liking her more than just a friend.

But that was very short lived because Paige never brought it up again and Azzi was still trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted.

The banter from this morning’s activities between Azzi and Paige were always the same. Pet names, forehead kisses, touches that seem to linger a second to long, random pictures of hearts on mirrors.

Azzi was in love with Paige, her best friend. The girl who she came to UConn for.

Paige was in love with Azzi , her best friend. The girl whose voice she fell in love with the moment she heard it.

But both were too scared to admit it

Azzi stood in the middle of her dorm room, staring blankly at her phone screen. The words “we need to talk” had been sent, and now she felt a suffocating weight settle over her chest. It wasn’t a message she ever thought she’d send Paige, not like this. But the yellow piece of paper she had just posted on the bulletin board—the one that had been snatched away in a matter of seconds—felt like a ticking time bomb.

She took a shaky breath, her pulse racing. In her heart, she knew the message would throw Paige off, but there was no turning back now. She couldn’t keep suppressing what she felt—not when it was slowly eating away at her every day. The words she’d wanted to say for so long threatened to burst out of her like a dam ready to break.

Meanwhile, Paige walked back to her seat across from Aubrey, trying to shake off the weird feeling Azzi’s text had given her. Aubrey raised an eyebrow, her mouth full of homestyle potatoes.

“What’s up?” she asked once she swallowed.

“Azzi just texted me,” Paige replied, still staring at her phone. “She said, ‘We need to talk.’”

Aubrey’s face lit up in mock surprise. “Ooh, the dreaded ‘we need to talk.’ What’d you do, Paige?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Paige snapped, though the nervousness in her voice betrayed her calm façade.

Aubrey smirked. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. It’s probably nothing.”

But Paige wasn’t so sure. Something about the way Azzi had rushed into the café earlier and posted that note—it had left her with an uneasy feeling. She’d never seen Azzi so… frantic.

“What if I screwed something up?” Paige muttered to herself, pushing her plate of pancakes away.

Aubrey gave her a side glance. “You? Screw something up with Azzi? Come on, Paige, the girl worships the ground you walk on. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Paige forced a smile, but the pit in her stomach remained.

Back at her dorm, Azzi paced the room, replaying the moment from earlier when she’d posted the note. She hadn’t expected it to be snatched up so quickly. That had to be a good sign, right? Someone was interested. Someone who wasn’t Paige.

Her chest tightened at the thought. Was this what moving on was supposed to feel like? A constant push and pull between longing and letting go?

She sank onto the edge of her bed, gripping her phone. The memories of Paige’s forehead kiss from earlier that morning felt like a cruel reminder of everything she couldn’t have. Paige made it seem so effortless—the playful touches, the inside jokes, the way she made Azzi feel seen. But that was just who Paige was: open, carefree, and full of love for everyone around her. It didn’t mean Paige loved her that way.

“I’ll never forget the day I realized I loved you, but most importantly, I’ll never forget the day I realized you didn’t love me back,” Azzi whispered to herself, the words ringing hollow in her ears.

She knew Paige cared for her deeply, but not in the way Azzi wanted. And that was the hardest part. Being close to Paige but never close enough.

The team gathered in the film room a little after 10 a.m. The hum of conversation filled the room as players settled into their usual spots. Paige and Aubrey sat near the back, while Azzi took her seat at the front, headphones around her neck and her focus on the laptop in front of her.

Paige noticed immediately. Azzi always sat near her during film study, but today she was keeping her distance. Paige frowned and leaned over to Aubrey.

“Something’s definitely up with her,” Paige whispered.

Aubrey shrugged. “Maybe she’s just in a mood. You know how she gets sometimes.”

But Paige wasn’t convinced. She glanced toward Azzi again, her stomach twisting.

The film session dragged on, but Paige barely paid attention. She couldn’t stop staring at the back of Azzi’s head, wondering what was going on. By the time Coach Geno wrapped things up and dismissed the team, Paige had made up her mind.

“Azzi!” Paige called out as the players filed out of the room.

Azzi paused but didn’t turn around. Instead, she waited for Paige to catch up, clutching her water bottle like it was a lifeline.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, her voice laced with concern. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all morning.”

Azzi avoided her gaze, her heart pounding. She couldn’t do this here, not with the rest of the team lingering nearby.

“Can we talk later?” Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige frowned but nodded. “Okay. After practice?”

Azzi hesitated. “Yeah. After practice.”

The hours dragged on, and by the time practice ended, Azzi felt like she was going to implode. She hadn’t been able to focus at all. Every missed shot, every fumbled pass—it was as if her emotions were physically weighing her down.

Paige, on the other hand, was sharp as ever, hitting shot after shot and calling out plays with her usual confidence. Azzi watched her from the corner of her eye, wondering how Paige could be so oblivious to the storm brewing inside her.

When practice finally ended, Azzi lingered on the court, wiping sweat from her brow as the rest of the team filed out. Paige stayed behind, walking over to where Azzi stood.

“Alright,” Paige said, crossing her arms. “Talk to me.”

Azzi looked down at her shoes, her chest tightening. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times, but now that it was here, the words wouldn’t come.

“Azzi?” Paige prompted, her voice softer now.

Azzi took a deep breath and finally met Paige’s gaze. “I… I posted something on the bulletin board this morning. It was an ad.”

Paige tilted her head, confused. “An ad for what?”

Azzi hesitated. “For a date.”

Paige’s eyes widened. “A date?”

Azzi nodded, her throat dry. “Yeah. I figured it was time to… you know, put myself out there. Meet new people.”

Paige stared at her, a mix of emotions flickering across her face—surprise, confusion, and something else Azzi couldn’t quite place.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Paige asked, her voice quieter now.

Azzi nodded, her chest aching. “I just thought you should know.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. For the first time, she didn’t know what to say.

Azzi took her silence as a sign to leave. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before Paige could stop her, Azzi turned and walked away, leaving Paige standing alone in the middle of the empty gym, her heart pounding in a way she couldn’t explain.

[misahyochaeng]

“Mami, Esto es Cosa Nuestra”

Momo x Fem!Reader 🌧️

tw’s- momo x fem!reader, mafia!au, angst, fluff, gore, violence, physical abuse, mental abuse, mentions of family trauma, child exploitation, etc.

note: bro i exceeded the max word limit.. please enjoy! also not proofread im sorry for any mistakes! listen with the music on loop you wont regret

—

The first time you met Hirai Momo, she wasn’t wearing one of those sharp suits that would later become her armor. She was just Momo, leaning against a jukebox in a dimly lit bar, tapping her cigarette against the rim of an ashtray. You’d been dragged there by friends, already itching to leave, until your eyes landed on her. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but she did. It was the way she owned the space without even trying.

She caught you staring, her lips curving into a smirk.

“Enjoying the view, Mami?” she asked, her voice smooth as whiskey.

You should’ve looked away, walked out of that bar, and never looked back. But instead, you matched her smirk and sat at the barstool beside her.

That night, you learned her name, her laugh, and the way she tilted her head when she listened. You didn’t learn until much later that she was the youngest boss the Hirai family had ever seen, a woman who ruled the city's underworld with the same ease as she lit a cigarette.

The affair started innocently enough—if anything involving Momo could be called innocent. You found excuses to see her. Coffee in the mornings, stolen moments in her office, late-night drives with jazz playing softly on the radio. She made you feel alive, like you were part of something bigger than yourself, something dangerous and exhilarating.

“Esto es cosa nuestra,” she’d say, her lips brushing against your ear. “No one else will ever understand.”

You believed her, even as the walls began to close in.

Your father found out first, of course. It was impossible to hide the way your gaze lingered on her at the rare social events where your families crossed paths. He wasn’t stupid—he saw the way she looked at you too, like you were hers.

The night he confronted you was the first time you felt the weight of your family name. You were a pawn in his game, a piece to be moved and sacrificed as needed.

“This stops now,” he growled, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Do you understand who she is?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The betrayal in his eyes was enough.

The phone rings, dragging you back to the present. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as if they hold some kind of answer. You don’t want to answer, but you do.

“Momo.” Her name feels heavy on your tongue.

The sound of her exhale comes through the line, followed by the faint flick of a lighter. You can picture her perfectly—leaning against the window of her office, cigarette between her fingers, the city’s neon lights reflecting off her sharp features.

“How bad is it?” she asks, her voice calm but edged with tension.

You swallow hard. “He knows everything. About us. About…everything.”

There’s a pause, and you hear her take a drag from her cigarette. “And?”

“And he’s furious, Momo. He’s calling for a meeting with your family. This isn’t just about us anymore. He’s talking about war.”

The word hangs in the air like a curse.

“I’ll handle it,” she says finally, her tone steady.

You shake your head, even though she can’t see you. “You can’t fix this, Momo. It’s too big.”

“Y/N,” she says, her voice softening, almost breaking. “This is our thing. They won’t understand, but we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You close your eyes, gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to her. You want to believe her. You want to believe in the fantasy you’ve built together, but the weight of reality is pressing down on you, threatening to crush you both.

“Momo…” your voice wavers. “Maybe we should stop before—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts sharply. “Don’t say it.”

You hear her take another drag, the silence between you stretching like a chasm.

“This isn’t just you and me anymore,” you whisper. “It’s everyone. Your family. My family. People are going to get hurt.”

Her voice drops, low and dangerous. “Let them come. They don’t get to decide what’s ours.”

And just like that, you remember why you fell for her in the first place.

It wasn’t just the late-night meetings or the stolen glances at crowded events that tied you to her. It was the way Momo made every moment feel like a scene from a movie—intense, passionate, and fleeting, as if you both knew this wasn’t meant to last.

You remember one night in her office, where the scent of smoke and whiskey always lingered. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the soft glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She sat behind her desk, her sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint scars and tattoos etched into her skin.

You were perched on the edge of her desk, playing with the lighter she always kept there. She was reading over papers—probably something about her family’s business—but her eyes kept flicking to you, a quiet smirk playing on her lips.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head. “You,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t belong in this world, but here you are.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back, tossing the lighter onto the desk.

She stood, stepping closer, her hands sliding to your waist as she pulled you into her space. “Mine,” she admitted, her lips brushing against yours. “And I don’t regret it.”

Other nights, it was the bars. Places you never would’ve dared step foot in before her—hidden, smoky lounges where jazz and blues spilled from old speakers. She was in her element there, always sitting in the shadows with a drink in her hand, her presence commanding the room even in silence.

One time, she played guitar. You hadn’t even known she could, but someone handed her one, and she didn’t hesitate. She sat on a stool under the warm glow of a single spotlight, her fingers moving effortlessly over the strings.

It wasn’t a love song—not exactly—but it felt like one. Her eyes found yours across the room, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. When the song ended, she nodded at you, a small, knowing smile on her lips, and you thought, *This is it. I’m never walking away from this.*

There were roses, too. Always red, always with the thorns carefully removed. She’d leave them for you in unexpected places—a single stem on your windowsill, a bouquet waiting in the passenger seat of your car.

“You’re predictable,” you teased one night when she handed you another bouquet, this time wrapped in black paper.

“Am I?” she countered, leaning in close. “Then you should’ve known this was coming.” And before you could answer, she kissed you, pressing you back against the wall of her office. Her hands framed your face, her lips possessive and urgent, like she was trying to mark you as hers. You let her, melting into her touch, your fingers tangling in her hair.

There were quiet moments, too, like the time she fell asleep on your couch after a long night. Her head rested on your lap, her guard finally down. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how someone so fierce, so untouchable, could be this soft.

“You’re staring,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“Maybe,” you whispered back.

She didn’t say anything else, just reached for your hand and held it, her fingers laced with yours.

Momo had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world, even when the weight of her empire loomed large over both of you. It was intoxicating, and you drank it all in, even as the cracks began to form.

It wasn’t just the moments you shared or the way Momo made you feel like the world revolved around you—it was the things she left behind, little pieces of herself she gave you as if to prove she was yours.

The first love letter arrived on your windowsill, held in place by one of her silver lighters. You unfolded the parchment paper, its edges slightly burned, and read the words scrawled in her sharp, elegant handwriting.

> “Esto es cosa nuestra. No one else will ever understand. You’re the one thing in this world that makes sense, and I’d burn it all to the ground if it meant keeping you. —M”

You laughed at how dramatic it was, but your fingers lingered on the paper. It smelled faintly of her cologne, the same scent that clung to your clothes after every stolen night together. You pressed the letter to your chest, feeling the weight of her promise even though you knew it would only bring you both trouble.

Then there were her watches. Momo loved her watches, each one custom-made and far too expensive. The first time she gave you one, you nearly refused.

“This is too much,” you protested, holding the sleek timepiece with trembling hands. “It’s just a watch, mami” she said, leaning back in her chair with that infuriating smirk. “And besides…” She gestured to the back.

You turned it over and saw the engraving: *El Zorro.*

Her street name. The one whispered in fear and awe throughout the city.

“You’re giving me your name?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m giving you part of it,” she corrected. “The part that matters.”

You wore it sometimes, even though it felt too heavy on your wrist, a constant reminder of the line you were crossing.

One night, she handed you a folded sheet of paper, its edges creased from being carried in her pocket.

“What’s this?” you asked, opening it to reveal a page of handwritten sheet music.

“A song,” she said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against your kitchen counter. “I wrote it for you.”

“I can’t read music,” you admitted, staring at the notes and lines that meant nothing to you.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Now you have a piece of me.”

You didn’t know why it meant so much, but it did. You tucked it away in a drawer, keeping it safe like a secret.

The roses stopped being enough, so she started leaving you things she knew you wouldn’t expect. A tie she’d worn to a meeting, still knotted the way she liked it. A cufflink that had slipped off during one of your more heated encounters. A tiny pocketknife engraved with her initials.

“These aren’t gifts,” she’d say whenever you protested. “They’re reminders.”

“Of what?”

“That no matter what happens, you’re mine.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue with her.

You found the letters and trinkets piling up, a collection of things that felt like pieces of her soul. Some nights, you’d sit on your bed and lay them all out in front of you—the watches, the sheet music, the love notes—and wonder if she gave them to you because she knew, deep down, that you’d never have all of her.

Momo sighing kicked you out of the trance of memories you were in.

Her voice softens, the dangerous edge replaced by something quieter. “And what do you think, mami?”

“I think I don’t care about the war,” you whisper. “I only care about us.” There’s a faint sound of her shifting, probably leaning back in her chair or propping her feet on her desk. “That’s why you’re different, you know. Everyone else in my life is a pawn or a threat. But you…” She pauses, exhaling smoke. “You make me forget I’m playing this game at all.”

You smile faintly, even though your chest still feels tight. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, but there’s no conviction in her tone. “We’ll figure it out. I’m meeting with your father’s men tomorrow.”

Your stomach drops. “You’re what?”

“Relax,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “They requested it. Neutral ground, all very civilized. I’ll take my people, they’ll take theirs, and we’ll talk.”

“And what exactly are you planning to say?” you ask, gripping the phone tighter.

“That depends on them,” she says, her voice taking on that familiar commanding tone. “But I’ll do what I have to if it means keeping you out of this.”

Your pulse quickens, dread settling in your stomach. “Momo, you can’t just—”

“I know what I’m doing,” she interrupts. “Trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper, but the words feel fragile, like glass about to shatter.

She sighs, and for a moment, you hear the weariness she never lets anyone else see. “Look, I’ll handle your father’s people, baby. But you need to be ready to meet mine.”

You blink. “Your team?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “They’ve been asking about you. Curious, I guess.”

“What do they think of me?”

“They think I’m stupid for dragging you into this,” she admits with a bitter chuckle. “But they’ll understand once they meet you.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You make it sound like some kind of formal introduction.”

“It is,” she says, dead serious. “You’re important to me, Y/N. That makes you important to them.”

Her words linger, filling the silence between you like a balm for the tension.

“When will this end, Momo?” you ask after a moment.

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes you wonder if the line’s gone dead. Then, softly, she says, “I don’t know. But whatever happens, we’ll get through it. Esto es cosa nuestra, remember?”

You close your eyes, her words settling deep in your chest. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Good,” she says, her voice carrying that familiar steel. “Now get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow after the meeting.”

“Okay,” you say, even though sleep feels impossible.

And with that, the line goes silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the weight of her promise.

—“The Morning of a Fox”—

Momo’s mornings were rituals of control, precision, and preparation. It started with her alarm at exactly 5:30 AM, a soft chime that was neither jarring nor soothing—just enough to wake her without irritation. She rolled out of bed and stretched, her muscles tense from a restless night.

The city was still cloaked in darkness when she stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting her like a reset button. Steam filled the bathroom as she scrubbed away the weight of the previous day, the tension in her shoulders easing as she mapped out her next steps.

The meeting with Y/N’s father’s men was at the forefront of her mind. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with rival families, but this was different. This wasn’t just business—it was personal.

After her shower, she dressed carefully: black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and her signature leather jacket. She tied her hair back into a neat ponytail and slipped on her favorite watch, the one engraved with “El Zorro.”

In the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of black coffee and leaned against the counter, lighting a cigarette. The bitter taste of the coffee and the burn of the smoke grounded her, pulling her fully into the day ahead.

By 7:00 AM, the rest of her team had gathered in the main room of the safehouse. It was a converted warehouse, its industrial charm masked by sleek furniture and state-of-the-art tech scattered across the space.

Jihyo was already seated at the long table, a laptop open in front of her as she typed away with a focused intensity. Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a faint line of concentration furrowed her brow.

“Morning, boss,” she said without looking up, her tone clipped but warm.

“Morning, Hyo” Momo replied, taking her usual seat at the head of the table.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up and gave Momo a playful smirk. “You look like you’re about to seduce a boardroom.”

“I’ll leave that to you,” Momo shot back, smirking.

“Touché,” Sana purred, sitting up and stretching lazily.

Chaeyoung entered next, carrying a tray of breakfast pastries like she was delivering contraband. “Got these from that bakery you like, Jihyo,” she said, setting the tray down on the table.

“Thanks,” Jihyo muttered, glancing up briefly before returning to her screen.

“Did you get me something?” Sana asked, leaning over Chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chaeyoung said, swatting her away. “You’re lucky they had your stupid croissant thing.”

Tzuyu arrived last, keys in hand and a faint scent of gasoline trailing behind her. “Morning,” she said simply, taking a seat and pulling out a tablet.

“Good, everyone’s here,” Momo said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Let’s get started.”

Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We’ve got a meeting with Y/N’s father’s men later today. Neutral ground, but we’re not taking chances. I need everyone sharp.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” Jihyo asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“Always,” Momo replied. “But this one’s more delicate. They’re not happy about me and Y/N, and they’re using it as leverage.”

Sana raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on her lips. “Leverage? Do they even know who they’re messing with?”

“They know,” Jihyo said firmly, shooting Sana a warning glance. “Which is why we have to play this smart.”

“Smart’s boring,” Chaeyoung muttered, twirling a pen between her fingers. “Can’t we just scare them a little? Show them who’s boss?”

“Not this time,” Momo said. “We’re keeping it clean. No theatrics, no threats.”

Chaeyoung groaned but nodded. “Fine. But if they so much as flinch, I’m pulling out my baby Zeusito.”—the name of her favorite pistol, named after the greek god, it had a lightning bolt on it and she thought it was cool, Momo found it stupid though—

Tzuyu tapped her tablet, her calm demeanor unshaken. “I’ve got dossiers on everyone who’ll be at the meeting. I’ll send them to your phones. If they try anything, we’ll know exactly how to hit back.”

“Good,” Momo said, leaning back. She glanced at Jihyo. “You’ve got the escape routes mapped out?”

