THRESHOLD
pt2 here !
pairing : daniela avanzini x fem!reader
summary : girl she’s ur baby daddy and yall argue then yall have sex 🥀
warnings : cursing, g!p daniela, baby trapping mention again…, smut ofc, dani sells drugs but it’s barely mentioned, she’s lowkey a deadbeat, probably more but i forgot
unnecessary bs : 4.9k words, i actually love bd dani
you slip the spoon into your daughter’s mouth just as the doorbell rings. your eyes flick to the door before you let out a tired sigh, pulling the spoon away and reaching for her bib.
“hm, i wonder who that could be.” you mutter, wiping the corner of her mouth. the doorbell rings again, then again, each press faster, louder, more obnoxious.
you roll your eyes. “jesus christ.” and then it hits and you groan. “fucking daniela.”
only she rings your doorbell like she’s trying to piss you off on purpose. like this is some kind of game and she always plays to win.
you storm over to the door and yank it open—and there she is. daniela avanzini, in all her smug, infuriating glory.
leaning against the frame like she owns the place. like she didn’t walk out three months ago after calling you “emotionally constipated” and slamming the door hard enough to rattle your dishes.
“hey, pretty.”
you deadpan. “stop ringing my damn doorbell like a child with impulse issues.”
she grins. “wow. not even a hi? missed you too.”
“what do you want?”
“i came to see my baby.”
your eyes narrow. you know she means danielle, but her eyes drag slow and deliberate from your face to your legs like she’s testing you, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“well, she just ate. you can come back when you learn how to act right.”
“cute. except you don’t make the rules around here.”
you scoff, stepping aside because arguing in front of danielle never ends well. not that daniela cares, she’s already sauntering past you like this is her home. like she didn’t give up custody time for a week straight because she was “figuring shit out.”
“you don’t live here anymore,” you snap.
“mm,” she hums, crouching beside danielle and lifting her into her arms like it’s second nature. she says something soft in spanish, probably about you, voice low and familiar like a secret she’s passing between them.
you slam the door shut behind you. “maybe she should know the truth about how you disappeared for two days and blamed it on your phone dying.”
“oh my god, are we seriously doing this again?”
“you show up, unannounced, ringing my doorbell like you’ve got no damn home training—what did you expect?”
“a kiss, maybe. a little gratitude for blessing your doorstep.”
“you’re not cute.”
she spins slowly with danielle in her arms, making her laugh. then casually, like it means nothing: “your mom texted me, by the way.”
you blink. “what?”
“she wanted to know if we were ‘working things out.’ i told her you were still mean as hell, so… probably not.”
your jaw clenches. “stop talking to my mom.”
“tell her to stop texting me then. she likes me more than you do.”
you grab one of danielle’s toys off the floor and throw it at her. she catches it one handed, grinning.
“you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re still letting me in.”
and when she walks to your fridge like it’s still hers, opens it, and says, “you got anything that isn’t expired this time or are we ordering again?”
you don’t say anything. just brush past her, straight into the kitchen with your jaw clenched and shoulders tight.
she walks back into the living room like she didn’t show up out of nowhere and hijack your evening. you don’t even look at her—you’re too busy slamming the cabinet door while pulling out a pan, too busy chopping vegetables like the cutting board personally wronged you.
“you cooking?” she asks, settling onto the floor with danielle still latched to her like a koala.
you slam the fridge shut. “shut up.”
she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t. she’s sitting cross legged on the floor now, danielle crawling into her lap with her little stuffed bunny in hand.
“look at this, she still loves me. she doesn’t even know what a deadbeat is.”
you whip around. “say that again and i’ll throw this knife at your head.”
she laughs. like she thinks you’re kidding.
“god, you’re always angry,” she says, tilting her head as danielle babbles in her lap. “you ever try not being so fucking bitter all the time?”
“i’m not bitter,” you snap. “i’m tired. tired of having to do everything by myself while you show up when it’s convenient and act like that makes you some saint.”
she goes quiet at that, just for a second.
but then she shrugs. “yet here you are. still cooking dinner like we’re a happy little family.”
“i’m not cooking for you,” you snap. “i’m making something for danielle.”
“she’s a baby.”
