summary: You had fallen in love with Ryland, all before his whole life came crashing down due to a heated exchange at a certain conference. You break things off, only to learn that you’re having his baby. Things between you and him improve when your child is born, but the lines between what you two were and what could be are still blurred.
tags: fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, co-parenting, domesticity, depictions of smoking, mutual yearning, unresolved feelings, eventual smut in future chapters
now playing: A Couple Minutes - Olivia Dean
series masterlist / main masterlist / cross-posted on ao3
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———
“Only have a couple minutes, it already kinda feels like
Back on your sofa / Of course, I still care
Love's never wasted when it's shared”
———
Ryland Grace was the love of your life.
You first met him through a mutual friend’s PhD graduation party. Your friend knew that both you and Ryland were single, so she introduced the two of you to each other and left so that you could chat with him in private. You quickly fell for his dorky jokes, incredibly handsome looks, and his exceptionally brilliant mind. Unlike the other snobby scientists you had met before, Ryland never made you feel dumb if you didn’t know about something that he knew. He always patiently explained it to you, breaking the concepts down into simpler terms if you were still struggling to understand.
After a year of dating, he asked you to move into his small apartment in San Francisco, and you agreed. You happily lived with him for two more years, working tirelessly at your 9-to-5 job to support the both of you while he was finishing his PhD. Ryland successfully defended his thesis that year and graduated with a Doctorate in Molecular Biology. Not long after, he found a prestigious post-doctoral fellowship position in his field.
Your relationship with Ryland changed for the worse after his outburst at the UNESCO conference in Denmark. When he returned home, he refused to share all the details with you, only saying that it was a complete disaster and his career in academia was over. You figured that it had to do with how the other scholars disagreed with the unorthodox ideas of his thesis, but you only found out what happened when you read an article online; a lead scientist mocked Ryland’s thesis, which led to him calling that scientist a “staggering waste of carbon” in front of everyone at the conference. He was promptly fired from his department after that incident and essentially shunned from his research community.
You tried your best to comfort and support Ryland while he was looking for another job, but he increasingly became more irritated and unstable. While he vowed to never lay his hands on anyone, especially not you, he did throw and kick things around your shared apartment in anger. He isolated himself in his room during the day, refusing to do the activities that he used to love doing with you. You had begged him to get professional help, but he never did. After enduring this for several months, you made the heart-wrenching decision to break up with him and move out of his apartment. On moving day, you placed your keys onto his palm and gave him a bittersweet goodbye kiss onto his cheek.
“Bye, Ryland. Take care of yourself, okay?” you muttered as tears threatened to fall down your face.
He silently watched you walk towards the front door and close it for the very last time.
———
You decided to move back to your parents’ house in the suburbs of a neighboring city. Not long after, you found out that you were pregnant with your ex-boyfriend’s child. After much contemplation, you decided to tell Ryland the news, choosing to meet at a local park.
His expression completely cracked when you told him that you were having his baby. You took his hands into yours, assuring him that he didn’t need to get 100% involved if he didn’t want to. He shook his head and gently squeezed your hands. He revealed that he started going to therapy after you left and wanted to support you in any way that he could. After that day, you both promised to prioritize the health and happiness of your child over anything else.
Ryland found a new job teaching 8th grade science at Grover Cleveland Middle School. It didn’t pay very well, but at least he was less likely to be fired. He had to move to an even smaller apartment and biked to work every day, as he couldn’t afford a car. Despite his struggles, he vowed to send a child support payment to you every month before you had even thought of the idea. Over time, he surprisingly found teaching to be an enjoyable career. Talking to kids was way easier than trying to communicate with pretentious researchers.
To your surprise, your parents retired and moved out of your family home to another city across the Bay. They passed the house down to you, saying that you and your baby would need it more than them. You were eternally grateful for their sacrifices and promised to take good care of the house that was now yours.
Although you both were busy working at your respective jobs, Ryland made sure to never miss any of your appointments. He was full on sobbing when he saw the ultrasound of your growing baby girl. After flipping through multiple baby name books together, you two stumbled upon a page with space-themed names. The fifth name said, “Stella - the Latin word for ‘star’.” This was it! You both decided on this name as a nod to your shared passion for all things space. For her middle name, you decided on Louise, named in honor of Ryland’s late grandma who raised him as a kid.
Stella Louise Grace was born one mid-August morning. Your parents drove you to the hospital, and you frantically called Ryland on his phone. He was in the middle of teaching his first period class when he got your call. He apologized profusely to his students and rushed out the door, calling a taxi to the hospital. He arrived at the hospital on time and ran straight into your assigned room, seeing you with your parents at your side. Interacting with them again after your breakup was awkward, to say the least, but he treated them with the utmost respect as if he was still their son-in-law. Ryland stayed at your side throughout the entire birth, letting you squeeze his hand when the contractions came and wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.
Your daughter came into this world healthy and screaming. She was the perfect mix of you two: she had your beautiful skin tone and soft locks with your hair color, combined with Ryland’s dazzling blue eyes and his charming smile.
After you were cleared to go home, Ryland offered to visit your home and help take care of you and Stella while you were recovering. You doubled down on that offer and invited him to stay in the guest bedroom so that he wouldn’t have to commute back and forth every day. You even let him borrow your car so that he could easily drive to his work and run any errands for you. You took care of Stella during the day and Ryland took over parent duties at night, letting you sleep in peace.
You continued this efficient way of co-parenting until you were well enough to go back to work. You had previously quit your stressful job in the city and then found a part-time job that was closer to your house and allowed you to spend more time with your kid.
When Stella grew older, you and Ryland established a smooth routine of shared custody. During the weekdays, you hired your next door neighbor Mrs. Smith to babysit Stella while you were at work. She was a sweet and hardworking older woman who offered to babysit your kid when she saw you and Stella playing in the front yard, giving you a great rate that was way cheaper than the local daycares.
Every Friday was Family Night. Sometimes you brought Stella to Ryland’s apartment; you all ate takeout of your choosing for dinner and then dropped her off for the weekend. Ryland insisted that his daughter sleep in the only bedroom that he had while he slept on his spare air mattress on the living room floor. He wanted to make his cramped apartment as comfy as he could for her.
Other times, you picked Ryland up from his workplace and drove over to your house for dinner, his bike mounted to the back of your car. You liked to make a big homemade meal and then play board games or watch a movie on the couch together. By the end of the night, you usually dropped him off back at his house, or he biked to the nearest train station and rode home if Stella fell asleep early. Sometimes you insisted that he stay in the guest bedroom again if it was storming heavily outside, or if it was getting too late and you didn’t want him to commute in the dark alone.
This whole situation was incredibly heartwarming and domestic, even though you two weren’t together anymore. If they knew, Ryland’s students would’ve called this a “situationship”; Ryland scoffed at the idea, saying that you were much more than that to him. He still cared for you deeply and the thought of asking you out again had plagued his mind for a very long time, but he was also afraid of scaring you off if he did. Nevertheless, he was hellbent on getting you back, willing to do whatever it took for you to trust him again.
———
Today was another ordinary Family Friday night. You had picked Ryland up after his work and drove back to your house in time for dinner. Tonight’s menu was homemade mini pizzas; Stella helped you put the toppings on them, making a smiley face out of pepperoni slices on hers. When the pizzas were done, you all sat at the dinner table, discussing what you guys did during the week. After dinner, she took a bath and you both read her a bedtime story. She slept promptly at 7pm, leaving you plenty of time to catch up with Ryland.
Ryland excused himself, saying that he had to make a phone call outside.
He went out to your front yard, grabbing his lighter and box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He pursed a cigarette in between his pink lips and used the small orange flame to light the end. He inhaled the pungent fumes and deeply exhaled, hazy white clouds leaving his mouth. He hadn’t smoked since his rowdy college days, but he chose to use nicotine to manage his stress these days instead of punching a computer that he couldn’t afford to replace. It was the end of the winter semester, and Ryland was swamped with grading endless assignments and preparing for his students’ final exam.
He glanced up at the night sky, trying to identify the constellations that he could see.
Three stars in a line make Orion’s belt… Find the Big Dipper first, then take the distance of the outer two stars and move five times that distance to locate the North Star, which is also the tip of the Little Dipper…
After twenty minutes, you decided to head outside yourself, concerned that he was going to get sick after standing in the cold for that long. You saw him standing in your front yard, looking at the night stars with another lit cigarette in his mouth.
“Since when are you smoking now?”
Ryland was startled by your sudden appearance, the cigarette in his mouth dropping to the ground.
“S-shoot! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he squealed, putting out the flame with his shoe and picking up the remnants. “I normally don’t smoke, I swear. It’s just that prepping for finals season has been stressing the heck out of me. And I promise to never smoke in front of Stella, of course.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Your business is your business,” you said. “Do you wanna come inside? It’s getting really cold out here. We can watch a movie or something if you want.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” he replied with a small smile on his face.
———
You both headed back to the living room and sat next to each other on the couch. You guys decided on a comedy movie that you both liked. You mostly sat in a soft silence with him, only laughing at your favorite scenes and making occasional comments on the characters’ dumb decisions. You had a dull ache in your chest, reminiscing to the time when you and Ryland had the same kind of movie nights at your shared apartment. Back then, you always snuggled up to him, relaxing your head against his chest. Now, you awkwardly kept your hands to yourself, not daring to cut the thick thread of tension between you and him. Half of your conscience feared that you would regret it if you made a move on him and let him in again. You closely guarded the walls around your heart in fear that Ryland hadn’t completely changed for the better. You vowed to put the well-being of your daughter first before your own feelings. Maybe you could relish in this feeling, pretending that you were still together for a few minutes before coming back to real life.
Sitting on the cushion next to yours, Ryland’s heart was clamoring inside his chest. He wanted so badly to reach out and wrap his arms around you, but he was too afraid to ruin his already-existing relationship with you. What if you freaked out and kicked him out? Would you hate him forever?
He settled for making quick glances at you when you were giggling at the screen, admiring your infectious smile and sweet laughter. Towards the end of the movie, you started to feel the heavy weight of sleep lull over you. Without thinking, you closed your eyes and leaned your head against Ryland’s shoulder. He turned his head to see you sleeping, and he swore he saw an angel sitting right next to him. He didn’t dare move an inch for the rest of the movie, scared to wake you up. When the movie’s credits finally rolled, he gently moved your head from his shoulder and set you down on the couch. He quickly ran upstairs to your room to get your pillow and blanket, gently putting the pillow under your head and draping the blanket on your resting body. He looked at you for a moment to make sure that you were sound asleep. It was only then that he placed a feathery kiss on your forehead.
“Good night, sweetheart. I hope you sleep well,” he whispered, almost like a prayer to himself.
He locked your front door with the spare key under the doormat and biked to the train station.
You woke up the next morning, the blanket still covering you. You looked around the room but Ryland was nowhere to be found. Then, you finally saw the sticky note on the coffee table next to the couch.
In his scratchy handwriting, he wrote,
“So sorry for not saying bye, I didn’t wanna wake you up
See you & Stella tomorrow
- R”
He was referring to your shared weekly tradition of meeting up every Sunday morning at the diner near his apartment. Stella loved their mini chocolate chip pancakes and the spinach & tomato omelet was your favorite. Ryland always ordered the same thing: two scrambled eggs with a side of crispy bacon.
You smiled at the note he wrote and his sweet gesture of tucking you in. It was the small domestic moments like these that you looked forward to every weekend.
This story is going to be a series I want to make, this is basically a series of Trans Jason and how he overcomes challenges and things like that. And yes there will be Valgrace but in the later chapters. Before anyone starts reading this I need to put Triger warnings: Body dysorphia, graphic description of injuries, unsafe binding, slight self harm and that would be about it I would put more if needed.
Jess felt fine being a girl and all but that was when she was young. She didn't feel wrong when she was 10 or most of her childhood. She started to feel wrong when she was a pre-teen which was when she was 12. She felt wrong in her body like she didn't belong in the body they put her in. Her skin felt itchy and uncomfortable and she didn't like that.
Jess would stare at the mirror in her room for hours and in her head she would point out every imperfection, every single thing that felt wrong. When it first started, when it wasn't to bad she would mostly only point out her breasts because that's the most visible thing that made her a girl. But as time passed other things came in mind, like her curvy body and soft face, or her long hair everything that made her look feminine.
She hated feeling like that, she hated the feeling that something was under her skin buzzing. She took things into her own hands. She cut her long blonde hair leaving it cropped and ugly. She knew that somehow and someway there was a way to compress her chest. She tried using a cloth but not enough flatness so she used bandages now that satisfied the hunger.
Jess changed her name from Jess to Jason, yeah, that was more like it. Jason was no longer a woman and he loved it. He was he now and it excited him. Jason believed his life would be easier from there but oh boy was he wrong.
Things only got worse from there, so many people from Camp Jupiter did not accept him and called him so many names that he couldn't keep track of. The only people who accepted him was Gwen, Dakota, Reyna, and surprisingly Octavian. Their support made things a little lighter but there was still a really bumpy road ahead.
Jason learned quickly that bandages were not the best option especially not in a military camp. He was moving and training all the time and it got hard to breath, like really hard. It hurt his chest and it left his skin irritated. But Jason refused to stop doing it because he felt a little better knowing he could dream of having a flat chest. So Jason did not stop despite knowing the consequences.
Jason's bumpy road felt like it would never end, his dysorphia grew worse as he grew. Just because he compressed his chest it didn't mean it will stop his chest from growing. His chest did grew bigger and it wasn't pleasant. Some nights it would get so bad that he would just stare and keep staring at the mirror that made a reflection that showed everything he couldn't be.
He would cry and get mad, he would curse the gods and punch things. He got so fed up that he broke the mirror. He broke the mirror that showed him the truth he despised. Since that day things got heavier, after he was aware of the truth he thought he couldn't escape things were so much heavier because he believed he was always going to be a girl and never be the boy he wanted to be.