“Of course,” Jihyo replied, closing her laptop. “Two exit strategies, one on foot, one by car. Tzuyu’s driving if we need the second.”

“And the first?” Momo asked.

Jihyo’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Sana’s got it covered.”

Sana leaned back, her grin widening. “Trust me, I’m very persuasive.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Jihyo warned, her tone softening slightly.

Sana gave her a playful wink. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

Momo caught the brief exchange but said nothing, filing it away for later. “All right, that’s the plan. Stay sharp, stay ready.”

The team nodded, each member falling into their role seamlessly. As they dispersed to prepare, Momo lit another cigarette and stared out the window.

This meeting wasn’t just about survival—it was about proving that she and Y/N could exist in a world that wanted to tear them apart. And no matter what it took, Momo would make sure they did.

The neutral ground was anything but neutral. The warehouse’s fluorescent lights flickered above, casting sharp shadows on the peeling walls and rusted metal beams. Momo walked in first, her leather jacket almost blending into the dim surroundings. Jihyo and Chaeyoung flanked her like silent sentinels.

Across the room, Y/N’s father’s men stood in a loose but imposing group. Their leader, Mr. Y/L/N’s lieutenant—a burly man with a scar running down the side of his semi deformed face—stepped forward, his expression already twisted with disdain.

“So, you’re the one causing all the trouble,” he spat, his voice sharp and laced with venom.

Momo didn’t flinch. Her posture was calm, her gaze cold and unyielding. “I’m the one who showed up to talk. Let’s get this over with.”

The man sneered, stepping closer. “You think you can just waltz in here and take what isn’t yours? You’re nothing but a street rat playing dress-up.”

Behind Momo, Jihyo stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Chaeyoung’s hand twitched toward her concealed pistol, but neither moved. Momo had been clear—no one acted unless she gave the signal.

“Funny,” Momo said coolly, tilting her head slightly. “Last I checked, Y/N makes her own choices. Or does that threaten your fragile little world?”

The man’s face turned an alarming shade of red, and the other men murmured angrily behind him. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he growled, stepping even closer until he was practically in Momo’s face.

“Neither do you, cabron.” she replied, her tone icy.

The slap came out of nowhere. It cracked through the air like a gunshot, echoing off the warehouse walls. Momo’s head snapped to the side, but she didn’t stumble. A faint red mark bloomed across her cheek, but her expression remained unreadable.

Jihyo took a sharp step forward, but Momo raised a hand without turning, stopping her in her tracks. Chaeyoung looked ready to pounce, but Momo’s silent command kept her rooted to the spot.

“You’ve got guts,” Momo said softly, her voice calm but laced with something dangerous. Slowly, she turned her head back to face the man, her eyes locking onto his with a steely intensity. “But you just made a very stupid mistake.”

The man barked a laugh, clearly trying to mask his growing unease. “What are you gonna do? You’re outnumbered. Outgunned.”

Momo stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, deadly tone. “You think I need a gun to deal with you?”

The man faltered, his bravado cracking for a split second before he doubled down. “You’re nothing but a pest. A parasite. You—”

Before he could finish, Momo moved. Her fist connected with his jaw in a blur of motion, sending him staggering back into his men. He scrambled to recover, but Momo didn’t follow up. She stood her ground, her stance relaxed but coiled like a spring, ready to strike again if needed.

Behind her, Chaeyoung whispered under her breath, “Let me take him out.”

“Not yet,” Jihyo hissed, her eyes locked on Momo.

The man wiped at his mouth, glaring at her with pure hatred. “You’ll regret that, pendeja.”

“No,” Momo said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “You’ll regret ever thinking you could put your hands on me.”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point. One of the other men started to step forward, but Jihyo’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Try it,” she said, her tone calm but deadly. Her hand rested on the butt of her concealed weapon, her eyes never leaving the man. “See how that works out for you.”

The man froze, glancing between Momo and her team. “Enough,” Momo said, her voice carrying the weight of authority. She stared down the lieutenant, her gaze unwavering. “You came here to talk. So talk.”

For a moment, it seemed like things might escalate further. But then the lieutenant gritted his teeth and waved his men back.

“You think this is over?” he spat, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage.

Momo smirked, her confidence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Oh, I know it’s not. But if you want to keep whatever scrap of dignity you have left, you’ll shut the fuck up and listen.”

The man glared at her, but he didn’t move.

“We’re done here,” Momo said firmly, turning on her heel. She walked away with the same calm confidence she’d entered with, her team falling into step behind her.

Back in the car, the silence was heavy. Jihyo finally spoke, her voice tight with frustration. “You should’ve let us step in.”

“I didn’t need you to,” Momo said simply, lighting a cigarette. The faint glow of the lighter illuminated her face for a moment before she exhaled a plume of smoke.

Chaeyoung huffed. “You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in his head.”

“Don’t worry,” Momo said, her lips curling into a smirk. “He’ll think twice before trying that again.”

Jihyo and Chaeyoung exchanged a glance but said nothing. Momo leaned back, staring out the window as the city blurred past.

The war was far from over, but this battle belonged to her. And she intended to win the rest of them, no matter the cost.

As they were back home the hum of the city outside was drowned out by the tension in the warehouse. The slap had set everything in motion, and Momo knew that nothing would be the same after tonight. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, eyes scanning the faces of her team as they watched her with a mix of anticipation and concern.

“Here’s the deal,” Momo started, her voice low but steady. “They made their move, now we make ours.” She flicked the cigarette from her fingers, the ember sizzling as it hit the ground. “We hit them where it hurts. Their operation on 5th and Main. It’s a weak point, a perfect target.”

Jihyo was the first to speak, her fingers tapping against the table, a sign she was already calculating. “If we strike, they’ll retaliate. It’s not going to be as clean as last time.”

Momo’s gaze hardened. “Let them come. We’ll be ready.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a grin spreading across her face. “I’ve been itching for a fight. If they want a war, they’ll get one.” Her excitement was palpable, and though her voice was playful, the threat in her words was anything but.

Sana leaned back, her lips curving into a smirk. “And we know how to make it interesting. Let’s take everything from them. Make them feel what we felt when they disrespected us.” Her eyes gleamed with a deadly intensity. “I’ll personally handle the cleanup. They won’t see us coming.”

Momo nodded, satisfied with the team’s response. The energy in the room was a mix of resolve and anticipation. They were ready. This wasn’t just about business anymore. This was personal.

Jihyo continued, her voice steady, though a hint of concern lingered in her tone. “And if they make a move against Y/N or any of us?”

Momo paused, letting the question hang in the air. “We handle it,” she said quietly, her gaze hardening as she looked each member of her team in the eye. “But until then, we wait. Get into position, and don’t do anything until I give the signal.”

Tzuyu, who had been silent up until now, spoke softly but with the weight of someone who always had an eye on the details. “I’ve been gathering intel on their movements. I’ll keep tabs on their communication. If anything goes south, we’ll know about it first.”

Momo gave a sharp nod, appreciative of Tzuyu’s vigilance. “Good. Now, get to work. And remember, this isn’t just business. It’s payback. We make them regret ever crossing us.”

As the team scattered to carry out their roles, Momo stood there for a moment longer, staring into the shadows of the warehouse. She could feel the weight of the conflict pressing down on her—one wrong move and everything could fall apart. But there was no turning back now. The lines had been drawn, and she would make sure her enemies knew who they were dealing with.

The war had just begun.

The clock ticked down as Momo’s team gathered in their makeshift headquarters—a quiet, dimly lit warehouse on the edge of town. The buzz of neon lights from the distant city streets barely reached them. The air felt thick, charged with the anticipation of what was to come. They had all agreed on one thing: the time to strike was now. The rival mafia had crossed a line, and it was time to show them what happens when you disrespect Momo’s crew.

Momo sat at the head of the table, a hard silhouette against the faint glow of the streetlights. Her hands were folded in front of her as she exhaled a plume of smoke from her cigarette, letting it curl into the air before speaking.

“This is it. We’re going after them. The underground casino on 5th and Main. It’s not just a casino; it’s their lifeblood—the heart of their money laundering operation. Take that out, and we’ll send a message they’ll never forget.” Her eyes swept across her team, each face set with determination. They knew the stakes, and they were ready.

—“The Plan Begins”—

Sana leaned forward, her fingers toying with the edge of her wine glass, her expression unreadable. “I’ll get us in. They’ll never see it coming.” She’d always been good at playing her part, and this was no different. She was an expert in the art of manipulation. It was almost a game to her, the chase, the seduction. The casino's upper circle would never know what hit them.

Jihyo’s gaze was sharp, calculating. “We’ll need to get past the external security first. I’ll take care of the surveillance systems. If we get the right window, we can disable the cameras for a solid ten minutes. That’s all we need.”

Chaeyoung cracked her knuckles, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll handle the distraction outside. We’ll draw them away, just enough for Momo to slip in unnoticed.” She was always the one to embrace the chaos, eager to make her mark. The idea of causing a ruckus thrilled her.

Tzuyu was quiet, focused. She didn’t need to speak much to communicate. Her role was clear. “I’ll secure the getaway vehicles and monitor their internal communications. I’ve already hacked their network, so I’ll know when we’re about to hit the jackpot.”

Momo nodded, pleased with the coordination. “Everyone knows their role. We’re in and out. No mistakes.”

As the night fell, the team split up. Momo’s crew was a well-oiled machine, each member moving with the precision of a surgeon.

Sana, dressed to the nines, slipped into the casino like she owned the place. Her confidence was intoxicating, and she was everything they expected. High heels clicked on the marble floor as she made her way to the VIP area, her charm turning every head. She was an investor, looking for a safe place to park her money—a convenient lie, but one that would work to her advantage.

Once inside, Sana casually scanned the room. There were men in suits, cards being dealt, the clink of chips against felt. But it was the back rooms that caught her attention—the vault, the storage of money. She smiled, knowing her role in this was only just beginning.

Outside, Chaeyoung was the spark that would ignite the flame. She was parked a block away, eyes on the casino’s entrance, waiting for the signal. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she checked her weapons—her beloved pistols, tucked carefully into their holsters.

With a flick of her wrist, a flash of bright lights broke the calm. The distraction was set. A black car roared into the street, slamming into a parked vehicle. Chaeyoung fired a couple of shots into the air, just enough to draw the attention of the guards. It wasn’t about hitting targets; it was about creating chaos, throwing them off balance.

As expected, the casino’s security began to mobilize. The guards moved toward the commotion, leaving their posts unattended. This was Momo’s opening.

Inside, Jihyo had already hacked the casino’s surveillance system. The screens went black for exactly ten minutes, giving Momo the window she needed. The timer was ticking down. She had no room for error.

Momo moved swiftly, her leather gloves slipping over the keypad of the security system that controlled the vault doors. She’d been here before, studying their defenses. She wasn’t about to let a high-tech lock stop her now.

“Ready, Momo,” Tzuyu’s voice crackled over the comms. “Surveillance is off, and the guards outside are distracted. You’ve got the green light.”

Without a second thought, Momo spun the dial, the vault doors groaning open. A small smile crept across her face as she stepped inside. The walls were lined with stacks of cash, diamonds, and illicit goods. It was a fortune waiting to be taken.

She moved quickly, expertly loading the cash and valuables into bags. The whole operation had to be seamless. Every second counted.

As Momo moved to collect the last of the cash, she noticed something peculiar tucked behind a stack of bills—a ledger. The name on the cover read El Zorro—the same alias she used. Her stomach twisted in recognition.

Opening it, Momo’s eyes skimmed through the pages. It wasn’t just money laundering. This was a detailed list of operations, involving everything from drug trafficking to weapons smuggling. And there, near the back, was something even more alarming: a map. A map to a weapons cache.

Her fingers paused on the page. The weapons cache wasn’t just a stash; it was an arsenal that could arm an army, and it was closer than she thought.

“Jihyo, I’ve got something,” Momo said quietly, her voice steady, but her mind was already racing. “There’s a weapons cache. It’s not far from here. We can hit it now.”

Jihyo’s voice came through the earpiece, calm but with a hint of concern. “You sure? We’ve already got the money. Adding this to the mix could complicate things.”

Momo’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “I’m not leaving without it.”

With the money secured and the ledger in hand, Momo signaled to her team. The exit was clear. They’d done it.

As Momo moved toward the getaway, the casino’s guards began to realize something was wrong. Their surveillance was back online, and they could see the vault doors were open. Momo gritted her teeth, knowing it was time to leave—now.

Tzuyu was already in position with the getaway car, and the team was waiting at the predetermined rendezvous point.

Momo was the first to step out, and as the team followed, they noticed something else: an unmarked van pulling into the alley, blocking their escape route. It was an ambush.

Chaeyoung didn’t hesitate. She pulled out her gun, her finger tightening on the trigger. Shots rang out, but the enemy was already retreating, realizing they were no match for Momo’s crew.

“Move it!” Momo shouted, her voice urgent. “We need to get out before reinforcements show up.”

Tzuyu was quick on the wheel, the tires screeching as the car tore through the alley. The team was still reeling from the sudden ambush, but they had what they came for. The money, the weapons, and a message: they were not to be messed with.

As they sped through the streets, the city lights flashing past, Momo looked at her team, knowing this was just the beginning.

They had won the battle. But the war was far from over.

The adrenaline was still coursing through Momo’s veins as they returned to the hideout. They had succeeded, but the mission had been far messier than expected. Still, they had what they came for—and something more: the map to the weapons cache.

The team was victorious, but Momo knew that the rival mafia wouldn’t let this slide. And with the weapons cache within their reach, there was no going back.

—

“Y/N are you even listening!?”

The office was cold. The soft hum of the overhead lights felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, and your father's presence across the desk felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. You could feel the heat rising within him—the simmering anger he'd been holding back since the heist.

"You've disappointed me again," your father growled, his eyes dark with fury as his hands gripped the edge of the desk with a force that made the wood creak under the pressure. "This—this is what happens when you get involved with people like her."

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath. You had known this moment would come, but you didn't expect the venom in his voice to be so suffocating. You had made your decision, and there was no turning back now.

"You've gone soft, Y/N. Soft for a criminal—for her," he spat, his words dripping with disgust. "I warned you what would happen if you sided with her. Now look at the mess you've made. We’re losing control. Your mother would be ashamed of you."

His words struck deep, but you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I’m not afraid of her, Dad," you said, your voice calm, even though your heart was pounding. "Momo isn't like the others. She's not the monster you think she is."

Your father slammed his fist onto the desk, and the sound echoed through the room. "You don’t get it, do you? I’ll make you understand—one way or another. You’re going to regret this decision."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m not going back. Not to you, not to this.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The rage in his eyes was palpable as he loomed over you. "Fine. But don't come crawling back when everything falls apart. Because it will. And you’ll be the one to clean up the mess, just like always."

You didn't answer him. You didn’t have to.

With a final sneer, he turned and walked toward the door, pausing just before stepping out. "You’ll regret this, Y/N. Mark my words." And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the lights and the decision you had made.

—

The team was celebrating. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, smoke, and the satisfying feeling of a job well done. The sound of laughter and clinking bottles filled the room as Momo leaned back against the wall, the warmth of her drink spreading through her veins. She had done it. They had done it. The heist had gone off without a hitch—well, mostly.

Sana was sprawled across the couch, an empty glass dangling from her hand as she giggled about something Chaeyoung had said. Tzuyu sat quietly next to Jihyo, the two exchanging a few words here and there, but both were content to enjoy the rare moment of peace.

It was almost too easy. They’d done their part, and now all that was left was to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Momo took a long drag from her cigarette, watching her team unwind. They deserved this. But as much as she wanted to relax, something in the back of her mind nagged at her. There was a tension in the air she couldn’t shake off.

Her phone buzzed, and she immediately pulled it from her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but the message was clear: “Remain anonymous. Zorro, they’re planning on holding your girl hostage. They're targeting you. Be careful.”

Her stomach dropped. Her eyes scanned the room, the chaos of her team still ongoing, but now there was an edge of dread creeping up her spine. The phone call had barely ended when her sharp eyes caught something across the room—a red dot, shining brightly on the wall opposite her.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Duck!" Momo yelled, her voice cutting through the noise, just as a burst of gunfire erupted from across the room. Her team scrambled for cover as bullets ripped through the walls, the sound of gunfire deafening. Chaeyoung swore under her breath as she dove for cover, pulling Tzuyu down with her.

"Move!" Momo barked, adrenaline surging through her veins. "Don’t let them get away!"

It all happened so fast. The enemy had been waiting for them, lying in wait just like they had been warned. They were trapped in their own celebration, the joy of the heist quickly turning into the chaos of an ambush.

Momo’s hand shot to her side, grabbing her pistol, her instincts kicking in. She was already on the move, guns blazing as she tore through the building with Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, and Jihyo following close behind. The enemies were fast and ruthless, but they were nowhere near the level of Momo’s team.

They fought their way through the building, dodging bullets and taking cover wherever they could. The stench of gunpowder was thick in the air, the echo of bullets rattling through the walls. It was a game of cat and mouse now, and Momo’s team wasn’t about to lose.

"We need to get out of here!" Jihyo yelled, pulling Momo back into cover just as another round of fire came dangerously close. “The exit’s not far, but we’ve got to move quickly!”

Momo was already planning their escape, every move calculated and precise. But something gnawed at her as they moved deeper into the building. There was one thing she couldn’t shake—the fact that the spy who’d warned her had been right.

Her mind raced. If they had the inside scoop, then they knew everything about her team. Who could it be?

The firefight continued as the team managed to push their attackers back, but the chase wasn’t over. They couldn’t stop until they reached their hideout. Momo's heart was pounding, her thoughts only on one thing now: Y/N.

Finally, after what felt like hours of evading gunfire and chasing shadows, the team made it back to their hideout, the adrenaline still pumping through their bodies. Momo slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with a quick flick of the wrist.

Everyone was breathing heavily, the tension still thick in the air. But Momo didn’t give them time to relax. She stood in the middle of the room, her gaze hard, her jaw clenched.

“Y/N’s been taken hostage.” The words left her lips in a low, controlled tone, and the impact hit her team like a punch to the gut.

Everyone was silent for a moment. No one had expected this. They had just been celebrating their victory, and now this.

“They know everything about us.” Momo’s voice was steady, but beneath the calm exterior, her anger burned like wildfire. “We’ve been compromised. Someone in our ranks is working with them.”

Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll figure out who it is. But right now, we need to focus on getting Y/N back.”

Momo nodded, her fists clenching. “We’re going to make them pay. But first, we have to get to her before they do any damage.”

And with that, the game of cat and mouse began anew—only this time, it was personal.

The tension in the safehouse was palpable as the team gathered around the large, scarred table. Weapons, documents, and scattered plans littered the surface. Momo stood at the head, her expression a mix of frustration and determination.

“One of them knows us,” Momo began, her voice sharp and steady. “Knows our moves, our safehouses, and our weaknesses. Someone’s been feeding my father information.”

Jihyo leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she stared at the table. “It’s not just betrayal. This is calculated. They’re trying to dismantle us from the inside out.”

Chaeyoung was the first to speak up, her tone fiery. “Then let’s make them pay. Whoever it is, we’ll find them and—”

“Stop,” Jihyo interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Rushing into this without a plan will just get us killed.”

Sana, leaning against the wall, tapped the handle of her knife against her palm. “Jihyo’s right. This isn’t just a random mole. This is personal. Your father’s trying to destroy everything you’ve built, Momo.”

Tzuyu, hunched over her laptop, spoke without looking up. “If they’re a spy, they’ll slip up eventually. We just need to watch for cracks in their story.”

