#sometimes I make things for me and me alone

[sobbingscripter]

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🪻wc. 5096🪻୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Awh, sick! It looks like the Coraline stone-thing!”

“Don’t,” You swats at Mark’s hands, “fucking spread it! You sick freak.”

“Caroline, Caroline.” Mark snickers, the edges of his lips curling as he pushes your thighs further apart, guiding them to rest on his broad, sinewy shoulders and his breath ghosts over your exposed cunt. His hands massage the softness of your legs, fingertips sinking into the plush before he presses a kiss against your sloppy folds.

Peering up at you through his lashes, seeing the way your neck does that little double chin from the way you’re propped up on your elbows, the edge of your SeaWorld T-shirt pushed up just above your navel and Mark’s brows furrow.

“We’ve never been to SeaWorld?”

“I punched a kid because he kept slapping the stingray on the back. So I took his T-shirt.” You hum quietly, lifting one of your hands to thread through Mark’s hair, watching the way obsidian strands slip from your fingers like fine grains of sand. And Mark snorts.

“That doesn’t explain why you were there?”

“I was protesting. Well, I protested for 20 minutes, and then, I went to go get a snack and like... I was escorted off the premises by security.”

“Is that why Omni-Man came home smelling like salt water?” Mark hums quietly, his chin resting on your mound, fingertips tracing idle patterns around the faint lines in your skin.

“Yeah, he came to come pick me up.” You respond with a huff of laughter, the apples of your cheeks turning rosy at the memory before you swallow, the room filling with a silence that’s just a bit too heavy for your liking. And your nails scratch at Mark’s scalp. Just to soften him up before you say something that’s... I gonna upset him.

“Mark... You can still say ‘dad’...” Your voice is soft. “He was still, you know, your dad.”

“He called my mom a pet.” Mark states, expression hardening as he meets your gaze, brows furrowing into a frown.

“Mark, me and you both know your mom walked him like a dog.” You let out a heavy breath. “The pet thing was probably just a—”

“You don’t know what it felt like.”

The room goes dead silent. Quiet enough for Mark to hear the way your breath halts in your lungs, quiet enough for him to hear the way your heart constricts the tiniest bit and you swallow.

“I didn’t mean i—”

“No, it’s okay.” You suck your teeth. “You lost your dad. It hits... Harder for you. Because like, the last thing he did to you was yell at you, and the last thing I got was a kiss on my forehead.” Your eyes begin to sting. “Like he wasn’t about to beat you to death afterwards.”

There’s the most uncomfortable pain that begins to settle in your belly, and before you know it, your thighs are moving from Mark’s shoulders, the warmth of your body eluding him and you shift.

“I— I’m sorry but I don’t think we should do anything tonight. I kinda just wanna be alone.”

Mark pushes himself up, his shirt strewn tightly across his broad chest, but right now, you can’t even properly appreciate the way his muscles flex with each of his movements. Not with the heaviness in your belly that seemed to drop onto your spirits like an anvil crushing glass, piercing shards sticking into your heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod your head, mustering a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Viltrumites are the bad guys. Aren’t they?” Your voice is tiny as you settle in the spot beside Nolan, your leg bumping against him just a little bit. Your hands still damp from the chilly condensation of the glass you had handed Nolan. The half empty glass that had dripped a little circle onto the varnished wood.

Nolan’s thick brows furrow, before he looks down at you. At the way you stare up at the sky with those wide eyes, flashes fluttering and chubby cheeks rosy from the slight frost in the air.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because sometimes, making things ‘better’, is like... Code for ass—as-assimil— ugh. Ass—smili—lation.” You respond quietly, sounding it out.

You’ve always been smarter than Mark. By a shameful longshot. You saw things for what they really are and right now, Nolan’s seeing firsthand.

“We’re not like that.” He hums.

“Promise?” You peer up at him with those doe eyes, innocence swirling along the flecks of light that reflect off the glossiness of your eyes and Nolan swallows.

“Promise.”

Your hands flip over the smooth ridges of the Omni-Man figurine, your lips curled into a frown, teary doe eyes focused on the painted face, that friendly smile and stupidly iconic moustache.

“I got you one of those... Boyband hoodies.” Nolan hums, tossing the thick, cotton at you, his gaze lowered to the letters in his hands as he continues to sort through the male.

“Which one?” You hum quietly, your nails tearing the thin, almost clingy plastic that protected the fabric.

“The Korean ones.”

“BTS?” Your lips curl into a wide gleam, excitement buzzing beneath your skin.

“Yeah, those ones.”

And you stare down at the hoodie in your hands.

“Mr Nolan, I think you were scammed.” Your brows furrow. “These are random Korean guy— who are these people?”

Your laughter bubbles.

“Are you sure?”

“Mr Nolan, these people aren’t even celebrities...”

Soft, choked sobs manage to escape you, mixed with teary huffs of laughter.

“Who the fuck’s that?” Mark questions, brows furrowed as he stares down at your hoodie, watching the way you remove all your stationery from your bag, setting your desk ready.

“They’re a super underground Korean group.” You hum.

“They look like BTS but not quite there.” William interjects, elbows braced on his desk.

And you gasp. “William! Not all Korean people look alike! I’d expect this from Mark but not you.”

“I’m literally half-Korean!”

You can feel the way the piercing pain in your belly gets worse and you can’t help but think of how lucky Mark is. The rug was ripped out from beneath him abruptly, paired with copious reasons as to why he can and definitely should hate Nolan.

You just… couldn’t.

Every day, the rug was pulled a little bit more and every day, it hurt more. Every day, you send the same ‘good morning’ text with the sunrise emoji, every day. You never fail to do it. Not even when you have a flu.

And every day, you can’t help but hope for that ‘morning kiddo’ at the top of your screen. But it’s never there.

He's never there.

And you have to get used to it.

“Your mom slipped Debbie a dollar, which she slipped to me so…” Nolan clears his throat, wiping those burly hands along his jean-clad thighs. Before he inhales sharply.

“When a man—”

“Mr Nolan, I know how sex works.” Your brows furrow, expression pinching into a distasteful grimace.

And Nolan gleams.

“Great. Pass the knowledge on.” And with a heavy pat on your back, Nolan pushes Mark towards you.

And you swallow. “Well. When your mom and dad—”

“NOLAN! MAKE HER STOP!”

“Yourdadplowedyourmathroughthemattress!”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Mark, what did you do?”

Debbie folds her arms across her chest, eyes hardened into a frown, and lips twisted.

She watches the way Mark shifts underneath his covers, a ratty GDA T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, fabric tight around the curves of his biceps and he pushes himself up, covers pooling at his hips.

And his brows furrow. “I didn’t do anything?” Mark answers, although, it’s more like a question than a statement.

“That’s the 18th time ‘No One Noticed’ has played since you left there.” Debbie huffs, her slippers shuffling across the floor before she sits at the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping just a bit beneath her weight. And she places a hand on his calf, the warmth of Mark’s body tangible through the thickness of his comforter.

And Mark swallows.

“I told her she didn’t get it.” His gaze flickers down towards his lap, shame visible in his expression. “When Omni-Man—”

“Markus Sebastian Grayson.” Debbie spits his name like a slur. “If I could, I’d slap the ever-loving shit out of you.”

Debbie brings a hand up to cover her face, in what Nolan would call ‘the Korean Shame’ cover and she inhales a sharp, shaky breath.

“Mark—”

“I know, m—”

“No, you don’t know, Mark.” Debbie interrupts. “You, didn’t lose more than her. Maybe biologically, but not more. You know her parents aren’t home a lot, and when they are, it’s like, nitpick nation.”

She shifts comfortably, powdery blue robe shifting as she crosses her legs, making herself comfortable, elbows braced on her knees and she lets out a low, exhausted huff.

“Your father—”

“Omni-Man—”

“Your father,” Debbie pauses, eyes narrowing as she waits for Mark to interject once more, before continuing, “did a lot of good. Yes, it was a literal pyramid scheme but, nowhere in that pyramid scheme, did he have to be that good to her. He wanted to be good, and she knows that.”

“But he wasn’t—”

“Mark, just because he ended up the way he did, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to miss the memories.” Debbie sighs.

“When you hit your first homerun, when you had your semi-formal, the pumpkin carving contests, trick-or-treating. When he took you to get your costume—”

“It’s a supersuit—”

“It’s gay. Your mouth and fingers are the only things sticking out. It’s a colourful gimp suit.”

“So, I’ve got notes—”

“No she doesn’t, sir. The suit’s amazing.” Mark grins at Art, before continuing to look around, examining the other suits that have yet to be coined and worn. Tracing his fingers along breastplates and gauntlets.

“What’re are the notes, girly?”

Your lips purse as you plop down in the seat beside Art, your gaze lowered to where withered fingers push fabric underneath the jittering needle of a sewing machine. Slow and controlled.

“Why’re the suits so tight?” You question.

“They’re aerodynamic, doll.” Art smiles. “Maximum movement.”

“Why don’t the suits have… prints?”

And he snorts. “Codpieces.”

“Then why does Omni-Man have a print?”

“Please stop talking about my dad’s dick, dude.” Mark interjects, his voice distant as he continues to wander around the shop, his footsteps quiet on metallic floors.

“He didn’t want a codpiece. Wanted to ‘show off’ for wife.”

And you coo, pouty lips tugged into an adoring frown. Before you glance towards Mark.

“How does your mom only have one kid?” You question. “You could not pry me—”

“Don’t finish that thought.”

You purse your lips. Letting silence settle in the air.

“—off with tongs and tweezers.”

“Ew!”

“You invalidated her feelings and her experience with mourning.” Debbie’s voice snaps Mark back from the memory, her arms folded over her chest.

“When you know she feels it just as much as you do. She’s a strong girl, Mark but she’s not….”

There’s a heavy silence, tension swelling in the room, anticipation builds with each passing seconds and Debbie lets out a quiet sigh.

“Invulnerable.”

“Invincible, mom!” Mark groans. “You’re supposed to say ‘invincible’.”

“Why? They’re basically the same word.”

“Because,” Mark motions to himself wildly, hands moving with emphatic gestures, before groaning, throwing the covers off himself before huffing.

“I’m gonna go work my jaw, before I get an ulcer in this house.”

And Debbie nods her head, before his words register, and her eyes widen.

“What.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Listen, I’m sorry and I know I was a dick and—”

“—Get out!”

“Are you masturbating?!” Mark’s voice is a loud guffaw, head tipping back as he lets out a bark of laughter. “You don’t even have your pants off— are— what are you even doing—!”

Mark watches as you pull your covers over your head, your body curling up and he can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in thick, shame-capped waves. And he snorts, shuffling closer to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants and you feel the way your mattress dips under his weight.

And you feel the steady heft of his head resting on your shoulder, his chin digging into the soft flesh and you can feel him tilt his head.

“Do you forgive me for earlier?” He questions quietly. “You didn’t lose him any less than I did.”

“No.” You scowl under the blankets, brows furrowing and annoyance burns beneath your skin. “You made me feel bad, and then proceeded to laugh at the way I masturbate.”

And Mark snickers.

“You looked like you were trying to scratch in the glove compartment from outside the car.” He buries his face in the softness of your duvet and the scent of your fabric softener wafts over him, mixed with the faint smell of your lotion.

“There shouldn’t be that much concentration to it. It should be easy.”

“Uh-huh, because you’re the expert.” You bite back, eyes still narrowed when you poke your head out from beneath your cocoon, glaring at Mark. And those dimples in his cheeks deepen.

“Actually, yeah.” He shifts, sitting up just a bit. “I’m a professional Master Bator. Ask any of my socks.”

And you grimace. “Literally, ew.”

“I can show you.” He murmurs. “A free lesson, you know, to make up for earlier.”

And you swallow. You’re still mad but…

“Okay.”

You can be mad later.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Over or under?”

“Over.”

Mark hums softly, shifting his body until he’s wedged between your thighs, broad shoulders forcing the supple flesh apart almost uncomfortably and he keeps his gaze focused on your panties.

A sticky gusset, a few shades darker than the rest of your panties and he brings a hand up, hooking a thick, muscular finger around your gusset, before shifting your panties, pulling them flush against your core.

“Lemme just… Pop the hood.”

He peers up at you through his lashes, a dorky grin plastered on his face, only widening at the way your eyes narrow slowly the longer your gaze is on his.

“Get it? Because—”

“Mark, I’m gonna stuff a sock in your mouth.”

“Fine.” He huffs. “No car talk.”

His pretty brown eyes lower to where your pussy is flush against the cotton, the visible outline of your velvety folds, tucked safely between plush, glossy lips has his breath stuttering in his lungs and he leans forward, pressing his lips against your clit. Feeling the puffy and already overstimulated bundle twitch against his lips.

And he swallows.

His cock twitching in his boxers, definitely leaking sticky precum and staining the front of the strained fabric, but it’s about you.

And you clear your throat.

“So, are you gonna teach me anything?” Your voice pulls him out of his pussydrunk reverie and he’s shaking his head, dragging a finger between your folds, brushing over your clit before coming to a stop at your slit, feeling the way you pulse against his digits. Slick clinging to his fingers, and he swallows. Hard.

“No.” He breathes out. “Fuck, no.”

“Then you don’t have any business down t—”

“Dude, I lost my dad.” Mark peeks at you, his cheek resting against the smooth flesh of your inner thigh, one hand cradling your thigh against his cheek and the other resting on your mound, pudgy thumb pressing against your twitchy clit through your panties.

“Bitch, I lost your dad too?” You retort.

“Exactly.” Mark breathes out. “Let’s find comfort in each other. Help me, help you.”

And the laughter falls from your lips with ease, giggles slipping free and your cheeks turn rosy. “Bitch, be so for r— shit…”

Your brain feels like it’s melting when Mark’s drags his tongue over your fabric-covered panties, the hand on your mound moving and resting against your inner thigh, a calloused index finger trailing over your slit. Pushing slightly, shallowly dipping into your cunt by barely an inch, but being pushed away by your stretchy panties.

And you swallow hard.

Feeling the way he laps at your stickiness, his brows bunching and his lashes fluttering as his eyes shit, fingertips pressing against your aching core, his tongue dragging over your pulsing clit. Pulling your folds and cotton into his mouth alike, before he frowns.