His friends worried because they saw his tired eyes and the scratch marks that littered his arms. They tried to help, they tried to reach out and try to help mend the feelings the plagued him so much. But he refused that help immediately, spitting out he was fine when he was not.
One day Jason sat on the floor of his bathroom staring at the groves on the floor when he heard a knock on the door. Jason scrambled up and wiped his tear stained eyes. He opened the door to find Octavian standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing here Octavian?" Jason asked his voice filled with annoyance.
"I don't know, Jason, maybe trying to stop you from rotting away." Octavian snapped back knowing that if he didn't match the same energy he would be kicked out immediately.
"Since when did you care Octavian, I thought you despised me." Jason grumbled, slamming his door shut facing Octavian fully now.
"I never despised you Jason, you were the one who distanced yourself from me." Octavian retroted back looking at Jason dead in the eye.
Jason did not have an answer for that so he stands there dumbfounded as he watched Octavian lead him to take a seat on the bed.
TO BE CONTINUED... :)
Yay! I finally started on the series that's been on my head for this whole week. So we value Octavian-Jason friendship dynamic in this story if you can see. Reyna-Jason friendship dynamic is also going to be in this series so be aware of that too. I might update this tomorrow, so stay tuned for that to. Love yall! :)❤️
Imma tag the people who might be interested in this so here we go...
@glowstickl0ver, @rolloliveroll, @ashlynbannerwannabe, @onyx-eclipz, @steamypockets also Steamy(can I call you that?) You can tag your people on this to :)
Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.
A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.
"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.
"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."
Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.
"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.
He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"
"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"
A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.
Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.
"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.
A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.
When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.
You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.
"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.
"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.
All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.
He's laughing at you.
And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.
"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."
Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.
"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."
Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...
"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.
Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.
Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.
A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.
The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.
While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.
“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.
A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.
Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯
Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie
Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨
Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out
Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.
With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.
While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.
Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.
“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.
A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.
“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.
“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.
“Which is exactly why-”
A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.
“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.
“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.
“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.
“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.
“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.
“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.
“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.
“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.
“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.
“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.
“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.
“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!
“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.
“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"
"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.
He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”
You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.
"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.
Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.
Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."
Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.
Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.
"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.
"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.
"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.
"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"
"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.
"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.
"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”
There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.
“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.
"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.
“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.
“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”
“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.
“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.
“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.
“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.
“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.
It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.
The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.
“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.
“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.
“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.
"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”
༺ Hi there, I’m Jade and welcome to my little corner of the world where I share my experiences with BDSM, along with my fantasies, thoughts, and everything in between. Whether you're here to learn, explore, or just enjoy the conversation, you're more than welcome.
But before diving in, I kindly ask that you read through this post so we’re all on the same page. Respect and open-mindedness make this space more enjoyable for everyone.
(Now, I'm asking all Minors who might still be lurking, to leave. This is not a blog for you.)
⚢ ABOUT ME
༺ I'm 36, and no, I'm not having an age crisis, I'm thriving.
༺ Lesbian (she/her).
༺ A Dominant femme with over a decade in the BDSM community. I've explored switching, but let’s just say… submission isn’t for me.
༺ Femme4All, because attraction isn’t limited to just one type.
༺ You’re free to call me Miss Jade, Madame Jade, Mommy, Ma’am or just Jade if that's what you want, just a little fun in this space. But please, no "Mistress." For me that's a honorific, and will not be allowed.
༺ Everyone in the LGBTQ+ community is welcome here! Whether you have questions or want to chat, my inbox is always open. But I kindly ask all Men to refrain from flirting, please respect that I'm a lesbian.
༺ While I’m a soft Domme, I do have my boundaries (most of them shared further below). But respect in this space is a must and if you can manage that, we’ll have plenty of fun.
༺ I've only worn the Domme crown in real life, and this is my first time dipping into an online space like this.
༺ I do not engage in online dynamics. I’m not here to claim or be claimed.
༺ I’ve got a full-time job and a personal life that sometimes runs on caffeine and a touch of chaos. So just keep that in mind, and I promise, when I’m here I'll try to answer all the questions I can.
⚢ Information about my view of BDSM and what it means to me
There are often misconceptions about what it means to be a Domme in a BDSM dynamic. Let me clarify what it means to me and, more broadly, what a healthy Dominant/submissive (D/s) relationship entails.
⚢ What is a Domme?
At its core, a Domme is someone who holds authority and control in a consensual dynamic. It’s not about barking commands or playing a caricature. It’s about presence, intention, and power that’s both felt and respected.
Being a Domme means taking responsibility for the space that's created together. Whether it’s guiding someone through structured play or cultivating a D/s relationship built on trust and boundaries, it’s never one-sided. It’s mutual, even if the power isn’t equal.
Surrender, after all, is earned, not taken.
There is many forms of dominance, and a Domme can be nurturing or strict, sensual or sadistic, playful or deeply serious. There’s no single way to express dominance. What matters most is that it’s authentic, safe, and consensual for everyone involved.
⚢ My Personal Approach as a Domme
I have experience with a range of kinks and dynamics. However, in recent years, I have leaned more toward the "Mommy Domme" role.
A Mommy Domme does not automatically make it tied to the usage of the word Mommy during scenes. It's more about my role in the dynamic, since it's a nurturing yet firm type of Dominant, which often focuses on emotional care, encouragement, and structure. Rather than just enforcing rules by force, I help my submissives feel safe enough to explore their vulnerabilities and grow in confidence. This is not about age play or CG/l but about guidance, security, and a caring authority.
Many submissives struggle with insecurities, anxieties, or difficulties in expressing their desires. My role as a Domme is to help them break out of their shells, providing both comfort and discipline in a way that supports their needs. I enjoy good girls, and I tend to stay away from brats, as I crave structure and obedience over constant power struggles.
Read more here.
⚢ MY WRITINGS / POST
Teasing at night・Inside the mind of a Domme・The in-between・Mirror・Messy baby・Sing for me・Overstimulation・Eager・The first・Puppy play・Guiding pleasure・Little minx・Let me adore you in public・Aftercare・Lets play・The flame・Let me love you possessively・Thigh riding・Shibari・Nervous girl・The centerpiece・Soft Mommy・The brat・The connection
You may filter on tag - #My writings & #My series- for all my texts.
⚢ EDUCATIONAL / INFORMATIONAL
Difference between Edging and ruined orgasms・Mommy don’t equal Mommy issues・Dominants who don’t provide aftercare・Tips on Brat-taming・Aftercare for Dom/mes・Subdrop・Stoplight system・Sybian・What not to do BDSM・D/s contract・My stance on Brats・Warning signs
A Deep Dive Into Subspace, Domspace, Subdrop, Domdrop, and Aftercare ・Understanding the Spectrum of Dom/mes and Subs
You may filter on tag - #My educational posts - for all my texts.
⚢ MY KINKS
Edging. Biting. Bondage/Shibari. Impact play. Light Degradation. Marking. Nipple play. Overstimulation. Pet play. Praise. Role play. Sensation Play. Sensory Deprivation. Soft choking. Soft Corruption. Somno. Temperature play.
*Many of these kinks displayed here can be dangerous if not practiced with care. Please educate yourself before engaging in majority of the kinks listed above.
⚢ MY ASK BOX
Go on, don’t be shy, I love a good conversation. Whether you have a question, a confession, or just want to grab my attention, my inbox is always open.
But before you slide in, leave me a little something to work with:
💋 Pick an emoji that speaks to you, I do enjoy a personal touch.
💋 Tell me your age and pronouns so I can address you properly (manners are important, after all).
💋 And if there’s a pet name you’d love to hear from me, don’t be afraid to ask. You just might get lucky.
Let’s set a few things straight, since some of you seem to take liberties that were never offered. I’m only going to say this once, so I suggest you take it to heart.
✘ I am not your Dominant. Do not treat me as such. I am not here to claim or be claimed, and any attempts to force that dynamic will be ignored or blocked.
✘ If you throw tantrums in my inbox to get attention, know that you will receive none. I am not here to parent your emotional outbursts. Disrespect will get you blocked without any attention.
✘ Hate in any form is not welcome here. If you bring it into my space, you will be removed from it.
This blog like BDSM is built on respect, care, and consent, and if you cannot uphold those values, then you do not belong here. Consider this your only warning.
❌ HARD LIMITS
Cis het men. Being called Daddy or any male terms. Blood. Feederism. Bestiality. Fear Play. Fire Play. Gore. Heavy Degradation. Heavy CNC. MINORS. Needle Play. Race Play. Scat. Slaps to the face (I don't mind giving taps, but big NO on anything forceful).
*If you fall into any of the categories I’ve mentioned above, and still interact or follow my account, you will be blocked immediately. The same applies to anyone who disrespects my boundaries. They exist for a reason, and I will not entertain any form of disrespect. Zero warnings. Zero tolerance.
I'm bbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!! And here with a whopping spoonful of angst (oopsies)
Content Warnings: Mentions of injuries and blood; character deaths; Rhys finally opens up about why he became a rebel ; mentions of suicide, murder, and war. Graphic description of injuries.
Master List / CH 13
------------------------------
“Hold still!”
When I pictured having my mate naked, I was thinking something far more fun than trying to wrangle his very large and very broken body into a tub a size too small to clean off several days worth of dried blood and half a dozen substances I’m not sure I could identify if I wanted to.
Rhys huffs as he twists one way, hisses through his teeth, and then tries to turn the other way to find a position that doesn’t place the edge of the tub in the center of one of the gashes in his back. “I’m trying!” He huffs.
His knees are basically in his chest and there’s no way I’m getting him completely clean in this, but something has to be better than nothing, right?
I place my palm on the top of his head, his raven hair sticky with mud and sweat, and push his chin down between his knees. “Stay there.”
“Bossy,” he grunts.
His back isn’t splitting open so that has to be a sign that the Healer’s work is holding, but I’m not trying to test it by washing soap into the open wounds either.
“You want to keep smelling like shit?”
“Well, I was going to argue but now that my head is down here, I see what you mean,” he returns.
My hands shake as I bring a pitcher of warm water to the top of his head and pour out a little bit at a time. The warm water turns a deep shade of brown as it drips off the ends of his hair and he, at least, has the good sense to keep his mouth shut so he doesn’t swallow any of it. I take the fact that he’s not screaming, to mean that I can keep rinsing him down.
When the pitcher is empty, I refill it slowly from the tap, straining my ears over the noise coming from the old pipes, to see if my mate makes any sounds of discomfort when he thinks I’m not paying attention, but none come.
He is, however, watching me intently when I turn back around. Violet eyes roam slowly over every inch of me, as if he’s trying to catalog the way I move. My heart stutters in my chest under the scrutiny; I’m suddenly very aware of the sound of my own breathing. Am I moving too slow? Is this bothering him?
Rhys ducks his head willingly as I return and I do my best to rinse down his shoulders and chest without dripping water down his back. Still no complaints. When I turn to refill the pitcher for a second time, I can practically feel his eyes on my body.
This time I leave the pitcher on the ground beside me, and move to grab the bar of soap I’d snuck out of my room when I had made a quick run for supplies this morning. The Guard had removed every single thing from the guest wing they didn’t deem absolutely essential, bar soap included. It’s honestly a miracle they decided the bed sheets couldn’t be turned into a weapon.
“Just tell me if it starts to hurt, ok? We can try a different way,” I say as I lather the soap in my hands, little by little, and start gingerly working it through his hair.
Rhys exhales slowly, body relaxing under my grip. His shoulders drop, making the heavy collar around his throat rattle. Something like contentment wiggles its way down the bond. “I know you won’t hurt me,” he says softly.
My chest tightens. How can he have that much faith in me? I haven’t done a very good job at keeping them out of harm's way. Best I’ve managed is to keep them alive, and even that has been if-y at times.
Still, in an attempt to prove that his belief isn’t in vain, I make circular patterns through his hair with my fingers, gently using my nails to make sure I don’t miss any mud caked along his scalp. Silence falls between us. Not awkward or uncomfortable, but I think for the first time in my life, silence doesn’t mean danger approaches. It’s an intimacy I’ve never shared with anyone else.
I find myself relaxing in the silence, my movements less tense as I cup some water in my hands and use it to thin the soap out of his hair, little by little. Time slows; it’s like the rest of the world no longer exists, it is just the two of us in this small bathing chamber.
Rhys makes a little humming sound, in what I think is approval as I use the water to push all the soap up towards the front of his head and away from his shoulders. Eventually the excess dripping into the tub is no longer brown. Still, I give him a few more rinses than probably necessary, just to be extra sure that when he sits up, nothing irritating is going to dribble down his back.
“Well that’s a start.” My hands move on their own, fingers drifting along his jaw until I can get them under his chin and tilt his head up. Without a thought the hand towel I’d brought in is in my hands and I instinctively bring it to his forehead to get the water out of his eyes.
He blinks slowly, the violet in his eyes shrinking, pupils rapidly dilating. The air feels charged between our breaths as I use the towel to clean the water off his bruised cheeks, along the slender bridge of his nose. I don’t think I’ve ever touched anybody like this.
“I haven’t had anybody to take care of me in a long time,” he says so softly I almost miss it. “Thank you.”
My chest aches. How much is one male supposed to endure? How can the world be so cruel that something as simple as bathing leaves such an impact? My Mother was never affectionate. Not when I was a babe or a toddler with skinned knees; she was always rigid, always composed, nothing got to her, but I at least, back then, had Anise to soothe me in my worst moments.
“You don’t have any family?” The question sticks in my throat, afraid I’m pushing too far, that whatever is happening between us will suddenly dissipate into nothingness.
He tilts back as far as he can when I lather up the soap on another damp cloth and start scrubbing the grime off his shoulders, trying to carefully get some of it beneath the collar, where his skin is an angry shade of red. He hisses slightly at the sting.
“They died a long time ago,” he says.
I had known that ours was a grief shared, based on his actions when my own mother was brought up, but to hear him say it now has my breath catching in my chest. I don’t want to ask. But I need to know. “My Father…?”