Momo’s gaze swept across her team, lingering on each of them. She trusted them, but the weight of the betrayal gnawed at her. “We’ll figure out who it is,” she said firmly. “But first, let’s remind ourselves why we’re here.”

“You all know I used to bartend,” Jihyo began, her voice steady but tinged with pain. “What you don’t know is why I stopped.”

She sat up straighter, her gaze fixed on the table. “The night it happened, the bar was packed. Music, laughter, the works. It felt like any other night.”

Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pushed on. “I didn’t see them come in at first. Not until the music stopped, and I heard the first gunshot.”

The room was silent, her words pulling everyone into the memory with her.

“They were looking for someone—a man who owed them money. But they didn’t care who got in the way.” Jihyo’s jaw tightened. “They shot first, asked questions later. I was behind the bar when it started. I hid, clutching a broken bottle, hoping they wouldn’t find me.”

Sana twirled her knife absentmindedly, the blade catching the faint light. She leaned against the wall, her gaze distant.

“I was there that night too,” she started, her voice quieter than usual. “Dancing. Not because I wanted to, but because my father made me.”

The team listened intently. Sana rarely opened up, and when she did, it was usually veiled in sarcasm or flirtation.

“He called it a family business,” she said bitterly. “Said I should be grateful for the ‘opportunity.’ But all he ever did was use me. Paraded me around like a trophy, profited off me, controlled every part of my life.”

Her voice tightened, and she gripped the knife harder. “When the massacre happened, I should’ve run. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched as they shot him. Watched him bleed out on the floor.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “You’d think I’d feel relief, right? He was gone. But all I felt was anger. Anger that I didn’t get to do it myself. Anger that he got an easy way out.”

Her gaze shifted to Momo. “When you offered me a place on this team, it wasn’t just a way out. It was a chance to finally take control of my life. For once, I wasn’t someone’s puppet.”

“You know,” Sana said, her tone softer now, “I still remember the first time I saw you, Jihyo. You looked so out of place at that bar. All serious and stoic, wiping down glasses like you were waiting for someone to piss you off.”

Jihyo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, they did piss me off eventually. Just took a massacre for it to happen.”

The room fell quiet for a beat, the gravity of her words settling in.

“I still can’t believe you survived that,” Chaeyoung said, breaking the silence. “I mean, I knew you were tough, but…”

Jihyo shrugged, her expression unreadable. “You do what you have to. That’s all it was.”

“You ever think about that guy?” Tzuyu asked, finally looking up.

“The one they were after?” Jihyo clarified. She shook her head. “No. He’s probably dead by now. Either they got him, or someone else did.”

Chaeyoung, who had been fidgeting with the strap of her rifle, straightened up. “I guess it’s my turn.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wasn’t always like this, you know? Trigger-happy, gun-crazy.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks, and Chaeyoung laughed. “Okay, maybe I was always a little gun-crazy. But I wanted to be legit. Open my own business, make my parents proud.”

Her expression darkened. “That dream ended when I crossed paths with a client who didn’t want to pay up. He framed me for a crime I didn’t commit, and just like that, I lost everything.”

She looked at Momo, her grin returning, though this time it was genuine. “And then you showed up. Gave me a chance to use my skills for something that mattered. You didn’t just save my life, Momo. You gave me a new one.”

Sana chimed in, her usual cheekiness returning. “Still dreaming about that legit business you wanted to start?”

Chaeyoung laughed, tossing a peanut into her mouth. “Not really. Crime’s more fun anyway. Plus, I wouldn’t trade this team for anything.”

“Aww, Chaeng,” Sana teased, leaning over to pinch her cheek.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Chaeyoung grumbled, swatting her hand away.

The conversation shifted again, this time to Tzuyu.

“I don’t know why you stuck with me after that car meet,” Momo said, eyeing Tzuyu. “You could’ve easily gone solo.”

Tzuyu’s lips quirked into a rare smile. “I could have. But you saved me that night. When they rigged the race and tried to take me out, you didn’t have to step in.”

Sana rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Momo just wanted another driver for the team.”

“And look where that got us,” Tzuyu shot back, her voice cool. “I’m the best driver in this room, and you know it.”

“Debatable,” Chaeyoung said, smirking.

“Not even close,” Tzuyu countered, her tone sharper than usual, but there was no malice behind it.

Eventually, the lighthearted tone faded as the conversation shifted to the real reason they were all there.

“So,” Momo said, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Who’s the rat?”

The room went still. The camaraderie from earlier dissolved into a tense silence as everyone exchanged glances.

“It’s not one of us,” Jihyo said firmly, her gaze sweeping over the table.

“Obviously,” Momo replied, her tone clipped. “But it’s someone close enough to know our moves. Someone who’s been watching us.”

“Could be one of her father’s men posing as an ally,” Tzuyu offered, already typing furiously on her laptop.

“Or one of the newer recruits,” Sana suggested, her voice low. “Someone desperate enough to sell us out for a little cash.”

“Either way,” Chaeyoung said, her fingers tapping restlessly on the table, “we need to figure it out before they get any closer.”

Momo nodded, her expression grim. “And when we do, we make an example out of them.”

The team agreed, their earlier laughter now a distant memory.

Days went by, and the calls kept coming. Every few hours, another message from the spy—always the same calm, cryptic tone, always a reminder of the consequences if she didn’t act. The urgency in the voice wasn’t lost on Momo, but what made her skin crawl was the desperation behind it. This wasn’t just someone trying to manipulate her. This person genuinely wanted to help, to protect her from the storm that was brewing around her.

But it wasn’t the danger that gnawed at Momo the most. It was you.

The spy’s calls were filled with hints, warnings about the bigger plans her enemies had in motion. Yet, no matter how much they hinted, no matter how much they pushed, the message always came back to one thing—*you*. Always you. And every time she heard the voice on the other end, Momo’s chest tightened with a feeling she couldn’t shake. A feeling that she had lost you. That she was never going to get you back.

The first few calls, Momo was patient. She listened, tried to keep calm, to play along with the game of cat and mouse. But the messages—about *her*—kept repeating, as though the spy couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t about the war. It wasn’t about the heists or the rivalries.

It was about you.

“Zorro, you can’t let this go on. You have to stop. She doesn’t want this life. She doesn’t want you.”

It was always the same. Those words, those reminders. Each call made Momo more frantic, more agitated, but she kept it together. For a while, at least.

But then came the final call.

The voice was softer this time, almost as though it were pleading. There was something urgent, desperate in the tone. “She’s not the one pulling the strings anymore. The war is shifting, Zorro. And she’s going to be the one who suffers. Do you really want to see her hurt? Can you live with that?”

The voice dropped to a whisper, almost cracking with emotion. “I’m trying to help you. You have to listen to me. Please…”

Momo’s fingers clenched around the phone. She didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not again.

In that moment, something inside her snapped.

She didn’t know if it was the voice, or the way it spoke of you, or the fact that her world was collapsing around her. All she knew was that she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t want to hear about you—didn’t want to hear that she was still helpless, still stuck in this war, still a prisoner of the choices she’d made.

With a roar of frustration, she slammed the phone down, her heart pounding. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Momo stood up, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists. Without thinking, she stormed toward her desk, grabbing the stack of letters she had been keeping, unopened. The ones she had never sent.

She ripped them from the container, scattering them across the floor in a frenzy. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with emotion. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the first letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.

It was from you.

“I never got the chance to say what needed to be said. I wish I could hold you, Momo. I wish you would just let me. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’ll never forget you.”

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. She crumbled to her knees, her vision blurring as the overwhelming weight of everything that had been said and unsaid crashed down on her. The letters spilled out around her, each one a painful reminder of what she had lost. What she had thrown away.

“I still wear the watch you gave me. I keep it close, just like I keep you in my heart. You’ll never know what you really mean to me.”

She stared at the paper for a long time, the words twisting inside her mind, and then her rage flared up once more. With a scream of frustration, she slammed her fist down onto the desk, knocking over the container that had held the letters.

"Esto es cosa nuestra” she screamed, her voice hoarse with fury. "nobody would understand."

She stood up, kicking the letters across the floor, stomping on them in a blind rage. The hurt, the guilt, the anger—it all poured out of her in one violent outburst. The room around her felt like it was suffocating her, the walls closing in on her as the memories flooded back.

“Love is so short, but forgetting's so long.”

The words echoed in her mind, like a song she couldn’t escape. She collapsed onto the floor, her hand buried in her hair, tears streaming down her face. She had done this to herself. She had thrown it all away.

“Why can’t I have you?”

She whispered it, as though asking the universe, as though pleading for an answer.

But there was no answer.

She wiped the tears away, her hands shaking with the need for control. She couldn’t keep crying. She couldn’t let it defeat her. She had made her choice. She had to stick with it.

But the pain—oh, the pain was unbearable.

The letters. The broken promises. The broken love.

She picked up the revolver from her desk, her hands steady now as she loaded it. The metallic click of the bullets was cold, sharp, and it grounded her, bringing her back to the reality she knew best. Violence. Survival. Revenge.

“On the streets, there are eyes crying tears of sorrow. The difference is some keep it in, others let it out.”

Momo stood up, her jaw tight with resolve. “One thing is, I’m not letting it out.” She wasn’t going to let the pain consume her. She couldn’t. She had made her choice.

Her fingers dialed the anonymous number of the spy, her voice a low growl as she spoke into the phone. "You better have something useful for me. This ends tonight."

The phone rang only once before the spy picked up, their voice quiet but steady. "I figured you'd call back."

Momo paced her office, the revolver still in her hand, her knuckles white around the grip. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You’ve been playing this game for too long. Time for you to come out of the shadows."

The spy hesitated for a moment before responding, their voice tinged with caution. "I’m only trying to help you, Zorro."

"Help me?" Momo scoffed, her laugh dark and humorless. "By calling me every damn day, reminding me of what I already know? If you really wanted to help, you wouldn’t be hiding behind an anonymous number. So, here’s what’s going to happen—you and I are going to meet, face to face, and you’re going to tell me everything you know. No more games."

The line was quiet for a moment, and Momo could hear the faint sound of the spy’s breathing. "Fine," they said finally. "But on one condition—no guns, no fights. Neutral ground."

Momo smirked, though there was no humor in it. "You think I’d trust you without a backup plan? Listen carefully—if you even think about trying something funny, I’ll have my people on your ass faster than you can blink. And when I say you won’t make it out alive, I mean it. They’ll sink so many bullets into you that your worthless body will be unrecognizable. Are we clear?"

There was a beat of silence before the spy spoke again, their voice low but firm. "Crystal. Just pick a place and a time."

"A jazz club," Momo said after a moment, her mind already calculating the logistics. "Tomorrow night. 10 p.m. Discreet, public, and neutral. You’ll come alone."

"I’ll be there," the spy replied. "And so will you, I assume."

"Don’t test me," Momo warned, her voice icy. "I don’t make empty promises."

The call ended abruptly, and Momo tossed the phone onto her desk. She stared at the scattered remnants of her earlier rage—the letters, the broken glass, the smeared ink. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up, forcing herself to focus. Tomorrow would be a pivotal night.

And no matter what the spy had to say, Momo would be ready.

The next day started with a weight in Momo’s chest that no amount of coffee or cigarettes could shake off. She sat at her desk, a pen in hand, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. She hadn’t written to Y/N since everything started spiraling out of control, but today, something compelled her. Maybe it was the jazz club meeting, maybe it was the gnawing emptiness she couldn’t seem to fill. Whatever it was, her hand moved almost on its own, words spilling onto the page.

She wrote about the things she’d never dared say aloud—her fears, her regrets, her dreams. She admitted how much she missed Y/N, how much she hated herself for the choices she’d made. "Like the leaves and the wind," she wrote, "your memory comes and goes, but it never leaves me for long." Tears welled up in her eyes, falling onto the page and smudging the ink. “Hearing your name is like a sensation that never heals”. She cursed under her breath, brushing them away, but the damage was done. Still, she kept writing until there was nothing left to say.

Once finished, she folded the letter carefully and tucked it away in the same box where the others lay hidden. A bittersweet pang hit her as she closed the lid, knowing full well she’d never send any of them. With a deep breath, she pushed herself to her feet and tried to shake the melancholy off.

The afternoon was spent with her team, a rare moment of downtime before the night’s meeting. They gathered in the lounge, a mismatched room filled with worn leather couches, a pool table, and the scent of fried snacks wafting from the kitchen. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu were locked in a heated debate over which car model was the fastest, while Jihyo tried to mediate, her motherly patience wearing thin. Sana, meanwhile, lounged on the couch, a mischievous smile on her face as she chimed in with playful jabs to stir the pot.

Momo sat back, watching them with a faint smile. She appreciated their attempts to distract her—they all knew she hadn’t been herself lately. Jihyo glanced over, her sharp eyes softening. "You good, boss?" she asked quietly, sitting down beside her.

Momo nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. "Yeah," she said. "Just thinking about tonight."

At that, the room’s energy shifted. The team turned their attention to her, and Momo leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "We need a plan in case things go sideways. The spy claims they’re trying to help, but I’m not taking any chances. If they try anything funny, we’ll hold them hostage. Worst case... we take them out."

Chaeyoung grinned, her trigger-happy nature shining through. "Blowing their brains out is always an option," she said, earning a glare from Jihyo.

"Not ethical," Jihyo countered, crossing her arms. "We’re not resorting to that unless absolutely necessary."

Sana smirked, her voice laced with mock innocence. "I could always... persuade them to behave."

"Not this time, Sana," Momo said, shaking her head. "We’re keeping it clean and professional. No distractions, no unnecessary risks."

The team nodded in agreement, and after a bit more strategizing, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. Despite their efforts to lift her spirits, Momo couldn’t fully shake the heaviness in her chest.

Later, Momo retreated to her personal gym. It was her sanctuary, the one place she could unleash the storm brewing inside her without hurting anyone else. She wrapped her hands and began working on the punching bag, her fists colliding with the heavy canvas in rhythmic thuds.

Negative thoughts flooded her mind with every punch—Y/N’s face, the betrayal, the endless chaos of their lives. Her hits grew harder and harder until the bag gave way, splitting open with a loud tear. Sand spilled onto the floor, and Momo stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her face.

She stood there for a moment, hands on her hips, before letting out a long sigh. "Get it together," she muttered to herself. She glanced at the clock and realized it was time to get ready.

After a quick shower, Momo stood in front of her mirror, her movements precise and practiced as she dressed for the night. She chose a sleek black suit, pairing it with a 24-karat gold necklace featuring a fox pendant. She added her signature rings and her engraved watch, spraying on her favorite cologne as the final touch.

When she stepped out of her room, the team was already waiting for her, dressed sharply and ready to go. Momo nodded at them, her expression unreadable. "Let’s go," she said, her voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.

They moved as one, stepping into the cool night air. The jazz club awaited, and with it, the answers Momo so desperately needed.

Momo stood alone in the semi-private lounge of the jazz club, leaning against the back of a worn leather chair. The dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, the soft hum of a saxophone playing faintly from the main stage. Her jaw clenched as she glanced at the clock, her patience thinning.

The door creaked open, and Momo's sharp gaze shifted to the figure entering. Tall and clad in a neatly pressed tuxedo, the person moved cautiously, their hands buried in their pockets, head slightly bowed. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses reflected the warm light as the figure stepped forward.

“Zorro?” the woman’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as she stopped a few feet away.

Momo straightened, her fingers brushing the edge of the knife tucked into her jacket pocket. “That’s me,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman raised her head just enough for Momo to see her face—stern but soft around the edges. “Yoo Jeongyeon,” she answered, standing still, her hands still deep in her pockets. “I’m... I’m a childhood friend of Y/N. We grew up together in her barrio.”

Momo’s brows furrowed. “Childhood friend?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why should I trust you?”

Jeongyeon let out a shaky breath, finally pulling her hands from her pockets to show they were empty. “She’d always talk about you,” she said softly, avoiding Momo’s piercing stare. “I thought it was cute at first, how head over heels she was for you. But now...” She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly. “She’s suffering, Zorro. I’m working for her father, yeah, but I can’t stand seeing her like this anymore. She’s sick. Barely eats. Doesn’t talk. She needs you.”

Momo’s fists clenched, her jaw tightening as she tried to suppress the anger bubbling up. “Empty your pockets,” she ordered coldly, stepping closer to Jeongyeon.

Jeongyeon hesitated for a brief moment before complying, pulling out a wallet, a lighter, and a small set of keys. She set them on the nearby table, then raised her arms. “Satisfied?”

Momo scanned her closely, her eyes sharp. After a beat, she gave a curt nod. “Fine. Sit down,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Jeongyeon obeyed, lowering herself into the seat with careful movements. “I’m risking everything being here,” she said quietly. “Your girl... she’s on the verge of breaking. And if we don’t act fast, I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

Momo didn’t respond immediately, her mind racing as she assessed the woman in front of her. “Why are you really doing this?” she asked finally, her voice low and measured. “You’re working for her father. You could easily let her die and save your own skin.”

Jeongyeon’s expression darkened slightly, but she held her composure. “Because she’s my best friend,” she said firmly. “And because I hate her father more than you’ll ever know.”

Momo’s hand shot to her holster, pulling out her pistol in one swift motion. She aimed it squarely at Jeongyeon’s forehead, the cold steel gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t test me, bitch.” she hissed, her voice deadly.

Jeongyeon didn’t flinch, her hands slowly rising in surrender. A small, calm smirk tugged at her lips. “Calm down,” she said evenly. “I’m not testing you. I’m on your side. But you have to understand, both Y/N and I are on the line here. One mistake, and we’re both dead.”

Momo’s grip on the gun tightened for a moment before she exhaled sharply, lowering the weapon. She stepped back, pacing as she processed Jeongyeon’s words. “What do you want?” she asked finally, her tone still icy.

Jeongyeon dropped her hands slowly, adjusting her glasses. “My mom’s sick,” she admitted. “The bills keep piling up, and her father doesn’t give a shit. I need help. Let me work for you, and maybe... a little something to help cover the costs.”

Momo stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she extended a hand. “Fine. You’ll get your reward, but don’t think for a second I won’t blow your brains out if you cross me.”

Jeongyeon reached out, gripping Momo’s hand tightly. The cold metal of Momo’s rings sent a shiver through her fingers. “Understood,” Jeongyeon replied.

“Meet me at the warehouse tomorrow,” Momo said, pulling her hand back. “We don’t have time to waste.”

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she turned to leave. The tension in the room lingered as Momo disappeared through the door, her mind already racing with the steps they’d need to take.

The next day, Momo’s team gathered at the warehouse, a quiet yet tense atmosphere settling over the group. A map of the compound was spread across the large table in the center, dim overhead lights casting faint shadows on the markings Jeongyeon had made on it. Everyone was seated or standing nearby, their expressions a mix of focus and unease.

Jeongyeon stood at the head of the table, tapping the edge of the map with her finger. “They’re holding Y/N in an isolated chamber,” she began, her tone grim. “It’s one of the older facilities her father’s team used for brainwashing and torture. It’s practically a shithole—barely ventilated, no proper lighting, and the stench is enough to make you gag. She’s been there for days, and they’re not letting up.”

Momo’s jaw clenched at the words, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “What kind of torture are we talking about?” she asked, her voice low but filled with restrained fury.

Jeongyeon hesitated before responding. “Beatings, starvation, psychological games. They want to break her down completely.”

Momo closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. “And you know how to get us in?”