“S’not enough…”

Your panties are nearly soaked.

Pillowy thighs press against his ears, your belly dipping and twisting at the way he presses his face into your messy cunt, like he’s trying to paint his skin with the smell of your slick.

“How do you even—”

“Fingers, Mark.” You deadpan. “And like,” you let out a huff of breath, bringing up one of your hands to rake through his hair, pushing the raven strands out of the way before you sigh softly, “okay, if I take off my underwear, it defeats the purpose.”

“The purpose,” Mark hums, “is for us to heal. And to find inner peace.”

“You’re trying to find peace in my ‘inners’.” You scoff. “That’s not the purpose.”

“My dad left my mom and I. I’m being raised by a single mom.” Mark lets a heavy sigh, his forehead resting against the swell of your thigh, and he watches you from the corner of his eye.

“I’m gonna have to step up.” He swallows. “I’m the man of the house now… I’ll need to do taxes and—"

“If I take off my panties, will you stop talking?”

“Immediately.”

As soon as your panties are flung across your bedroom, Mark’s spitting at your cunt. Watching as the wad drips down between your already sticky folds, before he’s sliding his tongue between your puffy pussy lips, heat blossoming behind his flexing abs, hips shifting and twitching uncomfortably against your sheets before he’s sucking on your clit.

Needy and whiny noises leave him as he motions for one of your pillows. And with bleary eyes and fuzzy thoughts, you hand it to him with your free hand, your other buried in his hair, fisting obsidian strands and he mumbles out a muffled ‘thank you’.

As he wedges the cushioning between his thighs, and under his hips.

Mark laps at your cunt needily, hands braced on your inner thighs, keeping your legs spread as he drags his tongue along your puffy folds.

His chin and lips are smeared with slick, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide as he watches your cunt twitch, hole clenching around nothing and the sight makes his brain so fuzzy.

“Your pussy’s so perfect.” He breathes out, tongue outstretching before he’s ping the wet muscle into your spasming channel, moaning at the way your thighs tense and quiver beneath his warm palms. And Mark tonguefucks you like he gets paid to do it.

Like it’s on his vision board. Like he had it on his T-shirt for career day.

Your orgasm is rapidly approaching. That burning feeling in your belly, the way your tummy clenches each time his nose bumps clumsily against your clit, the way the edge of his tongue rubs against those sensitive, gooey walls.

“…fuck,” you gasp, “m’gonna come…”

You fist at his hair, your hips bucking and twitching against his mouth, and Mark feels like he’s drowning. You’re all he’s breathing in, you’re all he feels, his hips rutting against the pillow beneath him as he continues lapping at you.

And when you’re coming, he’s coming.

He’s creaming in his boxers while slobbering over your sloppy cunt, licking up every droplet of your cum, his hips rolling and when Mark pulls away, he looks like he’s walked through Narnia.

Dazed, confused and satisfied with how things ended.

“Did you do something different?” Mark smacks his lips just a bit and your brows furrow.

“What do you mean?”

“No, it just tastes different.”

And there’s a silence.

“Mark, why the fuck would you say that!” You fling a pillow at his face, and his nose scrunches, eyes shutting as it collides and he grins.

“M’just kidding.” He reassures. “It tastes good.”

And his hands bracket your hips as he leans forward, his chest brushing against yours, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You… taste good.”

Mark’s hips slot between your thighs, his still hard cock pressing against your core and he rolls his hips lazily, lips pressed against your thrumming pulse.

“Please, let me fuck you.” He breathes out, pressing sweet and soft kisses against the supple skin at the side of your neck, his hips rutting against you with no rhythm, hands pawing at your hips and waist.

“Uh… no.”

And Mark’s whole body freezes, before he’s pulling away, gaze flickering over your expression before he nods, sitting back on his haunches and he takes his fingers through his hair.

Pushing the strands back.

“I respect your decision to… not take it further. Do you wanna cud—”

“Mark, I wanna blow you.” You deadpan. “You can hit afterwards.”

Those big brown eyes widen as he stares at you for a moment, his brain rewiring and his heart pounding in his chest, before he holds up a finger.

“Give me like, a minute.” And he’s pushing himself from your bed, moving into your bathroom. “Don’t change your mind!” And you hear the sink running.

“What are you even doing?” You sit up, reclining on your elbows as you look towards the shut door of your attached bathroom.

“Washing… Something.” Mark calls back, his voice a bit lazy and its very, very clear that he’s preoccupied with something else and you let out a huff. “Don’t dip your dick in my basin.”

“You want these balls clean or not?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Are you ready?” You hum quietly, lips pursed in contemplation as you sink to your knees, the soft tufts of your carpet tickle the skin of your knees and shins. And you’re chewing on your bottom lip, rubbing your hand over the bulge in his sweatpants, and Mark nods. Swallowing hard.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” His hands twitch nervously at his sides, fingers flexing as they twist and clench the bedding, fabric crinkling under his grip as he stares down at your hand. The way you palm him through his sweats, his ruined boxers discarded into your laundry bin.

And he swallows again, lifting his hips just enough for you to peel the waistband away, lowering it just enough and his cock springs, sticky precum glossing his tip and running down his shaft in little beads.

His breaths stutter when you wrap your hand around his base, your thumb tracing over a vein before you stroke him. One, tantalizingly slow stroke, and he feels the way your grip tightens, forcing out another droplet of pre and he whines.

“Mm—fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Already?”

“I’m sensitive!” Mark argues, and he gasps when he feels your thumb trace along his sensitive and nerve-packed frenulum, and his head tips back, his throat bobbing. Before he swallows, shaking his head and his hand moves to grasp your wrist, his palm’s sweaty and hot against your skin.

“I don’t—”

He’s in the middle of his sentence when he sees the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes. Your cheeks warm and reddened, big doe eyes focused on him and your lips are so, so fucking soft when you press a kiss against his tip.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Mark’s tapping the head of his cock against your bottom lip, his brain going fuzzu when you make those sloppy spit bubbles, lathering his cock in saliva, before your lips are parting, wrapping around his flushed and leaky tip. And his eyes roll back his head.

“Holy— shit... Your mouth feels so good…”

Mark goes boneless when your cheeks hollow, a hand moving to cover his mouth but it’s pointless when it comes to muffling those moans, he whimpers like you’re touching his soul’s prostate. Your tongue dragging along the underside of his cock, tracing along the veins, your eyes focused on Mark’s expression, watching the way his brows furrow.

Watching the way his lips part and the way his chest heaves, deep, ragged breaths leaving him breathless.

“Fuck— I can’t— your teeth—”

You always wondered if Mark’s invincibility extended to his dick. And now you know it does. Because every time your teeth scrape him by accident, he whines. Lashes fluttering and hips twitching, pushing his cock just a bit deeper into your mouth.

And you inhale through your nose, before you lower yourself. Your throat bulging just a bit, your eyes watering and your lungs stuttering when you hear that pitchy whine Mark lets out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck— ‘m coming.” He pants, a hand fisting your hair as he comes, hot spurts of pearly cum painting the inside of your mouth and throat. Hips twitching, fucking into your mouth and your nails dig into your sheets, gripping for dear life and you honestly think you’re about to pass out before Mark’s pulling out of your mouth.

Cock slick and glossy, coated with cum and spittle, and he swallows hard, looking down at you with bleary eyes.

“How… lon—”

“Five minutes.” You hum quietly, wiping the mess away from your chin before you rest back on your haunches. “I’m not gonna lie, I lost a little respect for you. Quickshot.”

Mark scowls. “Fuck you.”

And he pants, wiping away the drool from his own chin before he lets out a sigh.

“Can I hit?”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

If Mark had told his younger self that he’d be watching your ass bounce off his carved hips, your face tucked into your pillow and your whines filling his ears, his younger self would say….

‘What ass?’

Mark’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet each brutal thrust that has your nails digging into your pillow, your back arched like a ski slope and your bottom lip wedged between your teeth.

You’re basically a puddle beneath him, panted mewls and breathy praises fall from your lips with ease, your voice so sickeningly sweet while your cunt clamps down on Mark like a vice. Forcing him to push out sticky beads of precum, and one of his hands move to the small of your back, putting you a deeper arch and you moan.

“Holy shit—” You gasp, “—you’re s’fucking deep. Oh my God—!”

Your TV plays some stupid movie that neither of you’ve bothered to look at what it is, and Mark’s lips are parting, ready to spew some nasty bullshit before a moan echoes from your TV screen.

His hips halt just a bit, and you’re pushing yourself up to glance towards the TV, and you both forget what you’re doing.

“What? What— what is he touching?” Mark’s brows in confusion, one hand grasping your hip while the other rests on your spine and you look towards the screen.

“Haven’t you seen this? Okay, wait— So, this guy’s like, in another guy’s dick. He’s a Supe.”

“What’s a Su— Oh, holy fuck!” Mark’s fingers dig into your hips, his eyes wide and expression pulling into a disgruntled and disgusted grimace as he stares at the blood-clad man on your screen. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s The Boys.” You answer, looking at Mark over your shoulder. “You’ve never it before?”

“I think I’d remember seeing the inside of a dick.” Mark grimaces, before sucking his teeth. “Is it good?”

“Literally, so good. It’s so fucked up but like, it’s so good.”

And there’s a quiet, almost contemplative silence that fill your room, the flickering of your TV and the soft humming of your fan and Mark’s expression twists with thought.

“Raincheck on the sex?” He questions.

“If you can keep your boner, we can keep fucking.”

“I can keep it.” Mark reassures. “Let’s spoon.”

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Aren’t— mm— aren’t you gonna watch?” Mark’s hips grind into yours, his elbow hiking up one of your legs, hooked under your knee while he fucks into you. Big brown eyes focused on your TV, moans bitten back into quiet groans and you shake your head.

Your face tucked into your pillow, biting down on your bottom lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve watched until like, season 4, I think.” You respond breathily, your eyes rolling back in your head as you’re pushed towards your fourth orgasm and you whine.

Mark’s fucking you lazily.

His attention entirely on the TV screen because once again, that nerd in him wins. And it’s as refreshing as it is frustrating. You’re rendered to a cockdrunk mess, drooling into your pillows and creaming like a whore, while Mark’s focusing on men in capes and heroic escapades.

All while stuffing you full of his cock.

“Black Noir’s supposed to be like, their Batman, right?” He whispers in your ear and you shake your head.

“N-no…” you breathe out. “Their Batman’s this —mm.. fuck— this other guy and he’s a fucking w-weirdo…”

You’re gushing, so much that you don’t know if or if you’re still coming. You’re so sensitive, and each twitch of Mark’s cock has your brain pouring out of your ears, feeling the way he grinds against that spongy spot, making your lips part to let out saccharine moans.

And Mark glances down at you.

You’re so weak against him. Curled up, face burning and drool soaking into your pillow, teary eyes and puffy lips, raw bitten and shiny with spit. And he swallows hard, bringing his free hand down. Calloused fingertips circling your clit and your brows pinch as you moan.

“Shhhh. Focus on the TV.” He instructs quietly, his head dipping to press a kiss against your tear-stained cheek.

You’re so dizzy. You’re so close to passing out and your heart’s beating like you did 4 lines of coke. And Mark’s lips are brushing against the shell of your ear, tugging at your lobe playfully before he’s whispering to you. So sweetly.

“You look so pretty.” He’s circling your clit like he’s got all the time in the world. Fucking you into another dimension and he inhales sharply when he feels you clench around him, rhythmic spasms milking his cock and he whines, his face tucked against your neck.

Hs heart’s pounding and he thinks that right now’s the time to ask you. When you’re barely coherent and you’re greedily sucking his cock into you.

Now.

It’s perfect. And Mark inhales sharply, lifting his head and angling it so those big brown eyes are focused on yours.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He whispers quietly. “Please?”

T🪻A🪻G🪻L🪻I🪻S🪻T

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[dawnicaltarot]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃: 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile one

if the mandela effect was a personality it's probably them. vivid, intense and lucid. people do falsely accuse this person and have negative assumptions on them. but the truth is— they feel lost and they are trying to get to know themselves in a realistic manner. they think no one will ever be worried about their existence even if they try and keep pretending as another person they actually not. i can say they can passed as a celebrity and actor. their traits talks about having a good leadership and a future visionary individual. this is a type of person who won't let an opportunity to slip out in with their bare hands. because they believe that dreams should be made and not just sleeping in the corner of your desire. it's a mood of strike while the iron is hot— taking advantage of the opportunity yk. they usually isn't afraid to take a risk this is probably one of the reasons why they got a lot of people who follows and looks up high on them. they are respectable i should say. they can be competitive especially at project and work, they usually want to appear stronger than others. they got names and line of people that believe on them. well, sometimes they doubt themselves too like "what if i can't make it?" or "what if this plan can lead into complete disaster and failure?" but you know what's more interesting? it's their ability to appear optimistic all the time in every scenario or situation. it's an energy that no matter how dark the day is, the small faith in them always takes the lead. this power that can gain their strength to continue, to pursue. they can have a younger age than you or a physical appearance of young. otherwise, regardless with their age they are still carefree. they have a strong desire for exploring especially new places and skills and even new beginnings. thus, i can sense that this is a type of lover that is willing to pour a lot of affection into your empty cup. while, having them around? hell yeah, they can make you comfortable at the same time it feels like you are included, heard and seen. perhaps, they have this belief that kindness should be normalized. if giving is a gift? your person keeps winning on it. they usually have value for every living thing in this world— special mentions to children, animals and to our mother earth. they are constantly looking forward on how they can improve themselves to be better individual in society. they may have a problems with their past relationships and this lead them to putting a blame on themselves on why every of their past relationships lead into an end or even fail to stay longer.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile two