“I was taken at seven for the Agoge. Most Ilyrian males are. We’re bred to be soldiers, it’s in our blood. Becoming a Spartan is almost mandatory in our territory. It’s where I met Cass and Az. We were in the same unit, and we were damn good at what we did. We’d made a name for ourselves before we were even twenty.”
I let him talk as I scrub the contours of his broad shoulders, cleaning grime from every groove and curvature of his muscles. His swirling tattoos glisten under the sudsy shine of the soap.
“We were sent farther and farther out of the Territories, claiming city after city for the Empire. We were a little overzealous at times, I’ll admit, but we were heroes.” He pauses, sadness sketching his features in shadow. “That parade for Amarantha… we saw our fair for years, until we came across this little province near the coast.”
My hands drift lower, down his chest, tracing his tattoos. I can feel the uneven beat of his heart against my palm.
“They had nothing of value, just fishermen and their wives and some little stalls where their elders would sell hand-woven seaweed baskets. There couldn’t have been more than a hundred people in that town, and yet, it was the brightest place I’d ever seen. People would sing in the streets, the song echoing out to the fishing boats off the coast. You could hear those songs from any part of the town.”
I feel the sharp intake of breath he takes as he says, quieter now, like he’s ashamed to admit it, “But it was in the way of a new port the Emperor wanted. There was plenty of open land down the coast. Plenty of better land to make a port town and harbor, but he hadn’t wanted those places. He wanted this one, simply because he had the power to take it. He offered no deal with the town officials, just ordered us to go in and clear it. Like it was just empty land and they were cattle grazing in the wrong spot.”
The chain around his neck rattles as he swallows hard. “It was like someone had pulled a veil off my eyes. For the first time I could see clearly what we had done in the name of this Empire. We hadn’t been victors, we'd been destroyers. We’d ravaged everything in our path and I couldn’t bear to do it again. Not to those people. They were good and kind. They only had one inn and they’d still tried to house and feed all of us when we’d arrived.”
Gods! I can taste the pure anguish down the bound as he continues, “I refused. I sent missives back offering to scout further down the coast, to find men to employ to start clearing any uninhabited land we found… A few days later, Amarantha delivered me three heads in boxes.”
My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. I can see my Mother… I blink away the memory as I reach out to grab his callused hands.
“My Father’s. My Mother’s. My… little sister’s.” He chokes out the words like they’d been buried so deep within him that he doesn’t know how to say them now. “She said that there would be no shortage of heads, if we didn’t follow through, that Hybern would slaughter all of Illyria and send me their heads one by one if we didn’t complete our mission.”
His thumb strokes over the back of my hand as our fingers intertwine. I don’t know what to say, what to do. How can I take this pain from him? It’s so intense down the bond that my insides hurt. Everything in me wants to claw and fight and burn through those who have hurt him.
“I was going to throw myself into the sea,” he whispers. “I couldn’t bear the pain of what I had done, what I had lost. It was Cass that pulled me off the edge.”
I’d almost lost him. Long before our paths had crossed, I could have never had this. It’s purely instinct that has me leaning in to press my forehead against his, to offer some sort of comfort.
He nuzzles against my skin like it’s a lifeline.
“It was Cass who convinced me to fight back. The three of us, somehow, by luck or the Mother, I don’t know, the three of us pushed the rest of our unit, and the men Amarantha had brought with her out of that little sea town. And when we were sure they were gone, we ran back to Illyria to try and save it too. If nothing, at least I could keep my Mother’s birthplace safe. I could honor her in that way. We haven’t stopped fighting since.”
“Your Mother would be proud of you,” I say softly.
He hums sadly, eyes falling shut as we stay, resting against each other. “I hope so.”
I make a silent vow to the Mother that I will do anything to make sure he has the chance to burn this Empire to ash. I vow to leave nothing left of it standing. Even if I have to go down with it.
-----
Forks scrape angrily against plates, the harsh sound the only noise in the triclinium. Every bite feels taken with the same hesitance it used to take to tip-toe out of my room in the middle of the night. I can feel Anise’s emerald eyes boring holes into my skull, that ancient magic that birthed her stirring in the leaves of her hair. Some of the trees outside groan against the influx of power.
My own darkness seems to chuckle in meeting it. She’s never been so upfront with her magic, and yet, beside my own it’s the drop of a water in an ocean. Months ago, I might have been the girl that cowered at its arrival, had sunk in on myself, sensing her unease. These days, it simply tells me I’m moving in the right direction.
I’ve made sure I’ve made myself present in the house, taking meals at the right time, giving the staff cleaning instructions, having a tailor and armorer and healer go back and forth between the House and Rhys’s room. I’ve gotten very good at sneaking into his space in the house. Curling up with him in the shadows of the night, his arms around me, it is the closest thing to bliss I’ve ever felt.
Of course, there’s that nagging voice in the back of mind reminding me of my Father’s orders, and I have to meet with him in the morning for another Council Session. Tonight will have a lot more strategy than cuddling I suppose.
“You’re quiet tonight,” I speak first. This is the first time we’ve said anything to each other since that conversation after the Arena.
She stabs a piece of lamb so hard the table rattles, the viney strands of her hair shaking. “You’re the one who hasn’t been speaking to me.”
I cut through a chunk of vegetable slowly, methodically, trying to debate where I want this conversation to go. It’s clear the staff is once again listening behind the closed door.
It must take me a while, because her eyes narrow as I bring a bite to my lips and take a slow taste. “You look like your father right now,” she hisses.
The ground threatens to open up and swallow me, the inky darkness of that ceaseless void that had held me for months and months after I’d lost my mother beckoning like a siren. For the first time in years there had been no dark shadow over my head, and yet, with that one sentence, I can feel it creeping back over me.
“You’d prefer I stayed a sad, pathetic little girl, cowering in her bed?” I counter, my grip so tight on the fork I think I might be bending it.
Her eyes flash, “At least that girl knew how to stay out of trouble!”
I set the cutlery down so I don’t do any more damage, food forgotten. Something hot and vicious bubbles up my throat, “Stop acting like you’re protecting me!”
“All I’ve ever done,” she screams as she stands, pushing so hard out of her chair that it tips and smashes against the wall. “Is protect you!”
“And what?” I hiss. “I don’t need you for that anymore and that’s my fault?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Anise freezes, stunned, tears welling up in the weathered corners of her eyes.
Regret turns my meal sour in my stomach and I stand too. “You drugged me! You left me with the Guard! They could have killed or taken advantage of me. You let them take me to my Father without any way of protecting myself.”
All the tears I’d kept at bay since that night come out in a rush. “But I’m the one acting like my Father?” The sob that comes out is inadvertent. I can’t get my feet to move, to stop letting her see me be so weak. “You really took a page right out of his book, huh?”
She recoils.
“You know that’s what he does to his slaves. What he does to keep people in line. What’s next, will you collar me too?”
“I would never!” She snarls. “You know I would never do that to you.”
“Do I?” I retort, using my shirt sleeve to wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks. “Because I look at you and I don’t see the woman who cleaned my skinned knees and sang me songs while she brushed the knots from my hair. I don’t see the woman who gave me safe places to cry when my Father beat me or my mother berated me for hours on end about being weak and emotional. All I see is them.”
She moves to touch my face, gnarled hand reaching out as if she could still wipe my tears away, to rebuff my argument, and then the world goes up in flames.
-----
My skin is burning when I come to, legs crushed beneath a support beam that has fallen from the ceiling.
Half the room is gone, the night sky shining through the ash remains of the roof slats. Everything tastes like smoke and blood. The door to the kitchens is gone, I can see the bloody remains of someone’s leg beneath still smoldering debris.
I try to call out for help, but can’t even hear the sound of my own voice above the harsh ringing in my ears. I try to crawl, but I’m stuck beneath the support beam, left leg crushed at such an odd angle it feels like the muscle is tearing away from my hip. My hands are bloody and blistered, my arms a shade of pink I’ve never seen before. Gods what hit us?
Us…
I try to crane my head around, whole body screaming as I look for Anise. There’s debris and flames everywhere, the smoke a heavy layer above the ruined table and chairs. I can’t see much of anything clearly.
“Anise!” Gods, if the last thing I said to her was that she was just like my Father, I’ll never forgive myself. “Anise where are you?!”
The only reply is the heavy fall of boots against the rubble. Where the hell is the Guard?
Despite the wrenching pain, I dig my fingernails into the floor and try to crawl my way out. The skin along my shoulders feels like its trying to peel away from my bones.
“Lively little thing, aren’t you?” The back of a heavy boot presses down against my shoulder blades and the pain radiating down my spine is so intense I nearly black out.
“What’s wrong, Princess?” The voice coos. “Not used to feeling pain?”
The beam crushing my legs is suddenly pushed away with ease, but my relief is short lived as the male grabs me by the hair and yanks me onto my knees. “Because that’s all we’ve felt for months.”
My eyes instinctively go to the wings at his back, the delicate membrane shredded beyond repair. He’s a tall male, probably rather large once, but starvation has turned him to skin and bone now, his eyes sinking into his skull, cheeks hollow, lips gray. I can smell his rotting teeth from here.
“You don’t understand…” I start, but he hurls me away like a rag doll, my blistered body slamming into every loose bit of rock and rubble along the way until I hit something cushioned. The touch of vines along my cheek tears my attention away from the Illyrian male stalking towards me, to the body laying beside me.
Anise lays on her back, eyes frozen and unblinking on the sky, her body charred like kindling, still smoking through the branches of her hair.
“Anise?” The words feel like I have to drag them through flames to come out. “Anise?!”
Her hand is still outstretched, still reaching for me, forever frozen and every bit of feeling I have in my body leaves in one giant rush as the ground opens up to swallow me.
“No! No! No! Anise please wake up, please!”
The male’s scarred hands drag me up my the hair again, tearing a patch of it away from my scalp, as I flail and fumble to take Anise’s hand. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!”
The male pulls me to face him again. “Where’s Rhysand?”
There are no thoughts in my head. Only pain. Only darkness. It fills me from scalp to heel, endless nothingness.
“Where are you keeping him?!”
It’s my turn to erupt. The darkness pours out of me like a tidal wave, my gut-wrenching scream tearing through the nothingness in my skull as I let everything I’ve ever felt escape in waves of unrelenting darkness. More debris rains down on my head, each blow tearing open my tender skin, yet it doesn’t stop me. Wave after wave of power flows until there is only silence and darkness within the manor.
Only when I drag the first, heaving breath of ashy air into my lungs does it stop.
If there was anything left of the manor before, it’s rubble now. The Illyrian male lays cut in two several yards away from where he had been standing, some of my hair still clutched in his fist, the wound cauterized instantly with the searing heat of the blast I had thrown.
The flowerbeds and garden all along the rear wall of the house are gone. Not burnt or broken along the floor. Gone. Like they never existed. Like there was never anything good and bright in this house at all.
The destruction goes all the way to the rear gate, the golden arches swinging wildly on broken hinges. Between them, stands Brannagh, her thin lips pulled back in a wicked grin. She taps a manicured finger against her temple and then disappears into the dark.
Everything in my body is heavy and broken and wrong. My head tries to piece together what just happened, what I just saw, but it can’t. There is only Anise.
I can’t stand. I crawl to her instead, my damaged knees leaving blood stains across the rubble. I don’t care. It is all I can do to get to her. To take her ruined hand in mine, clutching it to my cheek. “Please don’t leave me.”
I can, distantly, hear shuffling somewhere in the debris, but I cannot find it in me to care. If there is another attacker here, then let them come. Let them find me like this--as small and broken as that little girl Anise used to care so much for, back when there was none of this between us.
“Y/N?!” My name a frantic sound on their lips.
I can’t bring myself to get up, to see who it is.
Footsteps crunch in the gravel, growing closer and closer. Still I can’t look away as I brush a vine out of Anise’s face, so that I can close her eyes. Did she get to see the stars one last time before she went? Was it quick, painless, a blink and then relief?
“Y/N!” A body hits the ground beside me, strong and warm and surrounded with that citrus and jasmine scent that has held me the last couple of nights.
Rhys takes my face in his hands and I have no resistance left in my body to fight him. He’s bleeding from a gash across his temple, but there are no worse wounds. He must have gotten into the tunnel after the explosion, they were deep enough under ground that he wouldn’t have been hit by the blast I’d made.
“What happened?!”
I blink at him past the tears and ash in my eyes. “Anise.” It’s the only thing I can get out, her name repeated like a mantra over and over and over again. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll bring her back, it’ll make this a terrible, terrible nightmare.
He doesn’t tear his eyes away from my face, doesn’t dare draw my attention away from him lest a fall completely apart.
“She…” the words wrench out of my like hiccups, choking me. My mouth won’t form the words right. I reach out to grab his shirt in my blistered and bloody hands, trying to hold on to something as the world continues to crumble beneath me. “She…”
“I know,” he says softly, gently, like I’m made of porcelain and will crumble in his hands. “I know.”
After my mother, everyone would tell me that it was ok, that things will be all right. He makes no such promises because he knows they’re not.
“I’ve got you.” His callused hands grip me by the elbows, the sting against my open wounds a reminder that I’m alive. I welcome the pain, relish it more than the comfort he’s offering. Cassian had been right all those years ago, when he’d talked Rhys off the edge; the pain was good, it meant I still had breath. Meant I could still fight.
I cling to Rhys’s shirt as I try to pull myself back together, piece by broken piece. If I fall a part here, my father wins. The Empire wins. I won’t let them. I made that vow to the Mother days ago. Maybe that vow got Anise killed. Maybe it’s an omen of my own fate. I don’t care. For Anise. For my mate’s. I’ll make this place pay.
There’s no one in the Empire left to keep me here.
pocket patrol
aka cate realizing subtlety skipped a generation
tw: canon divergent, post-canon, domestic fluff, family fic, parenthood, mom!cate, dad!sydney, slice of life, biological children, grocery shopping, carnival, fourth of july, fireworks, ferris wheel, etc.