Jeongyeon nodded. “They have food deliveries to the compound every few hours. I can smuggle you and your team in through the trucks. Once inside, we’ll need to take down the guards quickly and quietly. From there, I’ll open access to all the internal doors to give you a clear path to her.”

Chaeyoung, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, frowned. “What about their security? Cameras, alarms, patrol schedules—what are we up against?”

“They’re heavily monitored,” Jeongyeon admitted. “But I can disable the cameras temporarily from the control room. The patrols are more sporadic, but I’ve tracked their usual routes. You’ll need to be fast and precise.”

Sana leaned forward, twirling a pen in her hand. “What if something goes wrong?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed. “What if we get separated, or they lock the doors again?”

Jeongyeon slid a separate sheet of paper across the table. “I’ve mapped out alternative routes to the chamber, but they’re longer and more dangerous. If the primary route fails, you’ll have to split into pairs to avoid detection. Timing will be everything.”

Tzuyu, who had been quietly studying the map, spoke up. “And what about reinforcements? If they realize we’re there, they’ll call for backup. We could end up outnumbered.”

“I’ll cut the landlines and jam their radios once we’re inside,” Jeongyeon replied. “That’ll buy us some time, but it won’t stop them from sending word eventually. You’ll need to move fast.”

Jihyo, standing next to Momo, tapped the map with her finger. “And where exactly will Y/N be? We can’t risk wasting time searching.”

Jeongyeon circled a specific area on the map with a red marker. “This is the chamber. It’s deep in the west wing, near the old loading docks. They’ve been using it as a makeshift holding cell. I’ll guide you through every step of the way.”

Momo finally spoke, her voice steady but filled with determination. “What about their guards? How many are we looking at?”

“About fifteen to twenty stationed inside,” Jeongyeon answered. “Most are poorly trained, but a few of them are elite. You’ll need to be careful.”

“And what about you?” Momo asked, her gaze sharp. “Where will you be during all of this?”

Jeongyeon straightened, meeting Momo’s eyes. “I’ll be in the control room, handling the cameras and unlocking the doors. But if things go south, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Chaeyoung smirked. “Good to know. Let’s hope you can back that up.”

Momo leaned over the table, studying the map intently. “Here’s the deal,” she said firmly. “We stick to the primary route as long as it’s viable. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu will handle the guards—quietly. No unnecessary noise. Sana, you’ll create a distraction if needed, but keep it subtle. Jihyo, you’re with me. We go straight for Y/N.”

“And if they’re expecting us?” Jihyo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Momo’s expression hardened. “Then we improvise. But we’re getting her out. No matter what.”

Jeongyeon hesitated before adding, “One last thing... They’ll likely have someone stationed near Y/N at all times. If they catch wind of what’s happening, they might use her as leverage.”

A tense silence filled the room at her words. Momo’s fists clenched again, her voice barely above a whisper. “If they touch her again, I’ll make them wish they were never born.”

The team exchanged determined glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Jeongyeon reached into her bag, pulling out a small communication device. “We’ll use these to stay in contact,” she said, distributing them. “Make sure they’re always on. If anything changes, I’ll let you know immediately.”

Momo stood straight, her expression steely. “Get some rest tonight,” she said to her team. “We move out at dawn.”

As the others began to file out, Jeongyeon lingered for a moment, watching Momo. “You’ll need to trust me on this,” she said quietly.

Momo didn’t respond, her eyes still locked on the map. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

The truck rolled to a stop, its brakes hissing softly in the quiet night. Momo motioned for everyone to move, her sharp eyes scanning the area. Jeongyeon was the last to step out, her posture tense but her expression unreadable.

“Alright,” Jeongyeon whispered, pointing at the compound map she had memorized. “Two guards at the main entrance. After that, you’ll pass through the loading dock. I’ll head inside first, so they don’t suspect anything. Give me five minutes to unlock the internal doors. Then, move.”

Momo’s voice was icy. “Don’t screw this up, Jeongyeon. If anything feels off, we’ll know.”

Jeongyeon nodded, her face hardening. “I know. Just stick to the plan.”

The team dispersed, slipping into the shadows as Jeongyeon strolled up to the entrance. Her posture shifted, casual and unbothered, as if she belonged there. The guards gave her a glance but said nothing as she passed. She disappeared through the main doors, her footsteps fading.

Momo crouched low, her team gathered around her. “Five minutes,” she said, checking her watch. “Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, get in position near the dock. Jihyo, Sana, cover our flank. No mistakes.”

The team moved like phantoms, their dark clothing blending seamlessly into the night.

Inside, Jeongyeon kept her head low as she made her way to the security panel. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She nodded to a passing guard, who barely acknowledged her, then slipped into the server room.

Pulling out a small device, she hacked into the controls, unlocking the gates and disabling the cameras. Her fingers trembled slightly as she worked. *This has to work,* she thought.

When the system beeped softly, confirming the locks were off, she pressed her earpiece. “You’re clear. Doors are open. Move now.”

---

Momo and her team crept through the now-unlocked loading dock. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu took out the guards stationed there with silent precision. Jihyo led them into the compound, her sharp eyes darting around for any signs of an ambush.

As they advanced, the deaths were quick and brutal. Momo’s team worked with ruthless efficiency. Tzuyu dispatched a guard with a garrote, his body slumping quietly to the ground. Sana slid her blade into another’s side, her movements as graceful as a dance.

The smell of blood and mildew filled the air as they approached the final corridor. Momo’s jaw clenched as she gestured for the team to halt. She glanced at Jeongyeon’s signal on the map, indicating the chamber’s location.

Jeongyeon rejoined them near the corridor, her face pale but steady. “It’s at the end,” she whispered. “But be careful. They’ve left traps in the area. I couldn’t disable everything.”

Momo nodded, her voice low and cold. “Stay close. No mistakes.”

The team advanced carefully, avoiding the tripwires and hidden sensors Jeongyeon had warned them about. The corridor felt suffocating, the tension mounting with every step.

Finally, they reached the heavy steel door Jeongyeon had described. Momo pressed her ear against it, listening for any movement inside. She gestured for Jeongyeon to step back.

“You’re not coming in,” Momo said firmly. “Stay here. If this is a trap, you’ll be the first to pay.”

Jeongyeon raised her hands, her voice calm but strained. “Understood. Just get her out.”

Momo nodded to Jihyo, who pried the door open. The creak of the metal echoed ominously, and Momo stepped in, gun raised.

The dim light inside revealed the horrors of the chamber—bloodstains, chains, and the unmistakable stench of suffering. Momo’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure slumped in the corner.

“Oh, you bitch…” Momo muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with fury and disbelief as she took in the sight before her.

Her fingers tightened around her gun, her knuckles white as the scene burned into her mind. Behind her, the team stood frozen, the silence weighing heavy as they waited for her next move.

The metallic clink of chains echoed faintly as Momo stepped deeper into the chamber, her heart pounding. The sight in front of her made her blood run cold. Y/N sat restrained, her face pale and hollow, eyes sunken with exhaustion and despair.

But the real shock was Jeongyeon.

She stood inches away from Y/N, a gun trembling in her grip, pointed directly at her best friend’s head. Her face was a mask of shame and agony, her shoulders hunched as though the weight of the world pressed down on her. Behind her, Y/N’s father loomed, his expression a mixture of arrogance and sadistic satisfaction.

Momo’s voice was a dangerous growl, venom dripping from every word. “Jeongyeon… what the hell are you doing?”

Jeongyeon’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. The shame in her eyes spoke volumes.

“You traitorous bitch,” Momo hissed, taking a step forward.

Y/N’s father’s laughter cut through the tension, cold and cruel. “Oh, look at this. The infamous Momo. So fierce, so proud. And yet, you’re just a pathetic street rat playing mafia boss.”

Momo’s fist clenched, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

The man turned his attention to you, his sneer deepening. “And you. My worthless daughter. Weak. Useless. You’re an embarrassment to the family name. Always chasing after someone to save you. Always the damsel, never the hero.”

Tears burned in your eyes as you shook against your restraints, his words cutting deep.

He then turned to Jeongyeon, his voice cold and commanding. “Do it.”

Jeongyeon’s hands shook even more, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“DO IT!” he roared, his voice booming through the chamber. “Don’t you want to make me proud? Think about your mother! Do it!”

Jeongyeon flinched, her resolve crumbling. She closed her eyes, her finger pressing slightly on the trigger.

A gunshot rang out.

Jeongyeon screamed in pain as the gun flew from her hand, clattering to the floor. Blood dripped from her palm where Jihyo’s precise shot had struck. She crumpled to her knees, clutching her injured hand.

“Pathetic,” Y/N’s father snarled, reaching for his own gun.

He never got the chance.

Momo’s gun fired, the shot clean and final. His body collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

“No!” You screamed, your voice cracking as sobs wracked your body. Your restraints bit into your wrists as you shook uncontrollably.

Momo was at your side in an instant, freeing you from the chains and pulling you into her arms. Your cries soaked into her shirt as she held you tightly, her hand cradling the back of your head.

More footsteps echoed in the distance. Reinforcements.

Still holding you, Momo raised her gun and fired with ruthless precision. One after another, the men fell, blood pooling around their bodies. Her grip on you never faltered, even as the chaos unfolded around you.

“We have to go. Now,” Momo ordered, her voice sharp. She glanced at Jeongyeon, who was still cradling her injured hand on the floor. “Take her.”

Chaeyoung and Tzuyu moved to grab Jeongyeon, dragging her to her feet.

Jeongyeon winced but managed to speak through the pain. “There… there are tanks in the lower chambers. Fuel tanks. If you set them off… the whole place will blow.”

Momo nodded, her jaw tight. “Sana, Tzuyu, handle it. The rest of us are heading out.”

The team moved with precision, Momo carrying you as you clung to her, sobbing against her chest. Behind them, the muffled sound of explosions grew louder as Sana and Tzuyu set off the charges.

As the group reached the exit, a deafening boom tore through the air, and the entire compound erupted into flames. The heat was unbearable, but Momo didn’t stop until she was certain you were safe.

Outside, under the cover of night, she set you down gently, her hands still trembling as she wiped the tears from your face. The glow of the burning compound reflected in her dark eyes.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her voice raw. “You’re safe.”

But deep down, she knew the battle was far from finished.

Your vision blurred.

You woke up in a haze, your body aching and weak. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw Momo sitting on the edge of her desk, holding a bouquet of roses. She looked at you with such tenderness, it almost made your heart ache. A dark bruise adorned her eye, evidence of the chaos you had just endured.

“You’re finally awake, amor,” she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips as she leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You sat up instinctively, worry flooding your chest. But the sharp pain in your side made you wince, and you clutched your ribs with a gasp.

“Easy, girl,” Momo warned, her hands steadying you.

You panicked, words spilling out of you in a torrent. “Are you okay? What happened? I missed you so much, Momo, I’m so sorry for everything—Momo silenced you with a kiss, her lips firm but soft, her hands cradling your face as if you might break. The words froze in your throat as your heart stuttered under her touch. “I’ve got it settled,” she said when she pulled away, her voice steady and reassuring. “With your father gone, we don’t have any opposing teams left to worry about. I just want to lay low and take care of you now. I love you, Y/N. And I’ll do anything to keep you with me.”

Her words hit you harder than any bullet ever could, tears welling in your eyes as you nodded. Momo stood and moved to a cabinet near her desk, rummaging through it until she pulled out several containers. She turned to you, her expression soft but serious. You tilted your head in confusion. “What’s this?” She walked back over, setting the containers in front of you. “All the letters I never got to send you.” Her voice wavered, just slightly.

“I want to read them all with you.” Your heart swelled at her confession, and you pouted playfully before leaning in to kiss her lips. “Hey… I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Momo chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Good to know.” As she sat down beside you, her expression turned thoughtful. “Oh… by the way, Jeongyeon’s okay. She’s with Jihyo and Sana right now, being looked after.” A teasing grin curled her lips. “Unless Sana and Jihyo are making out in a corner somewhere, knowing them.”

You laughed softly, though your ribs protested the motion. Momo kissed your temple before standing again. She turned to a guitar propped up against the wall, picking it up with care. She glanced at you with a glimmer in her eye. “You know how I gave you that sheet of music?”

You nodded shyly, reaching into your pocket after a moment of hesitation. The paper was wrinkled and stained with blood, but you handed it to her anyway. “I’m sorry it’s all dirty.” Momo took it, her touch gentle. “It’s okay, love. Guess you’ll finally find out how it goes.”

She adjusted the guitar on her lap, her fingers finding the strings. With a deep breath, she began to strum a hauntingly beautiful melody. Her voice, soft yet rich with emotion, filled the room.

"Esto es cosa nuestra...

“Esto es cosa nuestra…no creo que lo entiendan.”

[ashyjingles]

Jason Grace and Cicero Parallels

(And Octavian and Catiline Parallels)

Okay so this is the start of me. Blogging my research experience I guess? I’m looking into Roman history starting with SPQR – A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard. It’s for my fic of Jason’s life at Camp Jupiter pre-swap (from the Heroes of Olympus Series by Rick Riordan) but also for fun. And depending on how much I talk about Jason this may or may not be comprehensible even without any knowledge of that.

I figured going chapter by chapter would help me organize my thoughts the best so I dont forget everything I wrote down by the end of the book. I mean like I have an abysmal amount of sticky notes in the book itself already but doing it this way will also keep my motivated I think

I’ll try my best to make this comprehensible in case anyone wants to follow along, but I think most of this is going to be for myself lol so I don’t have to reread the entire book for a single piece of information (hopefully)

The prologue was just a mention on how the book will be centered on the history of the city of Rome and Roman Italy because getting into the history of Roman everywhere is a bit too big of a project for one book (page 18). and I agree because SPQR is already over 500 pages already lmao

The other thing the prologue mentioned that I noted down was that SPQR is the acronym for “Senatus PopulusQue Romanus,” which means “The Senate and People of Rome.” (page 16)

Chapter 1 is titled Cicero’s Finest Hour and takes place in 63 BCE (Before Common Era). Despite Rome being founded seven centuries earlier, the Romans didn’t start recording their own history until the events of this year. As Beard put it, “Roman history, as we know it, started here,” (page 23) and is the reason she chose to start her book with the events of this year.

To summarize, Catiline (Sometimes Catilina) was a bankrupt aristocrat who tried running for one of two consuls which were the highest political positions in the city (This was before any emperors came along). He came from a distinguished old family who had a successful earlier career but was close to bankruptcy in 43 BCE and was dealing with a failing reputation. He advocated for debt relief which was “one of the most despicable forms of radicalism in the eyes of the Roman landed classes” (page 28). 

Cicero came from a wealthy family as well, but it was outside Rome and thus he was considered a ‘new man’ without any political experience in the city which was looked down on. His climb to power rested on the shoulders of only his own skills — specifically his skill at speaking to a crowd. It won him the election of 63 BCE.

Some time after the election, Cicero got wind of a plot of Catiline’s to burn down Rome. Catiline was also building an army outside of the city. Cicero called a meeting in front of the senate and gave a famous speech that he later wrote down and spread copies of. Catiline then left town after the defeat in front of the Senate. Cicero continued to try and expose everyone left in the operation and succeeded because the conspirators had tried working with a group of Ghauls “who had come to Rome to complain about their exploitation at the hands of Roman provincial governors” (page 34) and provided names of everyone involved.

Cicero rounded up everyone that had evidence against them and without giving them a trial, executed them all. “Triumphantly, he announced their deaths to the cheering crowd in a famous one-word euphemism: vixere, ‘they have lived’ — that is, ‘they’re dead’.” (page 35) Eventually Catiline’s forces were defeated with Catiline on the front line. Cicero had many supporters after this defeat of terrorism, but soon his previous act of executing citizens without trial got him run out of town. He spent some time in North Greece before he came back to Rome, and his career never fully recovered.

Okay. Now I’m here to talk about Jason and how I think he and Octavian (and Reyna) parallel Cicero and Catiline because it was literally ALL I could think about while reading this chapter.

Like Catiline, Octavian comes from a long lineage of reputable people, whether politicians or soldiers or prophets, with him being a distant ancestor to Apollo. While he isn’t at risk of going bankrupt, he does have a certain want for power that leads to him vying for the position of praetor so much that in Heroes of Olympus he repeatedly seems hostile toward Reyna. (And Percy, but given his sudden appearance, greek vibe, and Percy’s own distrust of Octavian, I wouldn't say it’s unwarranted. Plus, at this point, Octavian had already been preparing to aim for the position of praetor now that Jason was gone.) Because we never really saw him interact with Jason, I can’t say anything about his canon relationship with him. So far, Octavian parallels Catiline in his aim for power.

Catiline attempts to stage Cicero’s assassination, but it’s unsuccessful. While it’s not entirely confirmed, what Frank points out leads the audience to believe that it was Octavian that tried killing Gwen. 

Then he noticed the marks engraved into the wooden shaft of the pilum: CHT I LEGIO XII F. The weapon belonged to the First Cohort, and the point was sticking through the front of her armour. Gwen had been speared from behind — possibly after the game had ended.  Frank scanned the crowd for Octavian. The centurion was watching with more interest than concern, as if he were examining one of his stupid gutted teddy bears. He didn’t have a pilum. – Page 142, The Son of Neptune

Of course, with the doors of death being opened she lived, but both instances were an attack on a Roman from a Roman. Catiline also turns to an outside source like the Ghauls, while Octavian turns to outside sources like monsters. The monsters don’t act as a double agent toward a character playing Cicero, but they are double agents and end up being on Gaea’s side. Granted, Octavian’s enemy at that point were the Greeks, not his fellow Romans.

While this is a much looser parallel, Catiline was run out of town and killed on the front lines of the army he amassed. Octavian died in the catapults in the battle on Camp Half-Blood after being ridiculed by the protagonists. Is this a strong enough parallel for me to heavily consider it? No, but it crossed my mind and given his previous parallels to Catiline I thought it was at least mentionable.

Jason, to me, parallels Cicero. His dad is Jupiter, so while similarly to Cicero he has the background for the positions he fills, he doesn’t quite have as much experience as other candidates. Of course, he was brought to Camp Jupiter incredibly young and started building skills just as early as Octavian, but for the sake of the parallels, just go with me here. 

While Cicero relies solely on his speech skills, Jason is clearly a formidable fighter. We don’t have many instances of him using his verbal prowess, but I think that to be as good of a praetor he seems to be described as, it wouldn’t be nonexistent. Plus, while facing off against large threats such as that one giant in The Lost Hero, he has an entire speech ready on the tip of his tongue without him even having to do much to remember it. 

“I'm the son of Jupiter, I'm a child of Rome, consul to demigods, praetor of the First Legion. I slew the Trojan sea monster, I toppled the black throne of Kronos, and destroyed Titan Krios with my own hand. And now I'm going to destroy you Porphyrion, and feed you to your own wolves."  – Page 510 of The Lost Hero

While this isn’t a political speech, the rest of his lines throughout the series give his words a bit of a sophisticated feel, especially in comparison to Leo’s comedic feel. Considering he grew up in Camp Jupiter from an early age and was probably taught Cicero’s works just like many people in later years (until even now) used his works in various classes from learning Latin to studying the rhetorics of speech. Jason would have most likely seen his works growing up in various settings, so I wouldn’t think it too far-fetched to say that he probably modelled his own speeches around Cicero’s. (This is something I would like to incorporate in my fic, so if anyone has any good recommendations for specific pieces/books/sources of his speeches to read I’m open!)