“she’ll have to eat real food eventually.”
“but not tonight.”
you whip around. “do you want me to throw this knife at you or what?”
daniela just smirks, leaning back on one arm while danielle plays with her hoodie string.
“you always get like this when i show up. it’s cute.”
“you think everything’s cute. you think breaking promises is cute. showing up three days late? cute. ignoring my calls? adorable. you think you can just walk back in like you’re supposed to be here—”
“i am supposed to be here.”
your hand freezes mid chop.
“don’t.”
she shrugs, unbothered, like she didn’t just throw a match on a gas leak.
“just saying. i’m her mom too.”
“yeah? then act like it.”
you toss the chopped vegetables into the pan harder than you need to and flick the stove on. the oil sizzles loud, and daniela flinches like she thought you were going to throw the whole pot at her. and honestly, so did you.
“you think i like doing this alone?” you mutter. “you think i get some kick out of waking up at 3am, warming bottles, dealing with teething and crying and you—”
“you never asked for help.”
“because every time i do, you disappear.”
daniela goes quiet for a second, lips pressed tight. danielle is babbling now, half to herself, half to her bunny, completely unaware of the tension thick in the air like smoke.
you stir the pan a little too aggressively and daniela finally stands up, brushing off her jeans and gently placing danielle in her little play mat nearby.
“i’m here now.”
you don’t look up.
“for how long?”
she doesn’t answer.
you keep cooking. you keep your eyes on the pan. you pretend you’re not already thinking about the moment she walks out again. pretend you don’t already have a backup bottle ready for when the food goes untouched. pretend you don’t care.
because someone has to keep the house running. someone has to make sure the baby eats, even if she’s only on purées. someone has to show up every day.
and it’s never daniela.
you finish cooking with your lips pressed into a tight line, throwing the kitchen towel over your shoulder like you’re running a restaurant and not dealing with your emotionally exhausting ex. you don’t bother plating it fancy—just toss the food on, grab a fork, and head to the dining table where daniela is already sitting like she’s waited all day for this.
danielle’s in her lap, happy as ever, gnawing on the corner of her bib like it’s the most delicious thing in the world. daniela’s got one arm around her and the other lazily scrolling through her phone until you set the plate down in front of her with a clink.
she looks up, smile already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “thank you, baby.”
you blink and stare at her. “yeah. you’re welcome.”
she grins. “i don’t get a kiss anymore?”
you scoff—not even a full laugh, just that sharp little sound people make when they’re done with the bullshit. like tch but from the soul “you’re lucky you got a plate.”
she smirks, pokes at her food. “you say that every time and still feed me like you love me.”
“because i love the baby. and she deserves a mom with energy, which i can’t have if i get arrested for murder.”
daniela hums like it’s sweet.
you grab your own plate and sit across from her, not bothering to make eye contact. danielle is squirming now, so daniela shifts her a little and keeps eating with one hand like it’s second nature.
you both eat in tense silence for a minute, only the clinking of forks and the occasional babble from danielle filling the room.
then daniela, mouth half full, “do you think she’s gonna be left handed like me or right handed like you?”
you pause mid bite and look at her like she’s actually lost her mind. “she’s barely even holding things right now.”
“yeah, but i read it’s genetic or whatever.”
you just shake your head. “do you have a real job yet?”
daniela glances up with zero shame. “define real.”
you put your fork down. “one that doesn’t involve getting arrested if you text the wrong number.”
“damn,” she says, biting into her food again. “so judgemental for someone who used to ride with me while i did drop offs.”
“yeah. and then i grew up.”
daniela raises an eyebrow, still chewing. “you say that like i’m out here selling kilos in the back of a church van.”
“i don’t know what you’re selling anymore, daniela. could be weed, could be someone’s soul, could be baby formula—”
“okay wow, relax. it’s not that serious.”
“no, you don’t take it seriously. which is the problem. you have a whole daughter now, and you’re still out here treating your life like a gta mission.”
daniela chuckles, leaning back in the chair, arm wrapped lazily around danielle like she’s unfazed. “you always talk like i’m some wanted criminal. i’m just doing what i know.”
“yeah? well what you know is gonna get you locked up. and then who’s left picking up the pieces? oh wait—me. again.”