your person has a completely different personality than the first group. this is someone who is a homebody, it's their comfort zone. they usually avoid crowded places and may have fear of judgement or maybe have social anxiety. they were reminding me of a clam who is usually shy, reserved but inside they are hiding a fervent support to a specific person and things such as anime or documentary. they are good with calculating things at once, i should say, they are smart. they like brainstorming a lot. hence, they have a huge potential to be an owner of a huge business or company like a president or a ceo. i see that they were craving badly to end some generational cycle, they really eager of changes. perhaps, it's easy for them to cut people off especially if they are visioning it as a person who has an ill and harmful intention towards them. also, they are the type of individual who like to limit people in their life. their current energy is leaning towards of alone and depression— there's a huge disappointment and loss with their side right now, maybe someone stole something from them or deny them or if not, they got betrayed from a person who they considered trustworthy. otherwise, no matter what scenario this is. it lead a big disappointment, regret and frustration on their side (mostly in their inner thoughts) but this not make them as someone who want a revenge, after all resentment is not their thing. it's giving an energy to me "it's over and done, what else can i do?" yk, it's such a pure and very mature individual. have i already mentioned that this is a strong soulmate connection? well yeah. you and this person have an ultimate soul connection. it's giving a mood of love at first sight to me😌📜— that will make you a thought of "this is it, they might be the one i were looking for". wow just wow🙀! you may meet them through your social events and interaction like i vision two people getting invited in a wedding that will be held in a fantastic and magical garden. i also have a little scenario here that you may choose the same cup at the same time and you two will be accidentally touch each other hands and will removed it right away because you feel the ground and spark. for some reason, i'm getting you may marry this person right away or this can be an arrange marriage because there's an agreement and union here. also, there's a possibility here that you may meet them in three years from now? or the age gap can be three years and up. they seem to have a younger face than their age. their physical appearance says; they have a big pair of ears or if not, they have a sharp hearing, a heart shaped lips paired with captivating beaming teeth. they may work as gynecologists. otherwise, their work need them to deal and interact with feminine energy. they may have a collection of jewelries and accessories, you may often see them wearing a specific ring. people first assumptions on them is that they're cold, unapproachable and selfish but that's actually the opposite of their personality since they're typically shy and kind-hearted. when it comes to their family, they like to laugh, join and share love and stories with them. their family may own a resort from a specific warm country, i think this a vacation home. if that's not the case, they like to visit and travel in warmer countries. they typically good at sports especially with volleyball and basketball regardless of their gender of course. they might be into sun-kissed skin people.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile three

ohh a knight. your person loves to protect their loved ones and themselves from this crazy and toxic world. it's an aura of fighting a tooth and nail, they know they are powerful enough to win a battle and rule people. they can be a feminist. experience makes them as sharp individual. sometimes they actually miss important opportunities this is because of lack of focus in reality and them, keep ignoring it and don't want to deal with struggles instead of facing them. i can say they were a little bit hard headed so embrace yourself with that. it's giving me a mood of there's a rainbow after the flood or rain. although they like this saying that tells all worries can be wipe away and you will be able to grow and bloom a new flow energy— they typically don't carry this kind of mindset all the time. their current energy is leaning on "waiting", this can be a new job, a promotion or even waiting for a new love interest. if this is a man physically, they probably have a beard, a mascular body, a medium hair length and height. while if they were a woman physically, they may have tanned skin with a brown to jet black of hair color, a petite body, a distinctive nose, a pair of brown eyes and a round face shape. otherwise, they may have a meaningful tattoo around their shoulder. they may look older than their age. you might meet them around six years from now? or the age gap can be six years and up. their name can be started with the letter "S". you may often see them wearing expensive clothes and necklaces. in case of meeting places, you may meet them at the setting where water is prominent like through a cruise ship, a diving lesson or a sea captain. there's a part in this reading telling that they are lucky to be with you and encounter you in this lifetime. they may have a good singing voice, that can serenade or can sing you a lullaby in the times of your sleepless nights. their favorite color is red, they may own a specific vehicle with that color. they are someone who desire to live (or probably already lived) in city, where tall buildings are made. they may own an apartment, a unit or a house that when you are enter inside it the first thing that will confront you is that it's neat, organize and clean space surrounding. that makes you afraid to step in because you were having a thought you may dirt it. your person has a strong placement of fire signs— aries, leo and sagittarius. otherwise, your person is someone who value traditions and enjoying their time studying the arts in museum. some of their negative aspects is that they can be rowdy, possessive and childish. they can be from any countries from the continent south america. they can be someone who is a first born or may be someone who has a little sister or niece.

all rights reserved © dawnicaltarot 2022-2025 | do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

— ✯ credits to rightful owner of dividers and images that i used for this project.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it. But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can���t help but ache for you.

To be ached and carved for 🤭🥰

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is. What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours? Impossible, but a man could dream.

Sometimes dreams do come true 😌

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Yelena instantly clocks it

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

How he remembers the exact day 🥰🥹

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?” “Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

Love Bucky as a wingman 🤭

Bob wonders what others think you are to him. He wants them to know you’re special. He hopes you know, too.

He is so precious 🥹

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

Of course Alexei would argue like that (fair tho🤷🏻‍♀️)

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again.

Love a desperate man

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain. Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

Period👏🏻

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

Oh I'm sure he would

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?” Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. But he can spiral later; you need him now.

He is so soft for her 🥺

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower.

Urgh that's rough...

But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

...and that certainly doesn't help

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.” He’s just found you. He can’t lose you now. “I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

🥹🥰🥹🥰

ROBERT “BOB” REYNOLDS x F!READER: Four times Bob let’s his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t [3.3k]. » CONTENT WARNINGS: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, bob’s sadness and self-deprecating thoughts. » NOTES: didn’t feel like my usual formatting today, it’s actually so much work?? why do i do this to myself? 😭 anyway, whatever lol. i was actually gonna take a break from writing (again, i know, i’m sorry) but i somehow managed to bang this out today at work so here you go, my first ever bob fic 🫶🏻 happy wednesday!

« truth be told »

The first time he touches you, he does it almost without hesitation.

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it.

But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

He’s restless with it, his palms itching as though something was missing. He wants to know what your skin would feel like under his fingertips, whether your eyelashes would flutter under his touch, and if you’d sigh just the way he would whenever he imagined closing the distance between you.

So before he knows it, Bob’s already reaching for you.

His heart leaps to his throat the moment he makes contact, turning his hand over, using the blade of his finger to brush away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

You look up from your plate, the box of pastries you’d bought for the entire team as an early afternoon pick-me-up still laying open on the table, your eyes widening a fraction when they meet his.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” he trails off, not really caring or even knowing what it is. Bob’s never had much of a sweet tooth, but right now, you smell like almonds and raspberry jam and a touch of something that’s uniquely you… and he suddenly wants nothing more than to taste.

“Oh,” is all you say, staying still as he lets his hand linger instead, his knuckles brushing along the curve of your jaw. You smile, your eyes softening, and for a fraction of a second Bob swears you lean into his touch. “Thanks, Bob.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice or the temptation of your name on his lips, before very reluctantly breaking the connection. His fingers are already twitching with the need to touch you again by the time he puts it back down onto the dining table.

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” he’d say, pointing to his own face, his lips twitching with the fib, and you’d simply lean forward at the same time he did, allowing him to swipe the tip of his finger down your cheek. Trusting, unsuspecting, and oblivious to the yearning expanding like a balloon in his chest.

What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours?

Impossible, but a man could dream.

But sometimes there isn’t anything there at all, but he still dips slightly at the waist, beckoning you with his hand before removing the imaginary thing from your cheek, your nose, or the aching perfection that is your cupid’s bow.

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

—

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

It’s unseasonably cold for the time of year, and Bob’s shivering under his sweater. You have been sent out on an errand to restock the Tower with food and supplies, and Bucky insisted that Bob go with you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?”

“Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

“Plus Bob can help carry your bags,” Yelena joined in, not looking up from the game of Scrabble she was playing with Alexei. “Dad, that is not a word!”

“Says who?” He said, gesturing to the gibberish he’d placed on the board, full of X’s, M’s, C’s, and V’s, but not a single vowel in sight.

Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

But then John nudged her, maybe a little too hard, almost sending her tumbling out of her chair. She glared up at him, before she caught the meaningful look on his face.

“Oh… yeah… erm, nighttime in New York is practically the Purge. Might as well take him with you.”

You gave them all looks of thinly veiled suspicion, but then you just shook your head and turned to Bob as you were winding a scarf around your neck. Smiling, you asked him, “Do you mind, Bob?”

As if he would.

Venturing outdoors is still rather daunting, which is probably another reason why the team’s been so eager to get him out of the Tower. The thought that someone might recognize him makes him sweat, despite the mid-morning chill.

And then the two of you approach a particularly crowded spot on the sidewalk, and Bob’s footsteps falter slightly. You stop as if you sense his hesitation, turning to him just before disappearing into the throng of New Yorkers. As naturally as breathing, you hold out a hand.

“Come on,” you prompt with a shake of your hand when he just stares for a few seconds.

Bob holds on quickly before you can change your mind. You tug him along, squeezing his hand tighter as you reach the thick of the crowd. Bob emerges on the other side of it with pink cheeks that should be almost numb from the biting wind, but instead they are warm with something else.

And even as the horde dissipates, the sidewalk opening up with more than enough space for the two of you to walk side by side, you don’t let go.

He catches your reflections in the glass windows of the nearby shops, you with your head turned away to admire the displays of a flower shop, but your hands still joined together.

Bob wonders what others think you are to him.

He wants them to know you’re special.

He hopes you know, too.

—

The first time he falls asleep next to you starts with him sitting in the dark of his room, his shoulders slumping a little further forward with each passing minute. The others have left on another mission without him, and Bob just wishes he could do something to help.

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

He is hopeful when Yelena says he’s improving, slowly but surely, tries to believe it when Bucky tells him that it will happen soon. He just needs a little more time.

But Bob can’t help but feel like a burden, someone they have to take care of rather than a part of the team. The voice in the back of his mind comes back, a few notes lower than his own, that slight taunting lilt of it latching onto the edges of his subconscious.

You’re worthless, Bobby.

You think they care about you?

You will always be alone.

It will always be just you and me.

He doesn’t know how long he's sat there like that, but the room remains dark now even though someone draws the curtains. Bob shrinks back, as though the beam of moonlight spreading across his lap hurts him, doesn’t even look up when someone calls his name.

“Bob?”

He sighs, closes his eyes against the habitual burn of shame, that familiar heat creeping up his neck. Because he’s never wanted you to see him like this—so sad, so pathetic, wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he hears you kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him gently, patiently, so kindly, “do you want me to leave?”

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again. Despite himself, he’s somehow relieved when he feels the mattress dip slightly next to him, the warmth of your thigh dangerously close to his.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees in the periphery of his vision is your hand, lying face up on your lap. It’s an invitation that’s too sweet for him to deny, and he slides his hand into yours, watching with a strange mixture of disbelief and euphoria as your fingers close around him.

That you would still want to touch him after seeing him like this. That he would find such comfort in the simple meeting of your palms.

His chin lifts when you turn, your other hand coming up to tuck a curtain of his hair behind his ear.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Bob nods, and for one treacherous moment he lets himself believe that you unconsciously seek him out too, that your hands itch to touch him just as his own do for you. And then you’re gathering him into your arms, and he follows without hesitation, falling into your embrace and burying his face into your shoulder.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep but when he wakes, you’re still there.

“Hi,” you breathe, as though afraid you’ll disturb this peace if you speak any louder. Bob doesn’t tell you that he thinks he’ll only find peace if you’re around.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a smile lifting his lips as though you’re breathing life back into him. “Thank you.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Anytime.”

—

The first time you undress in front of him is, well, it’s not like that.

Because the entire time, Bob is furious. He wants to break something, feels the frustration crowding his lungs and resists the urge to just scream it out.

The whole team had frozen when he appeared in the doorway when they got home, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you. One of your arms was slung around Ava’s shoulders as she propped you up, and your other hand was pressed gingerly to your ribcage.

There was a bruise blooming along your temple. Your lip had split in two places, and there was dried blood along your hairline. He could smell fresh blood in the air, even though he couldn’t see any open wounds.

John took a step toward him, one hand up in what seemed to be a placating gesture. “She’s okay, Bobby.”

“Okay?” Bob asked shakily, “she can barely stand.”

“She made it home alive, that’s all that matters,” Yelena reminded him, and while it was somewhat reassuring, it did little to quell the fire in his throat.

“She just needs to rest now,” Bucky told him, inhaling sharply when Bob’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain.

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

For the first time, he wanted to see something burn.

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?”

Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And now, as he stands in your room, his hands are shaking as he pulls a clean set of clothes from your dresser. You limp toward the en-suite bathroom, leaning one hand on the counter and breathing deeply through your nose as you try to peel off your soiled tact-suit.

The second you let out a hiss of pain when the movement tugs at your stitches, Bob is at your side in an instant. He pushes down the panic clawing at his throat, the one that won’t quite settle down even though you’re right here, alive and breathing.

But he can spiral later; you need him now.

Bob gently, so gently, brushes your hand away so he can reach for your zipper. You make eye contact with him in the mirror, nodding, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he slowly helps you out of your bloody clothes.

“I’m going to be fine, okay?” You repeat and he just nods, his hands skimming over your shoulder blades, down your arms, as he helps you undress. His breath hitches as your suit falls into a heap around your feet, when he finds the square of gauze taped over your midsection with a spot of dreaded crimson seeping through. There’s a matching one on your opposite side. “It was a through and through. Missed all vital organs, the doctor said. It’s basically a flesh wound.”

“I should have been there,” Bob finally says when he finds his voice.

“Hey…” you turn to face him, “this happens. It’s part of the job.”

“I can help,” he almost pleads. He presses your hand to the side of his face, trying to hide the sting of tears. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. None of you ever would.”

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower. But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.”

He’s just found you.

He can’t lose you now.

“I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

Bob’s never doubted you before.

He won’t doubt you now, either.

—

The team never leaves Bob behind after that, and when he first tells you what’s in his heart, it’s a quiet, almost unassuming thing.

He hadn’t intended to, although he’s always wanted to.

He wanted to tell you when you all boarded the jet, full of nervous but cautiously optimistic energy now that Bob was with you. He found his spot next to you, ignoring John’s teasing quip and Alexei’s beaming smile, his arm pressed to yours on the armrest between your seats.

He wanted to tell you just before stepping off the plane, when you gave him a reassuring smile and a confident nod, like you were saying you’ve got this. He wanted to call it after you as you rushed into the fray, weapons raised and ready, the others following closely behind you.