While this is a sillier and much looser parallel, they both turn to either Greece or Greek culture. Cicero flees to North Greece after he’s shunned for executing citizens without trial, and while it is nowhere near the same magnitude of villainy, Jason leans toward Greek culture after his amnesia-drenched months spent at Camp Half-Blood and is shunned for becoming ‘too Greek’ along with the Argo II bombing New Rome and him going to the old lands. He does return to Camp Jupiter though as Pontifex Maximus after giving up his title as praetor to Frank when the zombies spawned by Diocletian's Scepter deem him too ‘Un-Roman’ to command them. Cicero does the same and returns to Rome a year after his exile, but while Jason flourishes (for however short of a while) his career never quite recovers.

Now, I mentioned Reyna as another Cicero parallel, did I not? Her family was long established with and favoured by Bellona, though she and her sister were her first children to be born into her line. Unlike Cicero, she had the experience and background.

However, Octavian rivals with her much throughout the series. It’s her orders he defies, it's her he tries to overthrow, and they don’t have a very friendly relationship overall no matter how professional they manage to act with each other. Her quotes speak to her eloquence (pun intended) and her ‘step too far’ as Cicero was travelling to old land against rules and counsel. Granted, I think her parallels are not as strong as Jason’s, but I think combined, she and Jason make a good Cicero parallel to rival Octavian’s Catiline.

Between all of these, I wonder if these parallels are intentional on Riordan’s part. We know that he’s used parallels before, given all of the original quests in the PJO series that Percy goes on and Silena and Clarisse’s explicit parallels to Achilles and Patroclus. It is also entirely possible I’m just reading into it too much.

Of course, there could be plenty of other parallels to myths that could fit better. I just haven’t gotten there yet. But this is the one I’m noticing now, and it’s strong enough that regardless of whether it seems to be intentional in the books, it’s one I think I’m going to be including in my fic. Foreshadowing Octavian’s plans in HoO by paralleling him and Jason/Reyna to Catiline and Cicero is something I’m really interested in doing tbh. 

If anyone’s still with me, thoughts? I’m choosing to post this to share my ideas and possibly receive some discussion on them, so feel free to support or debate any of them lol, whether it’s a small detail or the topic itself entirely. I still need to reread HoO for this project, and I’ve also never really shown this much of an interest in history so this is a little new to me lol.

For future posts regarding my thoughts on this book I'll be using the '#SPQR' tag. Anything for the fic but not specific to the book will use '#SPQR fic' just for some sense of separation. I'll also link posts for future chapters on this post so their easier to find.

[syndrossi]

resonant ch33 dvd commentary

This was a problem child of a chapter as I tried to figure out the best path toward the next set of plot points, which, combined with the work months (Nov and Dec) from hell meant it ended up a bit late and thereby thwarted my hopes of breaking 200K words of Resonant by year's end, alas.

Favorite line(s):

“I want his head,” Daemon croaked, unable to calm the racing of his heart. “I want to swing the blade that cleaves it from his shoulders. Do not deny me this, I beg of you.”

SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE THIS MAN SOMEONE'S HEAD, HE DESERVES IT. Reyne's, Crayne's, Allard's...he's not picky right now.

Daemon glanced at the red on Viserys’s white-and-gold sleeve, still bright somehow despite being half-dried. How is it that you seek to spend my blood, brother?

The "blood to be spent" is one of my favorite of the candle's refrains to weave in, and it was fun to have a literal representation here.

[The sobs] were as quiet as they were heartbreaking, each wracking him violently, as though the pain of it were trying to bend him in half.

Anyone who's had a really intense cry knows exactly what that feeling is.

Rhaegar seemed to read his expression, and his arms tightened around Qelebrys briefly, as though apprehensive, before steeling his face and turning toward his brother. It was an impulse that was all too familiar to Daemon. He does not want his brother to think him weak.

You know it's bad when Daemon is seeing parallels with him and Viserys, rather than Aemon and Baelon.

Favorite Details

Daemon's victory

As someone pointed out in the AO3 comments, this is a rare occasion where Daemon outplayed Otto, who seemed to be expecting his leaked information about Daemon being seen visit Mysaria in Flea Bottom to result in far more dire consequences for him. He didn't realize that Daemon had been withholding information of his own.

(Granted, Daemon would gladly have continued to withhold the information about the bounty on his own head, had it not been useful in the confrontation.)

Redfort brothers

Sorry, @textbookchoices, I think you were envisioning something quite different when I promised Redfort content...

I don't know, just the utter heartbreak/tragedy that was the Redfort twins' lives in those early years, where they didn't understand why people behaved so strangely and why there were so many unspoken rules. And adoring their older half-brothers, only to be utterly crushed when they never returned, convinced it was their own fault for daring to impose/ask. (When the reality was that this was near the time when Raymar's dye started failing and Allard was eager for the Redfort brothers to halt their visits anyway...)

But also the vulnerability Rhaegar/Raymar was willing to show, and the love the Daemon met it with. Raymar got a lot of much-needed affirmation this chapter, as much of an unsettling rollercoaster of emotion as it was for Rhaegar. They both needed that, and with the stress/upset over the rift with Jon, they were due for a meltdown.

Valyrian histories

I like to imagine Aegon entertained his sons with stories like that of House Dewald (the name itself me making a bad German pun, since the holdfast was near the edge of the forest aka "der Wald"), and Aenys passed it on to Jaehaerys who passed it on to his sons and grandsons. So much of that purely oral history would have been lost in the Dance, with only the children surviving.

And the Valyrians love their stories of "why you should never try to steal dragon eggs, aka because we'll kill you really, really dead."

Dynamics

Daemon and Viserys

Not Viserys's best day ever, though he's not quite as clueless as he seems in giving Reyne an extension. (His reasoning is "I'll need a little time to get a replacement ready and minimize the harm during the transition if he truly is a traitor," hence the one week for Reyne to "prove" himself.)

If things go poorly (aka proof of treason is found), Reyne could very well lose his head!

But that's little comfort to Daemon, who continues to feel (rather fairly) that Viserys won't go beyond half-measures for him, while he'll bend over backward for everyone else.

@marmari33 had a very insightful ask on the topic of how Viserys acts when Daemon is on the verge of a breakdown (aka he's most willing to act the comforting big brother then), so I won't rehash it here, but that's another complicated piece of their dynamic.

At the end of the day, the problem is still that although you can't go around beheading everyone without proof, Viserys's touch is far too light given how serious the treason that was committed by House Royce (and Redfort) under House Arryn's stewardship. Viserys being willing to cede the negotiation ground to the Vale give them the home field advantage/the sense that he's willing to be lenient.

Rhaegar and Raymar

These two have been more integrated than Jon and Jon Redfort by a wide margin, but Rhaegar was feeling it this chapter. As mentioned above, he's eight-years-old and he's in a cold war with his brother who he idolizes and doesn't trust him, which hurts, so he's primed for a breakdown. The hair dye background, which is a particular pain point for Raymar, just opened the floodgates.

Those with a keen eye will notice that Jon has also been more affected by his counterpart of late, so there may be a ticking time bomb there to reckon with...

Quick hitters

It felt almost like a simulated D&D session, the events at the end of the chapter. There were about ten different things that could have happened instead, but this is what the dice (and Daemon) landed on.

It remains ambiguous just how much of Reyne's failure is incompetence, malice, or both.

Larys is back at the Red Keep now, btw...

What was Jon so cheerful about when he found them at the enclosure? We'll find out next chapter...

Daemon's violent outbursts are never not nerve-wracking for the poor Kingsguard. Granted, he's never harmed Viserys, but the sounds of a man breaking a chair by slamming it repeatedly into the ground are not gentle.

The one thing about Daemon's hunger for Allard's head is that it doesn't take into account what the boys might want.

How did Reyne come to know of Daemon's visit? He only showed his face to the woman at the "front desk" so to speak of the establishment, and Mysaria herself. Is Mysaria still informing on Daemon to Otto for a price? Does that still make sense, given the promised rewards from Daemon? Or is it another source?

Daemon's anger tends to have an insulating effect against the candle, while despair/grief make him susceptible, and we see both sides of that coin in this chapter. Though it also remains an open question of whether there is always a warlock "manning" the candle, or if it has any passive effects.

Daemon remains best dad when it comes to finding ways to cheer up his sons. Plotting the perfect flight path to find some natural beauty for Rhaegar followed by interesting ruins of a military defeat for Jon.

The saddle refitting is complete, meaning the boys can take a field trip at any given moment...

Cut scenes/moments

“If I tell you of my own troubles with my brother, will you tell me of yours?” Daemon asked. His son’s grip tightened on the cup, then slackened. “It is nothing.”

The scene was already pretty long, and it didn't feel the right time/moment to veer into the Rhaegar-Jon conflict.

That was the provence of Allard Royce, for those years of cruelty. Lorent Reyne, for dismissing the whispers from the Vale that would have united Daemon with his sons years before. Rhea Royce, for devising such a heartless scheme, and the Redforts for aiding her in it. I will see them all burn.

Just a little extra seething from Daemon that I ended up cutting. I think it's pretty well understood within the chapter that Daemon is hungry for blood/revenge.

“He does not trust me. He thinks that I am weak.” “I am certain that is not so,” Daemon said. Rhaegar’s shrug was listless. “I understand why he believes it to be true. He is able to resist the candle, where I have failed. I was the one foolish enough to drink the cider at the Saltpans and be taken. When we were captive, he challenged Crayne and I—I feared him.” His voice grew thicker with upset, each word escaping him quickly than the last, until he was stumbling over them at the end. Daemon pulled him onto his lap, resting his chin atop his hair as he held him. “You are a child. You are allowed to be frightened.” Rhaegar twisted free, springing to his feet with fists balled tight. “Jon isn’t. He is never frightened. He thinks that he must keep me safe, whatever the cost to himself.” “I am your father. That is my duty.” Daemon caught one of his small fists, clasping it between his hands. “I will keep you safe, both of you.” His son regarded him with a solemn expression that pierced his heart. Aemon. “You will not always be there to protect us.” The chill of winter gripped Daemon suddenly, bitter and harsh in his lungs. The crimson of his blood on Viserys’s white sleeve swam before his eyes, only it was snow he saw now, stained with lifesblood, more than a body could spare. “Do not say that,” he whispered, heart seizing.

A little more of the Rhaegar-Jon conflict that I was a bit sad to see go because of the "blood to be spent" imagery melding with the Wall vision.

And there's one more cut scene (the longest) I'm holding onto in case it's relevant next chapter. If not, I'll share it in that DVD commentary!

[rosaemoux]

I've been thinking of a Magic Batman Au in which there are three main types of magic each person can choose to practice:

Spacial, or physical magic, which is the magic that affects physical spaces, it can go anywhere from elemental to gravitational control of some kind.

Time, or chronological magic, it is the power to reverse, advance or stop time in a specific area for a specific amount of time

And

Ilusory, or psychic magic, it is the magic of the mind, the power to create hallucinations to deceive the mind, to feel other's emotions and manipulate them or to even control other's mind.

Magic is mostly used in everyday life like a convenient tool, but those who practice it and harness it to perfection are called Mages. It's treated no different to a science, however the knowledge behind becoming a mage is very much gatekept by governments all around the world to avoid the use of those powers outside their control.

There are also people ways to steal other people's magic by killing them, making yourself very powerful but also corrupting parts of your soul, making you a Death Mage. Those who choose not to are Life Mages.

Bruce Wayne comes from a long line of spacial mages of the Wayne family. He, however was born like the Kane side of his family, and had a natural affinity for Ilusory magic. After travelling and learning a lot from many different masters, including the Death Mages of Family Al Ghul, he returns to his Victorian Fantasy Gotham, using his power and wealth to make the city a better place and researching magic.

Then, Dick comes into his life, a young boy affected so early by death, like him. To avoid that the boy going out on his own and kills someone, he takes him under his wing. Dick became a spacial mage like his parents before him, also with some of the spells and techniques of the Waynes. I think he's really good at gravitational magic and controlling wind on his favor.

Barbara was mostly self trained, but had some techniques that her dad taught her for self defense, before Bruce also decided to train her. I think that she would have a natural affinity for psychic magic, before switching to time magic once she completes her mage journey and becomes Oracle post her paralysis (Clocktower symbolism, Oracle symbolism, it's perfect). Both her and Dick are very respected in their respective fields, and people start to see them and Bruce like the Wayne and the Kane; a clan, a powerful but small clan of Life Mages. Who also currently can't stand each other.

Then there's Jason Todd. A boy full of raw talent and an affinity for time magic like no other person that Bruce had ever met. When Bruce adopts him, he teaches him what he can. Things were mostly good, even if Dick wasn't very happy with the surprise adoption of a new boy and Barbara wasn't very present. However, when he figures out that Catherine Todd wasn't his biological mother, he and Bruce try to find his possible other living parent.

It goes mostly like in canon. They meet Shiva, ask her about it, she laughs it off, but their meeting makes Shiva a bit reflective about old business. After all, that little girl should be around that boy's age, shouldn't she ? She wonders how that experiment is going... and she feels, conflicted ? Huh, wonder where that came from.

When Jason finds Sheila and she ends up selling him out, they both end up tied in different rooms of a abandoned house, with a ticking timebomb.

Jason uses every single bit of his training to slow down, rewind and stop time, stalling for when Bruce comes for him. He eventually gets himself out of the ropes, but instead of trying to find his way out, he goes to find Sheila. He finds her, and Bruce finally found where they were, but it was just too late.

Ironically enough Jason Todd runs out of time.

Bruce looses a part of himself. His grief overcomes the entire city. He swears that he'll never take in another child, he closes his heart to all of those around him.

However, the mages of House Al Ghul are no strangers to the ways of death, and necromancy is just another way to get what they want. And if a piece or two of a soul gets lost along the way ? Well, you can always steal someone else's.

Part two is about the actual point in which the story would start;

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Six

Word count: 9.2K

Warnings: angst, smut!! (18+), fluff too, all the emotions

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Masterlist

The rhythmic clinking of tools echoes in your quiet apartment as Bucky, Steve and Sam work on replacing the shattered window while you are at work. A crisp draft from the afternoon air slips through the gap, making Bucky shift uncomfortably. He stands nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the street below for any signs of movement.

“You sure this place is secure now?” Sam questions, handing Steve a screwdriver. “Because that was one heck of an entry.”

Steve nods, securing the new pane in place. “We’re reinforcing it, but I think we need to figure out who did this, not just block it out.”

Bucky let out a low huff, his jaw tightening. “It’s not just a message. Someone out there knows too much—about me. About what happened.”

“And they made it personal,” Sam adds.

Steve brushes his hands on his jeans. “We’ll track them down, Buck. But we’ve got to start smart. What’s the connection? Why now?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. For your and Elizabeth’s sake, he tries to push down the storm of emotions that threatens to overtake him. “They’re tied to what happened to me. The people who took me. Could be Hydra… or someone trying to replicate what they did to me.”

“Then we’ll find them,” Steve says firmly. “Together. Like we always have.”

Sam leans against the wall, arms crossed. “And we’re not just talking about going after them, man. You need to let us help you—really help. None of this lone wolf act.”

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Steve glances at Bucky, sensing his tension but choosing not to press further. Instead, he redirects his focus. "Sam, make sure we log the details of the break-in. We might’ve missed something the first time through."

Sam nods and pushes off the wall, grabbing his phone. "Already on it. I’ll run the details by my contacts too—see if there’s been any chatter about suspicious activity in the area."

As Sam steps into the hallway, Steve leans closer to Bucky, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to carry this alone, you know."

Bucky exhales sharply, his metal fingers flexing unconsciously. "I’m not carrying it alone. I’m just… trying to keep it together."

Steve places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him as they walk out of the guest room and to the living room. "We’ll figure this out, Buck. You’ve faced worse and come out stronger. And you’ve got more people backing you now than ever before."

Bucky gives a tight nod. "I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

Before Steve can respond, the sound of the front door opening draws their attention. You step inside with Elizabeth following you as you juggle a bag of groceries in one hand and your keys in the other. 

“Looks like you guys got it all sorted,” you greet with a smile, though your gaze lingers on Bucky, who stands tense and guarded.

“Almost there,” Steve replies, straightening up and dusting off his hands. “We’ve reinforced the frame and added some extra measures to make sure it’s not so easy to break next time.”

Elizabeth bounds over to the couch, her backpack slipping off her shoulders. “Next time?” she echoes, her tone half-serious and half-curious.

“There won’t be a next time,” Bucky mutters, his eyes flicking to the guest room and then back to her. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it that makes Elizabeth glance at him curiously before pulling out her homework.

“You picked her up?” Sam asks, returning from the hallway with his phone in hand. He glances at you and then back at Elizabeth.

“Figured it was the easiest and the least I could do while you all handled this,” you reply, setting the groceries on the counter. “Besides, it gave me a chance to get her opinion on snack choices. She’s got some strong feelings about granola bars, by the way.”

Elizabeth looks up with a grin. “Because chocolate chip is way better than raisin.”

Sam chuckles. “Kid’s got good taste.”

As the light banter fills the room, Bucky shifts, his arms crossing over his chest again. He watches the easy interaction, his tension visibly easing just a fraction. You notice and meet his gaze, offering him a small smile before pulling a loaf of bread from the bag.

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner, by the way,” you offer, glancing at the three of them. “It’s the least I can do to say thanks.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Depends. What’s on the menu?”

“Spaghetti,” you answer. “And if Elizabeth has her way, garlic bread too.”

Elizabeth perks up. “You have to make the garlic bread. It’s the best part!”

Steve grins, stepping closer to the counter. “Sounds like a solid meal. Count me in.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Same here. I’m not missing garlic bread.”

You glance at Bucky, who hesitates. For a moment, it seems like he might turn the offer down, but then Elizabeth pipes up, “You’ll stay too, right, Uncle Bucky?”

Her wide-eyed look cuts through his reluctance, and with a faint smile, he nods. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

As you move around the kitchen, the atmosphere gradually softens. Steve and Sam take turns helping Elizabeth with her homework while Bucky keeps his position near the guest room, though he doesn’t seem as tightly wound as before.

“You know,” you say after a while, breaking the comfortable silence, “it’s nice having a full house like this. A little chaotic, maybe, but nice.”

Sam smirks. “Chaos is kind of our specialty.”

Steve chuckles. “True enough.”

Bucky, still standing by the closed door, finally turns away from it and looks at you. “You don’t mind us sticking around?”

You meet his gaze, your expression warm. “Not at all. Feels safer, honestly. And besides,” you add with a small grin, “I figure if anyone tries something again, they’ll regret it pretty fast with you three here.”

That earns a low chuckle from Bucky, and for the first time all day, there’s a flicker of something lighter in his expression. “You’re not wrong.”

Elizabeth glances up from her homework and adds, “Uncle Bucky’s the best at keeping people safe.”

The quiet pride in her voice makes him pause, his lips twitching into a faint but genuine smile. “Thanks, Bee.”

Dinner is filled with easy conversation and the kind of camaraderie that feels natural, even in the wake of the unease from before. By the time the dishes are cleared and the table wiped down, the apartment feels less like a crime scene and more like a home again.

As the evening winds down, Bucky finds himself lingering by the door while the others gather their things. He turns to you, his gaze steady. “Thanks—for dinner and picking up Elizabeth.”

You nod, your smile soft. “Anytime. You know that.” You lean in and kiss his cheek. 

“Please call me if anything feels off. Don’t hesitate.” Bucky pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“I promise. Thank you for everything.” 

Later that night, Bucky is consumed by the quietness of his apartment, save for the soft hum of the heater battling the December chill. Bucky sits on the edge of the couch, staring at the empty tea mug in his hands. Dinner had been… nice. Uncomfortably nice. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease—laughing at one of Sam’s terrible jokes, watching Elizabeth light up over dessert, hearing your voice cut through the heaviness in his chest like it belonged there.