“you’re so dramatic.”
“no, you’re just stupid.”
daniela laughs at that, like it’s cute, like you’re flirting. “you called me stupid but still cooked for me. which one of us is really down bad?”
you slam your fork on the table, and danielle flinches in her lap. you immediately soften your voice but your words are still sharp.
“i didn’t cook for you, daniela. i cooked so our daughter doesn’t grow up watching me lose my mind because her other mom thinks slinging weed is a personality trait.”
daniela looks at you for a moment, finally not laughing, just watching.
“i’m doing what i can,” she says. “it’s not like people are lining up to hand me a nine to five with my record.”
you cross your arms. “so that’s it? just give up? keep doing shit that puts you at risk and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll be out in time for her kindergarten graduation?”
“at least i’m trying.”
“trying would be showing up on time. trying would be calling when you can’t make it. trying would be putting her first for once and not whatever hustle you’ve got going on that week.”
daniela presses her lips together, and you can tell she’s about to say something mean. something that’ll cross the line. she shifts danielle in her lap instead, brushing crumbs off her little onesie.
you stand up and grab your plate.
“you think being here now makes up for everything? it doesn’t. you don’t get points for showing up late and calling it love.”
daniela mutters, “you sound like your mom.”
you freeze. just for a second, then you nod slowly. “good. because someone in this house has to act like a grown up.”
daniela exhales a laugh, mean and quiet. “right. now you’re better than me ‘cause you microwave baby food and follow a bedtime schedule?”
you narrow your eyes. “i’m better than you because i show up.”
“nah,” she says, sitting back in the chair like she’s getting real comfortable. “you’re just mad the lifestyle stopped benefitting you.”
you squint. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“don’t act brand new, yn. you weren’t complaining when my ‘gta missions’ were paying your rent. your groceries. that ‘push present’ you pretend came from your savings—yeah, okay.”
your blood boils.
“you think this is about money?”
“no, i think it’s about the fact that you were perfectly fine with it when you were comfortable. now that i’m not handing you wads of cash and showing up with takeout in the middle of the night, suddenly you’re holier than thou.”
you’re already walking away. grabbing the plates, scooping up danielle gently from her lap, not even looking at her.
“yn,” daniela calls out like she didn’t just say the most out of pocket shit.
you stop in the hallway. danielle’s head is on your shoulder, eyes fluttering. bedtime.
daniela walks up behind you like she forgot who she’s talking to. like everything can just be smoothed over with a joke and a smile.
“don’t touch me.”
you don’t raise your voice. you just say it low and calm, sharper than anything else you’ve said tonight.
daniela freezes with her hand halfway out, fingers curling back slowly.“yn—”
“you really stood in my house, in front of our daughter, and tried to flex about doing illegal shit like it makes you some kind of provider. like that’s love.”
daniela’s quiet.
you glance over your shoulder, just once.
“you don’t get to touch me. not after that.”
you don’t even look at her again. just shift danielle higher in your arms and head straight to her room, your breath tight the whole walk down the hall.
her room is quiet, soft. the nightlight glows pale purple in the corner, and everything smells like lavender and baby lotion. you hum a little as you set her down, not a lullaby or anything sweet, just something low to keep yourself from spiraling.
she stares up at you with heavy eyes, her fingers curling in the sleeve of your sweater like she doesn’t want you to go yet.
“it’s okay,” you whisper, brushing her hair back. “i’m right outside.”
she yawns, and your chest twists. because none of this is her fault. none of it.
you wait until she fully drifts off before slipping out of the room and shutting the door with that soft click you’ve perfected by now. then you head straight to the kitchen.
you don’t even sit. just start rinsing off plates and stacking them in the sink, sleeves rolled up, sponge in hand, water too hot.
you’re halfway through scrubbing when you hear her behind you.
you don’t acknowledge her. you don’t have to.
her hands are on your waist before you even feel her move.
arms sliding around you, slow and familiar, like they never forgot the shape of you. her chest is pressed up against your back, arms curling slow and deliberate around your waist like she’s got any right.
“dani,” you say, jaw tight. “don’t.”
she doesn’t move. she just shifts closer, one hand sliding up beneath the hem of your sweater like it’s second nature. her hips roll forward, and you feel her, heavy and shameless.