He wanted to tell you when he stepped in front of you, absorbing the impact of a bullet aimed straight at your forehead. It bounced harmlessly off him with a high-pitched ping, didn’t even leave a single dent or red mark on his skin, but you still gasped behind him and cried out his name.

But he couldn’t think straight in that moment, could only think about eliminating anything and anyone who’d try to take you from him.

He wanted to tell it to you on the plane ride home, when you brushed his hair back to double and triple check the spot where he’d been hit, undeterred by the splatters of someone else’s blood on his suit.

Bob thought about the man it belonged to. He hadn’t set out to kill anybody, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep you alive… well then, he’d pay it again and again.

“It didn’t hurt at all?” You asked. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, full of affection, exhaling on something of a laugh, “I’m invincible, remember?”

“That we know of,” you didn’t return his smile, “please, don’t do that again.”

Bob didn’t answer, because he knew he couldn’t promise that. Even if he could, it’s not like he ever would.

He wants to tell it to you when you pull him into your room the second you get home, standing close enough that he can count the stars reflected in your eyes.

He wants to tell you everything right now, everything he’s held onto so tightly all this time because he didn’t think that he ever deserved this.

Bob’s been made his whole life to think that this was never in the stars for him. The Void in his chest, the one that he manages somehow to keep at bay most days, still whispers it to him. Still sneers at him for even entertaining the idea he could ever have it, let alone with someone as good as you.

Then you kiss him. Just a peck, the briefest meeting of lips at first. You look up at him searchingly, waiting for him to push you away or say this is a mistake, but he would never. So long as you want it, he’d give you anything.

He’s the one to initiate your second kiss, more firmly this time, with the reverence of a man who believes he would never get to do this again. You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer and closer until your chests are touching.

“Invincible, maybe,” you whisper once you pull away, your voice wobbly as you breathe the words into the quiet space between you, “but not replaceable. Not to me.”

Bob feels something crack open inside him then. He buries his nose in the junction of where your neck and shoulder met, hot tears dripping down the delicate curve there and soaking into your shirt.

He wants more, to let his body tell you what he can’t yet bring himself to say, but finds himself almost afraid of it. It has been a while since he’s been this close, this intimate, with someone he genuinely cares about. Maybe even longer since he’s done it with a clear head.

But you seem content to just hold him, like that first time, as though it doesn’t make him near desperate with want and weak with affection all at the same time. And later, before sleep can claim the both of you, he carries you to the bathroom to wash up. The two of you stay in the tub long after you are clean.

Steam curls into the air, hot water rippling as Bob sits behind you, caging you between his arms as you lean back comfortably against the sturdy planes of his chest.

He says it to you then, murmurs into your skin that he’s found love here.

Bob almost can’t believe it when you say it back.

That night, he falls asleep in your arms again, the side of his head pressed to your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart against his ear.

The darkness in his own begins to recede that much further with each reassuring thump, as though chased away by the dawning of the morning sun.

And you.

Always you.

fin.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[izzih22]

Can you do like a part 2 of whose side are you on and it be Paige gets in a fight with either a teammate or a sibling and azzi is in the middle?

Blood and Anchor

Note: this was hard to write ngl so it’s short sorry also remember it’s just a story it’s not real

It’s supposed to be a chill weekend. Just family visiting from Minnesota, a few laughs, dinner, the usual awkwardness of siblings crashing into the life she’s built away from home.

Azzi even offered to leave give them space but Paige told her to stay. She wanted her there. She needed her there. Azzi is family.

What she didn’t expect was for it to go sideways this fast.

Her younger brother makes a joke something about how she’s “basically famous now,” how she “probably forgets about the rest of them,” and it’s harmless enough until it isn’t.

Until it turns into,

“You’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore.”

And then,

“Honestly, you’re kind of a jerk when you’re around us.”

And then finally—

“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with basketball and that whole perfect image thing, you’d remember what it’s like to be part of a family.”

Paige hears it like a slap. It’s not even yelled, just dropped into the room like a grenade.

Azzi’s head snaps up from where she’s sitting on the edge of Paige’s bed. The silence that follows is sharp.

Paige tries to laugh it off, stiff and bitter. “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

But her voice breaks on the “thanks.” And then she’s up, grabbing her jacket, pushing past her brother without looking back.

Azzi hesitates for half a second before rising, steady and calm. “I’ll go after her.”

She doesn’t wait for permission. She doesn’t need it.

⸻

She finds Paige in the stairwell.

Alone. Sitting on the cold concrete steps with her hands tangled in her hair, elbows on her knees, breathing like she’s trying to keep something in.

Azzi doesn’t say anything at first. She just walks over and sits next to her. Their shoulders touch.

It’s quiet.

And then—

“He thinks I don’t care about them.”

Paige’s voice is low. Raw.

“I give everything I have to this sport. To this school. To being someone they can be proud of. And he says that.”

Azzi watches her closely. “Do you believe him?”

“No,” Paige answers instantly, then quieter, “I don’t think so.”

Azzi reaches out, gently links their fingers. Paige holds on like she’s drowning.

“I’ve missed birthdays,” Paige whispers. “Holidays. I forget to call sometimes. And I know I’ve changed. I had to. I’m doing the best I can and it never feels like it’s enough for them.”

Azzi doesn’t rush to fix it. She just lets Paige talk.

“I already beat myself up for it,” Paige continues. “But hearing him say it… like I’m selfish or fake… it just…”

She stops.

Azzi squeezes her hand. “It hurts.”

Paige nods.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige nods again.

“You are different,” Azzi says. “You’ve grown. You’ve been through hell. You’ve had to figure out how to keep going even when it felt like your body and your mind were working against you.”

She turns toward her. “But none of that made you cold. Or selfish. You love so hard, Paige. You carry everyone. And maybe they don’t always see it, but I do.”

Paige’s eyes finally meet hers, full of glass and hurt.

Azzi shifts closer, brushing her knuckles against Paige’s cheek.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved,” she says. “Not by them. Not by me.”

Paige exhales shakily. “Sometimes it feels like I have to be.”

Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead. “You never do with me.”

And that’s what cracks her.

Paige pulls Azzi into her arms, burying her face in her shoulder, shaking slightly from the quiet sobs that follow.

Azzi wraps around her without hesitation. Rubs soft circles into her back. Holds her like she’s piecing her back together.

“You’re home,” Azzi whispers into her hair. “Right here. Always.”

⸻

They sit there for a long time. Eventually, Paige calms, her breathing evening out, her grip on Azzi no less tight but more steady.

Azzi kisses her temple. “Want me to talk to him?”

Paige shakes her head. “No. I’ll handle it. I just… I needed you first.”

Azzi smiles, brushing hair from Paige’s face. “I’ll always be your first stop.”

And for the first time all day, Paige lets out a real breath.

“Thank God for you.”

[lazysoulwriter]

it's not silly. - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: angst with comfort, jealousy/insecurity, touchiness with others, emotional honesty, gentle reassurance, crying, established relationship, happy ending

---

you always knew how touchy he was.

he was warm. kind. affectionate. the kind of man who touched arms when he laughed, who wrapped people in bear hugs, who kissed cheeks like it was instinct.

you saw it on red carpets. in behind-the-scenes clips. in interviews where his hands would rest gently on a co-star’s back, or he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

and the thing is… you knew it was innocent.

you knew pedro. he was all softness and good intentions. he made people feel safe. seen.

but knowing that didn’t make the jealousy sting any less.

and that’s what made it worse.

you never told him.

how sometimes your stomach dropped watching videos of him laughing with other actresses, his hand on their shoulder like he’d done with you in the early days.

how sometimes you scrolled through tagged photos on twitter and saw comments like “the chemistry???” or “she better be careful omg” and had to shut your phone off.

how sometimes you caught yourself wondering, am i just not built for this?

you weren’t proud of those thoughts. you hated feeling that way. it wasn’t who you were. and you never wanted to make him feel like he had to change — not for you. not for anyone.

so instead, you just… pulled away.

a little at a time.

he noticed. of course he did.

you stopped reaching for him when he got home. stopped sending good luck texts before press events. stopped sitting close to him on the couch. said you were tired. said you had work. said nothing at all.

and he tried to give you space. until he couldn’t anymore.

you didn’t hear him come in that night — the door opening quietly, his voice calling out soft and hopeful, “baby? i’m home.”

you were curled up on the edge of the bed, his hoodie pulled over your knees, chest tight. you weren’t sobbing. just crying in that quiet, exhausted way, where everything feels full and fragile.

“oh, baby—” his voice dropped when he saw you. “what happened?”

you shook your head. tried to wipe your face.

he crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you. “talk to me.”

“it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

a beat.

and then, finally, it cracked out of you.

“i just… i see how affectionate you are with them. your costars. and i know it’s innocent, pedro, i do. but it still hurts. and it makes me feel like i’m being crazy or insecure or not strong enough to handle dating someone like you. and i don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, i hate that person, and—” your voice broke, “i don’t want you to change. i just… i don’t know if i can change either.”

his face fell.

not angry. not hurt. just heartbroken that you’d been carrying this alone.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed to hold you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

you shook your head against his chest. “because it’s not fair. you’re just being you. and i love who you are, i really do. i just don’t know if i’m enough for that kind of life.”

his arms tightened around you. “hey. hey—look at me.”

you did, reluctantly.

his voice was steady. low. honest.

“i love you. you. not the public version of me. not the charming guy everyone sees. i come home to you. i want to come home to you. you’re not weak for feeling this way. you’re not dramatic. and i never, never want you to feel like you have to shrink your feelings to keep me happy.”

you exhaled, shaky and still unsure. “but… you’re so used to giving people that warmth. what if i can’t keep up?”

“then we adjust,” he said simply. “we talk. we make space for both of us. i’ll be more aware, baby. i’ll check in more. i don’t want to accidentally make you feel like you’re not enough, because you are. you’re everything.”

you blinked back fresh tears. “so… you’re not mad?”

he smiled softly. “for what? you told me the truth. you trusted me. that’s the bravest thing you could’ve done.”

you melted into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and warmth.

“and for the record,” he murmured into your hair, “none of them get this part of me. this.”

“the emotional mess?”

“the man who holds you this close when you cry.”

you laughed, watery and small. “you’re annoying.”

“you love me.”

“i do.”

“then let’s talk more. and love harder.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[kxsagi]

“𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧”

a/n: everyone say thank you, landon! he hurt me and now i wrote angst. i’ll never forgive his bitchass for cheating on liz (yes i’m still mad about it) and i pray that she heals fast and thoroughly 🙏

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, ness alexis

itoshi rin

he doesn’t say he misses you. instead, he shows it by keeping everything the same. your mug is still by the sink. your shampoo still in the shower. 

he trains harder than ever, but there’s a hesitation in his eyes, like he’s searching for something beyond the net, like scoring without your "good luck" feels hollow. 

he deletes your contact but memorizes your number. blocks you, but checks your socials with a burner. his pride won’t let him reach out, but gosh, he wants you to notice he’s suffering. 

sometimes he thinks about bumping into you “by accident.” at a café. bookstore. anywhere. but he never goes because he’s scared you’ll already be with someone else. 

he dreams of you. and in those dreams, you always leave again. 

isagi yoichi

he blames himself. rewatches every conversation in his mind like game tape. where did i go wrong? where could i have passed better? loved better? 

he still talks about you like you're part of his life. "she loves that song." "she would’ve liked this." even though the room goes quiet after. 

he keeps every gift you gave him. your first silly drawing, the bracelet you made at some street fair. it’s tucked in his drawer like sacred things. 

you told him once he overthinks everything, so now, ironically, he overthinks that, too. did you mean it as a joke? were you serious? were you already halfway out the door? 

he wishes you’d just tell him you hate him. because silence is worse. silence is hope’s cruel cousin. 

itoshi sae

he lets you go with a poker face. you’d think he didn’t care. but it’s the first time in years he misses a penalty kick. 

he deletes your pictures. not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. too much. and seeing your smile in that yellow-tinted light makes his chest cave in. 

he scrolls through your old texts when he's drunk. replies to them like you're still there. never sends them. 

he never begs. never asks you to stay. but every time someone mentions your name, there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, like grief dressed in quiet clothes. 

he used to be bored of everything. now, he’s just tired. especially of pretending you didn’t matter. 

kaiser michael

you were the first person to tell him he didn’t have to perform all the time. that you liked him even when he wasn’t loud, golden, brilliant. 

he didn’t believe you. not really. until after you left. now the silence around him feels unbearable, like a stage with no audience. 

he flirts more now. louder, emptier. it’s all performance, a desperate echo of who he used to be when you were around to bring him down to earth. 

he keeps expecting you to walk in, roll your eyes, say "you’re so dramatic." but you never do. 

sometimes, he talks to you when he’s alone. not the real you, the memory version. and she’s always a little kinder than he deserves. 

shidou ryusei

he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t talk about it. but suddenly, the fire in him feels more like self-destruction than passion. 

on the field, he’s a menace. fouls more. gets carded more. you were the only one who calmed him down, reminded him of softness. now there’s no balance. 

people call him reckless. a lunatic. but they don’t know he’s trying to feel something. anything. 

he won’t admit it, but your absence tastes like metal in his mouth. bitter. sharp. 

sometimes, he punches the wall and pretends it’s not because he remembered your birthday and realized he has nowhere to send the gift. 

mikage reo

he’s always had money, always had power. but losing you? it’s the first time he couldn’t buy his way out of pain. 

he tells himself you’ll come back. that it’s just a break. that if he levels up, scores more, shines harder, you’ll notice. 

goes to the places you loved together, always ordering your favorite drink and leaving it untouched. “just in case.” 

he practices apologies in the mirror, over and over. never sends them. because every version feels too small for what he broke. 

his smile is still perfect, still charming, but if you look too close, it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. 

nagi seishiro

he doesn't understand why you're gone. he replays the breakup like a confusing side quest with no clear ending. 

sleeps way more than usual. not because he’s lazy, but because dreaming of you is easier than being awake without you. 

when he plays games now, he keeps losing. rage quits more often. "it's boring," he says. but it’s really because the person who used to sit beside him is missing. 