12.9k+ words
author's note: hi, it’s me. (insert lena dunham gif) okay, so i know this isn’t the new series, and i did say that was coming before another chapter of the weight of being loved, BUT i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a while now and figured this was the perfect time to repurpose parts of it since it features a carnival, fireworks, and was inspired by fourth of july festivities hehe. so please enjoy! consider this a little fourth of july detour before the western au rides in...i’m currently hard at work editing it<3
The cereal aisle smelled like cardboard and sugar. Sydney had one hand on the cart and the other wrapped around Ellie’s ankle where the three-year-old sat in the front basket, her sneakers kicking against the metal with soft, irregular clangs. Ellie had insisted on holding the grocery list, which meant the grocery list now looked like it had survived a rainstorm, a fistfight, and one exploratory bite. She kept smoothing it over her chest anyway, very serious, blue eyes narrowed beneath the curtain of her curls.
“Eggs,” Ellie announced, looking at a coupon for laundry detergent.
Sydney bent over her shoulder. “Bold interpretation.”
“It says eggs.”
“It says two dollars off Tide.”
“Eggs,” Ellie repeated, her little brows furrowing in stubborn disappointment as she looked up at Sydney, as though she couldn’t believe Daddy was disagreeing with her.
Behind them, Riley marched along the shelves with a box of Lucky Charms clutched against her chest like stolen treasure, apparently determined to spare the family a repeat of the cereal-aisle incident they’d barely survived when she was two. Her blonde curls had escaped the ponytail Cate had put in twenty minutes earlier, wild little spirals bouncing at her cheeks. She had Sydney’s forward momentum, Cate’s face, and the certainty of a tiny queen expecting her decree to be honored. Every aisle became territory. Every errand became a campaign.
Cate, meanwhile, was trying to compare granola bars without laughing.
“We are not buying the cereal that turns the milk blue,” she said, not even looking at Riley.
Riley froze, a pout already forming on her face. “But you didn’t even see.”
“I’m your mother. I have eyes in places you haven’t considered.”
Cate gave her a warm, pointed look over the granola boxes. She looked unfairly lovely for a random Tuesday grocery run in July, hair clipped back loosely, cream sweater slipping off one shoulder, jeans fitted, lashes lowered in concentration. She had dressed like a woman who intended to buy yogurt and leave. Unfortunately for everyone else in the store, Cate buying yogurt still looked like a luxury ad that had wandered into produce by mistake.
Sydney noticed the man before Cate did.
That was usually how it went. Sydney noticed doors, exits, sharp voices, teenagers sprinting with carts, old ladies who looked like they might need something lifted, men whose eyes lingered too long. Her body felt the change in the air before her brain gave it language.
This guy had been hovering near the endcap of protein bars for too long, pretending to consider peanut butter chocolate crunch while glancing at Cate every few seconds. Mid-thirties maybe, fleece vest, corporate haircut, wedding ring absent but confidence aggressively present. The kind of man who confused being acknowledged with being wanted.
Sydney rolled the cart a few inches closer, mostly out of instinct. Ellie leaned back and patted her wrist.
“Daddy,” she whispered loudly, “Riley’s bein’ sneaky.”
Riley had begun sliding the forbidden cereal behind a very respectable, Cate approved, box of oats.
Sydney glanced down, trying to hide her smile. “That’s not great sneaking, pup.”
“I’m not being sneaky,” Riley said. “I’m just hiding it somewhere.”
“That’s usually what sneaky means.”
Cate looked up, saw the cereal, and pointed one manicured finger at Riley. “Put the leprechaun cereal back.”
Riley gasped, attempting to reason with Cate. “Mama, it has vitamins.”
“It has a little evil man in a green suit selling you marshmallows for breakfast.”
“He has magic.”
“He has corn syrup.”
Sydney snorted, and Cate’s smile flashed, soft and bright and distracted enough that she didn’t notice the man finally deciding fate had personally invited him over.
“Excuse me,” he said.
Cate turned with her polite public smile already in place. Sydney hated that smile sometimes, not because it wasn’t beautiful, but because it was the one Cate gave strangers when she was preparing to manage them. A smooth little barrier dressed up as charm: pretty, polite, and already halfway out of the conversation.
“Yes?”
The man smiled like he had been waiting all day for her attention. “Sorry, I just had to say, you are absolutely stunning.”
Sydney’s fingers tightened around the cart handle.
Ellie looked up from the mangled list. Riley stopped mid-step with the Lucky Charms halfway back on the shelf.
Cate blinked once. Her smile held, but Sydney saw the tiny shift beneath it, that little social recalculation. The invisible file cabinet opening behind her eyes. Stranger. Male. Compliment. Children present. Wife present. Public space. Best exit: gracious deflection.
“That’s very kind,” Cate said. “Thank you.”
It should have ended there. In a civilized world, it would have ended there.
But this man had apparently been raised in a barn and taught to flirt by men’s fragrance ads.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping a little closer, one hand resting on the shelf beside her like he’d rehearsed the pose in a mirror. “I don’t usually do this, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask. Are you seeing anyone?”
Sydney’s jaw tightened. Cate had a wedding ring on. What exactly did he think that meant?
Cate’s eyebrows rose, her smile cooling by a degree. She lifted her left hand between them, letting her wedding ring catch in the light. “I’m married.”
“Lucky guy,” he said, with a laugh that made Sydney grind her teeth.
Cate’s gaze flicked to Sydney, quick and knowing. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t asking to be rescued. If anything, she looked faintly amused, because some small, wicked part of her liked watching Sydney restrain herself from becoming a headline.
Sydney lifted her brows back. Careful, her face said.
The man followed Cate’s glance and saw Sydney standing there with one hand on the cart, shoulders loose but eyes flat, hoodie pushed up at the forearms, wedding band visible. He looked at Sydney, then back at Cate, and somehow didn’t arrive at the obvious conclusion. A miracle of male incompetence.
“Oh,” he said, and gave Sydney a quick dismissive little smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were together.”
Sydney opened her mouth.
Riley got there first.
She moved so fast the cereal box almost toppled off the shelf. One second she was beside the Cheerios, the next she was planted directly in front of Cate with her arms flung wide, all forty-something pounds of righteous fury and light-up sneakers. Her green eyes were enormous. Her chin lifted. Cate’s face changed instantly, surprise cracking open into something helpless and bright.
“You’re not getting my mama!” Riley shouted.
The man startled. So did a woman three shelves down.
Sydney pressed her lips together so hard they almost disappeared.
Riley jabbed one finger toward him, little brows furrowed in outrage. “She’s married! Back off!”
“Riley,” Cate said, but it came out strangled, half warning and half laugh.
Riley didn’t back off. Riley had never backed off in her entire six years of life. She’d once tried to argue with a goose.
“That’s my dad,” she continued, pointing at Sydney now, “and she will fight you.”
Sydney coughed into her fist.
The man looked from Riley to Sydney again, his confidence finally beginning to deflate with a faint, beautiful hiss. “I, uh, didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Mama said she was married, and you didn’t go away,” Riley said, apparently possessed by the spirit of a courtroom attorney. “That’s weird.”
Cate lifted a hand to hide the smile threatening at her mouth, though her shoulders gave one small, helpless shake.
Ellie, not to be outdone and definitely not understanding the full scope of the conflict, lifted the grocery list. “We need eggs!”
Sydney lost it first. Not loudly, not fully, but her laugh cracked out of her before she could stop it, low and sudden. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, eyes creasing. Cate turned away into the shelf, laughing silently now, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other reaching down to touch the back of Riley’s head.
The man’s ears had gone pink.
“Right. Well. Sorry,” he muttered.
Riley narrowed her eyes. “You should be.”
“Okay,” Cate managed, voice trembling with laughter as she set both hands on Riley’s shoulders. “That’s enough, sweetheart. Thank you for defending my honor in the cereal aisle.”
“He was being weird, Mama.”
“He was,” Sydney said, before Cate could soften it too much.
Cate shot her a look.
Sydney shrugged. “What? She’s right. Tiny bodyguard.”
Riley puffed up so visibly with pride that Sydney could practically see the title settling into place. A promotion, a badge, a calling.
The man disappeared around the corner with the waning dignity of someone who had been defeated by a first grader and a grocery list.
For one suspended second, all four of them stood there in the aftermath. Then Ellie frowned down at the list again and said, “No boys for Mama.”
Cate wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, trying to pull herself together. Sydney leaned over the cart handle, grinning so wide it changed her whole face. Riley looked between them, a pout forming as she tried to stay stern, because clearly everyone was missing the seriousness of her defense.
“It’s not funny,” Riley insisted. “He was trying to steal her.”
Sydney reached out and hooked a finger in the back of Riley’s hoodie, tugging her closer. “Nobody’s stealing Mama, pup.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“What if he had a van?”
Cate made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. “Riley.”
“What? You and Daddy said bad guys have vans.”
Sydney nodded in agreement. “Statistically, she’s not wrong.”
Cate shot Sydney a glare, one finger pointed in her direction. “You are not helping.”
Sydney pulled Riley against her leg and ruffled her curls until Riley squawked. “I’m helping. I’m validating our daughter’s threat assessment.”
“Our daughter just threatened a man in aisle seven.”
“Yeah,” Sydney said, glancing down at Riley with open pride. “And she had great instincts.”
Riley beamed.
Cate straightened slowly, cheeks pink. She looked at Riley for a moment, and the humor softened into something tender enough to quiet the air around them. She crouched in front of her, smoothing the curls back from Riley’s forehead with both hands.
“Baby,” Cate said gently, “I appreciate you wanting to protect me. I really do. It was very brave.”
Riley’s expression shifted at once, bravado wobbling into earnestness. “I didn’t like him talking to you like that.”
“I know.” Cate’s thumb brushed her cheek. “And you were right that he should have listened when I said I was married. But you don’t have to be the grown-up, okay? That’s Daddy’s job. And mine.”
Riley’s expression didn’t soften. Her little mouth pulled into a doubtful line as she looked over Cate’s shoulder at Sydney, clearly taking stock of the evidence. “Daddy was just standing there.”
Sydney put a hand to her chest, looking faintly offended. “Excuse you. Daddy was seconds away from being very annoying.”
Cate glanced up at her, blue eyes bright with amusement. “Only annoying?”
“I was already exercising restraint.” Sydney folded her arms and leaned one hip against the cart. “I’m perfectly capable of it.”
“Most days,” Cate said.
Sydney gave her a look. “I’m in a grocery store with our children, babe. I wasn’t going to start anything.”
Riley twisted to look at her. “What were you gonna do?”
“Use my words,” Sydney said.
Cate’s brows rose.
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “Probably.”
Ellie kicked the cart, still thinking it over. “Daddy fight with words?”
“Sometimes,” Sydney said. “That’s one of the Seven’s rules. Wraith tries talking first.”
Riley looked up at her. “Even when somebody’s bad?”
“Especially then.” Sydney nudged the cart lightly with her hip. “You try to keep people safe without making things worse. Fighting’s for when there isn’t another choice.”
Cate looked at her for a moment, the laughter still lingering at the corners of her mouth but softened now by something warmer. The girls knew Wraith in the simplest terms: Daddy was a superhero who helped people, listened first, and came home afterward.
Riley considered that, her little face going thoughtful. Then her eyes narrowed slightly, remembering something. “Daddy can even say bad words when she’s Wraith,” Riley informed Ellie with grave certainty, as though this was an equally essential part of Sydney’s hero strategy.
Ellie nodded slowly, looking as if she needed to test the information for herself to make sure she understood it. “Fuck?”
Cate closed her eyes, fighting the laugh that tried to rise. Across from her, Sydney’s face went entirely blank with the effort not to react.
Riley’s mouth dropped open in thrilled horror. “Ellie,” she whispered, aghast. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”
“Ellie Quinn,” Cate said at last, very softly.
Ellie sensed danger, smiled sweetly, lifted the grocery list in both hands, and said, “Eggs?”
Sydney turned her head into her shoulder and laughed silently until her shoulders shook. Cate took one long, careful breath through her nose, gathering enough composure to remain the parent in this situation. Then she plucked the grocery list from Ellie’s sticky hands before her youngest daughter could wave it around like evidence again.
“Okay,” Cate said, smoothing the paper between her fingers. “We’re going to get the eggs and then we’re all going home.”
Before Cate could turn the cart toward the checkout lanes, Sydney caught the handle with one hand. She leaned in just enough that her shoulder brushed Cate’s, her voice dipped, warm and private beneath the distant rattle of carts. “For what it’s worth, you handled that very gracefully.”
Cate looked up at her, still pink-cheeked from trying not to laugh. “Did I?”
“Mhm...” Sydney’s grin went crooked. “I was especially moved by the part where you let our six-year-old become your bouncer.”
“She volunteered.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
Cate’s mouth twitched. “She’s very passionate.”
“She gets it from you.”
“She gets her willingness to start a confrontation from you.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “That is an outrageous accusation.”
Cate laughed again, softer this time. Then her hand came up almost without thought, fingers curling briefly in the front of Sydney’s hoodie. It was only a little tug, a familiar point of contact, but Sydney felt it settle somewhere deep in her chest. Cate had been fine. Cate had handled herself. Still, Sydney knew that polished smile well enough to understand what it cost sometimes to keep it in place.
Cate rose onto her toes and kissed Sydney’s cheek, quick and soft. “My hero.”
Riley’s head snapped up. “I was the hero.”
Cate looked down at her at once, smiling. “You were. My other hero.” She bent to kiss the top of Riley’s head, and Riley’s pout eased just enough to let pride win.
Ellie slapped one sticky hand against the cart handle. “Me too!”
“You,” Cate said, leaning over to kiss Ellie’s forehead, “are my grocery goblin.”
Ellie’s whole face lit up. “Gobbin.”