“i missed you…” she mumbles, lips brushing just behind your ear.
“and i miss when you knew boundaries.” you stop scrubbing the plate in your hand, but you don’t move. “get off me.”
she doesn’t.
just keeps rubbing against you, slow, teasing. hard, bold, like she’s always been.
daniela chuckles, low and smug. “you say that, but you still made sure i ate. still looked out.”
you rinse the plate off, set it down in the rack.
“i wish you would stop saying that. i cooked for danielle.”
“she’s on baby formula, yn.”
you grab another plate. keep scrubbing. “then i guess i just felt generous. don’t read too deep.”
she leans in again, a little closer. “nah. you don’t do anything unless you feel something.”
you slam the last plate into the rack with a clatter. four dishes. four chances to calm down, yet none of them worked.
you stare at her. curly hair, faded hoodie, chain still glinting under the kitchen light like she’s some kind of walking temptation. like your worst mistake wrapped in silk and bad decisions.
and yet—your body still remembers her. still reacts like muscle memory. you toss the sponge into the sink. “go home, daniela.”
she tilts her head. “this is home.”
you finish drying your hands and toss the towel on the counter. daniela’s still standing behind you, arms crossed now, quiet for once.
you don’t even glance at her as you walk off. “if you’re staying, don’t hover.”
“wasn’t hovering.” she mutters, following anyway.
the living room light’s off when you pass through. you don’t stop. just keep walking toward your bedroom like your mind’s already decided for you and your body’s catching up.
you hear her steps behind you, slow, confident, and annoying.
“so this where we pretend we’re not mad at each other?” she says, leaning against your doorframe.
“no,” you say, pulling off your sweater. “this is where i pretend you’re not stupid, for the sake of my sanity.”
daniela whistles low. “you say that with your whole back out.”
you shoot her a look over your shoulder. “close the door.”
she does. with a smirk.
you crawl into bed, not looking at her, not inviting her in either. just scrolling through your phone, blanket pulled up, pretending you’re chill.
daniela doesn’t ask permission. she never does. she just drops her hoodie too, like she owns the space, then slips off her jeans and slides in on the other side of the bed.
the mattress dips, and the air shifts. you don’t say anything. she shifts closer behind you, not touching yet, but there. “you really hate me, huh?” she asks, voice low in the dark.
you shrug, still not looking. “not enough, apparently.”
“you still looked out,” she says, quieter. “even when i didn’t deserve it.”
you sigh, and it’s heavier than you want it to be.
“don’t make this sweet. you’re not sorry. you’re just horny and bored.”
she laughs into your neck, bold enough to kiss your shoulder. “can’t it be both?”
you roll your eyes, but don’t move away.
“you’re so annoying.”
“and you’re so warm.” she says, wrapping an arm around your waist. she presses closer, hips flush against your ass now, and you feel her—hard, steady, smug.
you suck in a sharp breath. “don’t start.”
“you already did,” she says, voice low, mouth against your skin. “soon as you let me in here.”
you close your eyes, clenching your jaw.
daniela’s not even dressed for the night. she’s dressed for this. oversized tee clinging to her shoulders, boxers riding low on her hips, thighs warm against the back of yours as she closes the space between you like it’s nothing. like it’s always been this easy.
you feel her hand trail up under your shirt, slow fingers dragging along your stomach like she’s relearning you.
“i said don’t start.” you whisper, breath catching.
she kisses the back of your neck, lips soft but her hips anything but. she rolls against you once, slow enough to make your eyes flutter.
“but you never mean that…” she murmurs.
you clench your thighs together, already annoyed at how your body’s responding, how it always responds to her.
“dani…”
“hm?”
“i’m still pissed at you.”
she hums like she likes that. like that’s part of the thrill. “then be pissed. i won’t stop you.”
her hand slips lower, brushing the hem of your shorts, teasing the waistband, knuckles grazing skin.