keeps your shirt. cuddles it like a plush. doesn’t say a word when reo comments on it. 

still texts you sometimes. “this meme reminded me of you.” “you’d laugh at this.” you never reply. he still sends them. 

karasu tabito

he jokes more than ever. laughs louder. flirts harder. but his humor has a sharpness to it now, like he’s constantly daring the world to notice he’s hurting. 

people say he's “the same as always,” but they don’t see him standing outside your apartment for 30 minutes just to walk away with a heavier heart. 

started journaling again. you told him once that writing helped with healing. he writes like you’ll read it one day. 

won’t admit it, but he plays dirtier now. more aggressive, less patient. “love made me soft,” he says. like it’s a curse. 

he misses your voice. not just your words. the sound of you saying his name like it meant something. 

bachira meguru

he paints you. over and over. sometimes with wings. sometimes with broken glass in your smile. always with love. 

still talks to his "monster" about you. "you think she hates me now?" "do you think i scared her off?" 

he’s still sunshine to everyone else, but when he's alone, the silence is suffocating. 

your absence changed his art. darker colors. messier strokes. people praise his “emotional evolution,” but he just misses being happy. 

he goes to the park where you first kissed and sits on the swing for hours. waiting. just in case you remember, too. 

ness alexis

he always said you made him feel seen, not just as a shadow to kaiser, but as his own person. now that you’re gone, he forgets how to exist without comparison. 

overcorrects. becomes louder, flashier, more dramatic. like if he’s impressive enough, you’ll regret leaving. 

still wears the cologne you bought him. even though it makes him nauseous with memories. 

he swears he’s over you. but the second someone mentions your name, his hands start to shake. 

keeps your photo as his lock screen. “aesthetic,” he says. “nostalgic,” he means. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[loricciardo]

TAG YOU LATER, charles leclerc.

pinned rules masterlist

pairing. charles leclerc x indie musician!reader

summary. an up and coming american indie musician tags charles leclerc on instagram after he wins the austin grand prix, never expecting him to see it; let alone comment. when he gets hooked on a dreamy demo she shared, not realizing she’s the one who made it… things spiral fast.

tags. female reader, fluffy, slight cussing, SMAU, usage of y/n as name is unspecified, unaddressed hate comments, reader is an american from texas,

author’s note. hey!!!! i’ve never in my life written a SMAU so i hope this isn’t too shit 😭 feedback is always welcome and appreciated!!!! lots of love ALSO I RUSHED THE END IM SORRY!!!

request are open, not proofread, based on this ask. looking for beta readers! x

🎶 stranger to me (demo) — by your band

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbandmate1, gracieabrams and 3,478 others

yn still not over yesterday. charles leclerc on the podium in my home state??? unreal. also if you see a girl sobbing during the anthem… no you didn’t.

tagged charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari

view all 368 comments. . .

charles_leclerc Merci ❤️ I didn’t see anyone crying I promise 😅 Also great song choice

↳ yn not you actually seeing this 😭😭 wait. wait. you listened to it?

↳ charles_leclerc Yes! On repeat actually. Who is the artist?

↳ carlossainz55 Mate… 😂😂😂

↳ charles_leclerc ????

↳ ferrarifan1 oh charles is dumb dumb

ynluvr128 Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this happening.. in real time?!

random IMAGINE THE CHARLES LECLERC is in your comments what is going on 😭

f1gossipgirl wtf is charles doing here lmao

random Another clout chaser 🥱 F1 isn’t the same anymore with all these wannabe WAGs

yourbandmate1 Way to promote the song go girl xo

↳ yn I DIDNT EVEN MEAN TO

↳ yourbandmate2 well it went up in streams sooo keep doing this 💝💝

charles_leclerc has added to their story!

🎶 stranger to me (demo) — by your band

yn has replied to your story:

yn okay so um. hi 😅 i didn’t want to say anything publicly because i was kind of dying on the inside and it just felt weird to announce but

yn i’m the artist btw

yn or… well my band is 😭 i wasn’t gonna release it but now charles leclerc listens to it apparently so that’s cool

charles_leclerc Wait

charles_leclerc No no no

charles_leclerc You can’t just casually be that good and expect no one to notice 😅

charles_leclerc That’s so cool. You’re seriously talented yn liked this message

yn thank you!!!!! 🤍🤍

yn i’m kinda glad you didn’t know 😭 it feels less weird that way

charles_leclerc Makes sense

charles_leclerc But now that I do know… it’s even more impressive

charles_leclerc You’ve got something special. The lyrics are very well written

yn that means a lot especially coming from someone who’s used to yknow…

yn engines n shit idfk 😭

charles_leclerc Hey!!!! 😡

charles_leclerc I write music too

charles_leclerc Well

charles_leclerc I mess around on the piano sometimes but still

yn wait for real??? youre a musician too??? what can’t you people do 😭

charles_leclerc “Musician” is a very very strong word I’m afraid

charles_leclerc I play a few basic progressions when I can’t sleep

yn honestly relatable af

yn that’s how stranger to me happened

charles_leclerc It’s a sign chéri. It seems to be working well for you ❤️

yn i’ll take that as encouragement to keep making sad little ballads then

charles_leclerc Yes! Please do

charles_leclerc I need new stuff to listen to. You have a very specific vibe and I’m addicted now 😅

yn well damn

yn guess i have to finish my next song 😭 charles_leclerc liked this message

charles_leclerc has followed you back!

liked by bandmate1, yourband, bandmate2, charles_leclerc, tatemcrae, and 7,269 others

yn currently writing songs i swore i’d never let anyone hear. funny how quickly that changes sometimes. #MaybeWeWillShareThisOne #OrWillWe?

tagged yourband, bandmate1, bandmate2, bandmate3

view all 1,655 comments. . .

ynfan this era of her is so raw i’m obsessed

charles_leclerc 👀 Now you have to release it liked by yn and 5,279 others

↳ fan1 omg CHARLES AGAIN??

↳ hater i can’t tell if he actually likes her music or just wants in her pants LMFAO

↳ fan2 He is here before the fanpages are 😭

↳ fan3 is he not embarrassed 💀

carlossainz55 @charles_leclerc Did you switch careers or what?

↳ charles_leclerc I can’t just appreciating good music anymore?

↳ fan he’s SWEATING in these comments lol

lilymhe I vote yes for release DM me the drop 😌

↳ yn only if you pinky swear not to leak it 🤙

↳ lilymhe What do you take me for? 🤙

↳ fan omg not lily being in on it too

↳ fan soft-launch SQUAD confirmed

bff1 drop. the. demo. or we riot.

↳ yn y-y… yes maam 😅 (help she is holding me at gun point)

musicblogger22 I love watching you lean into this. your sound deserves to be loud 🔥

bandmate3 YESSSSSSSS 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

↳ bandmate3fan i want u so bad

f1gossipgirl ok but are we just ignoring the way Charles is basically soft launching in her comments?

↳ yndefender girl what??? 💀 they’re just friends???

charlesfan876 she’s literally milking this attention lol

ynhater4 girl one song on insta doesn’t make you a musician 😭

↳ ynHQ and yet he’s in her likes and you’re in the comments 🫶

f1updatesdaily can someone explain to me why this random singer is suddenly everywhere with the drivers??

random i swear if she doesn’t release this one i’ll cry

yncharlesshipper He’s gonna end up in a song isn’t he 👀

↳ fan he’s already inspired one idk what y’all mean

f1updatesdaily 📸 Spotted: Charles Leclerc out in Las Vegas with American singer-songwriter YN of yourband following the Vegas GP.

The two were seen walking around the Strip late at night after grabbing food. Fans were quick to recognize YN from a recent post where she tagged Charles after his Austin podium, where he left a suspiciously flirty comment. 👀

She is behind the indie track Stranger to Me that Charles recently shared to his story last week.

More than just a coincidence? Swipe ➡️ for more.

#F1 #CharlesLeclerc #Ferrari #VegasGP #WAGWatch #WhoIsShe #YnLn #LasVegas

view all 2,465 comments. . .

ynmusicfan THE WAY SHE’S BEEN LOWKEY FOR YEARS AND NOW THIS??

wagupdates she’s been on a few spotify editorial playlists lately too?? i’m smelling gold diggerrrr

fan “stranger to me” is about to chart isn’t it 😭

wherestheferrari not the guy who plays piano falling for a girl who writes sad songs

↳ charlesfan26 meant to be!!!! we love yn in this house 🏠

ynupdates IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?!?!?!

fan3 not the indie girlies entering the F1 universe now 😭

f1slayyy unpopular opinion but i kinda love this for him

f1anon Y’all she’s American and 4 years younger than him… plot twist

↳ yndefender2 am I the only one who thinks the gap is a little weird 💀 Charles is ancient

f1hatersunite fame-hunting 101 lol

charles_leclerc has added to their story!

yn has replied to your story:

yn are you trying to start rumors or are you just feeling bold today

yn also?? favorite sound????? i’m blushing pls

charles_leclerc Both are true

charles_leclerc Also you blush really easily, chéri

charles_leclerc It’s cute yn has liked this message

f1girlie CHARLES. LECLERC. JUST POSTED A GIRL ON HIS STORY. NO TAG. NO CONTEXT. I’M UNWELL.

lovedovedance wait wait WAIT is that the same girl who dropped stranger to me??? the vibes matchhhh

leclercdaily She had headphones on. “Favorite sound.” He’s either dating her or she made him a playlist that changed his life

goferrari69 not charles soft launching his manic pixie dream indie girlfriend while i cry over my physics exam

ynlovebot OKAY BUT. the caption. the framing. the fact she’s not tagged??? that’s real. that’s intentional. yn x charles era is here

delusionaldutch i fear this is the girl from vegas.

leclercgf we lost girls. wrap it up.

maxverstappenshrine me pretending i don’t care while zooming in and enhancing like i’m on NCIS

charlesloverreal no bc if this IS her then charles has TASTE. this is what a yearning man

haterhoe69 not another one of them falling for the ✨artsy✨ american girls 💀 y’all are weak

carlossainzstannie atp if she gets invited to qatar i’m logging out permanently

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift, georgerussell63, scuderiaferrari, bff1, and 20,369 others

yn wrote a song and found a soft place to land. 🤍truly forza ferrari 🏎️🇶🇦

tagged charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, qatargp

view all 14,972 comments. . .

charles_leclerc Even your captions are poetic. Love you ❤️ liked by yn and 17,252 others

↳ yn ❤️❤️ forever?

charles_leclerc Is that even a question, chéri?

fan OH MY GOD

leclercsleftdimple that deep ass kiss just healed my trust issues

ynupdates her caption?? charles’ comment?? everyone shut up this is love

lando We’ve been knew but congrats Ig

↳ yn jealous much?

↳ lando Of him? Not a chance

↳ yn i meant jealous of me. we know you want a homoerotic relationship with charles liked by 162 others

↳ landofan THIS IS SO??? 😭

leclercnation she writes songs AND makes our boy smile like that?? wife material confirmed

hater27 i tried to hate but i listened to her song and now i’m just confused

WAGupdates this is why we never trust a man’s instagram story. full relationship arc in 4 posts

carmenmmundt She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’s everything. He’s there. Love you.

↳ yn sending all my love carmen 🤍🤍 you’re welcome to hang out in the ferrari garage anytime george pisses you off x

↳ georgerussell63 Excuse me??????

↳ yn everyone is a ferrari fan! forza ferrari george

pierregasly finally. my timeline is at peace.

gracieabrams literally crying at this softboy era you unlocked 😭🫶

lilymhe Miss you girlie!!!!

↳ yn can we date instead

[innerchildabortionclinic]

more birthday reflections

• i'm done lying to my mom about my personal life. if she hates everyone who has ever spoken to me after, I don't even care anymore. i'm not making up fake narratives about everyone's life--including my own--to make things more palatable for her in particular. it's exhausting and frankly humiliating for me personally. plus, since i've moved out now, it's not really necessary to tell her these things--I can choose who I want to associate with.

• I don't think i'm a loser. I often say that as a more simple way of telling people i'm usually either at work or playing video games. I still have social awareness and I know what people think of me, as I work with the general public. sometimes I think i'm far too ethical for my own good, but I believe in mutual respect, so if i'm not being wronged by someone i'm not going out of my way to be an asshole. shouldn't everyone operate that way, though?

• although I don't talk much, I crave human interaction. my mental health has declined increasingly since I moved out, even while it's improved in some ways, and it's getting to an unbearable point. i'm not moving back in with my parents, that's for sure, but this is the last year I live completely alone. do I trust people enough to share a living space? probably not, but I can't just wait for the day I do, because frankly I don't know if that will come. but never say never.

• i'm scared of the future. I can't fully picture myself there.

• i'm less insecure about my appearance now but i'm significantly insecure about my intelligence and level of independence. by my own standards, I am almost bothered by people being interested in me, because I don't understand why when there's women who look like me that are actually successful and competent and not psychosexually confused. this is currently the biggest obstacle in relationships for me--simply not being able to believe I would be a priority to anyone. it holds me back, literally. hey folks this is your sign to not call your autistic child retarded* BTW. might cause some issues later on.

ok going to sleep I just had to confess all this to not go completely insane. i'd kill it as a catholic.

*mandatory "it's not my mom who said that don't worry" disclaimer

[liminalmemories21]

“You believe me, don’t you?” - @apollabarnes

Still slowly working our way through the list - not sure if it's solved our plot problem, but @cecilyv and I have had fun with all the prompts. So, thank you to everyone!

***************

“You believe me, don’t you?”

He understands why Athena buried Bobby in Minnesota.  Appreciates it even. That Bobby finally gets to be with his kids again.

But he wishes there was somewhere in LA he could go to talk to Bobby. The place that feels most like Bobby is the firehouse, but there’s always someone there.  He wants somewhere he can go that’s private, where he can talk to Bobby one-on-one.  Somewhere that he can go and tell Bobby that he’s failing.  That he can’t do the one thing Bobby asked him to do, what Bobby told him he could do.  That Chim’s doing it instead. And, he’s proud of Chim. Is honored to work with him, for Chim to be his Captain.  But that doesn’t make him feel less alone, less on the outside, less like he’s falling farther and farther behind as everyone else moves on.