Riley considered this redistribution of titles for a second. Then her gaze slid back toward the Lucky Charms, sitting innocently on the shelf where she’d returned them, clearly still waiting for her. She pulled the box free with both hands and held it up to Cate.
“Can I get this for helping you?”
Cate looked from Riley’s hopeful face to the leprechaun cereal, then over to Sydney, who had suddenly become very interested in the cart handle. “No.”
Riley’s entire face collapsed into theatrical ruin. “But Mama.”
Sydney winced. “Babe.”
“No,” Cate repeated, though her mouth was fighting a smile. “You were brave, and you were very helpful, but you don’t get Lucky Charms every time you tell a strange man to back off.”
“That feels like a flawed reward system,” Sydney said mildly.
Cate turned her glare on her. “Sydney.”
Sydney’s shoulders lifted. “I’m just saying, she made a compelling case.”
Ellie leaned forward in the cart, watching the entire argument with sleepy concentration. “Fuck eggs.”
Cate made a small, wounded sound and finally pushed the cart forward. “We are never leaving the house again.”
Riley trailed behind for two steps, then doubled back to the Lucky Charms and picked up the box again. “Even though I protected you?”
Cate looked over her shoulder. “Even then.”
Riley returned it to the shelf with a deep, suffering sigh and fell into step beside the cart. Ellie resumed babbling to herself in the basket, still pleased with the word she’d learned, while Sydney came around to Cate’s side and rested one hand lightly over hers on the handle. They made it halfway toward the eggs before Cate noticed Sydney looking at her.
“What?” Cate asked, quieter.
Sydney shook her head. “Nothing.”
Cate’s expression turned knowing. “That’s your dangerous nothing.”
“It’s a good nothing.”
“Mm.”
Sydney’s thumb brushed over Cate’s wedding band, the one the guy had somehow managed to overlook. “Didn’t realize our family came with a six-year-old security detail.”
Cate’s smile bloomed slowly. “I did grow her.”
Sydney glanced toward Riley, warmth catching in her face. “Yeah. You did a hell of a job.”
Riley caught Sydney looking at her and stepped closer, tugging on her sleeve. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, bug?”
“If somebody tries to steal Mama again, can I say a bad word?”
“No,” Cate said instantly.
Sydney looked at Riley, then at Cate, already feeling the answer she’d wanted to give die under Cate’s stare.
Cate narrowed her eyes at her wife. “Sydney.”
Sydney sighed. “No, you cannot say a bad word.”
Riley groaned. “But Ellie did.” She looked deeply offended by the uneven distribution of consequences.
“Ellie is already on thin ice,” Cate said.
Ellie clapped, having no idea what anyone was talking about. “Ice!”
They kept moving, wheels rattling softly over the tile. Riley walked beside them for another few steps, quiet enough that Cate almost believed the matter had finally been settled. Then she looked back over her shoulder toward the cereal aisle, little brows drawing together.
“Back off,” she whispered to the empty aisle.
Sydney heard her and choked on a laugh.
Cate didn’t turn around. “I heard that.”
Riley faced forward at once, expression carefully blank. “Heard what?”
Sydney squeezed Cate’s hand, laughing under her breath.
Cate sighed, though she was smiling again. “I live with wolves.”
“Lucky you,” Sydney said with a grin.
Cate glanced at her, blue eyes bright. “Very.”
By the Fourth of July, after several days of Riley insisting she had saved Cate from the strange man in aisle seven, she had apparently decided the incident was a successful first day in her new career.
She brought it up twice before they reached the carnival: once while Cate was trying to get sunscreen onto Ellie’s squirming shoulders, and once in the car on the way, when Sydney had stopped at a red light and Riley leaned forward from her booster seat to announce that she was “still watching out for Mama.” Cate had thanked her very seriously, because Riley deserved that much, while Sydney had caught Cate’s eye and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
The carnival took over the park every summer, spilling across the baseball fields and the stretch of open grass behind the community center in a bright, noisy mess of food stands, rides, game booths, and local bands trying their best beneath the gazebo. It was the kind of thing Cate normally would’ve found mildly overwhelming, especially with the heatwave and the fireworks scheduled late enough to disrupt both girls’ bedtimes. But Sydney had promised them weeks ago, back when Riley had seen a flyer taped to the window of a coffee shop, and Cate had learned a long time ago that Sydney took promises to the girls with an almost ridiculous degree of seriousness.
So they went.
Sydney had packed the tote bag herself, which meant it contained water bottles, wipes, hand sanitizer, sunscreen, a tiny first-aid kit, spare clothes for Ellie, noise-reducing headphones for the fireworks, and a sweatshirt for Cate even though Cate had insisted she would not be cold. Sydney had only looked at her and tucked it in anyway. Riley wore a red-and-white striped T-shirt with denim shorts and a star headband she’d selected from a display near the entrance, while Ellie had chosen a blue dress printed with little white daisies and refused to let Cate put her hair up because she wanted it “big.”
Sydney had taken one look at the girls, then at Cate in her pale sundress and sandals, and said, “Great. I’m the only one dressed like I’m here to fix the Ferris wheel.”
Cate smiled sweetly. “You look like you’d be halfway up the thing before anyone found the ride operator.”
“I can fix things.”
“I know you can.”
Sydney had looked far too pleased with herself about that, which was how Cate knew it had landed exactly where she intended.
The first thing to go wrong was the cotton candy.
Cate had barely finished paying for it when Ellie, who operated entirely on divine whim and sugar-based prophecy, turned with sudden purpose and promptly mashed half the pink cloud into Sydney’s sleeveless shirt.
Sydney looked down at the bright, sticky smear spreading across her chest. Ellie blinked up at her with huge blue eyes, a fistful of dissolved sugar still welded to her tiny fingers. “Sowwy.”
Riley’s eyes went wide, then lit up. “Daddy looks like a firework.”
Cate laughed outright. “Well, now you’re on theme with the rest of us.” She pulled a fistful of napkins from the dispenser, gently trying to blot the melted sugar from Sydney’s shirt before it could sink any farther into the fabric.
Sydney looked down at herself again. “Great. I’m a patriotic dessert.”
“Thoughts and prayers,” Cate murmured, and that did it. Sydney turned her head and gave her a flat look so dry it practically crackled.
“You’re next.”
That only made Riley laugh harder. By then, she was bouncing in place beside Sydney, full of uncontained carnival excitement, clutching the cheap stuffed bear Sydney had won her at one of the first game booths they’d passed. Riley had declared, with utter seriousness, that no child should have to do a carnival “empty-handed.”
Cate had suspected Sydney threw the ring-toss game on purpose by initially acting like it might be hard. Then Sydney had landed all three rings in under ten seconds and handed the prize over with a shrug, as if she didn’t enjoy being looked at like she’d hung the moon.
Which she did. Unfortunately for everyone, especially Cate, she looked very hot doing it.
Ellie, clearly deciding the apology portion of this exchange had concluded, leaned her whole little body toward Cate instead with one sticky hand out. Cate surrendered immediately, because Ellie’s chubby cheeks and hopeful little face were impossible to resist. She scooped her up onto her hip. Ellie smelled like baby shampoo and spun sugar and sunscreen. She tucked herself in against Cate’s shoulder with the quick, possessive confidence of a child who had never once doubted where she belonged.
Sydney reached over and plucked a gummy strand of pink sugar off Ellie’s wrist. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I cute,” Ellie said, matter-of-fact.
Cate tipped her chin, watching Sydney lose the fight against a smile. It changed her whole face, every time. She went from sharp and handsome and a little dangerous-looking to something warmer, softer, devastating in a totally different direction. It still hit Cate like a punch to the chest.
The carnival sprawled around them in saturated noise. Music bled from three different directions at once, one booth blasting pop, another old rock, the rides shrieking and rattling overhead like delighted machinery. The ferris wheel turned against the early evening sky in slow luminous circles. The whole place smelled like hot grease and sugar and summer asphalt holding the day’s heat. Kids ran everywhere in flashing shoes and stained clothes, parents trailing after them with strollers and balloons and the exhausted posture of people who loved their children enough to enter battle willingly.
Sydney looked like she belonged in the middle of it. Not polished into place the way Cate always was, not curated, but planted. Solid. One hand hooked over Riley’s shoulder to keep her from rocketing into traffic, the other reaching automatically for Cate’s elbow when a group of teenagers cut too close past them. Protective without thinking. Care baked into her reflexes.
Cate loved her in ways that still felt a little embarrassing.
“Okay,” Sydney said, scanning the midway. “Game plan.”
Riley shot a hand up like they were in school. “Rides.”
“Knew that was coming,” Sydney said.
“I want horsey,” Ellie said into Cate’s neck, then lifted her head just enough to point with wild confidence in entirely the wrong direction.
Cate kissed the top of her hair. “Carousel. We can do that.”
“And the fun house,” Riley added quickly. “And the giant slide. And the spaceship ride. And can I do the water gun race? And the basketball one. And maybe that one where you throw darts at balloons, but not the clown one because he looks scary.”
“Wow,” Sydney said. “Lot goin’ on in there.”
Riley planted both hands on her hips. “I’m making a list.”
Cate smiled. “That’s my girl.”
“No,” Riley corrected with immense dignity, pointing at Sydney. “I like sports and being loud and getting dirty. I’m her girl.”
Sydney barked a laugh. “Jesus, kid.”
Cate’s eyes narrowed fondly. “And yet you have my face, my curls, and my inability to leave the house without emotional support lip gloss.”
Riley considered this for a second, then nodded. “Okay. I can be both.”
Sydney wheezed. Cate closed her eyes for a second, smiling into the warm air. Sometimes parenting felt like being repeatedly mugged by delight.
They started with the carousel because Ellie had requested it and, at three, she still possessed the unilateral power to redirect the whole family’s orbit with one soft declaration. The line wrapped around the painted fence, gilt trim and chipped horses frozen mid-gallop. Calliope music drifted in bright warped circles while the ride turned, mirrors flashing under strings of bulbs.
Ellie insisted on the white horse with the pink saddle. Riley wanted the one that looked like it could “kick somebody,” which turned out to be a black horse with red trim and flared nostrils. Sydney stood between them while the ride started, one hand on Ellie’s pole and the other steadying Riley whenever she got too bold with the up-and-down motion.
Cate stayed near the edge of the platform for a minute, just watching.
Sydney never performed parenthood for anyone. She just did it. Her broad hand spread over Ellie’s back when she leaned too far. Her body angling instinctively toward both girls at once. The way she bent to listen when Riley launched into a breathless explanation of why her horse was obviously the leader of the horse army. Her face relaxed into a softness she only wore around very few people and somehow wore most easily around their children.
Cate’s throat tightened with a tenderness so abrupt it almost hurt.
Sydney caught her watching on the next pass. One brow lifted. That private little what? that was never just what.
Cate smiled at her, slow and helpless and probably too obvious.
Sydney’s mouth tipped at one corner. She mouthed, You good?
The ridiculous thing was that Cate nearly cried.
She just nodded instead, swallowing around the overwhelming emotion, and Sydney held her gaze for one beat longer before the carousel turned again and took her out of reach.
By the time the ride ended, Riley was flushed and loud and ready for something faster. Ellie had entered that stage of toddler joy where everything was either the best thing that had ever happened or grounds for societal collapse. She let Sydney lift her down from the horse and immediately looped both arms around Sydney’s neck, cheek smushing against her shoulder.
“My baby,” Sydney said, low and easy, bouncing her once.
“I not baby.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Ellie pulled back just enough to scowl. “I’m free.”
“Three,” Cate corrected, because she couldn’t help herself.
Ellie’s brows pinched as she looked between Cate and Sydney, clearly unsure what they were correcting. “That’s free.”
Riley was already tugging at Sydney’s hand again. “Fun house, fun house, fun house.”
The fun house turned out to be exactly the kind of chaotic architectural crime that children adored and adults survived out of love. It had a giant grinning face over the entrance, one eye lit blue and the other red, and a painted tongue for a walkway. Inside, everything glowed neon in the blacklight. Mirrors stretched and pinched them into impossible shapes. The floor tilted without warning. Air hissed up from hidden vents. Somewhere deeper in, mechanical laughter kept erupting from speakers in a way Cate found mildly cursed.
Riley thought it was the greatest thing ever created.
Ellie loved the first thirty seconds and then abruptly decided the moving bridge was, in fact, an assassination attempt.
“No,” she declared, halting at the entrance to a wobbling plank tunnel with ropes on either side. “No fank you.”
Cate bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “That’s fair.”
Riley, already halfway across, spun around dramatically. “It’s not scary, Ells! It’s just evil.”
“Wonderful reassurance,” Sydney called after her.
Ellie reached immediately for Cate, but Sydney had already crouched down in front of her. “C’mere, bug.”
Ellie climbed into her arms with a relieved little huff. Sydney straightened, settling her against her chest with one arm while testing the bridge with a boot. The whole thing swayed.
Cate looked at her. “You’re going to carry her?”
Sydney looked back. “What’s the alternative, leave one of our children to the haunted pirates?”
Well, when she put it like that.
Cate snorted and took the rope rail. “Riley, don’t run.”
“I’m not running,” Riley said, running.
The bridge rolled under Cate’s feet. She let out an involuntary laugh, shoulder knocking into Sydney’s as they crossed. Ellie had buried her face in Sydney’s neck, one tiny hand fisted in the collar of her shirt. Sydney, of course, was annoyingly steady, compensating for the sway with that athletic balance Cate had spent years admiring in increasingly inappropriate contexts.
“Show-off,” Cate murmured.
Sydney leaned closer without missing a step. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Mm. Tragic.”
At the end of the bridge, Riley was waiting in a room of warped mirrors, losing her entire mind at the tall stretched reflection of Sydney.
“Daddy!” she shrieked. “You look like a spooky noodle!”
Sydney stared at the mirror version of herself, all elongated limbs and nightmare proportions. “Rude.”