“you’re so full of shit.” you whisper, voice shaking.
she presses a kiss to your jaw now, slow and soft. “and you’re so wet for someone who hates me.”
you gasp, turning to glare at her, but the moment your faces meet, she leans in and kisses you.
it’s not sweet, it’s desperate. teeth clashing, lips hot, like she’s trying to remind you of every reason you ever forgave her.
and god, it’s working.
you tug at her shirt, dragging her closer without thinking, nails digging into her side.
she groans against your mouth. “fuck. missed you.”
you bite her lip. “shut up.”
her boxers are pressing into you now, nothing between you but flimsy fabric and bad decisions.
“then shut me up.” she says.
you don’t answer her, you just pull her in harder.
the kiss turns hungrier, sloppier. your fingers slip under her shirt, dragging up over warm skin, feeling every flex of muscle as she shifts above you. her hand finally slips into your shorts, and you hiss at the contact.
“fuck—” you whisper, half a warning, half a plea.
daniela just smirks into your mouth, fingers sliding through your folds like she owns you. like she’s been waiting for this exact moment since the last time she left your bed.
“you’re always talkin’,” she murmurs, breath hot against your lips. “but your pussy never lies.”
you moan, sharp and helpless, as she circles your clit slow, teasing like she’s got all night.
“shut up.” you pant, hips rocking into her hand.
“make me.”
so you do.
you pull her shirt up and over her head, tossing it somewhere behind you, dragging your nails down her chest as she groans and leans in again. her boxers are straining, pressed firm against your thigh, and you grind up into her without shame now, every ounce of anger melting into heat.
“take ‘em off,” you whisper, tugging at the waistband.
“say please.”
you glare. “i’d rather die.”
she grins, cocky and flushed, and kicks them off anyway, letting them hit the floor as she shifts between your thighs.
and god—you feel her.
she pulls your shorts off and slides her cock against you, slow and heavy, teasing your entrance with that unbearable smugness she always wears when she’s right.
“missed this pussy,” she murmurs, dragging it up your slit, coating herself in you. “you still grip like you need me.”
you wrap your legs around her waist.
“less talking, more proving.”
she doesn’t waste another second.
she pushes in slow—too slow—and your back arches off the bed, the stretch making your breath catch in your throat.
“mm—fuck,” you whisper, legs already tightening around her waist.
daniela groans, head dropping into the crook of your neck as she bottoms out, hips pressed flush.
“tight as ever,” she mutters, hand gripping your thigh as she pulls back just enough to drag herself through you again. “like your pussy missed me.”
you grab her jaw and tilt her face up, eyes burning into hers. “shut the fuck up.”
“can’t,” she grins, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate strokes. “you always fuck me better when i talk too much.”
you hate that she’s right.
you’re trying to stay quiet—stoic, unreadable—but she knows your body like scripture. every stroke deeper than the last, her pace measured, like she wants to draw the words out of you.
and then she says it.
voice low. dirty. cruel.
“you want another baby, huh?”
your eyes snap open.
“w-what?”
she grinds deeper, cock sliding all the way in, her pelvis flush with yours. she doesn’t pull out right away. just stays there, buried inside, pressing her weight into you.
“that’s what this is, right?” she whispers against your jaw. “you keep letting me in. keep letting me fuck you raw. you tryna trap me again?”
your stomach flips. your nails dig into her back.
“you’re disgusting.” you breathe, even as your hips buck up into her.
“but your cunt is so greedy,” she says, finally starting to move again, slow and filthy. “gripping like it wants it. like you want it.”
you bite your lip so hard it stings, trying not to give her the satisfaction of the moan building in your throat.
“say it,” she growls, pace picking up. “you want me to fill you up again, huh? get you all swollen and pretty with my kid—”
you whimper, legs locking tighter around her waist.
“shut up, daniela.”
she grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her.
“then tell me to stop.”
but you don’t.
you can’t.
you just stare at her, flushed and breathing heavy, hating how much you love her like this.
“shit.” you whisper.
daniela smirks, rolling her hips faster now, her cock dragging along that spot that makes your legs shake. “that’s what i thought.”
daniela’s strokes get deeper—more deliberate. not rushed. just ruthless. she’s taking her time now, fucking you like she’s trying to build something unbearable. and you’re barely holding it together.
your hand flies to your mouth, teeth digging into your knuckles as your body jerks beneath her.