He ends up at the diner he used to go to with Bobby sometimes after shift.  Is surprised when he walks in and sees Athena there too. He hesitates in the doorway, doesn’t want to intrude on her.  But he leaves it too long, and he takes up too much space, and she sees him, waves him over.

He sits awkwardly in the booth across from her, gives his order when the waitress comes back, fiddles with fixing his coffee. Looks up to see Athena watching him, face sharp and evaluating.

“How’re you doing, Buckaroo?”

He shrugs. “You know.”

She tilts her head. “No. That’s why I asked.”

He sits up a little straighter. “Right. Sorry.”  Resists the urge to say ma’am, if only because she’d give him shit about it. He tries to think of what he can say that’s honest, but won’t make her ask him anything else.  He’s not sure how far he can get in a conversation with Athena that doesn’t end up with him metaphorically bleeding all over the table in front of her, and she doesn’t need that. “Getting by,” is what he comes up with.

She makes a skeptical noise, but seems to take him at his word. They make small talk, about the station, about baby Bobby, how Maddie’s doing, how Chim’s doing as captain, about Eddie coming back. They don’t talk about the elephant in the room – about how none of these questions would need to be asked if Bobby was still here.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurts out. “If I could have traded places with him I would have.” She doesn’t say anything, and he says a little desperately, “You believe me, don’t you? That I’d give him back to you if I could.”

Her face twists. “Honey, I believe you. I also know that Bobby wouldn’t want that. That he’d smack you upside the head for even thinking that. He wouldn’t have traded places with you in a million years, so don’t wish that for him.”

He swallows hard and wishes he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Baby,” she says, “how you really doing?”

He shakes his head. Can’t answer that honestly. Not to Athena.

She takes a sip of her coffee and considers him. “You talking to anyone?”

He shrugs, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  She shouldn’t be trying to solve his problems. “Everyone’s busy. Maddie and Chim have a new baby. Hen’s got her family.  Eddie–” well the less said about Eddie the better. “He’s busy too,” he says lamely.

“Hmm.  What about Tommy?  I seem to recall Bobby talking about you and him once or twice.”

“We broke up.”

Her eyebrows rise.  “Buck, honey, people who are over you don’t answer when you call and definitely don’t steal helicopters and take on the military.  I don’t know what went on between you, but whatever it is, it ain’t over yet.”

[pricegotmedickmatized]

hiiii it's the person who sent you the graves x fem reader request yesterday (idk if you wanna keep track of anons but if so can i be 🦜?) anyway i'm having more Thots about him:

graves bringing his gf(reader) to the shadow company base and having her wander around some empty hallways so he can hunt her down and fuck her (in all his gear ofc. idk what it is about a tac vest but they're fucking sexy). in my head it's a whole cnc/roleplay thing where he's super into it and really leans into his scary military man persona :)

hi pookie!!! i don't have any tracked anons yet but i'd love to start!!! you can definitely be 🦜anon!! (also i hope you liked the first little drabble, this one got...far longer lmao)

you should have known that Phillip was up to something when you walked out of the bedroom that morning to find him still sitting at the kitchen counter with a mug of long cold coffee. the smirk alone hadn’t rung any alarm bells, he was still Phillip, and if he wasn’t smirking he was pouting scowling.

but when you’d asked why he hadn’t already left for work as was his usual habit all he’d said was that he wanted to take you along. show you around.

“Half of it’s yours, honey, don’t you wanna see what your man gets up to during the day?”

which that was a whole other problem, what did he mean by ‘half of it’s yours’ exactly? and with you thus distracted and shocked by his casual notification that oh yeah, he’d already signed over half of everything he owned to you “What the fuck else would I do, babycakes, does that ring on your finger not mean nothing to you?” you didn’t wind up pressing him on why today of all days he decided he wanted to show you around Shadow Company.

it was, of course, an extremely impressive operation. not that you really knew much about military private contractors, or what Phillip and the Shadows did while off on assignment, sometimes for months on end, but you figured you got the big picture idea around the time he was proudly showing off an armory that would make several countries green with envy.

and now he was laying out his usual kit for you, piece by piece, your eyes growing wider and wider as he just kept adding things until you interrupted his lecture on why he preferred a specific kind of knife in this specific holster to blurt out-

“There’s no possible way you can carry all that around all the time.”

he blinked, smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. “That so, sugar?” chuckling, he leaned in, teasing, “Should I be hurt you think so little of how much I can lift, honey?”

“No, I mean,” you huffed, waving a hand at the veritable ton of equipment now neatly arranged on like three different stainless steel tables. “I just mean that…Phillip there’s so much of this stuff, if you tried to carry all of it all the time you wouldn’t be able to move around, and even if you could, it wouldn’t be quick!”

Phillip laughed, denim blue eyes dancing. “You’d be surprised, pretty baby. Wanna see?”

raising a brow, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Only if you’re prepared for me to laugh at you when you get it all on and you look ridiculous and run a four hour mile. No, I’m calling your bluff, you’re just trying to impress me in some weird, macho military man way.”

in a second Phillip had your chin gripped in his hand, pulling your head up to seal your mouths together with a kiss that stole your breath, and several brain cells. when you were a panting, horny mess (god, he knew what it did to you when he groaned into your mouth how good you tasted he did that shit on purpose) he pulled back, smirking wide with his pupils blown, hair mussed from your hands still tangled in it.

“Babycakes,” he crooned, “now that’s a mean fucking lie. You know I ain’t gotta do a damn thing to impress you by now, honey. But if you wanted to see me all kitted up, shit. Happy to arrange it for you, sugar.”

you couldn’t even scrape together the wherewithal to protest or defend yourself, the inside of your head all cotton stuffed and hot from his kiss and wandering hands. he chuckled as he picked you up by the waist and set you down on one of the long metal tables with a warm but firm, “Keep it parked there, sugar, eyes on me, you know how I like it.”

and so you did, trying not to squirm as you watched him pull on sheaths and holsters heavy with weaponry, wrap something that looked suspiciously like a collar around his neck, then came the vest, the gloves, the beige balaclava, the helmet-

why was it so fucking hot watching him get dressed? wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

but he looked so...dangerous.

in your head you knew that he was dangerous. you knew what he did for a living, and that he was good enough at it that he could afford to, if he wanted, literally buy and sell Dallas itself.

you'd just never really dedicated a whole lot of thought to this side of him before. at least not in front of Phillip, where he could see you quivering in your seat chewing on your lower lip, thighs clenched together as your pussy got hot looking at your fiancé wearing all of his tactical gear.

he wasn't just your fiancé right then, and that was what was really fogging up your head. he was a soldier, the soldier, the best of the best, faceless, unfeeling, unmovable object and unstoppable force.

in the back of your head, an idea prickled.

sometimes he went on missions to try and find people.

what if you were one of them?

what if you had to try and outrun the Apollonian god before you?

by the time the last strap was buckled tight, you were sure you'd soaked through your panties.

trying to ignore it, you hoped he couldn't hear the threadiness in your voice as you teased, "Well you got it all on, but that doesn't mean that you can move around all that fast."

his head tilted to the side, and the fabric covering his face shifted. he'd be smirking beneath it, you knew him well enough to know that instantly. and then he chuckled. low and...vicious.

that was when your stomach flipped, some gut deep instinctive reaction born out of evolutionary necessity. and you got the first inkling that maybe, just maybe you’d walked into a trap.

"Wanna bet?" his voice was muffled a little, but you didn't have any trouble hearing him. all you could hear was him as he took slow, measured steps forward until he was caging you in against the table, blotting out all light, all sound, everything else in the world but him. "How about we play a game, sugar?"

it took a few tries, but eventually you were able to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth to mutter weakly, "A game?"

"Mmhm." one rough gloved hand came up and took your chin, the scratch of the material making you shiver. "I'll give you a sixty second head start. And then I'll come after you. F'you get out of the building 'fore I catch you, I'll make dinner for a month."

oh god. oh god oh god oh god, he really had seen what you were thinking hadn't he?

the words came out of your mouth unbidden. "What if you...what if you catch me?"

his thumb rubbed over your mouth, pressing against the swell of your lips, mindless of disturbing your lip gloss that got smeared over the black fabric.

when he chuckled again, the sound went right to your clenching, empty pussy. "F'I catch you, I get to do anything I want. Wherever we are. Even if you try and pretend like you don't want it."

a moan slithered out between your parted lips before you could catch it.

Phillip dropped your chin, stepping back and neatly avoiding your hands reflexively coming up to try and keep him close. "Time starts now, honey."

the beige balaclava stretched, his denim eyes burning through your body above it. "Run."

you did.

in the moment it was like some wild animal had taken over your brain. no thought. no plan. no instinct. just something driving you deeper and deeper into the darkly shadowed labyrinthian halls, something that you couldn't even begin to pretend was just plain fear.

sure, there was some fear.

that was normal. healthy. that was a billion years as predator/prey in your bloodline pushing you to run further, faster, harder away from your pursuer.

but the pulse in your pussy? the hot clench of your stomach every time you froze when you heard the tiniest sound before you scrambled through another door you didn't recognize? the way you could feel your nipples tight and needy against your thin shirt Phillip had picked out for you just a few hours ago?

that wasn't fear.

not even close.

god, had he planned this?

of course he had, he must've. but how had he known?

you turned another corner, panting hard, staring at a long line of lockers, most decorated or obviously in use. your heart was racing, drowning out anything you might have heard beyond your own heavy breathing.

and that was when you saw it.

the door just to the left and all the way at the back of the room, opened ever so slightly. a tinge of sunlight falling through onto the dark floor.

you dove for it, but a thick muscled arm wrapped tight around your waist, hauling you backwards into a wide, familiar chest.

and even though you kicked your feet in the air and back at those sturdy legs, and scratched at the thick fabric covering that burly arm, it didn't do a single bit of good.

against your back you could feel the hard threatening lumps of the weapons and various equipment Phillip had strapped on. his other gloved hand raised, curling around the front of your neck, and you froze instantly, brain going blank.

"Caught you," he purred.

even just the sound of his voice like this was different somehow, and not just because of the balaclava. you'd never heard him sound like this, raw and vicious and arrogant. a predator who'd caught his prey.

the arm around your waist shifted, and his gloved hand moved to start playing with your breasts, rougher than normal, like he wasn't taking care to control himself for once.

"And what a pretty little thing I've caught." he sounded so proud, as his fingers found your nipple through your shirt and pinched, hard enough your hips bucked and you whined, way louder than you should have.

he only laughed, low and mean. "Look at these pretty things, could cut right through that flimsy fucking shirt, babycakes, couldn't they? Aw, sugar, don't tell me. Don't tell me you liked being hunted."

you heard it then, the slight waver in his voice. felt the shift in his stance as he continued to hold you aloft against his body. you couldn't feel the press of his hips, not with him wearing his vest and weapons, but you knew, you knew he was hard.

"P-Phillip-"

the hand around your throat tightened. not cutting off air, not yet, just threatening to. "Nah, honey. Don't even think about fucking lying to me."

with a few long strides he turned you to face the nearest blank wall, pinning you against it, barely able to brace yourself on your tippy toes as he reached down and shoved your skirt to the floor.

his groan drowned out your strangled sound of surprise. "Fuck, can see you liked it. Fucking soaked these panties, sugar, feel that?"

another whine snuck out of you when rough, blunt pressure rubbed at your cunt, the sensation lighting sparks up your spine, blinding you for a moment.

"I got a confession, honey." Phillip hooked a finger in your panties and ripped them right off. "I fucking liked it too."

he was still wearing the kit. still wearing the helmet, the balaclava, the gloves. you were completely and utterly at his mercy, dripping wet around his digits as he unceremoniously shoved two knuckle deep inside of you uncaring of the rough drag of the unfamiliar fabric against your ultra sensitive walls, and all you could do was stay there and fucking take it, squirming and moaning until you were dizzy with it.

you shouldn't be as close to coming as you were. he'd barely touched you, and what he had given you had been mean and cruel, but it just made your cunt drip and your thighs shake.

"Fuck," Phillip grunted in a tone you only recognized from when he'd already gone two rounds with you in a night just to find that it still wasn't enough. you'd never heard him sound this base and primal outside of nights like those. "Fuck."

he leaned forward as his hands disappeared, fumbling behind you, his masked mouth pressed against your ear, his body weight keeping you in place.

in the back of your head, you remembered his terms. once he caught you, he got to do whatever he wanted with you.

you could feel the heat of his breath as he bit out, "Gonna feel that fucking pussy on my cock right fucking now. And I don't wanna hear you whining that it hurts or you can't take it. Be a good girl, sugar and just - just fuck - fucking - god!"

Phillip usually liked to tease you. liked to fuck your folds, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit or only fucking you with the head of his cock and asking you sweetly why you weren't satisfied, why you were begging for more, wasn't he being a gentleman by not fucking you with the whole thing? why couldn't you be grateful and just take what he gave you? and only after you broke down into near hysterical teasing would he give in and finally sink deep.

but not tonight.

tonight he rammed balls deep in one thrust and set a deep, brutal pace that had your eyes rolling back, your hands clawing at the paint on the wall like it could help your fluttering, spasming walls around his cock as you struggled to take him, could help that deep point inside of you where he was ramming his cockhead against your womb.

like it could help the rising tidal wave of pleasure threating to hit you and knock you to the ground at any moment as he fucked you in the open for his own pleasure, like you were nothing more than a toy for him to get off with.

patience was out the window and he was proving a point that you didn't even know was in question.

"You belong to me," he growled, not even sounding that out of breath as he just kept pounding, easily catching your hips and holding you up when your knees gave out as you came untouched and unasked for on his cock. "Every inch of your body, and especially this perfect fucking pussy, it belongs to me, and I can do whatever I want with what's mine."

your head bobbed mindlessly, back arching sweetly as you tried to take his cock, every thrust jolting you head to toe. tears stung your eyes, started sliding down your cheeks as you shouted when he shifted the angle almost imperceptibly and started nailing your g-spot on every thrust.

"Say it," he snapped. "fucking say you belong to me, angel."

"I - I be-belong to y-you!"