Cate caught sight of her own reflection next to Sydney’s, compressed into some tiny doll-like caricature, and laughed so hard she had to grab the wall. Ellie twisted around to look too, saw Cate’s distorted shape, and burst into delighted giggles that changed the whole tone of her body, fear evaporating on contact.
They made it through spinning barrels and a dark hallway with strobing stars and one deeply unnecessary room full of clown faces before emerging into evening air, all four of them a little flushed and disoriented.
Riley staggered theatrically, one hand pressed to her forehead. “That was so weird.”
Sydney set Ellie down as Riley kept talking. “I saw myself with really long legs.”
Cate brushed a curl off Riley’s damp temple. “And what do you think that means?”
Riley spread her arms wide. “I’m gonna be really big someday.”
Sydney looked at Cate over her head with that fond, helpless expression she reserved for moments when the girls were so unmistakably theirs it felt like fate was showing off.
Then came the games Riley had been waiting for.
This was where Sydney became intolerable.
Not because she was competitive, though she was. Not because she got weirdly intense in ways Cate found both hilarious and indecent, though she absolutely did. But because carnival games existed at the exact sweet spot where Sydney’s hand-eye coordination, natural athleticism, and pathological inability to half-ass anything combined into a display that made both daughters look at her like she was some kind of denim-clad demigod.
First, the water gun race. Riley sat perched on the little stool, elbows braced, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration while she aimed at the target. Sydney crouched beside her, one forearm draped over her own knee, talking her through it.
“Steady. Don’t chase it, just hold it there. Tiny corrections.”
Riley squinted. “I know, Daddy.”
“Cool. Just coaching.”
“Too much.”
Cate, holding Ellie on one hip, watched Sydney grin without offense. “She hates when you act like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She got that from you.”
Sydney didn’t look away from Riley. “No, she got that from both of us, unfortunately.”
The buzzer sounded. Riley squeezed the trigger and the water stream jittered wildly, then steadied under Sydney’s quiet instructions. Her little horse lurched forward on the overhead track. The kid next to her was gaining. Riley started to panic, then gritted her teeth so hard Cate could practically hear it from where she stood. Sydney touched the middle of Riley’s back.
“Breathe.”
Riley sucked in a breath and corrected. Her horse shot ahead just enough to win by a nose.
The sound that came out of her could have powered a small city.
“I WON!”
Sydney scooped her right off the stool and swung her around once before setting her down again. “You did.”
Riley beamed up at her. “Thanks for helping, Daddy.”
Sydney’s grin softened. “You did the hard part, bug.”
Something inside Cate dissolved on impact.
The prize was a gaudy purple dragon nearly as long as Riley’s body. She accepted it with the ceremony of a knight being decorated, the little bear Sydney had won her earlier tucked under one arm. Then she turned to Ellie. “You can help me take care of him.”
Ellie considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Then Sydney won Ellie a plush bunny at the duck pond, even though every child technically won there and Cate told her that didn’t count.
“It counts emotionally,” Sydney said.
“It counts financially,” Cate corrected. “We paid eight dollars for that rabbit.”
Ellie hugged the rabbit so hard its head bent backward. “Her name Bunbun.”
“That’s inspired,” Sydney said.
Cate should have known better than to stand too close during the basketball booth.
The game operator, a bored teenager with a lip ring and the posture of someone spiritually over it, handed Sydney three rubber balls. Sydney gave the hoop one assessing glance. Cate watched the shift happen in real time, the little narrowing of focus that meant she’d become entirely impossible about something.
“Oh no,” Cate muttered.
Sydney bounced the first ball once. “What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you decide this is now a matter of honor.”
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Riley hugged the dragon tighter. “She’s gonna destroy him.”
The teenager looked up. “You get one minute.”
Sydney sank the first shot clean. Then the second. Then the third with a neat flick of her wrist that made Cate’s stomach do something adolescent and humiliating.
“Jesus Christ,” she murmured.
Sydney shot her a glance, smug now. “You seeing this?”
“I regret seeing this, actually.”
The next round came with smaller balls, higher stakes, and a bigger prize. Sydney rolled her shoulders once, tossed again, made every one. Riley was jumping. Ellie was chanting, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” in a shrill little rhythm. Cate stood there with her arms folded, smiling despite herself, and thought with some irritation that her wife could make even carnival fraud look hot.
By the final round, there was a tiny audience.
Sydney didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and pretended not to, which was worse. The last ball sat in her palm while the teenager running the booth watched with open amusement, and Riley had gone so still beside Cate that she looked ready to explode.
Sydney glanced over at Cate, then lifted the ball to her mouth and kissed it with exaggerated seriousness. “This one’s for you, babe.”
Cate’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
Sydney grinned and turned back toward the hoop.
“You’d better make that,” Cate called after her. “Because missing now would be incredibly embarrassing for you.”
“No pressure,” Sydney said.
Then she sank it clean.
Riley screamed. Ellie started chanting all over again, and the little crowd around the booth broke into applause. The teenager running it finally laughed as he pulled the oversized stuffed tiger down from the back wall.
“You play ball?”
Sydney hooked the giant tiger under one arm. “Not really.”
Cate laughed outright at that. “You’re such a liar.”
Sydney turned and passed the tiger to her, grin still bright and boyish. “For you, princess.”
The tiger was almost absurdly large. Cate took it, pressed it against her chest, and rolled her eyes with a practiced elegance that fooled no one. “You won me an enormous dust collector.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” Cate said before she could stop herself.
Sydney’s expression changed.
Just for a second. Just enough. The carnival kept roaring around them, shrieks and music and lights, but that look landed quiet between them. Fierce in a way that still sometimes caught Cate off guard, even after all these years. Sydney reached out and caught Cate at the waist, tugging her an inch closer.
“Yeah?” she said.
Cate’s smile gentled. “Yeah.”
Then Riley yelled, “Can we do the giant slide now?” and the moment burst like a bubble, sweet and brief and still real even though it’d been interrupted.
The prize haul had become ridiculous enough that Sydney called a tactical detour to the car. The tiger went in the trunk and Riley’s dragon and bear were wedged safely into the backseat. Only Bunbun was allowed to stay on active duty.
A few minutes later, free of the prize haul and back beneath the midway lights, they found the giant slide, which required potato sacks and a willingness to surrender any and all dignity. Riley was born willing. Ellie was convinced after watching another tiny child come down laughing instead of crying. Cate ended up racing Riley in one lane while Sydney came down the next with Ellie wedged between her knees, one arm wrapped around her middle.
Cate did not win. This, Riley later claimed, was because Cate “doesn’t have enough zoom.” Cate claimed sabotage. Sydney claimed nothing because she was too busy laughing at the way Cate’s hair had lifted in the wind and stayed slightly staticky afterward.
“Don’t,” Cate warned, seeing the grin already forming.
“You look cute.”
“Don’t.”
Sydney reached over and flattened one side of her hair with an open palm anyway. Cate smacked her wrist. Sydney kissed her temple in retaliation, quick and unshowy, and Ellie immediately made an outraged noise from Sydney’s arms.
“No kiss.”
Cate blinked. “Excuse me?”
Ellie frowned with all the sternness available to a child holding a stuffed bunny by one ear. “Not right now.”
Riley snorted. “She’s jealous.”
“I not,” Ellie snapped.
Sydney bit down on a smile. “Then what is it, bug?”
Ellie considered it for a long, dramatic moment. “Me too.”
“Well,” Cate said, deeply sympathetic. “At least she’s honest.”
So they corrected the issue at once. Cate took Ellie and covered her face in obnoxious little kisses until she squealed and squirmed. Sydney caught Riley around the middle and dragged her into a one-armed headlock while kissing the top of her head until Riley shrieked, “Daddy! I’m six, be serious!”
“Which means I can still legally embarrass you,” Sydney said, kissing her head again.
By then, dusk had deepened into that magical blue hour where every bulb in the carnival looked twice as bright. The Ferris wheel glowed against the sky. Somewhere nearby, oil popped in the fryers. A breeze moved through at last, cooler now, and Cate realized the girls were nearing that dangerous threshold between enchanted and overtired.
They still needed to find a good spot on the grass before the fireworks started, get the blanket down, and settle the girls before either of them hit the wall. Which made the Ferris wheel their last move. One final ride before popcorn, pretzels, and the sky lighting up overhead.
Riley wanted it because she loved heights so long as there was a seat belt involved. Ellie wanted it because Riley wanted it. Cate wanted it because she had the sudden fierce need to gather this whole evening up and keep it somewhere.
They loaded into one swaying gondola, the metal bench just wide enough for all four of them. Sydney took one side with Riley climbing immediately into her lap despite all previous claims of being six and mature. Cate settled beside them with Ellie tucked against her, Bunbun crushed between them. When the wheel jerked into motion, Ellie grabbed Cate’s arm with one hand and reached across the small space between them with the other until Sydney caught it, their fingers linking in front of the girls.
The carnival fell away slowly beneath them.
From up there, the whole fairground looked unreal. Strands of light, neon signs, the spin and flash of rides, people moving like spilled beads along the midway. Music rose in fragments. The sky overhead was violet now, the first stars almost visible beyond the glow.
Sydney had that same loosened expression she always got in moments where the girls forgot to perform being grown up and just let wonder hit them cleanly. Her thumb stroked once over Ellie’s knuckles where their hands were linked. Riley, settled back against Sydney’s chest now, pointed out landmarks below with increasingly elaborate confidence, as if she’d personally engineered the whole event.
“There’s the dragon game. There’s the popcorn place. There’s the evil fun house. There’s the bathroom where I didn’t wash my hands enough so Mommy made me go back.”
“Important memory,” Sydney said.
Cate gave her a look. “Thank you for that support.”
At the top, the wheel paused.
The gondola rocked slightly. Ellie made a tiny nervous sound, but Cate kissed her temple and Sydney said, “We’re good,” in that low grounded voice that made everyone believe her, and just like that the tension eased.
For a moment it was only the four of them suspended above everything.
Riley’s head tipped back against Sydney’s shoulder. Ellie’s curls brushed Cate’s jaw. The lights below blinked and shimmered. Cate looked over at her wife and felt that familiar ache, old now but never dull, that came from being allowed to have this. Not a fantasy, not a fragile almost, not one bright moment doomed to collapse. This. Their daughters sticky with sugar and heat and joy. Sydney rumpled and handsome, still carrying the smug glow of someone who couldn’t not prove herself to carnival games designed for failure. The ordinary miracle of being tired and happy at the same time.
Sydney caught her looking.
This time there was no joke in her face, just warmth and that quiet, attentive focus Cate had learned to trust with her whole life.
“You good?” Sydney asked, barely above the hum of the wheel.
“More than.” Cate smiled and looked out over the lights again, because if she kept looking at Sydney she might say something too raw for the middle of a ferris wheel with two children half asleep on them.
But Sydney knew her too well. She always had.
When the wheel started moving again, Sydney reached over just enough to squeeze Cate’s knee. Gentle. Hidden from the girls. Entirely for her.
Cate put her hand over Sydney’s.
After the Ferris wheel, they headed back to the parking lot to grab the picnic blanket from the car before finding a spot for the fireworks. By the time they reached it, Riley was fighting sleep like it had insulted her honor. Ellie was fully out, limp and warm in Sydney’s arms, Bunbun pinned between her chest and Sydney’s shoulder. Cate carried the two water bottles while Sydney, already balancing one sleeping child, fished the keys from her pocket with her free hand.
They got the blanket from the trunk and tried to convince Riley that the dragon would survive the fireworks without her.
“You know,” Cate said as they walked back under the yellow spill of the lot lights, “for someone who claimed not to care about carnival games, you got deeply weird about carnival games.”
Sydney adjusted Ellie higher on her shoulder without waking her. “I care about my daughters thinking I’m cool.”
Riley, from somewhere near Cate’s knee, mumbled, “You are cool.”
Sydney went quiet.
Cate looked over in time to catch the way her expression softened, startled and naked for half a heartbeat before she recovered. “Thanks, kid.”
Riley yawned. “Mommy’s cool, too.”
Cate lifted her chin. “That’s correct.”
“But different,” Riley added.
Cate narrowed her eyes. “Define different.”
Riley thought about it, then said, “Fancy cool.”
Sydney made a strangled sound that might have been laughter and might have been her soul leaving her body.
“Fancy cool,” Cate repeated, mostly to herself.
Sydney’s mouth twitched. “That’s a compliment, babe.”
“Obviously.” Cate looked down at Riley, who was yawning hard enough to make her whole face scrunch. “She just has terrible phrasing.”
By the time they made it back to the fireworks field, the grass had begun to fill with families claiming patches of space beneath the darkening sky. Blankets spread in uneven little islands across the lawn. Parents unloaded coolers and strollers, kids ran in loose circles with glow sticks around their wrists, and the first test boom from the launch field rolled low enough through the ground to make Ellie stir against Sydney’s shoulder.
Sydney found them a spot near the edge of the crowd, close enough that the girls would have a clear view but far enough from the thickest crush of people to make Cate breathe easier. She shook out the blanket and spread it over the grass while Cate set down the water bottles and the tote bag beside them. Ellie woke just enough to complain about being moved, then immediately crawled into Cate’s lap with Bunbun tucked beneath her chin. Riley folded herself onto the blanket beside them, still insisting she wasn’t tired even as she rubbed at one eye with the heel of her hand.
Sydney crouched beside Cate, one hand settling briefly on her knee. “Popcorn, pretzels, two beers?”
Cate nodded. “And napkins. Lots of napkins.”
“Always.” Sydney leaned in to kiss her temple, then looked at Riley. “Alright, tiny bodyguard, you keep Mama safe while I’m gone.”
Riley straightened at once. “I will.”
Sydney grinned, rose to her feet, and headed toward the vendor row just beyond the blankets.
The blanket had already collected grass, a few stray clover leaves, and one suspicious sticky patch by the time Cate realized Sydney had been gone too long.
Not alarmingly long. Not vanished-into-the-night long. Just long enough that the rhythm of the evening had changed around her absence.