It should’ve been good. Great, even. But instead, it left him unsettled. Warmth wasn’t something he was used to, not in a long time but now it wrapped around him like a second skin, soft but unfamiliar.

Alpine pads up onto the couch, curling into his lap. Bucky absently runs his fingers over her fur, his metal hand resting stiffly at his side. It’s not that he doesn’t trust it—it’s that he doesn’t trust himself. Not with this. Not with people he cares about.

His gaze shifts to the hallway, where Elizabeth is staying for the night after she pleaded with her dad, his room door slightly ajar. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Bucky crosses the room and gently nudges the bedroom door open. Elizabeth stirs at the sound, her small frame wrapped in a blanket as her stuffed bear rests on the pillow beside her.

“Uncle Bucky?” Her sleepy voice pulls him closer.

“Yeah, Bee, just me,” he says softly, crouching down to her level. “Wanted to check in before you head off to dreamland.”

Her brows knit together, her drowsy eyes searching his. “You look sad.”

Bucky lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not sad. Just thinking too much. Go back to sleep, alright?”

“You’ll keep us safe?” she murmurs, already halfway back to sleep.

His throat tightens at the trust in her voice. “Always,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her head and smoothing the blanket over her shoulders. “Nothing’s getting past me.”

Once she’s asleep again, Bucky quietly shuts the door and leans against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. He could handle threats, danger, even his own ghosts—but this? The trust and love of people like Elizabeth and you? That’s what made him feel like he was walking on thin ice.

Back on the couch, the quiet feels heavier now. The mug is now cold, its contents long forgotten. He sets it on the table and leans back, Alpine shifting against his lap. His mind circles back to the warmth of the evening—Elizabeth’s laughter, your voice, the way you looked at him and how you reminded him that you're all in this together.

But you... you make it seem effortless. You see through his walls without tearing them down, slipping past his defenses like sunlight through cracks.

Together. That word clings to him, even now. It feels foreign, like a language he’s trying to relearn after decades of silence. But it also feels... dangerous. Trusting someone meant opening up, and opening up meant exposing the parts of himself he’d rather leave buried.

He glances at the leather-bound journal on the coffee table. A quiet ritual, one of the only ways he can sort through the noise in his head.

With a sigh, he picks it up and flips to a blank page. The pen feels heavy in his hand as he stares at the empty space, searching for the words he hasn’t said aloud.

It scares me.

I don’t know how to do this.

Dinner tonight felt like stepping into a memory I don’t deserve to have. Warmth, laughter, people who care—things I stopped letting myself believe in. But then there’s Elizabeth, trusting me to keep her safe. There’s Y/N, looking at me like I’m not just the sum of everything I’ve done.

Not the kind of fear I’m used to—the kind that keeps you alive in a fight. This is different. It’s... quieter. More patient. It whispers things I can’t ignore: What if you mess this up? What if you hurt them? What if they find out who you really are and walk away?

I can’t stop thinking about Y/N. How her voice cuts through the static in my head. How Y/N smiled at me tonight like I wasn’t broken.

I don’t know what to do with this feeling.

Bucky stares at the page for a long time before closing the journal. The words sit heavy in his chest, like a truth he’s only just starting to admit to himself.

As Alpine stretches and curls tighter against him, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Tomorrow, the world would demand answers, plans, and action. But tonight, he allows himself this: the quiet hum of the heater, the softness of a cat’s fur, and the hope—no matter how fragile—that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to do it all alone.

The next morning, Steve and Sam spread out across the living room, papers and laptop screens cluttering the coffee table. The remnants of breakfast—Elizabeth's half-finished cereal bowl sat off to the side, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Bucky stood near the window, his arms crossed as his gaze flicked between the street below and the scattered information.

“This symbol,” Steve said, tapping a grainy photo on his screen. “It showed up on the corner of the broken window frame. It’s faint, almost like it was etched there on purpose.”

Sam squinted, leaning closer. “That’s not random graffiti. Looks like an old Hydra mark.”

Bucky stiffened at the mention, his fingers curling into fists. “That’s not just any Hydra symbol,” he said, his voice low. “That’s from the division that… experimented on me.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Steve exchanged a glance with Sam before speaking. “You think this is tied to someone specific from back then?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “There were scientists, mercenaries… a lot of people involved. But there’s one name that stands out.” He hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing against him. “Jakob Neumann. He oversaw the project that gave me this.” He held up his metal arm, the morning light glinting off its surface.

Sam frowned, pulling out his phone. “That name rings a bell. Give me a sec.” He typed quickly, his brow furrowing as he scanned through a database. “Neumann’s been off the grid for years, but…” His eyes lit up with realization. “A guy matching his description popped up in a report from Romania six months ago. It wasn’t confirmed, but there were whispers about him working on black-market enhancements.”

Steve frowned, straightening. “If he’s resurfacing, it could explain why they’re coming after you now. Maybe they’re trying to tie up loose ends—or restart their work.”

Bucky’s grip on the windowsill tightened. “If Neumann’s behind this, he won’t stop at me. He’ll go after anyone connected to me.”

Steve stepped closer, his tone resolute. “Then we take the fight to him before he gets the chance.”

Sam glanced between the two of them. “We need more intel first. Charging in without a plan isn’t gonna help anyone—especially with Elizabeth and Y/N caught in the crossfire.”

Bucky turned sharply at the mention of your name, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N shouldn’t be involved in this. I won’t let her get hurt because of me.”

Sam raised a hand in surrender. “We’re all on the same page, man. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this.”

Steve nodded. “Sam’s right. Let’s track down where Neumann was last seen and see if we can get a trail on him. And Bucky…” Steve’s voice softened. “We’ll handle this together. You’re not doing this alone.”

Bucky looked between them, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions—gratitude, frustration, and the ever-present fear that his past would destroy what little good had found its way into his life. “Fine. But we don’t wait too long. Every second he’s out there is another second he’s a threat.”

By midday, the living room had transformed into a makeshift war room. Steve had set up a detailed map on the coffee table, pinpoints and notes marking places where Neumann or his associates were rumored to have been seen. Sam worked the comms, reaching out to his contacts for any new leads, while Bucky stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” Sam said, straightening from the couch. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. Last confirmed sighting was in Bucharest, but there’s chatter about someone matching Neumann’s description heading east. Budapest, maybe.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “There’s also been talk of some underground tech trades—enhancements, biometrics. Sounds like his kind of game.”

Steve nodded, his gaze serious. “If he’s moving, he’s staying one step ahead. We need to figure out where he’s going next. Budapest could be a stop, or it could be a dead end.”

“We won’t know until we get boots on the ground,” Bucky interjected, his voice steady but tense.

Sam leaned back against the armrest, arms crossed. “And how do you suggest we do that? Can’t exactly hop on a plane and start asking questions without drawing attention.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Sam’s right. We need to be subtle. If Neumann’s involved in black-market tech, he’s probably dealing with the same players he’s worked with before. We could start there.”

“Which means infiltration,” Sam added. “We need someone who can blend in, look like they belong in that world.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who raised an eyebrow. “You saying I look like I belong in a criminal underworld?”

Sam smirked. “If the arm fits.”

Despite the tension, a faint chuckle escaped Steve. “Sam’s got a point. You’ve been off the grid before. You know how to move in those circles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He hated the idea of diving back into a world that felt too close to the one he’d fought so hard to escape. But he also knew he couldn’t let anyone else take that risk. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“You won’t go alone,” Steve said firmly. “I’ll handle the logistics from here, and Sam will be your backup. We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need before you head out.”

Sam gave a mock salute. “Guess I’d better pack my ‘blending in’ jacket.”

Bucky managed a faint smirk but said nothing, his mind already racing ahead to what he’d have to do. The thought of you and Elizabeth flashed unbidden in his mind, a reminder of what was at stake.

The evening sun dips low, casting golden light across the quiet street as Bucky approaches your apartment. He hears faint laughter through your front door, Elizabeth’s voice blending with yours, and for a moment, the sound eases the tension knotting his chest.

He knocks lightly, his metal arm making a softer tap than he intended. The door opens almost immediately, and there you were, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet, stepping aside to let him in. “Perfect timing. Elizabeth just finished her homework, and we were about to start a game of Uno.”

Elizabeth pops her head around the corner, a grin spreading across her face. “Uncle Bucky! You have to play too. Y/N's not very good at bluffing.”

You laugh, mock-offended. “Hey, I’m plenty good at bluffing! I just happen to be honest when I play with you.”

Bucky chuckles softly, stepping into the cozy space. “You’re teaching her how to bluff? Pretty sure Steve wouldn’t approve.”

Elizabeth giggles and runs to grab the deck of cards. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gesture toward the kitchen. “Want some tea before you take her home? I just put the kettle on and I have that Chamomile kind you like.” 

Bucky blushes slightly from the thought of you purchasing his favorite tea for when he comes over. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The two of you move to the kitchen while Elizabeth sets up the game in the living room. You hand Bucky a mug, your gaze lingering on him as he takes a sip.

“Long day?” you ask gently.

Bucky nods, his eyes fixed on the liquid in his mug. “Yeah. We’re… dealing with the intruder situation. Complicated.”

“Something dangerous?”

He looks up, your concern evident. For a second, he considers brushing it off, giving you the usual noncommittal response. But something in your steady gaze tells him you wouldn’t buy it—and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to lie to you.

“Could be,” he admits quietly. “It’s connected to my past. And to people who might still want to use me—or worse.”

You set your mug down and cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “And you’re worried they’ll come after you. Or Elizabeth.”

“And you.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. His blue eyes meet yours, searching, hesitant, yet brimming with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Bucky,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I’m tougher than I look. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know.”

He exhales sharply, his shoulders tensing as though resisting your words. “I’m not good at letting people in,” he admits. “But the thought of something happening to you, to Elizabeth—it’s not something I can handle.”

Your hand instinctively reaches out, brushing against his metal arm. The coolness of the vibranium contrasts with the warmth of the moment. “You don’t have to handle it all alone. You’ve got Steve, Sam… and me. We’ve got your back, Bucky.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes holding an unspoken intensity, and without thinking, you lean in. You kiss him then, slow but sure, your lips finding his with a sense of quiet confidence. The moment feels natural, like something that was always meant to happen, and it’s as though the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this brief, private space.

The kiss deepens, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the tension between you dissipating as you both lean into the intimacy of it. When you pull away, you don’t step back immediately. Instead, you stay close, your foreheads gently resting against each other as you both catch your breath.

“Y/N…” he breathes your name softly, the weight of it carrying more meaning than any words could convey.

Before you can respond, Elizabeth’s cheerful voice rings out from the living room.

“Uncle Bucky! Are you coming? I already shuffled!”

You both laugh quietly, the moment fading, but the connection still crackling between you. Bucky takes a step back, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess I’d better go lose at Uno.”

You smile, feeling your heart still race. “For the record, I’m definitely going to beat you both.”

As you both move toward the living room, you glance at him once more. The warmth in his gaze matches yours, despite the chaos happening in your lives. 

The next Friday afternoon, the school is bustling with the usual end-of-week energy. Kids laugh and gather their things for the weekend as you finish up your last tasks in the classroom when you notice something out of place—an envelope wedged between the pages of a textbook on the corner of your desk. It’s a simple, unmarked envelope, but there is something about it that makes your skin start to prickle.

You hesitate, heart racing, and open it. Inside was a folded piece of paper, handwritten in a neat but unsettling script.

"We’re watching. It’s only a matter of time."

Your blood runs cold as you read the words again. The handwriting is unfamiliar, but the implication is clear. Your stomach twists in dread. You stuff the envelope into your bag, trying to shake the sense of unease that grips you. Elizabeth is already waiting by the door, backpack slung over her shoulder and a wide grin on her face.

“Ready to go, Y/N?” she asks, her voice full of enthusiasm.

You force a smile, nodding as you grab your things and follow her out into the hallway. The bustling school seems far too normal for what you're feeling inside. The tension from the note stays with you, coiling in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder one last time as you exit the building, scanning the hallway as though you might spot something or someone.

Elizabeth’s chatter helps distract you as you make your way to the parking lot. As you reach the front gates, you spot Bucky’s familiar truck idling by the curb. He leans against it, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of practiced vigilance. When he sees you, his expression softens, and he straightens up, pushing off the truck with a slight grin.

“Hey, you two,” he says, his deep voice grounding you for a moment, calming the nerves that have been rattling around inside you. “How’s the day been?”

Elizabeth jumps up and down, eager to give her answer. “It was awesome! I got 100% on my math test!”

You smile at her excitement but can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. There’s something in his gaze, something concerned, but you can’t quite place it.

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky says, giving her a playful ruffle of her hair as she beams up at him. Then, his attention shifts back to you. “How about you?”

You hesitate for a moment, the unease creeping back. You can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. You glance at Elizabeth, then turn your gaze to Bucky, knowing there’s no way to keep this from him any longer.

Bucky senses your hesitation. “Hop on in Bee. You can watch the iPad on the way home.” He helps Elizabeth buckle in, shutting the door and stepping back up on the sidewalk near you. 

“I found something today,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “In my classroom. A note.”

Bucky’s brow furrows slightly, his posture shifting, the relaxed demeanor slipping away as he gives you his full attention. “A note?”

You nod, your hands subconsciously clutching your bag tighter. “Yeah. It was in one of the textbooks on my desk. No return address, no name. Just these words.”

You pull the envelope from your bag, handing it to him. Bucky doesn’t need to read it aloud; the message is clear as he scans it quickly, his face hardening with each passing second.

His jaw clenches, his free hand flexing as if he's holding something back. “This is...”

“Not a coincidence,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like whoever’s behind all of this is getting closer. I don’t know what they want, but it doesn’t feel safe.”

Bucky steps closer to you, his presence both comforting and protective, his expression now fierce. “This changes things. We need to keep you and Elizabeth safe. I’ll talk to Steve and Sam. We’ll make more headway on who is behind this immediately.”

You nod, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, the realization hits that you aren’t just dealing with some random threat. This is bigger, and it’s personal.

Bucky glances over his shoulder toward the truck, then back at you, his eyes softening as he steps even closer, closing the space between you. His voice drops low, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I don’t like this, Y/N,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “But I’ll make sure we figure this out. Whatever it takes.”

You nod again, but the unease lingers in your chest, the weight of his words sinking deeper into you. It's not just the threat, but the quiet protection he offers, the way his presence feels like a shield around you.

Elizabeth’s voice cuts through the moment, cheerful as ever. “When are we gonna get to eat? I’m starving!”

“We’ll figure something out, Bee.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head. “She’s got a point. I think we all need some downtime this weekend.”

His eyes flicker to the sky, then back to you, his expression softening again. “Listen, I’m gonna drop Elizabeth off at home and promise to make up our usual Saturday mornings to her later, then I was thinking…” He pauses, his tone turning a little more uncertain, as if he’s considering the best way to ask. “Maybe you want to come by my place afterward? I’ll make dinner. We can just… hang out. Take a break from all this.”

You glance at him, surprised but grateful for the offer. You’re tired, emotionally drained from the constant worry of the past few days. The idea of a quiet night, just the two of you, feels like the perfect way to reset.

You meet his gaze, and there's a soft warmth in his eyes as he waits for your answer.

Bucky nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, reassuring smile. “Alright, I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Just relax.”

“I’d like that,” you say softly, your voice filled with relief. "I think I could use some quiet time."

You feel a wave of gratitude wash over you, the stress from the day slowly starting to lift. With Bucky here, you know things will feel safer, even if just for tonight.

“I’ll see you later, then,” you say, taking a step back toward the truck as he moves to climb into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. “Be safe driving and if anything suspicious happens again, please call me.” 

“Promise.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, before stepping back and waving to Elizabeth. 

As he pulls away with Elizabeth’s excited chatter filling the truck, you watch them go, feeling a sense of calm you haven’t had in days. It’s a small, but welcome, piece of normalcy.

The tension from the day slowly begins to ebb away as you settle into Bucky’s cozy apartment, the warmth from the stove, and his presence feels like the perfect safe space, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the need to constantly look over your shoulder.

You curl your legs beneath you, making yourself comfortable, and watch him move around the kitchen. He looks so at ease, and yet, you can tell there’s something lingering just beneath the surface.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, giving you a small smile. “Nah, I’ve got it. You just relax.” He focuses on the pan for a moment, the quiet thrum of his concentration giving way to a slight sigh. He turns back to you after a beat. “How’s the job going this year? How’s the school year treating you?”

“It's going okay. The kids are great, but it's been a lot. It always is at the beginning of the year and with Christmas break coming up. I love it, though. I just... sometimes feel like I'm running on fumes.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he walks over to the couch, sitting beside you. “Yeah… I get that. It’s like you’re trying to be strong for the people who need you, but sometimes… you just want to let go.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the words. He looks at you, his gaze soft but intense, and you sense that he’s not just talking about you, but about himself too.

“I get it,” you say quietly. “You don’t have to pretend, you know? You don’t have to always be the strong one.”

Bucky lets out a breath, leaning back into the couch, eyes searching the ceiling as if he’s looking for the right words. His hand rests on his knee, his metal fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against his skin.

“I haven’t always had that kind of space,” he starts, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Growing up, my family was... tight-knit. My mom, my sister... my dad was always working, but we were close. And then after the war, everything changed.” He pauses, as if that thought alone takes a toll. “I kind of shut them out. After everything that happened…I lost my mom and didn’t go to her funeral. My dad told me off and told me to never go back after that. I regret it everyday, for not showing up. For never saying goodbye.”

You look at him, your heart aching for him in a way you hadn’t expected. The same loss you both shared, though in different forms.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you say softly, your voice gentle, understanding. “I can’t imagine losing so much... like that. I used to go back home to see my dad, but after my sister and nephews... it’s just not the same anymore. I don’t really have anyone anymore. I used to think family meant blood, but I guess I’m learning that it’s more about who’s there for you, right?”

Bucky looks at you then, his blue eyes steady, as if weighing your words. He nods slowly, understanding. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. Steve, Sam, and Elizabeth—they’re my family now. They’ve been my rock. And, well, now you, too.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, full of meaning. You feel the quiet sincerity in them, and you realize that, in some small way, you’ve become part of that family too.

A smile tugs at your lips. “I like that,” you whisper, your gaze holding his. “I like being part of your family.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he turns toward you fully, his knee brushing against yours. He hesitates for a second, his hand flexing, as if uncertain about something. Then, in a quiet voice, he adds, “You’ve got a place here. For as long as you want it. This—this family? It’s yours too.”

You feel your heart swell, warmth blooming inside you at his words. Something inside you loosens, and you let out a slow breath. The connection between you two feels stronger now, like a thread that’s been woven between you and tied with care.

You reach out, your hand brushing his, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and something else—something deeper. His eyes flicker to your hand, and then to your face, before he gently takes your hand in his, his fingers warm against your skin.

Bucky lets out a breath, his voice quieter now. “I know we’ve... crossed some lines already, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You smile softly at him, your thumb gently brushing over his hand. “Bucky, you’re not pushing me into anything. I trust you.”

He looks down at your joined hands, his metal fingers slightly trembling as he touches you, unsure of how to navigate the unfamiliar territory. But then you gently place your other hand on his, your fingers running over the cool metal of his arm. It’s a gesture of reassurance, and you meet his eyes, your gaze unwavering.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I don’t mind. I want you to touch me, Bucky. In any way that feels right.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, his chest tightening as he gazes at you with something like longing in his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he leans toward you, his face inches from yours. And without another word, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first—gentle, as if testing the waters. But then you pull him closer, your hands moving to his chest as you deepen the kiss. He doesn’t pull away, and for a moment, everything else fades. The world outside doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him, connected in a way that feels like home.