"That's fucking right." his voice was like a snarl, uncaring of your squeal and your writhing as his hips picked up speed. "Think I don't know how fast you can run? Think I don't know how that pretty head works? Can't fucking fool me, babycakes, you wanted this almost as much as I did. My perfect fucking slut, god, so goddamn greedy for my fucking cock, take it so fucking good, c'mon baby, c'mon baby, c'mon baby fucking cum for me, one more time cum right on my cock or you won't cum this whole fucking week I swear to god-"

you screamed as another wave hit you, your body bucking against Phillip like you could push him off, secure in the knowledge you never could, that he'd keep you pinned against the wall with those hands bruising your waist as every muscle in your body contracted.

you could feel every inch of him inside you. every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his cock as he fucked you sloppy and deep.

and you could hear him, muttering hotly against your ear, "Atta girl, atta fucking girl, darlin', god, that's it, that's it, just stay tight for me feels so goddamn good, let me fill up that pretty pussy, hm? Want me to fill you up with my cum?"

speech was totally beyond you now, black spots blinking in and out of your field of vision, and all you could do was nod and whimper pathetically, weakly trying to tilt your hips back to give him the perfect angle.

"Fuck, yes, good girl, my good fucking girl ain'tcha darlin', just take it, be good and fucking - fuck, fuck!"

he slammed in one last time, all the way, deep enough it did more than just stretch you, it felt like he was about to break you, like one wrong move and you'd be feeling his cock in your throat and not just your stomach.

searing heat filled you as he pumped you full of his cum. your legs shook, the only thing holding you up was his hands, his cock, and the wall.

heat burned over your face and chest as you felt some of that cum start to drip out, coating your inner thighs, sliding down your leg.

all you could manage was a thin, reedy whine.

"Shh," Phillip soothed, hoarse and breathless. he shuffled closer, leaning against you and the wall a little more. with him that close you could feel the barest hint of a tremor in his own thighs pressed against your own. "Fuck, sugar. Gimme a second. Still fucking cumming."

and he was. you could feel every pulse, every twitch of his cock inside of you like this, could hear every mutter and moan he made as he rode it out.

when it was over he let out a long, relieved sigh, like an itch that had finally been discovered and scratched to satisfaction.

"Good girl." his hands gentled, arms sliding around your waist and mouth pressed against your neck, humming like a lazy cat in the sun as he carried you over to a long bench and sat down, keeping you in his lap, his softening cock still inside you.

you whimpered, jolting, but his gloved hands rubbed over your thighs, your belly, up between the valley of your breasts to cup your throat.

"Shh, s'alright, babycakes," he crooned. "Jus' need a little breather. Jus' wanna feel you a little longer."

one of his hands left you briefly, and you heard his helmet fall to the floor. and then his mouth was on your neck, smothering every bit of skin he could get in kisses.

the two of you moaned when an after shock of pleasure made you clench down on him again.

Phillip's hand turned your face to his so he could kiss your slack mouth. "Gonna be the fucking death of me, honey."

pouting, you forced out a disagreeable sound.

he just laughed, smoothing his hand over your stomach, squeezing the inside of your sore thigh. "The ideas you come up with? Having me hunt you in my own company building? God, that was so fucking hot."

for the moment, you refrained from reminding him that it had been all his idea. you were too fucked out and sleepy to bother with it for the moment.

Phillip's hands were checking on you, massaging muscle, testing sore spots, gently soothing abused skin and muscle as you climbed down from your high.

"Better be careful," he cautioned, smirking against your throat. "Or I'm gonna want to do this all the time. Gonna want to put you on those pretty knees in a conference room here, bend you over my desk and fuck that tight, pretty little asshole of yours."

you just moaned in response, which of course made him laugh.

asshole.

he'd definitely been planning this all along.

but he was your asshole.

and you'd get your revenge, one way or the other.

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 36

summary: It’s a couple of weeks after your wedding, and your period is late… 

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), Husband Javier Peña, Protective Javier Peña, Angry Javier Peña (not at you), dirty talk, period sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, breeding kink, praise kink, blood, Javier taking care of you, kinda a sick fic, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy discussion, banter, romantic comedy, surprise appearance by your terrible ex, canon typical violence (Javier punches your ex and threatens him), update on Javier’s work with the Sheriff)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 18.9k+

a/n: Hello there! I really hoped to have this done sooner, but my job hunt took up a surprising amount of time. Anyways, this chapter and the next one are going to have some taboo-y smut. Please give it a chance, though! Shoutout to my amazing beta, @devineconjuring

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

When it came to the weekend, your plan was always to sleep in as late as possible. For you, that ended up being sometime around nine a.m. Your husband, Javier, on the other hand? He naturally woke up at six, and his idea of sleeping in was getting up at six thirty. He was a morning person, one of those people who were too alert and energized for it being the asscrack of dawn. 

That could never be you. 

When he found himself awake hours before you, did he leave you in bed to start his day? Nope. He’d make a quick trip to the bathroom before crawling back under the covers to cuddle with you. Your husband was well aware he didn’t have to stay with you—you’d told him many times it was fine if he wanted to do his own thing while you got your beauty rest. He never did, though, because it meant he’d be alone, and according to him, the apartment was too quiet when you were asleep, and it made him feel lonely. So, he relaxed in bed and held you while patiently waiting for you to rouse from your slumber.

Depending on the mood, sometimes you woke up and the two of you cuddled more, basking in the body heat and one another’s company. Other times, the cuddling was a gateway to losing yourselves in each other, having slow, lazy sex that was more about intimacy and connection than getting off. 

There wasn’t a better way for your day to begin. 

On this particular Saturday, two weeks after you became the official Mrs. Javier Peña, your morning started wrapped up in your husband’s arms. His lips kissed your forehead as his hands gently rubbed along your naked back. It was one of those mornings where he’d whisper against your skin, asking if you were ready to get out of bed, and you’d tell him to give you five more minutes, which turned into ten, then fifteen. It was one of those mornings when you didn’t want him to let you go, feeling so warm, so safe, so loved. 

Eventually, your bladder forced you to get up. 

The two of you did your usual morning routine—you took turns in the bathroom, got dressed together, followed by sharing the sink as you both brushed your teeth. There weren’t plans to leave the house any time soon, so Javi was wearing his grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, while you wore a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized University of Miami shirt. You’d gotten it on your trip to Florida, and it featured the school’s giant half-orange, half-green ‘U’ behind a smug-looking Garfield, the cat. 

The cartoon character reminded you of your husband, since they shared a distaste for Mondays. So, obviously, you had to buy it. 

Javier was always more awake than you were first thing in the morning. He had time for his brain to calibrate to consciousness, while you needed caffeine to reach his level. Today, something was different with him, though. He was happier than usual. The word you’d use to describe him sounded foreign in relation to his quiet, broody nature. He was… peppy. He walked around grinning like he swallowed the sun and hummed a happy little tune that sounded an awful lot like ABBA’s “Mamma Mia” while pouring you each a cup of coffee. And the affection. He had to kiss you any time he was within reach: your hair, your cheek, your shoulder, your lips, your forehead, your neck. At one point, he held your arm straight out for him to trail loud, smacking kisses up the appendage like Gomez fucking Addams. 

That one made you melt and giggle like a schoolgirl. 

Then there was how you were basically attached at the hip. In the kitchen, as you both made breakfast, he put his arms around you every chance he got and touched you when he couldn’t—grabbing your ass when he walked past you, standing so close to you while cutting vegetables his side was flush to yours, an arm across your back to hold your hip. 

It was a little surprising he didn’t move his kitchen chair next to yours when you sat down to eat your food—an egg scramble with chopped bacon, diced potatoes, red and green peppers, onions, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, and a side of toast. 

You had an idea why he was in such a good mood. It was something you had spoken about the previous day, and you knew it had him excited. You were just worried he might be too excited, given there wasn’t confirmation of your suspicions.  

Javier sat across from you at your two-person table. He didn’t have bedhead, but his hair wasn’t styled either. It was a controlled mess of brown waves, his bangs falling onto his forehead. There was the tiniest bit of stubble on his cheeks, and you knew he’d shave at some point today and trim his mustache, or he’d ask you to trim it. 

The newspaper he’d grabbed from outside your front door was unrolled and laid out beside his plate for him to read as he ate. He did that almost every morning, reading while eating breakfast. Except he wasn’t reading right now, nor was he eating. He was too busy watching with interest as you took your first bite, as if he were waiting for you to need something he could help you with. Now that you thought about it, he insisted on doing most of the cooking prep earlier, and he helped you put on your socks, which was a little weird, but you humored him because he was so happy. 

Wait, was he babying you? Did he feel that you were in some delicate state that required assistance? Whatever it was, he was too focused on you to care about his own food, and you didn’t like that or the babying one bit. You would have to address the elephant in the room so he’d cool it and eat. 

You swallowed your bite, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you met his gaze. “I’ll take one,” you said. 

He smiled. “Really?” 

“If it will get you to chill out and eat your breakfast, yeah, I’ll do it.”

His chair scraped across the floor as he suddenly stood straight up and held out his hand. “Let’s go.” 

Your eyes widened. “I meant after we eat. The food will get cold.” 

“I’ll heat it up. Let’s go.” 

He was determined, so you held up a finger and raised your glass of water to your lips, taking a few big gulps. The cup was returned to the table, and you got up, accepting your husband’s offered hand. He made you giggle when he pretty much dragged you out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into your bedroom to your final destination—the en suite. 

The bathroom’s light flicked on, and Javi bent down to get into the cabinet under the sink. He picked up something and straightened, facing you, his attention on what was in his hands. The long rectangular box was soft in its colors, mostly white with a touch of blue. Bold letters on the front declared, ‘Clearblue Pregnancy Test.’ Your husband lifted it close to his face, his eyes squinting as he read the tiny text on the back, containing the instructions. 

His excitement and impatience were due to the fact that your period was three days late and your breasts had been sore. He had bugged you yesterday to take a pregnancy test, one of the dozen or so he bought when he stopped by the drugstore on his way home from work. You told him there were many times you were one to two days late, and you wanted to wait—you felt like it was too early. Apparently, he took that as if your period still hadn’t come today—day three—that meant there was definitely a chance you were knocked up. 

“Does it say to pee on the stick and wait four to five minutes for the results?” you asked. 

That was standard these days. Earlier in the decade, you had to wait ten minutes for an at-home pregnancy test. Back in the eighties? Thirty minutes. Waiting in a limbo thick with uncertainty for that long sounded like a nightmare, and you were thankful for how far science had come.

He looked at you. “Yeah.” 

“This isn’t my first pregnancy test rodeo.” His eyebrows creased, and you realized how that sounded. Before he could respond, you clarified, “In general. I’ve never personally taken an at-home one, but I’ve had to test patients for pregnancy many, many times at work, and it’s a pretty similar process.” You were a nurse, formerly in the ER, and now in the post-anesthesia care unit (PACU), or, in layperson’s terms, the post-operation department. “A pregnancy test is basically standard procedure when treating a female patient of childbearing age.” 

His face relaxed, and he nodded. He passed you the box, which you immediately opened at the top. 

His beaming smile was back, and he rubbed your upper arms. “I’m gonna go grab the egg timer from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” He kissed your forehead, followed by your lips, and went on his way. His socked feet padded across the floor as he headed to the kitchen. This was his way of giving you privacy, and you appreciated it. 

You shut the bathroom door and pulled out the test, leaving the empty box on the countertop. Your heart rate picked up in speed. It’d be a lie if you said you weren’t nervous. This plastic stick in your hand had the power to change your entire life with just the appearance of two little lines. In a matter of minutes, it was going to bring you happiness or sadness, and what a nerve-wracking prospect that was.

Taking the pregnancy test was straightforward. When you finished, you laid the stick upside down on the counter so you couldn’t see the results. Javi returned as you were washing your hands. He set the timer to four minutes and put it on the vanity next to the test. He stepped behind you, his arms going around your middle, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. It made you smile as you looked in the mirror, seeing the brown hair on the top of his head resting on your shoulder. You turned off the faucet and dried your hands on the towel hanging on the wall to your left. 

“Javi?” 

His head lifted to meet your eyes in the reflection, smiling. “Yes, Cielito?”

You spun around in his arms to be chest-to-chest with him. Something that happened frequently was getting easily distracted by his handsomeness, as you were now. Admiring his big, chocolate-colored eyes, his full lips beneath his mustache, his nose, and the mess of hair on his head. You couldn’t help but think about how he had a face the ancients would’ve carved into marble to immortalize his beauty. If you could, you’d commission a bust of him to immortalize his beauty. Too bad that wasn’t a thing people did anymore. 

“Cielito?” he repeated to get your attention. 

That pulled you from your reverie. “Oh, right. Sorry. Your pretty face distracted me.” He chuckled. “Anyways, it’s time for a pep talk.” Your palms were resting against his shirt-covered chest. 

His smile didn’t waver. “You’re worried about me.” 

“You’re really excited, and I don’t want you to be heartbroken if it’s negative.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m ready.”

“First of all, I love you.” 

He quickly pecked you on the lips while his hands rubbed along your sides. “I love you, too.” 

You smiled, your gaze locked onto his. “And I love how excited you are. It’s adorable, but I kindly ask that you do not baby me.”

He frowned, his palms pausing. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Save that for when I’m super pregnant and can barely move. It will be greatly appreciated.” 

The corners of his lips lifted, and his hands continued their path up and down your ribs. “I can do that.” 

“Thank you. Now, my period being three days late is abnormal. It could possibly indicate pregnancy. However, it might be a side effect of getting off my birth control last month, and my cycle is now messed up—I definitely have my fingers crossed that it’s because I’m knocked up, though. And, hey, if I’m not, we’ll try again next month. It won’t be the end of the world. What we have to remember is this can take time.” 

“You’re right.” He nodded.

“Glad we agree. So, what I’m trying to say is if the result isn’t what we’re hoping for, don’t be too sad, okay? If it’s not today, then maybe it will be next month. We’re just having a good, horny time, babe, and it will happen when it’s meant to happen. You got that, my handsome husband?” 

He snorted. “I’ve got it, my beautiful wife.”

“Great! Go, team!” You held up your hand for a high-five. 