“shhh,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “you gonna wake our baby.”
and it’s the way she says our that makes your stomach flip again. like she’s still clinging to the idea of family. like she wants to.
you don’t respond, not with words. you just claw at her back, trying to pull her deeper, grind against her harder, chase the high that keeps slipping just out of reach.
daniela moves one hand between you, thumb pressing against your clit in tight, slow circles that make your toes curl.
you let out a sharp, guttural sound before you slap your hand back over your mouth.
she laughs, breathless and smug. “you’re so fuckin’ loud.”
“shut up.” you hiss, your voice trembling.
“nah. you gotta learn how to whisper please, baby.”
your thighs start shaking, whole body tensing as her cock pounds into you, her pace not frantic but intentional—like she knows exactly how close you are and wants to keep you right there, strung out on the edge.
you turn your face into the pillow, biting down hard, but a moan still rips out of you, quiet and wrecked.
daniela groans, hips stuttering. “shit—you always this wet when you hate me?”
“you’re a piece of shit.” you whisper, broken and breathless.
“oh yeah, i love when you call me that.”
you grab her hair and yank her down, kissing her like it’ll shut her up, like it’ll make this whole thing less filthy, less real. but it just makes it worse.
she ruts into you harder, losing her rhythm for a second, groaning into your mouth like she’s starting to lose her edge too.
you feel it building again—tight, hot, impossible to ignore.
her thumb’s still working your clit, her thrusts hitting perfectly now, your legs wrapped around her, bodies locked so close it’s like you’re trying to disappear into her.
your breath catches and your eyes flutter.
“daniela—” you gasp, barely able to get it out.
she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your mouth again, sloppy and deep.
“i got you,” she whispers. “cum for me.“
and that’s it.
your body locks up, hips jerking, walls clenching around her so tight she groans out loud and slams into you one last time, staying buried deep as you fall apart underneath her.
it’s messy. breathless. muffled by your hand and her mouth and the sheer desperation of trying not to cry out.
daniela bites your shoulder, whole body trembling as she finally lets go too, spilling inside you with a choked-out moan that she tries—and fails—to keep quiet.
you both stay there, clinging. breathing heavy. drenched in sweat and bad decisions.
the baby monitor in the corner stays mercifully silent, for now.
you’re still catching your breath, head pressed to her shoulder, heart thudding way too loud in your chest.
daniela shifts just enough to look at you, her hand still lazily tracing shapes into your thigh like she didn’t just rearrange your guts.
you don’t speak right away. neither does she.
you glance at her chest rising and falling. sweaty. flushed.
you hate how pretty she looks like this. how soft her eyes get right after.
“you okay?” she whispers finally, voice hoarse.
you roll your eyes, but it’s weak. “you askin’ now?”
“yeah,” she says, smirking a little. “just making sure i didn’t break you.”
“please.” you scoff. “you wish.”
she chuckles low and leans in to kiss your cheek. just a soft little press of her lips that makes your chest tighten before you can stop it.
you don’t pull away, but you don’t lean in either.
“i missed this.” she says, after a beat.
you exhale through your nose. “you missed fucking me.”
“no.” her voice is quieter now. “i mean, yeah. but also…us.”
you stare at the ceiling.
“you think fucking me erases all the shit you’ve done?”
she goes quiet for a second.
“no. but i think it means you still care.”
you look at her finally, eyes half lidded, mouth tugged down.
“if i didn’t care,” you murmur, “i wouldn’t still be this mad.”
she nods, fingers gently brushing your side, like she’s calming herself more than you.
“i’m trying,” she says softly. “i know i fuck up. i’m not gonna lie and say i’m perfect. but i’m still here, aren’t i?”
“barely,” you say under your breath. but you don’t really mean it.
she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a little closer, her nose brushing your temple.
“she’s beautiful,” she whispers. “our daughter.”
you feel your chest tighten all over again.
“yeah,” you say, just as soft. “she is.”
and then you both go quiet again, listening to the faint hum of the baby monitor, the sound of her soft, even breathing from the next room.
daniela kisses your hair, and you close your eyes. for now, the fight can wait.
take a shot every time yn says “shut up” like damn, also the header is so bunz bc i didn’t feel like looking for pictures 💔