Bucky’s hand, still unsure, finds its way to your cheek, the warmth of his touch mingling with the coolness of the metal on his other hand. And you welcome it, the mixture of both parts of him, feeling the whole of him in that moment.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you try to regain composure. But neither of you says anything. Words aren’t needed right now. It’s enough to just be with each other.

And when Bucky whispers, “I’m glad you’re here,” you know he means more than just tonight.

“I think I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it’s as if time slows down. He studies your face, his own expression serious but tender, as though he’s looking for something in you. Then, without another word, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kisses you again.

This time, it’s different. Slower. Deeper. There’s a weight to it, a shared understanding that goes beyond physical connection. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity, and you feel the storm of emotions between you two—the hurt, the healing, the desire for something more.

You let your hands move to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. His metal arm rests on the couch again beside you, the cold steel a reminder of his past, but you’re not afraid. You reach out, tentatively at first, your fingers brushing over it before gently cupping his arm. You sense the hesitation in him, the uncertainty about how much he can give of himself without losing control.

But you smile, meeting his gaze. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want you. All of you.”

He leans down to kiss you again, taking his time. His lips are soft, but there’s an undeniable hunger in his touch, a yearning for something you both haven’t fully acknowledged until now. His metal arm comes around you, drawing you closer, and you don’t flinch. Instead, you press yourself against him, feeling the weight of his arm, the coolness of it grounding you as much as the warmth of his other hand that cradles your face.

There’s no rush, no urgency between you two, just the slow, deliberate connection of bodies and hearts. He takes his time, kissing you deeper, exploring every inch of you as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. You reciprocate, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer as if you’re afraid this might all disappear if you don’t.

But then, suddenly, a sharp, panicked sound from the kitchen breaks the moment.

“Shit! The dinner!” Bucky mutters, pulling away abruptly. His face shifts from passion to surprise as he stands up quickly, his hand fumbling for his shirt as he rushes toward the kitchen.

You can’t help but laugh, a soft giggle escaping your lips. The seriousness of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by a sense of playful chaos.

Bucky hurries into the kitchen, his movements a blur as he scrambles to turn the stove off, muttering curses under his breath. You get up, following him into the kitchen, still smiling at the way he’s trying to salvage the meal.

“You might want to check the potatoes,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

Bucky glances at you over his shoulder, his face slightly flushed from the rush. “I swear, I was so sure I had everything under control,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But then… well, you know.”

You smile, watching him move around, trying to salvage the dinner with a slight laugh in his voice. The lightheartedness between you both feels so natural, so freeing, and you feel more at ease than you have in a long time.

Bucky finally turns back to you, his hands still wiping off the remnants of whatever went wrong in the kitchen. His gaze softens as he looks at you, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he walks back toward you.

“Guess we’ll have to make do with takeout,” he says, his voice light. "Any preferences?"

You shake your head, still feeling pleasantly warm from your earlier kisses. "Surprise me."

Bucky nods and pulls out his phone to place an order. As he talks, you let your gaze wander over him - the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the subtle shift of his shoulders as he moves. When he catches you looking, his eyes darken.

He sets the phone down and moves closer, his steps measured and deliberate. 

Bucky's eyes lock onto yours as he approaches, his gaze intense and full of longing. The air between you feels charged, crackling with electricity. Without a word, he reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he draws you in for another kiss. 

This time, there's no hesitation. His lips move against yours with heated urgency, and you respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. A soft moan escapes you as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips eagerly, deepening the kiss as your bodies press together.

Bucky's hands roam down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When they reach your hips, he grips you firmly and lifts you up. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. 

Bucky gently lowers you onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. He hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he looks down at you with a mix of desire and tenderness.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks softly, his voice rough with want. 

You nod, reaching up to cup his face. "I've never been more sure of anything."

That's all the permission he needs. Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring everything he feels for you into it. His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you, discarding your clothes in the wake. 

You arch into his touch, your body aching for more. Your nipples harden under his fingers, and you gasp as he pinches them gently. Bucky's mouth leaves yours, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He pauses at your breasts, lavishing attention on each nipple in turn.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he sucks and nips at your sensitive flesh. Bucky's hand slides down your body, tracing a path towards your core. When he reaches your panties, he hooks his fingers under the waistband and pulls them down, leaving you bare for him.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your slick folds. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes, his voice husky with desire.

Then, without another word, he's back to kissing you, his fingers mapping every inch of your skin as your hearts beat in time. There's no rush this time, only the quiet intensity of being together. His fingers slip between your legs to tease your clit, drawing out a moan from your throat.

When you can't wait any longer, you pull him down for another kiss. "Bucky, please..."

With a groan, he pushes back, his movements unhurried as he pulls off his own clothes. Your eyes drop to his cock, and he chuckles under his breath at the hungry look on your face. His hand wraps around the base of his shaft, stroking slowly as his eyes lock on yours.

"I don't want to rush through this. I want to feel you for the first time nice and slow." He pauses, his gaze flickering down your body. "Tell me you want that too."

Your mouth has gone dry, but you manage to croak out an assent. "Y-yes... yes, please."

Bucky nods, his teeth catching the corner of his mouth. Then he reaches to his nightstand for a condom and rolls it onto his shaft. You watch, mesmerized, as he slicks himself with lube.

The anticipation is driving you crazy, your body so sensitive with want. When Bucky finally slides a finger inside you, your toes curl and your hips jerk up off the bed.

"Oh god, oh god..."

He chuckles, his thumb teasing your clit. "Not yet. Just hold on and feel me."

You do as he asks, letting his touch wash over you as he works you open. Your nails dig into your palms as you wait, your heart hammering in your ears. He takes his time, his finger crooking inside you to hit the exact spot that makes you whine.

"Okay," he says, pulling his fingers out with a satisfied smirk. "Ready?"

You nod and he shifts forward, his cock nudging at your entrance. You open your legs wider, wanting him to fill you completely. Slowly, inch by inch, he slides inside you until he's fully seated.

Bucky buries his face in your neck, his breathing ragged. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel even better than I imagined."

You wrap your legs around him, your pussy clenching around his shaft. "Please move."

He groans, his hips pulling back slowly before he pushes forward again. "Okay, baby, okay..."

The friction inside you is exquisite. Every stroke hits your g-spot perfectly, making you shake and whine with pleasure. His cock hits deeper and deeper with each thrust, the sounds of your wetness echoing through his bedroom as he fills you.

As he fucks you, Bucky's kisses fall over your skin like rain. Your lips, your neck, the shell of your ear. His teeth nip at your collarbone, eliciting a startled cry from your throat. He smiles against your skin, his rhythm never faltering.

It feels like hours and only seconds at the same time, your bodies moving in perfect sync. When his teeth bite down on the flesh between your neck and shoulder, a sudden jolt of pleasure makes you see stars. Your body goes taut, your nails digging into Bucky's shoulders as you scream his name.

The sensation of you clenching down on his cock is all it takes for him to join you over the edge. Bucky gasps, his hips stuttering before he comes hard inside you. He moans, the sound vibrating against your skin.

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms as you come back down from the high. 

After a few quiet moments, Bucky pulls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the bathroom. His touch is steady, almost reverent, as he sets you down gently. The sound of the shower fills the space as he turns it on, pulling you under the warm spray with him. His fingers brush against your skin, caressing your face as if committing every detail to memory, his blue eyes reflecting the unspoken tenderness between you.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels endless, consuming. It’s not just desire—it’s longing, devotion, and the overwhelming need to keep this moment forever. The thought of being apart is unbearable. He presses you closer, his hands firm on your waist as he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

His words send a shiver through you, and you meet his intense gaze, your heart swelling. You reach up, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing soft kisses along his neck.

“Me either,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I’m so happy to be here with you. To feel this. To have you.”

The way he looks at you leaves you breathless—like he’s seeing every part of your soul and holding it in his hands. His eyes carry a depth that makes you feel seen, cherished, and claimed all at once. And you realize you want nothing more than to lose yourself in him, to become inseparably intertwined.

Bucky’s grip on your hips tightens slightly as though anchoring himself to the present, to you. His heart is pounding, emotions surging through him in ways he’s never felt before. He wants to tell you everything, to give voice to the feelings consuming him, but fear knots in his chest. How do you put something so profound, so earth-shattering, into words?

Instead, he holds you closer, his silence speaking volumes. And in his arms, under the cascading water, you feel it all—the unspoken promises, the yearning, and the undeniable truth that what’s between you is something neither of you can ever let go.

Bucky grips your thighs, pushing you flush against the wall, sucking on your neck as you moan loudly. His cock rubbing against you clit torturously.  

"Fuck," Bucky moans against your lips. "Please, I need you again..."  

You smile, knowing exactly what he's getting at. You lick his bottom lip, your breaths coming in short pants.  

"Take me," you whisper against his lips.

Bucky growls and pushes inside you. You let out a high pitched moan, nails digging into his shoulders. The force of the thrust makes your thighs quiver. Bucky fucks you slowly in long thrusts. Each one sends waves of pleasure through your body. He reaches up and cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently before pinching your nipples, making you arch your back and cry out his name. 

The sound of your wet bodies colliding echoes through the room. Your cries of pleasure are loud, and Bucky grins, loving that he's causing that. That he makes you feel like that. He leans in close to you, breathing in the scent of your neck before biting it gently, making you squeal again.

He increases the speed of his thrusts as you feel yourself getting close, head falling back against the wall. Bucky runs his tongue along your neck to your collarbone, making you shiver. 

"I'm close," you moan. "Oh god, I'm close..."

"Come for me," he whispers against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby." 

He picks up the pace, slamming into you now. You moan loudly, the only thing you can think is how good Bucky feels inside of you. He's hitting all the right spots, sending pleasure running through your veins. 

"Fuck, I'm going to cum..." Bucky pants against your neck. 

"Yes, oh god" You squeal as you feel him stiffen inside you, and that's all it takes to push you over the edge. You cry out in ecstasy, body shaking against him. You can feel Bucky doing the same, his cock pulsing inside you. He presses you lips together, swallowing your moans. You stay flushed against the shower wall for a few minutes, the warmth of the water washing over you.

“You okay?” Bucky asks as he helps you stand to your feet, wobbling slightly as you steady yourself. 

“Yeah,” Is all that you can speak, overwhelmed with your emotions at the moment. 

“Let me take care of you,” Bucky murmurs, his voice gentle as he reaches for the shampoo. His touch is tender, his fingers threading through your hair with such care it feels like a quiet promise. He keeps the soap from your eyes, leaning in to press soft kisses against your damp face. The warmth of his affection draws a soft giggle from you, the sound making his lips curl into a small, content smile.

When he rinses the shampoo out, his hands trail down to your body, lathering a soapy cloth with delicate precision. His touch is delicate, as if every inch of your skin deserves his undivided attention. The intimacy of it—the simplicity of being cared for—sends a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the water. You gently take the cloth from him, mirroring his actions with the same tenderness, pressing kisses along the muscles of his back as you go.

Once the water is turned off, Bucky grabs a towel and wraps it around your body, patting you dry with the kind of focus that makes your heart ache with gratitude. He pulls his robe from the hook, draping it over your shoulders and tying it snugly, ensuring you’re wrapped in his warmth. With a towel secured around his waist, he takes your hand and leads you back to his bedroom.

You settle on the edge of his bed, watching as he rummages through his drawers. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration makes you smile, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling the room with a palpable sense of connection.

“These should work,” he says, finally pulling out a soft T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He hands them to you, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words heavy with meaning.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze meeting yours, and you swear you see the slightest hint of a blush creeping up his neck. But in his eyes, there’s something deeper—a quiet joy in caring for you, in sharing this space, this vulnerability. And as you slip into the clothes, the scent of him surrounding you, you know that being here with him feels like home.

Bucky watches as you slip into the T-shirt and sweatpants, his chest tightening at the sight of you dressed in his clothes. It’s such a small thing, yet it fills him with a warmth he can’t quite explain. He tosses the towel aside and pulls on a pair of boxers, then gestures toward the bed.

“Come on,” he says softly, his voice almost shy.

You crawl under the covers, the crisp sheets cool against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that spreads through you when Bucky slides in beside you. He turns off the bedside lamp, the soft glow of the moon through the window casting silver shadows across his features.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the night settles around you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels safe. Right.

Bucky shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you instinctively roll onto your side to face him. He does the same, propping his head on his hand as his steel-blue eyes search yours.

“You comfortable?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper.

You nod, smiling. “More than comfortable. This… this feels good.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a soft smile, but it fades just as quickly. His gaze drops for a moment, then returns to yours, something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between you.

“I…” he starts, then stops, exhaling a sharp breath. “I’m not great at this—at saying what’s on my mind.”

You reach out, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. I get it.”

He places his hand over yours, his calloused fingers warm and grounding. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… new. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at a distance, thinking it’s better that way. Safer. But with you…” His voice trails off, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing grounding him in this moment.

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his expression. You feel the same—a pull so strong it terrifies you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it either, not yet. Instead, you lean in, resting your forehead against his.

“With you, it feels different,” you whisper. “Like… I can finally breathe.”

Bucky closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as he fights the emotions threatening to spill over. His thumb traces slow circles over your hand. “I’m scared,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you confess.

The honesty lingers in the air between you, fragile but unbreakable. You both know there’s more to say—deeper truths waiting to be spoken—but for now, this is enough.

Bucky shifts closer, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest. You nestle against him, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His lips brush the crown of your head, and you hear him whisper something so soft you almost miss it.

“Don’t let go,” he murmurs.

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

And as sleep begins to claim you both, you realize that even though neither of you said the words, the feeling is there—strong, unyielding, and undeniable.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[starhvney]

Hello, Star! This is my first time requesting a fic from anyone! I absolutely adore your writing 💖 It's been especially lovely since my Aphmau Hyperfixation came back full force this year(as I'm sure it did for everyone else 😂) I'd like to place an order for Zane, Garroth, and Lawrence, please, from Mys😊 A tea, with cream, and cinnamon rolls on the side 🥰 I hope you have a wonderful night ✨

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: romantic tension, fluff, snowy storm

𝐚/𝐧: thank you so much, i’m honored to fulfill your first request!!! i hope you have a wonderful day/night, too!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐄

The smack of snow against Zane’s chest interrupts the peaceful moment between the two of you, pulling a groan of annoyance to leave his lips. His face whips up at your scorningly, though not slightly intimidating to you.

“Hey!”

Your laughter erupts across the backyard as you watch Zane swipe away the snow from his coat, his nose wrinkling and eye narrowing at you. The reflection of the white snow against his face made his irises practically glow, both beautiful against his dark hair and almost startling when he’d glare at you.

“What the hell was that?” he huffs, pointing at you accusingly.

You calm yourself down enough to quiet giggles, clasping your hands together. “A snowball!”

“You’re lucky I actually enjoy your company. Or you’d be dead for that,” he warns, the “anger” in his voice lack of any real backing. “You’re lucky I even came out here while it was about to storm to build a snowman with you! I’m freezing!”

“Oh come on, Zane. I didn’t even throw it hard,” you rebuttal, holding your arms out. “You can get a free shot.”

He seems to consider it, before shaking his head, turning away. “Whatever…”

You snort, returning to continue building up the base of your snowman. You don’t get one roll in before a ball of snow smashes into your shoulder, knocking you over onto your side with a yelp. Boisterous laughter erupts, this time with you on the receiving end of the evil satisfaction.

“Ugh… that was dirty,” you groan, wiping off the snow that hit your face as more falls on your head from the sky.

Crunched footsteps approach you, a shadow covering your hunched form. He continues to snicker as he looks down at you, his already tall figure seeming like a looming giant.

“Oh come on, I didn’t even throw it that hard,” he says in a mocking tone, tilting his head with a raise of his brows.

“Yeah well I didn’t knock you over!” you argue, before relenting with a sigh. “Fine… lesson learned.”

He seems appeased enough with your mumbles, hands grasping onto your shoulders and lifting you back up to your feet. His hands brush the remaining snow from your hair and jacket, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good. Know to never challenge me, or I-“

“Oh shush.” Your hand lightly shoves his shoulder back. “Are we gonna make this snowman or what?”

𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇

The power has been out for thirty minutes by now. Wind whistles against the side of the house, whipping the snow over the yard and covering the lights that lined the sidewalk. Seeing them fight to glow even as the white blanket covered them was mesmerizing, so much so that you hadn’t noticed Garroth leaving your side until he came back.

“Staying warm?” His voice carries across the living room, his footsteps padding over to your side.

You turn to look up at him, glancing over at the space heater that was trying its hardest to pump some hot air into the rapidly cooling house.

“Mhm,” you hum, despite how the chill was starting to get to you. Your fingers and toes felt like ice cubes.

Regardless of your answer, a thick blue sweater gets tossed onto your face, the familiar scent of his detergent surrounding you.

“Well… there’s a sweater so you can stay warm. I think the battery in that thing lasts long but I still don’t want you to be cold if it turns off,” he says sweetly, eyes darting away as he moves something else behind his back.

“Oh, thanks,” you murmur, eagerly taking hold of the thick material and pulling it over you. “Uh, what’s that?”

He offers you a straight-toothed smile. “You said you were bored. Soo-“ His hand reveals a portable bluetooth speaker. “I thought of something we can do.”

You raise your brow, a small chuckle leaving your lips. “Which would be…?”

He doesn’t respond at first, setting the speaker down on the window sill and pressing play. A romantic, festive song starts to play as he holds both hands out to you—bowing like a gentleman as he waits for you to take them.

“A dance?”

A disbelieved huff leaves your lips, though you can’t help the growing smile spreading across your face. A warm large hand lands on your waist when you’re on your feet, bringing you close to him as he guides you around the dim living room.

He begins to hum, not quite on tune with the music—exaggerating his voice as he dips you. It successfully gains him a sweet giggle from your lips; which he returns with a satisfied chuckle.

“You are so corny,” you lightheartedly tease as you’re scooped back up to your feet.

“Maybe. But you’re smiling,” he spins you, expression soft when he pulls you back in. “So my goal was achieved.”

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

“I want to open a restaurant someday.”

The warm fire crackling next to the both of you reflects off Laurance’s face, the orange glow flickering across his handsome features as he looks off with a dream distant in his eyes. His hair was messy, not bothered to be styled as the snow storm billows against the windows, trapping you both inside.

“Restaurants are a lot of work, but I think you can do that. You’d be amazing,” you assure him, resting your arms on your knees as you shift on the floor. You two were so close to each other now, too close for any normal friendship.

He smiles softly at you, eyes shifting to yours again as he leans forward. “Oh, you think so? That I’m amazing?”

A flush rushes over your cheeks. “I said you would be. But you are amazing now, yeah…”

He looks smug, but doesn’t comment on your clear embarrassment, instead tilting his head. “Mm… and what do you want? In the future?”

You swallow, looking away from his intent gaze as you try to gather yourself. “A few different things. I guess one of them is to travel.”

“I’ll take you there.”

Your heart stutters in its already uneven pace. This man would be the end of you. He said that so assuredly, so full of confidence. He knew what he was doing every time he’d “accidentally” brush his hand over yours or stare at you like he was all yours to have.

“…What?”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We can travel together someday.” He holds out his pinky finger, batting his eyelashes at you in expectation. “Promise?”

You resist the small urge to roll your eyes at his smug, flirtatious behavior. He’d never let up on it for as long as you’ve known him, and at the rate he’d been doubling down on it recently you doubt he would ever stop.