Beyond them, the carnival had softened into a blur of lights and noise at the edge of the field. The Ferris wheel still turned slowly above the treeline, its gondolas glowing red, white, and blue against the deepening purple sky. Somewhere near the vendor row, a cover band was giving “Born in the U.S.A.” more enthusiasm than pitch accuracy. The air smelled like trampled grass, charcoal, and the first faint thread of sparkler smoke.
Cate sat on the picnic blanket with Ellie settled in her lap, Bunbun tucked beneath her chin and one sticky little hand fisted in the hem of Cate’s sundress. Riley was stretched on her stomach in front of them, chin propped in both hands, light-up sneakers kicking lazily in the air as she watched teenagers play cornhole with the disdain of someone who believed she could do it better and probably could if someone gave her an unreasonably dramatic entrance.
Sydney had left fifteen minutes ago.
Fifteen minutes for popcorn, pretzels, and two beers was not a crisis. Sydney had stopped for lost or crying children, dropped wallets and phones, tangled stroller wheels, and once, memorably, an elderly woman who had looked at Sydney’s tattooed arms and immediately decided she was the perfect person to carry four folding chairs across a parking lot. Sydney attracted logistics the way porch lights attracted moths. She could not cross a public space without becoming someone’s emergency handyman, directional sign, bodyguard, or reluctant emotional support butch.
Still.
Cate looked toward the vendor row again, one hand moving through Ellie’s curls.
The popcorn stand was lit gold under a scalloped canopy, the glass machine glowing like a tiny buttery furnace. Sydney stood in front of it, black sleeveless shirt leaving her tattooed arms bare, baseball cap turned backward because Ellie had insisted earlier that it made Daddy look “faster,” wallet still in one hand, elbow braced lightly on the counter. She had the posture Cate knew intimately: weight settled on one hip, shoulders loose, head tipped slightly as if listening intently because she’d been taught politeness was easier than noticing when someone was flirting with her.
And the girl behind the popcorn machine was absolutely flirting with her.
Cate felt the realization settle through her without heat.
Not jealousy. That would have required uncertainty, and Sydney had never once given Cate the kind of uncertainty that festered into jealousy. Sydney was ridiculous about Cate. Embarrassingly, publicly, deeply ridiculous. Sydney looked at Cate reaching for a jar on a high shelf like she was witnessing divine choreography. Sydney still regularly texted Cate from missions just to ask what she was wearing. Sydney had once gotten distracted in the middle of a conversation because Cate had tucked her hair behind her ear and then tried to pretend she’d been distracted by the weather.
So no, Cate was not worried.
She was amused.
The girl behind the counter had glossy dark hair in a high ponytail, cut-off shorts, and the fearless cheer of someone nineteen at most, still young enough to believe prolonged eye contact with a hot stranger was a viable life plan. She was leaning both forearms on the counter now, laughing at something Sydney had said. Or, more likely, laughing at something Sydney had said without realizing it had become charming by accident.
Sydney, devastatingly oblivious, gave her a crooked little grin.
Cate’s eyes narrowed.
Not with suspicion.
With opportunity.
“Riley,” Cate said quietly.
Riley barely lifted her head at first, cheek still pressed to the blanket. “What?”
Cate kept her gaze on the popcorn stand. “Do you see Daddy?”
That got her attention. Riley pushed herself up onto her elbows and followed Cate’s line of sight, sleepiness falling away as her little face went blank with concentration. Then it sharpened.
There it was.
Cate watched the family resemblance show up in real time.
Riley was still little, but some habits had clearly already taken root. The Stark side had given her a certain readiness to square up with the universe. Cate had contributed dramatic timing, weaponized observation, and the ability to make a stranger second-guess themselves with one look.
Together, it made for a very small, very effective field operative.
“Why is Daddy talking to that girl?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know,” Cate said lightly, reaching for one of the water bottles beside her. “Maybe Daddy got trapped.”
“Trapped how?”
“Oh, socially.”
Riley’s nose wrinkled. “Like when people see Wraith and won’t stop talking to her?”
“Exactly like that.”
Ellie lifted her head from Cate’s lap, cheeks flushed from the heat, blue eyes heavy with the pre-fireworks exhaustion she was valiantly fighting. “Trapped?”
“Yes, darling,” Cate said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Very dangerous.”
Riley pushed herself to her feet, already vibrating with purpose. “Do you want me to get her?”
Cate looked up at her with the softest possible expression and the least innocent heart. “Only if you want to help.”
Riley put both hands on her hips. “Mama.”
“What?”
“You know I do.”
Cate smiled over the rim of her water bottle. “I had a feeling.”
Riley adjusted the star headband she’d selected earlier with great seriousness, smoothed the front of her little denim shorts, then pointed at Cate. “Stay here. And don’t let anyone steal you.”
Cate pressed her lips together. “I’ll do my very best.”
“And don’t let Ellie eat grass.”
Ellie immediately looked down at the grass.
“Ellie,” Cate warned.
Ellie looked back up innocently. “I not.”
Riley huffed, deeply burdened by the incompetence of her household, then set off across the grass with the brisk, determined stride of a child on official family business.
“Stay where I can see you!” Cate shouted after Riley as she watched her go, fondness blooming so hard in her chest it almost hurt.
Riley moved through the crowd like she was owed right-of-way by birth. She dodged a man carrying nachos, skirted around a stroller, paused only long enough to stare down a teenager who nearly stepped backward into her, then continued toward the popcorn stand with her chin lifted and her arms swinging. The carnival lights caught in her curls. She looked so much like Cate from a distance that it sometimes startled Cate into silence, blonde brightness and an expressive face, and yet the way she walked was Sydney all over: forward, fearless, assuming the world would either move or be moved.
Cate’s heart gave one of those stupid, domestic twists.
“Where Ri go?” Ellie mumbled.
“To rescue Daddy.”
Ellie considered that. “Daddy lost?”
“In a sense.”
At the popcorn stand, Sydney was still trapped in conversation. She had acquired the pretzels. Cate could see them in a paper boat on the counter. The popcorn bag sat beside them, steam fogging the plastic window. The beers were in Sydney’s other hand, sweating in the heat. She had, by all visible evidence, completed the mission and simply failed to extract herself.
Classic.
The girl behind the counter said something and played with her own ponytail, smiling too wide.
Sydney nodded, polite and oblivious, probably saying something deeply unhelpful like, “Yeah, the fireworks are supposed to be good,” while looking exactly like the kind of person people wrote bad decisions about in private diaries.
Then Riley arrived.
Cate couldn’t hear her at first, not over the band, the ride noise, and the crowd. She could only see Sydney’s face change when Riley appeared at her side and tugged hard on the hem of her shirt.
Sydney looked down, surprised, then softened instantly.
Riley planted herself beside Sydney’s leg and looked up at the popcorn girl.
Cate wished, briefly and violently, that she’d brought binoculars.
The popcorn girl’s smile shifted, confused but friendly. She leaned over the counter, probably asking Riley if she wanted anything.
Riley didn’t appear to answer that question.
Instead, she pointed back across the grass.
Sydney followed the point and found Cate watching from the blanket. Cate lifted her bottle in a delicate little greeting.
Even from that distance, Cate saw the exact moment Sydney understood what she’d done. Sydney’s shoulders dropped. Her mouth opened slightly, then her eyes narrowed with betrayed amusement.
Cate smiled.
Riley tugged her shirt again, more insistently.
This time, Cate could hear her voice carry, shrill and clear as a parade whistle.
“Daddy, come on. Mama, your wife, is waiting.”
A couple of people nearby turned.
Cate ducked her head and bit the inside of her cheek.
Sydney said something to Riley, probably, “Jesus Christ, kid,” because her mouth was shaped like prayer and profanity at once.
Riley wasn’t finished.
“The fireworks are starting soon,” she announced, louder. “And you’re taking forever because you’re talking.”
The popcorn girl blinked.
Sydney rubbed a hand over her face.
Riley turned her attention back to the girl and, with the weary authority of someone who had already handled one grocery aisle seduction attempt this week, added, “Daddy’s married.”
The girl’s eyes flicked to Sydney, then to the ring on her finger, then over toward Cate. Pink rose quickly across her cheeks.
Cate’s shoulders shook.
The popcorn girl said something, flustered, hands fluttering toward the popcorn bag. Sydney grabbed the snacks like they were evidence at a crime scene. Riley, apparently satisfied that order had been restored, took the paper boat of pretzels from the counter with both hands.
Sydney said one last thing, and Cate didn’t need to hear it to know the tone. Apologetic, dry, kind enough to soothe but not enough to linger. Then she put a hand lightly between Riley’s shoulder blades and guided her back across the grass.
Riley marched ahead with the pretzels.
Sydney followed with the popcorn, beers hooked between her fingers, face arranged into the flattest possible expression. It was a terrible disguise. The tips of her ears were red.
Cate sat up straighter and arranged her face into polite serenity.
Ellie clapped when she saw the popcorn. “Daddy!”
Sydney lowered herself onto the blanket with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t start.”
Cate widened her eyes, all innocence. “Start what?”
Sydney pointed at her with the popcorn bag. “Whatever that is.”
“I’m just sitting here.”
“You weaponized our daughter.”
“I did no such thing.”
Riley dropped down beside Cate and handed over the pretzels, still endlessly pleased with herself. “I helped.”
“You did,” Cate said warmly, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You were very helpful.”
Sydney made a disbelieving sound. “Helpful? She announced my marital status to a girl selling popcorn.”
Sydney slid Cate’s beer into her hand and settled on the other side of Ellie, who immediately climbed halfway into her lap in pursuit of popcorn. She tucked Bunbun against Sydney’s stomach and reached one determined hand toward the bag. Sydney let her steal a piece, then looked back at Cate. “I was being polite.”
“I know.”
“I was trying to leave.”
“I know.”
“She kept asking questions.”
Cate accepted the beer, cold condensation gathering against her fingers. She took a small sip, eyes bright over the rim. “What kind of questions?”
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one where you sound curious, but you’re actually waiting to make fun of me.”
Cate took a slow sip of beer, smile deepening as she savored the bitter cold and Sydney’s irritation in equal measure. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Riley leaned around her, clearly unable to let the record go incomplete. “She asked if Daddy lives here.”
Sydney dragged a hand down her face. “Riley.”
Cate’s brows lifted. “Did she?”
“She was just making conversation.”
“Mm.”
“She probably asks everybody that.”
Cate glanced toward the popcorn stand, then back at Sydney. “Did she ask the old man in front of you?”
Sydney paused.
Cate smiled into her beer. “No?”
“Maybe he had local energy.”
Riley scooted closer, delighted by her usefulness. “And she asked if Daddy was watching fireworks with somebody.”
Sydney pointed at her. “You have got to stop tattling.”
Riley’s little brows pulled together. “I’m not tattling. I’m telling Mama.”
Sydney let out a long, exasperated sigh and looked away, because there was no winning that one.
Cate had to lower her face behind her beer before Sydney could see how much she was enjoying herself. “And what did Daddy say?”
For one beat, Riley seemed to realize she had information Sydney might prefer she kept private. Her eyes got a little wider. Her mouth pressed into a line.
“Sydney,” Cate said sweetly.
Sydney blew out a breath. “I said I was watching with my family.”
Riley nodded, then frowned. “But you didn’t say you were married.”
“I didn’t realize I had to show people my marriage card to prove I have a family.”
“You should always say you’re married,” Riley insisted.
Cate set her beer down and pressed both hands dramatically over her heart. “I agree with Riley.”
Sydney gave her a look. “Shocking.”
Cate’s expression softened, just enough to take the bite out of the teasing. Under the carnival noise, beneath the rising thump of fireworks crews doing last checks, the moment thinned into something quieter. Cate held Sydney’s gaze, and there it was: that small, involuntary brightening Sydney tried to hide whenever Cate said something too plainly affectionate in public.
Sydney recovered with a crooked mouth. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I really am.”
“Your whole face is unbearable right now.”
Cate leaned back on one hand, bare legs tucked to the side, dress pooling over her thighs. “My face is probably why teenage popcorn girls think you’re worth flirting with.”
“She wasn’t flirting with me.”
“She asked if you were watching fireworks with anyone.”
“Maybe she was conducting a census.”
“A census.”
“Democracy is important.”
Cate laughed, unable to help it, and Ellie startled at the sound, then giggled too because Ellie believed laughter was contagious and legally binding.
Riley took a pretzel, chewed with great authority, and said, “I saved you.”
Sydney looked down at her. “From what?”
“That girl.”
“What’d she do?”
Riley frowned, searching for it. “She kept talking to you.”
Cate’s mouth twitched. “She was flirting with Daddy.”
Riley nodded at once. “Yeah. That.”
Cate dissolved, hand over her mouth, while Sydney stared at their daughter with a helpless kind of pride fighting its way up through the mock offense.
“She’s got you there,” Cate said.
Sydney reached across Ellie and poked Riley gently in the side. Riley squealed and collapsed sideways against Cate, nearly upsetting the pretzels. “Listen, tiny narc. I appreciate the assist, but Daddy had it handled.”
Riley sat up, curls wild, cheeks pink. “No you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You were standing there for like a hundred minutes.”
“It was not a hundred minutes.”
“Mama kept looking.”
Sydney’s gaze cut to Cate.
Cate stopped smiling a fraction too late.
Sydney’s grin appeared slowly, dangerous and warm. “Did she?”
Cate picked a grain of salt off her thumb. “I was wondering where the snacks were.”
“Were you?”
“The children were hungry.”
“Ellie ate a whole thing of cotton candy and what I’m pretty sure was a sticker.”
Ellie, mouth full of popcorn now, said, “Star.”
Sydney nodded. “See? She remembers.”
Cate gave her the look she reserved for moments when Sydney was being deliberately irritating and unfortunately attractive about it. “The point is, you were missed.”