His pinky links with yours as you meet him in the middle, sealing the deal with the childish gesture. An excited grin threatens to burst on his lips, but before you could comment he twists your hand into his bringing it up to his mouth to softly breathe against them.

“Your hands are too cold,” he explains, raising an eyebrow at you when you only gape your mouth open in response.

“You know… there’s a few other things I want in the future, too…” he murmurs, pressing the palm of your hand against his cheek. “Wanna hear it?”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz

[neuvilette-tea-party]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well :) this is my first time requesting honestly but i was wondering if i can request for a steb x reader fluff or nsfw oneshot story about the reader starting their job as an enforcer in the same station as steb 🥺

They have a friendly coworker relationship that slowly became more than that. They started to interact after getting paired together from their schedules or go on patrols together. They figured to interact with each other using notes or sign languages and leading the conversation to subtle flirting and maybe some slight nsfw moments. Eventually they developed feelings for each other too

I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND I’M SORRY IF THE TERMS IS A BIT CONFUSING ITS MY FIRST TIME USING THEM BUT I’LL BE SO HAPPY WITH WHATEVER YOU’LL WRITE IT 😭

Thank you so much dear! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Steb is such a sweetheart, I love writing for him ❤️❤️❤️

︶⊹︶︶୨ Steb x GN!reader ୧︶︶⊹︶

Wordcount: 1011

Tags: Date, fluff, slow dance, dessert

request open for best boy Steb

You smile as the waitress of your favorite cafe brings you their new melted chocolate lava cake and Steb’s usual consomme. 

“Thank you, Lara.” You thank her. 

“You’re welcome, honey. Have a nice one together.” She smiles back. 

You two are a regular of the place and know everyone by name, they know you always try their new dessert while Steb always has a consomme. You inhale with delight under the setting sun of Piltover, looking at the park next to the terrasse where families slowly stroll around, both of your helmets on the table. 

A simple rendez-vous à deux. 

You take your spoon and dive into the cake to see the fondant inside, giggling with excitement while Steb starts eating his consomme with more dignity. 

“So! You were telling me you’ve been chosen to be part of Caitlyn Kiramman’s special task force?!” You ask. 

Steb silently nods, sipping his soup, but his ears shake with a single tremor or excitation. 

“Oh my gods, Steb!” You melt, “This is wonderful! It was time they noticed your hard work! Are you happy?” 

He pats his lips with his napkin, eyes focused as he thinks before nodding frankly. He puts down his napkin and starts signing his true thoughts. 

“I am very proud of you too! You deserve it! I heard you will have new weapons. With the hextech thingy?” 

Steb frowns and shakes his head, his cheek fin waving with displeasure as he talks to you with his hands. 

“I never knew you disliked hextech that much... It interferes with your senses ?” 

He curtly nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. 

“You get migraines? Oh... Did you ask for non-enhanced weapons then?” You slow down your cake tasting to focus on your deary. 

He nods again. 

“Tonfas, obviously.” You nod too, “Your favorites. You think you’ll be able to manage Maddie’s overflowing enthusiasm?” 

He tilts his head left and right, as to say he isn’t sure. 

“I know she tends to bypass your authority, but she will be forced to behave with Kiramman. Everything is going to be all right I am sure!” 

He shrugs but doesn’t appear all worried about all of that. You silently look at him with sparkling eyes as he elegantly eats. 

He is so handsome! 

And so, so nice... How many times did you see him help a child with a scratched knee? It never fails to make you melt on the spot. 

He blinks his third eyelid, noticing your stare. 

“Yes, it’s you I am looking at, handsome.” You cheekily smile. 

He coughs as his gulp goes the wrong way, hiding his mouth behind his hand. You hand him your own napkin with a chuckle. 

He clears his throat, a rosy shade on his cheek. 

“I love admiring your face. It is so well made.” 

He coughs once more before calming down and taking back control of his expression. He turns his head as a jazz band arrives under the gazebo as night falls on Piltover. 

You observe the musician taking out their instrument while eating and smear some chocolate on your face. 

“Oh!” You laugh. 

Steb stands up and leans forward, taking your chin between his fingers to wipe off your lips corner with his thumbs, coating it with the chocolate. 

He sucks it with a hum of appreciation, savoring the chocolate while you look at him flabbergasted. You brush where he touched you with the tip of your fingers, a sparkle of excitement in your heart, breath short. 

He looks at you and grins, satisfied with his effect. 

The band starts to play and he puts his spoon dow, seizing your hand, inviting you to follow him. You stand up and let him pull you near the gazebo where other people started to gather. He turns toward you and slides his hand in your back, taking the other in his gentle grip and starts to tenderly slow dance with you. 

You bite your lower lips, eyes fixed on his as the rosy shade is back on his cheeks and his ears twitch with excitation. You feel him a bit tense in your arms, the result of the wounds he received during the memorial attack... He reassures his grip on your back, pulling you just a bit tighter and guiding you in a gentle dance, spinning endlessly in each other embrace. 

You just cannot detach your eyes from one another. 

You let go of his hand to clasp both of yours behind his solid neck while he circles your lower back, swaying lovingly with the soft jazzy tune. 

All around you candles are being lit, surrounded by other couples under the shiny stars for a light and sacred moment of intimacy. He pulls your hips closer as his ocean eyes lower from your gaze to your cheekbones, to your nose... 

To your lips. 

He licks his own lips as he approaches his face from yours terribly slowly to give you all the time to evade if you ever wanted it. 

Like you ever wanted to evade a kiss from him. 

You press your mouth with a gasped giggle, surprising him with your eagerness. But he slowly closes his eyes in the kiss, savoring the moment. 

You gently kiss each other, your lips dancing in harmony, fondly rediscovering each other like a first time. 

It feels so... right 

And good. 

Like it was meant to be all along. 

All those missions, those patrols, those training sessions together, and those stolen moment hidden in the closets of the barracks, all cumulated for this suspended instant. 

You part very slowly and breathless, hugging each other tight like never before, forehead against forehead, eyes in eyes. 

Anonymous in the crowd but lovers as everyone else, embraced by the soft music for a magic evening. 

 “I love you, Steb.” You confess, your heart in a frenzy. 

He presses your foreheads together, gently cradling you with a light purr, his cheek fins twitching with joy. 

Happy to be alive and together for a moment of frivolity among the chaos. 

☆☆Taglist☆☆

@dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @brandy-and-bane @sp-the-fae-queen @aeeliy @sanktastuff @telephoneonawire @daichisito @sofiyathelast-blog 

[sheepispink]

୨✧୧˚ ACTING DIFFERENT ˚୨✧୧

✧ resident evil masterlist

✧ tags: fluff, reassurance, hurt/comfort, leon kennedy x afab! escort!reader

✧ Summary: You’re an escort for Leon, and you’re pretty confident in your own abilities. Although, it’s pretty funny to see you two together, especially since he looks pretty brooding on an actual job. Despite that, some jealous interns make it their mission to put you down for the way you act with him, calling you selfish and the like. You shift, trying to be ‘better’ but Leon is determined to get the bottom of this.

✧ a/n : technically this is a part of my series ‘the escort protocol’ found here, however it is a standalone too.

————————————————————————

It would’ve been a normal day in the office, that is if you hadn't just walked straight past him whilst he drank the largest coffee cup known to man. He grumbles as you ignore him for the third time that day; he saw you glance at him and then the cup and then still decide to carry on. He lets out a l huff as he tosses the cup behind him into the bin before resting his head in his hands; the cup was empty, of course—he just wanted to see you react. That is the exact problem actually, because you haven't reacted to anything he’s done for a whole week now. The first day was already crossing the line, but he figured you were in a bad mood. Then the second day you continued and by the third he started questioning if this was a new symptom of your menstrual cycle. He felt a bit bad if it was (and also for blaming your mood swings on that) so he gave you a chocolate bar randomly. It was your turn to be confused that day because it turned out he just gave you chocolate for nothing and you were in fact not on your period.

All of this started last Friday. He hadn't been at the office on Thursday because quite literally he couldn't be bothered and would rather continue work at home— plus he was feeling a little more tired than usual. Of course you text him, asking if he was okay and offering to drop off food if he was sick, that was before you scolded him upon realising he had been slacking off. When he came in on Friday, he expected a huff of frustration before you made him buy you a coffee but there was nothing except an “Are you feeling better?” and then you were disappearing into your small box desk again. He raised an eyebrow but didn't think much until you walked past him downing a soda and barely said anything. The next day was the same, and then the next and the next until he was fed up. If there was a guiness world record for the most crap ingested in a day, he’d take the gold medal home. He had eaten a burger every lunchtime, had way too many cups of coffee each morning and even munched sweets instead of cereal and you still didn't say anything. The worst part was that you always just stopped, stared before eventually deciding to walk away again.

So today he tried for the last time before he finally gave up. He’s just going to have to ask you head on; there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook this time. He finds you in your usual spot at lunch, munching your sandwich on the park bench near the office. It’s quiet and no one really comes to the park here and whilst he’s never actually joined you before, he knows you come here often.

“Hey.”

You lift your head to meet his, suddenly caught off guard by his presence in the quiet park. “What are you doing here?”

“Y'know—just thought I'd ask if you wanna grab a drink with me?”

“What kind of drink?”

“Uhh… a slushie.”

You pause and then raise an eyebrow at him, confused. He’s sure he’s got you now; there's no way you can turn a blind eye to a slushie at break time. But you do. “Oh um, i’m okay, but if you want to-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You blink at him in confusion, shocked as he huffs loudly, breaking the tranquility of your spot, and stands right before you.

“Um, nothing?”

“It’s not nothing! You’ve barely commented on anything I've done all week. I drank soda for a week straight and you barely breathed wrong about it!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that? They all said that you would-“ This time he crosses his arms and stares you down and for a moment you’re actually kind of scared of him. You haven't seen him this annoyed since his superior in the DSO joked about blackmailing him with Sherry again.

“I’m sorry— who said what?”

“It’s not a big deal, I was just talking to some people..” But he’s already cutting you off and you know you can't escape the truth when he speaks again.

“If it's not a big deal, then you can tell me right? Go on.”

You let out a long sigh, attempting to make it seem like it's not that serious. His eyes are locked onto you and you have to avert your gaze to stop yourself messing up when you speak. “It was just a passing conversation between me and some interns last Thursday.” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich as you look at the scenery, attempting to act nonchalant about it.

“And? That's not all, I know it isn't.” You groan and shift uncomfortably, letting out another huffed breath. “They just said I keep you in check a lot; I stop you from doing a lot of stuff.”

He’s not buying a second of it though and you don't even have to wait for him to urge you on to know he wants the full story.

“Fine, okay, they said that I was really bossy towards you and that I should let you do what you want.”

“What else? I know you wouldn’t care if a mere intern said that, so what's with the sudden change?” He rolls his eyes, sitting beside you on the bench as you groan and fiddle with the food wrapper in your hand. “They said I'm just an idiot who took the first job she could get and now I'm acting all high and mighty when I have the status of a mere assistant. Apparently you always look annoyed when I “scream at you” for doing anything i dont like and I'm also just an attention seeker or something. I left soon after..” The words are mumbled and he hates the way he can tell you’re ashamed of yourself when you avert your eyes like that and take the last bite of your sandwich.

“You’re such an idiot, yknow? Why on earth would you ever be bossy?” He scoffs, letting his arms settle in his side and he leans back into the bench. You dont reply, and he can't help but feel a gut full of worry for you. “You believe it, don't you?”

“I mean- it’s true a bit, is it not? You’re a higher status than me and I just.. decide what you can and can't do.”

“You do realise if i really had a problem with it, i just wouldn’t listen to you, right?”

“Yeah but- either way, surely I'm still annoying with my constant remarks.”

Your gaze shies away from him again and it causes a pang of guilt knowing you really did take some of their words to heart. He lets out a small sigh and shuffles up beside you, resting an arm on the back of the bench.

“Sometimes I forget that this is technically your first job out of university. You haven't done anything wrong in the slightest, alright? They’re just putting you down because they’re jealous. Just interns, that's all they are. But you’ve got authority and a position here. Hasn't every other staff here been nice to you and respectful? Hey, even the reception lady encouraged you to scold me the other day, didn't she?”

“..I mean yeah, she did and everyone else laughs about it too..” His hand slips down from the bench, patting your shoulder lightly before rubbing at it.

“Exactly, and you don't do it to annoy me do you?” He loves the way your lips curl into a frown at the accusation, horrified he would ever assume that.

“What? No, I only do it because you drink way too much coffee and you end up not sleeping well. Plus you always tend to eat fast food like every lunch, it’s not good for you.”

“So what's the harm done, hm? You’re not trying to be mean, I clearly don't mind it at all either. So stop beating yourself up about it.”

He gives you another quick squeeze as you mumble “okay”, and then finally retracts his arm, Though not before poking your forehead with his finger, intent on cheering you up. “I can't believe you’re actually three years younger than me. You’re so little, you know? I can’t believe you’ve only had one job your entire life.” The way you roll your eyes and stand up has him chuckling at your exasperated expression.

“I know what you’re going to do, don't even try ruffling my hair.”

“Would you prefer I carried you over my shoulder like a kid instead?” He wont forget the glare you gave him, crossing your arms at him and staring him down until he chuckles and stands himself.

“You know you’re not very intimidating, maybe you should try dressing up as a bioweapon— might even scare yourself. Anyway, cmon,” He remarks, picking up your work bag and slinging it on his shoulder before throwing your sandwich wrapper into the nearby bin.

“I think I have to go move some interns to a new state.” He smirks at you when he says it but deep down he’s dead serious; he won't let anyone put that ashamed expression on your face again.

Bonus:

“Hey, you know all those days i saw you eating that junk food, did you actually want to eat all of that?” You tilt your head up at him, almost about to scrunch your face up in disgust. He can't exactly blame you, after all, a burger for lunch every day isn’t appealing in the slightest.

“Well, the coffee was fake.”

“What about the food?”

“…” He’s already anticipating the punch you plant on his arm, huffing in annoyance.

“Leon!”

[daryltwdixon]

REQUESTS MASTERLIST

Ground Rules:

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Negan Smith x Reader, Rick Grimes x Reader. I will not write character x character

Ages: I will not write virginity being taken from a young reader. No huge age gaps (like 18yo reader & 40yo+ Daryl)

Be flexible. While I love receiving your ideas, I may put my own spin on them to fit my writing style and inspiration. Trust that I’ll honor the essence of your request while making it work in a way that feels authentic to the story.

No timelines. I work on requests when inspiration strikes, and there’s no set schedule for when they’ll be completed. Some take me days or weeks to write, others come to me within the hour. I always want to ensure each story gets the attention it deserves.

thank you for thinking of me to make your ideas come to life!

Double Lines

"Hi it's me lol my request is Daryl and fem reader are a couple and they finally decided to try for a baby. When Rick returns he is proud of Daryl for everything he's done with the group as well as being a father figure to Judith and can't believe he's finally a father to his own kid. Just fluff lol up to you if there's a pregnancy loss or not in their journey to try to conceive, baby gender is up to you. Names for baby are DJ (Daryl Jr) or Elizabeth after Beth since she was your close friend as well as Daryl's"

Live-In Bodyguard

"hi!! i was wondering if you could write a little story where y/n and daryl were paired to live together when they first arrived at Alexandria and now have been living together for a while. They’re not necessarily friends, and actually don't really like each other and one day daryl is out hunting when y/n spills something on her clothes, leaving her with nothing but one of daryls old t shirts. 🤭🤭🤭🤭 he comes home and catches her in the kitchen where she pulls the tshirt down to cover her underwear and keeps apologizing."

Northern Lights

"Reader always being fascinated with the stars, sunsets, night skies and the moon etc. Always preferring to sleep under the moon or in the moonlight and because you never know when you will be able to see the Aurora until it's actually there, the reader noticed something different about the sky a pink glow which developed into full blown aurora/Northern Lights the longer reader and Daryl wait/watch."

Memory Loss

hello dear!! i dont know if your are still taking requests or not, but if do you i would really love to see you write something fluff with a drunk daryl and reader, where he totally forgot that they are dating and just start acting shy and awkward around her, i know its cliche but i really love how you write daryl and think it would be so cute to see something like that written by you😭

"Kinda Hot"

Hi! I saw your request for some drabbles and was wondering if you could do a fluff Daryl x Fem Reader set in S2 Ep7 where she comes to Daryl's defense (maybe a slap to the face 😆) after Shane's rant about how Sophia would run away if she saw him.

Giveaways #1 #2 #3

A collection of giveaway dribbles I did :)

In the quiet of the night, Taylor and Daryl share a rare, unspoken intimacy under the stars, where words aren’t needed, and he lets her see a gentler side of him he rarely shows.

Days after their daughter’s birth, Daryl and Krys are together in their nursery, marveling at the life they created despite the harshness of the world that brought them together.

In the quiet of the night, Daryl offers a rare warmth, easing the ache of homesickness and making you feel less alone.

She’s a singer

hey! i have a request :) could you do daryl x fem reader who sings? she has never been too open about her singing but when she’s alone she’s singing all the time/humming to herself around others. she’s had a crush on him for a while but hasn’t been able to do anything about it because she’s not sure if he feels the same. but he hears her singing when she didn’t notice he was there and it sparks something <3

[insert-random-account-name]

Crappy Character Analysis part 2

It's been less than 24 hours, but I have another one. This is actually really fun, and I may try and do all the voices.

VOICE OF THE SKEPTIC

Oh, Skeptic. He is one of the voices I actually like less after the Pristine Cut was released. He’s still hilarious, and written really well, but wow. What a pretentious conspiracy theorist. In most playthroughs I’ve seen, people usually get the Prisoner as their final vessel, and therefore don’t see the sheer insanity this man descends into in the Cage. In every other appearance (The Den, The Eye of the Needle (EotN), The (drowned) Grey, the Razor, The Moment of Clarity), he holds the place of the most logical voice. He has the ability to recognize the Princess’s weaknesses, urging you to make a tactical retreat in the Den and The EotN. Also, in most of his appearances, he recognizes that there is an outside force trapping both you and the Princess, and is less outwardly aggressive towards her. However, he has a tendency to spend time thinking when he should be acting, as taking his actions in the Razor leads to you getting stabbed, and he spends more time trying to figure out “the puzzle” in the Grey than stopping you from drowning. 

The Skeptic airs on the side of caution. You get him by doubting the reality of your situation. Because of this, he doesn’t trust anything except what he can see and hear, and sometimes not even that. Although he doesn’t trust the Princess by any means, he trusts the Narrator even less, and spends a lot of time pushing and antagonizing him. It’s impossible for the Skeptic to refuse the blade, since he always wants to be prepared for a worst-case scenario. This can be your downfall in the Cage, trapping you in the same cycle again. Although the Skeptic is logical to the core, he spends so much time reading between the lines he doesn’t see the words on the page. The most notable instance of this is in the Cage, where the Paranoid actually figures out how the construct works, and the Skeptic tells him he’s full of shit, because it doesn’t conform to his logic. He thinks that you and the Princess are trapped in a loop, and as you keep going, you start to see reality for what it really is. This idea gives him a need for control. That’s why he takes the knife every time, because a weapon gives him more control over the situation. It’s why, if you let him kill you to get to the Cage, he seems to be intent on repeating that course of action (if necessary), because it gives him control. Of course, at that point, he’s lost himself in his delusions, so he just sounds insane. I really like how they changed him to be less helpful and more like a conspiracy theorist in the Pristine Cut. 10/10 character design.