Sydney’s grin gentled. She shifted closer on the blanket, knee brushing Cate’s thigh, Ellie settled between them with the popcorn clutched to her chest like treasure. “Yeah?”
Cate rolled her eyes, but her fingers found Sydney’s on the blanket and curled around them. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“Can’t help it. My wife missed me so bad she sent a bodyguard.”
Riley brightened. “I’m the bodyguard.”
“You’re unionizing at this point,” Sydney said.
“What’s unionizing?”
“Something Daddy supports,” Cate said smoothly.
Sydney laughed, surprised and low, and Cate felt it through their joined hands.
A crack split the sky.
Not a firework yet, just another one of the test booms from the launch field beyond the trees. Ellie jerked against Sydney, then froze, eyes wide. Sydney’s attention snapped down instantly, all her teasing evaporating into function. She set the popcorn aside and wrapped one arm around Ellie’s middle, pulling her more securely into her lap.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Sydney murmured, lips near Ellie’s hair. “That one was loud, huh?”
Ellie nodded, lower lip pushed out.
Cate leaned in and touched her knee. “The big ones are going to start soon, baby. Do you want your headphones?”
Ellie considered bravery, dignity, and sensory survival with a grave little frown. Then she nodded again.
Riley crawled across the blanket to the tote bag and dug through it, tossing aside sunscreen, napkins, a half-empty pack of wipes, Sydney’s spare hoodie, and a glow stick necklace. “I got them!”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Riley handed over Ellie’s pink noise-reducing headphones, then lingered close, her earlier boldness softening in the face of her sister’s uncertainty. Sydney fitted them over Ellie’s ears carefully, tucking curls away from the ear cushions. Ellie relaxed almost at once, small body melting back against Sydney’s chest.
Cate watched Sydney’s hands, the gentle precision of them, the way her thumb smoothed once behind Ellie’s ear before she let go. It did something to Cate every time, that contrast. Sydney with her tattoos, her rough edges, her mouth full of dry bite, her shoulders still warm from the day, handling their children like the world might bruise less if she just held carefully enough.
Then Sydney looked up and caught Cate staring.
“What?”
Cate’s throat tightened in a way she refused to make dramatic. “Nothing.”
Sydney smirked. “Dangerous nothing?”
“Good nothing.”
Riley flopped onto her back between them, legs sprawled across Cate’s lap, head near Sydney’s knee. “Can I have headphones too?”
“You said you were too old for them,” Sydney reminded her.
“I changed my mind.”
Cate laughed softly and reached into the bag for the second pair, blue ones with peeling dinosaur stickers from a phase Riley would now deny under oath. “A wise woman reserves that right.”
Sydney nudged Riley with her knee. “You sure? Fireworks are loud.”
Riley hesitated only a second before nodding. “But I’m not scared.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“I just don’t want my ears to explode.”
“Reasonable.”
Cate fitted the headphones over Riley’s curls, careful not to snag her star headband. Riley lay still for it, eyes tracking Cate’s face with that private little need for approval she hid under all her riotous confidence.
“There,” Cate said, tapping the end of Riley’s nose. “Perfect.”
Riley smiled, smaller now. “Can I still guard you with headphones?”
“Absolutely.”
Sydney leaned back on one hand. “Honestly, it might improve focus.”
Riley gave her a thumbs-up.
The first real firework climbed behind the trees with a screaming silver tail, then burst open above the park in a white flash that lit every face white for one suspended heartbeat. The crowd made that collective sound people made when they all remembered wonder at the same time. Ellie gasped, then laughed when the boom reached them muffled through her headphones. Riley shot upright, mouth open in awe, all previous missions temporarily forgotten.
Another firework bloomed red, then gold, sparks trailing down like burning willow branches.
Cate leaned into Sydney without deciding to. Sydney’s arm settled around her shoulders just as naturally, beer abandoned near her knee, popcorn cooling beside Ellie. The heat of Sydney’s body pressed through the thin cotton of Cate’s dress, familiar and grounding. Cate tucked herself closer, cheek nearly brushing Sydney’s shoulder.
For a few minutes, none of them spoke.
The sky kept opening.
Blue and gold. Crackling white stars that fizzed and scattered. The girls watched with full-body attention, Riley pointing every few seconds even though everyone was already looking, Ellie clapping softly from Sydney’s lap whenever one looked especially “sparkly.” The noise rolled over the park in waves, big enough to feel in Cate’s ribs. Children shrieked. Adults cheered. Somewhere behind them, someone’s baby began crying and was immediately soothed.
Sydney’s thumb moved back and forth against Cate’s upper arm.
Cate turned her face slightly, not enough to miss the sky, just enough to speak near Sydney’s ear. “You know, I think she was very pretty.”
Sydney’s thumb stopped.
Cate smiled at the fireworks.
“Cate.”
“What?”
“No.”
“I’m only saying.”
“You’re never only saying.”
“She had a certain charm.”
Sydney looked down at her with deep suspicion. Red light washed across her face, then green. “Are you trying to make me compliment the popcorn girl so you can get mad at me?”
Cate’s smile widened. “Would you fall for that?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
Sydney leaned closer, voice dry against the shell of Cate’s ear. “She looked like she still says ‘situationship’ unironically.”
Cate laughed so sharply Riley twisted around.
“What?” Riley shouted, not realizing the headphones made her volume completely unreasonable.
“Nothing,” Cate called back.
Riley squinted. “Are you flirting?”
Sydney pointed at the fireworks. “Watch the explosions, narc.”
Riley turned back around, satisfied for now.
Cate pressed her forehead briefly to Sydney’s shoulder, laughter still trembling through her. “You’re terrible.”
“You married me.”
“I did.”
“Publicly. Legally. In front of witnesses. Very binding.”
Cate turned her head and looked at her. The fireworks painted Sydney’s profile in restless color, catching on her nose ring, the edge of her jaw, the ink down her arms. Her cap was still backward. Her hair curled damply at the nape from the heat. There was a faint smear of cotton candy on her shirt from where Ellie had attacked her earlier. She looked like summer and trouble and home, like every impossible thing Cate had somehow been allowed to keep.
“I like when you say that,” Cate admitted.
Sydney’s expression shifted again, the teasing knocked slightly off-balance. “What, that you married me?”
Cate nodded, eyes going back to the sky because looking directly at Sydney made sincerity feel too overwhelming sometimes. “That I’m your wife.”
Sydney was quiet for half a beat. Around them, the park roared at a huge gold burst overhead.
Then Sydney’s arm tightened around her. Her mouth brushed Cate’s temple, not quite a kiss at first, just warm contact beneath the flicker of the fireworks. “You’re my wife,” she said, low enough that it belonged only to the blanket, the grass, the children pressed against them, and the sky breaking open overhead. “My very smug, very hot, deeply manipulative wife.”
Cate smiled, the word settling somewhere soft and familiar in her chest. Sydney said it like she still couldn’t quite believe she got to. Like it was a fact worth repeating until the whole world got tired of hearing it.
“My wife who sends our daughter to rescue me from popcorn vendors.”
“You needed rescuing.”
“I needed my pretzel.”
“You needed intervention.”
“I was leaving.”
“You were lingering.”
Sydney huffed, though Cate could feel the smile trying to pull at her mouth. “I was trapped in Midwestern politeness.”
Cate tipped her face up, blue eyes glittering in the shifting color overhead. “We’re from New York.”
“Does that mean I can’t be polite?”
“It means you’re not usually that polite.”
Sydney looked at her for a beat, caught between mock offense and the kind of helpless softness Cate could still pull out of her with almost no effort. Cate kissed her before she could recover, quick but unmistakable, right there under the fireworks with their daughters in front of them and the whole carnival blurred into summer noise. Sydney smiled against her mouth before she could help it, which was Cate’s favorite kind of victory.
Riley made a loud gagging sound without turning around. “I can hear kissing.”
“You have headphones on,” Sydney said.
Riley tilted her head. “I can still tell.”
Cate pulled back, laughing into Sydney’s shoulder. Ellie, who had been staring open-mouthed at a cascade of purple sparks, turned and patted Sydney’s cheek. “Daddy kiss Mama.”
“Yeah,” Sydney said, eyes still on Cate. “Daddy does that.”
Ellie nodded with approval. “Mama wife.”
Cate’s face softened so quickly it almost hurt. She reached out to smooth Ellie’s curls back from her forehead. “That’s right, baby.”
Riley spun around again, suddenly businesslike despite the fireworks. “And if the popcorn girl talks to Daddy again, I’ll tell her.”
Sydney groaned, tipping her head back toward the sky. “We’re not bringing this up for the rest of my life.”
Cate looked at Riley. Riley looked at Cate. Some silent treaty passed between them, swift and sacred.
“Okay,” Riley said.
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “Why did that sound fake?”
Cate took a bite of her pretzel, serene. “I have no idea.”
Another firework burst overhead, enormous and gold, loud enough to make the ground seem to jump. Ellie startled, then laughed when Sydney held her tighter and rocked her once. Riley leaned back against Cate’s legs, small body warm and solid, one hand absently reaching for Cate’s ankle as if to confirm she was still there.
Cate looked at the three of them: Ellie safe in Sydney’s lap, Riley sprawled across her like a guard dog off duty, Sydney with her arm around Cate and her wedding ring glinting whenever the sky flashed white.
Not stolen. Not stealable.
Chosen.
The thought moved through her quietly, deeper than the noise.
Sydney glanced over, catching the change because she always did when it mattered. “You okay?”
Cate threaded her fingers through Sydney’s again. “Yes.”
“Good yes or fake yes?”
“Good yes.”
Sydney studied her for another second, then lifted Cate’s hand and kissed her knuckles, unshowy but devastating. “My wife,” she murmured, softer this time.
Cate squeezed her hand.
Riley, without looking away from the fireworks, raised one finger. “Mama was waiting.”
Sydney laughed under her breath. “Yeah, kiddo. I know.”
“And you took forever.”
“I know.”
“Next time you should say, ‘Sorry, I gotta go, my wife wants pretzels.’”
Cate looked at Sydney, delighted. “She makes excellent points.”
Sydney tipped her head back toward the exploding sky, resigned and smiling. “I’m never surviving both of you, am I?”
“Nope,” Cate said, leaning into her.
Riley grinned. “Nuh-uh.”
Ellie, not knowing what they were agreeing to but loyal to the family consensus, lifted both sticky hands into the air. “No!”
Sydney looked at them, all her girls arranged around her in the flashing dark, and shook her head like she was annoyed by the exact shape of her life.
But her smile gave her away.
The finale came in a rush of gold and white, loud enough to shake the grass beneath them. Riley watched every second of it with her chin lifted, still determined to be on guard duty even as another yawn cracked through her halfway to the end. Ellie had gone warm and heavy against Sydney’s chest, one hand curled in the front of her shirt, Bunbun trapped securely beneath her chin.
“Next time,” Sydney said into Cate’s hair, almost drowned by the fireworks, “I’m making you get the snacks.”
Cate smiled against her shoulder. “And deprive Riley of her calling?”
Sydney’s laugh warmed her temple.
When the last sparks burned out over the trees, the crowd broke into applause. Then the whole field seemed to exhale at once, families rising from their blankets in slow, tired little waves. Sydney helped Cate shake the grass from their blanket while Riley insisted she could carry the tote bag herself, even though it nearly dragged her sideways. Cate let her try for exactly three steps before taking it back.
By the time they started toward the parking lot, Ellie was asleep again on Sydney’s shoulder and Riley had gone quiet beside Cate, one small hand curled around the hem of her sundress. The carnival kept buzzing behind them, softer now, music and distant ride shrieks fading beneath the dark.
At the car, Sydney buckled Ellie into her seat with the tender efficiency of long practice, then helped Riley climb in beside the dragon and bear they’d left waiting for her earlier. Cate stood by the open door for a moment just watching her. The parking lot buzzed softly around them. Somewhere behind them, the Ferris wheel kept turning against the dark.
Sydney shut Riley’s door and turned.
Cate stepped into her space before she could say anything and kissed her.
Sydney made a quiet surprised sound into her mouth, then kissed her back, one hand landing at Cate’s waist automatically, warm and steady. The kiss stayed brief because they were in a parking lot and because they had children in the backseat who would absolutely develop perfect timing for interruption, but it still landed with that same private force it always had. Like a lock. Like habit and hunger could live in the same gesture.
When Cate pulled back, Sydney’s eyes had softened.
“What was that for?” she asked.
Cate smiled, smoothing a wrinkle in Sydney’s cotton-candy-stained shirt. “For being the most annoyingly attractive person at a children’s carnival.”
Sydney huffed a laugh. “That’s a niche award.”
“You earned it.”
From the backseat, Riley’s tired voice rose through the cracked window. “Can we get fries on the way home?”
Ellie, somehow not fully awake and yet spiritually present, echoed, “Fwies.”
Sydney and Cate looked at each other.
Then they both laughed.
“Yeah,” Sydney said, opening her door at last. “We can get fries.”
And because she was who she was, because even now she couldn’t stop herself, she leaned in close as she passed Cate and murmured, “You win most dangerous woman at a children’s carnival.”
Cate gasped in scandalized delight and smacked her arm while Sydney ducked into the driver’s seat grinning. The girls dissolved into sleepy laughter in the back. The whole car seemed to glow with it, sticky and noisy and perfect.
Cate climbed in still smiling, carnival lights shrinking in the rearview as they pulled away with prizes crowding the backseat and sugar on their clothes and two girls already drifting toward sleep.
The night had that full, humming feeling afterward, as if joy itself had weight.
And Cate, looking over at Sydney’s profile in the dashboard glow, thought with a quiet rush of certainty that this was one of those evenings their daughters would remember years later.
SINK OR SWIM ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ trinity santos x victoria javadi
༄.° l i f e g u a r d x s u r f e r a u
description — as the age old adage says, opposites attract. trinity and victoria explore each other’s very different lives after reuniting years later. the irritation of meeting again wears off with time when they try their hand at friendship, but friendship only lasts so long…