His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled, looking fondly amused. He did what you wanted, slapping his palm against your smaller one in a satisfying smack. He cupped your jaw. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

“And I am so fucking in love with you.” To end the sentence, you poked him over his heart. He grabbed your hand, putting your palm onto his chest for you to feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat. It matched your own, the nerves and excitement making them beat in quick succession. 

He leaned into you, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. It lasted until the timer’s bell started ringing. You broke apart and looked at each other. 

“Do you want to flip it?” you asked. “Or do you want me to?” 

“Will you?” 

Your mouth curved up. “Yes, I can.” You moved a couple of steps and turned toward the counter, Javi taking his place at your back. He had his arms around you, holding you as he looked over your shoulder, watching you pick up the pregnancy test. “Okay. Three… Two… One…” You flipped the stick over.

One line. 

Not pregnant.

It was a quiet kind of heartbreak—no big moment, nothing dramatic, just a line that didn’t show up. It was something so simple, yet the weight was heavy enough to sink your hopeful heart. 

You let out a disappointed sigh and reminded yourself of what you told Javier. 

It would happen, so there was no need to be too sad. You will try again next month. 

Your husband’s arms lightly squeezed you as he cleared his throat. It was comforting to have him here with you, and knowing how you were feeling. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Your eyes found his in the mirror, seeing his sad little smile. “It’ll happen. This just wasn’t our month, and that’s fine. We’ll try again. I love you, mi amor (my love).” He kissed that spot behind your ear, and your free hand went up behind you to slide your fingers into the hair at the back of his head. 

“I love you, too. Thank you, Javi.” 

He looked at you in the reflection again. “For what?” 

“Everything.” You smiled. “Being here and going through this with me.” 

He shared your expression. “You’re the only person I’d ever want to do this with, and I’ll always be here. You know that. This is our life that we’re sharing together.” 

“Yes, it is our life.” Your nails scratched at his scalp. “We’re the motherfucking Peñas, baby, and we’ve got this.” 

“Yes, we fucking do.” 

“I think it’s time we throw this pee stick away, wash our hands, and go eat our breakfast. I am starving.”

“Let’s go, Cielito.” He kissed your cheek. “I’ll heat up our plates.” 

You turned around to face him again. 

“And you need to read your newspaper. Did you even notice today’s front page story?”

He looked a little sheepish. “No… I wasn’t paying attention to it…” 

Because his entire focus was on you—adorable. 

“You’re going to love it. It’s about that huge ass drug bust.” A few days ago, the U.S. Coast Guard seized almost 10,000 pounds of cocaine from a freighter on its way to Texas in one of the largest busts in U.S. history. Javier had obviously been absorbing all the news and had spoken to Steve Murphy, who still worked for the DEA in Florida, a couple of nights ago, to find out everything he knew. 

Your husband smiled. “I probably won’t learn anything new, but it’s interesting seeing what the government is willing to share with the media.”

“Do you feel cool having an inside man who gives you all of the dirty deets?” 

He huffed in amusement. “Yes.”

“Chismoso (Gossiper).”

“Ay!” He pinched your hip, and you laughed. “Tú también eres una chismosa (You are a gossiper, too). Te encanta chismear (You love to gossip).” 

“You bet that tiny little ass of yours I do. Which, holy shit, we were so distracted by the pregnancy stuff I forgot to tell you the hottest goss I heard yesterday.” You meant to share it with him when he got home from work the previous day—it was too juicy for over the phone—but he threw you off when he arrived with a grocery bag full of pregnancy tests and an eagerness for you to take one. “Buckle up for this one, babe.” 

“Cuéntame el chisme, mi amor (Tell me the gossip, my love),” he said, already invested. His hands found their home on your waist. 

“Hold on, let me toss this.” Your body twisted to throw the plastic stick into the little waste bin beside the vanity. Your attention returned to him. “Okay, so Robyn’s mom heard from a friend who is the mother of a girl that works the front desk at the Laredo Police Department and is dating one of the cops—” Javi was employed by the county Sheriff and wasn’t on the best terms with the local police because their Chief was his ex, Lorraine’s, uncle. “—that her policeman boyfriend pulled over a man for running a stoplight on the road coming into town from Mexico.”

“He ran a red, okay.” He nodded. 

“In the middle of the night on a weekday,” you continued. “Think early, early morning when the only people out are those who stayed for last call at the bar and are on their way home.”

He frowned, his weight shifting to one side. “The border has less security that late at night, and it’d be even worse on a weekday. That’s pretty fucking suspicious.” 

“I can see where your head is at, but there was zero mention of drugs.” 

His eyebrows pulled together. “Huh, okay…” The wheels were turning behind his eyes as he tried to figure out where this was going.

“The man wasn’t alone in the car.” 

He perked up. “A woman?” 

“Yes, a younger woman who was definitely not his wife.” 

“Oh shit, who’s the guy?” 

There was no way you could keep yourself from grinning. “Lorraine’s husband.”

His eyes rounded. “Shut the fuck up,” he breathed. 

“I called it.” Referring to a confrontation you had with the other woman on Javier’s birthday when you told her that it wouldn’t surprise you if her husband were cheating on her. 

Javi’s shock evolved into giddiness, his eyes practically disappearing from smiling so big. “You fucking called it! Karma’s a bitch.”

“Not Karma. Her name is Lorraine.” 

That made you both burst into laughter that echoed off the bathroom walls. His happiness had him pulling you into his arms, crushing you against his body. With all of the bullshit Lorraine put Javier through, you felt little guilt celebrating her husband’s alleged infidelity. To be honest, the two of you needed this right now. Something to drown the sorrow you were both feeling and trying to hide. Something to take your minds off that single line that wasn’t the result you’d been hoping for. 

In the back of your mind, you wondered if maybe it was too early and there wasn’t enough of the hormones in your body for the pregnancy test to pick up. The other thing was that the result might be a false negative. Or maybe you were right about your cycle being messed up, and your period would start any day now. 

You didn’t want that last possibility to be true.   

They had a Star Wars-themed wall calendar in the kitchen on which they jotted down their plans for each month and marked important dates. Javier looked at it every morning, counting down the days to various events. For January, he couldn’t wait for the dates during the first week, which were outlined in green and indicated that it was highly likely for his wife to get pregnant. Their wedding day had pink around its edges and was filled with little hearts and ‘Wedding’ written over them in black Sharpie. Then, there were the days between this week and next that he’d been looking forward to, marked in red along their borders. 

These were the dates that would tell them whether they had succeeded in their mission for a baby. 

The first day Cielito’s period was late, he didn’t let himself get too excited, because one day was nothing. That had happened before. But two days? That was new. Yesterday, when he went to the hospital to have lunch with her, and she confirmed it still hadn’t begun and that her tits hurt, that was when he finally gave in to his excitement. That led him to stop by the drugstore after work and fill a metal basket with every pregnancy test on the shelf—every. Single. One. 

There were eleven. 

Who needed eleven pregnancy tests?

The cashier, who was probably in her late teens or early twenties, was chewing a wad of gum loudly. After he piled almost a dozen little boxes onto the counter, the smacking stopped, and she looked him dead in the eyes. 

“You need any more from the back?” 

“I don’t even need this many.” 

When he got home, his wife refused to take a test, and he respected her decision. It was her choice, and he sure as hell wouldn’t try to force her to do something she didn’t want to do. He could wait. He was impatient as fuck, but he’d wait for her. Because she used to take her birth control religiously, she knew when she could expect her period every month. She told him there were times when she was one to two days late, but she had never hit three. With it still not arriving today, the third day, it made him assume there was a definite chance she was pregnant.

Javier was over the goddamn moon when he woke up this morning. The fact that there was even a possibility his wife was knocked up had him beyond excited. He had felt giddy to an almost embarrassing degree—like a kid on Christmas about to open the biggest present under the tree. A grin broke over his face when he got out of bed, and he wore it for so long that his cheeks hurt. 

An interesting development was that just the thought that Cielito could be carrying his child had awakened something deep within his DNA, making him want to take care of her. He didn’t want her to lift a finger. It took a lot for him to rein it in and not do everything for her because he knew she would hate that. Apparently, he didn’t tone it down enough since she did notice he was babying her. He’d have to work on that in the future.

As they got ready for their day and cooked breakfast together, his thoughts raced—cribs, tiny socks, her belly growing—each one sweeter than the last and only fueled the hope that threatened to burst from his chest. He waited for her to bring up the pregnancy test, and the moment the words ‘I’ll take one’ left her lips at the kitchen table, a current of electricity shot through him. His heart thudded wildly and loudly as if it was going to leap from his body and dance across the room. 

There was no way he could hold out until after eating to find out if he finally had an excuse to buy that cute little leather jacket he’d been eyeing in the baby section at Sears. They’d started browsing kid stuff when they went to department stores. Javier was going to go broke buying their kid clothes, but at least they’d have the best-dressed child in Laredo. 

He was thankful when she went along with him and even more thankful for the pep talk. He could admit that he got too excited when the probability of a negative result was so high. Javier had even researched the odds of conceiving in the first month and knew there was only a 30% chance of success. He shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself, but his heart didn’t listen. The thought spread like wildfire, and he let himself get caught up in imagining their life with a baby. The three of them in the kitchen, their son or daughter sitting in a highchair watching them cook, or him and Cielito holding the baby between them as they danced while something simmered on the stove. He pictured the outfits he’d dress their child in, whether a boy or a girl, and how adorable they’d look in their tiny leather jacket that matched his. 

He got caught up in his dream of having a wife and kid, and a single line on a pregnancy test crushed it. 

When Javier saw the disappointment and heartbreak on his wife’s face in the mirror’s reflection, his stomach dropped. He immediately regretted pestering her to take the test. He should have waited until she felt it was the right time to check. He could see now that when she refused yesterday, she had been trying to save him from this exact situation. She hoped it wasn’t true, but she’d had a strong suspicion the delay was an issue from stopping her birth control.

The giddy, weightless feeling he’d carried all morning turned into something heavier. Sadness settled in, grief for what almost was. 

He tried to smile and comfort her. He did his best to reassure her that this was just a little bump in the road, and it’d happen; she’d get pregnant. They would try again next month. After they talked and laughed, there was still a gentle ache in his chest, a hollow space where hope bloomed too fast and too bright. But beneath the sorrow was something stronger—love. He loved her so fucking much, and he knew everything was going to be okay. 

Now, it was later in the evening at their apartment. The sun had set, and they had already eaten their homemade lasagna, which they had spent two hours making for dinner. They were in the living room, his wife sitting back on a cushion against the couch’s arm. Javier was in his favorite place: between her legs. He was lying on his stomach with his head pillowed on her belly, her bare legs bracketing his sides as he watched an action movie marathon on cable. She was aimlessly playing with his hair with one hand, while the other held the book she was reading—one of her dirty books. He asked what the plot was, and she told him it was about a nurse who accidentally traveled back in time. 

Aside from the television’s low volume, they’d been sitting in a comfortable silence for a while. He loved how happy and content they were just being in the same room together.

“Do you want ice cream?” she asked. 

It was an awkward angle for him to move his head and look at her. Her fingers had paused in his hair, and the book was out of the way for her to meet his eyes. He frowned. “I think I ate the last of what we had in the freezer last night.” It was butter pecan flavor, and he definitely ate it. 

She smiled. “From the empty carton in the trash you licked clean, yeah, babe, you did.” 

He snorted. “I used a spoon. My head wouldn’t fit. Where does my wife want ice cream from?” 

“Well, it’s—” She looked over at the wall clock above the entertainment center, then back at him. “—8:30, so our choices are the grocery store, McDonald’s, whose ice cream machine is most likely broken, or Dairy Queen.” 

“Why did I ask? You want Dairy Queen.” 

“Of course I want Dairy Queen.” 

“Okay, mi amor.” His hands were on her ribs, and he rubbed them. “I know I’m not allowed to wear my sweatpants outside the apartment—” Because his dick was too noticeable. “—but it’s late, we’re not getting out of the truck, and I don’t want to change into jeans, so I’m keeping them on.” He wore the same outfit as that morning: grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“That’s fine. If the line is super long, it’ll make it easier for me to blow you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Dairy Queen was the place everyone went to when they wanted ice cream late at night, as it was open until eleven on the weekends. Back in high school, it was where he and his friends would go after swim meets and football games. The place's popularity meant the drive-thru line could get a little crazy sometimes, not to mention the packed dining room.

He chuckled. “You’re getting bolder with the public shit, and I don’t know if I should be worried or turned on.” 

She smirked. “Both?” 

“Both? You’re a fucking temptress, and I’m in love with you.”

“I love you, too. So, is that a yes to the risky blow job? No? Maybe?”

“It’s a ‘there’d be too many people around, and I don’t want to take that kind of risk.’” His truck was lifted enough that a standard car couldn’t see what was going on below the dashboard. Another pickup, though, which the town was full of? They’d see everything, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the police.

She pouted. “You’re no fun.” 

His eyebrow lifted. “Because I’m keeping us from getting arrested?”

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry for being responsible. Now go get dressed, baby.” He patted her sides. “We’ll get you some ice cream.” 

“Okay.” She marked her place in the book with a bookmark. “Off.”

Oh, right. He’d need to get off of her. Before he did, he shoved his face against her soft stomach and shook his head. 

“Stop that,” she squirmed, pushing on his hair. “I really have to pee.”

“Sorry,” he grunted, pushing himself up onto his arms, then getting onto his knees. He helped her untangle her legs from him, and she swung them off the couch, leaning forward to set her novel on the coffee table. 

“I’m gonna use the bathroom and get ready,” she said as she stood up. His wife was wearing an oversized shirt and a little pair of sleep shorts. She giggled when he smacked her ass as she walked past him. “You keep looking pretty.” 

He smiled and sat correctly on the sofa, his feet planted on the floor. While he waited, his attention returned to the TV. It was the second Terminator movie, the first played before it.

Not even three minutes passed when there was movement to his left, and his head turned to see Cielito coming his way from their bedroom. He frowned because she hadn’t changed, and then he saw the look on her face, and he became worried: her glassy eyes and that small, tight tremble in her chin. It was the one she got when she was trying really, really hard not to cry. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

She didn’t respond. Instead, she crawled into his lap, sitting across it and tucking her head under his chin. Automatically, he wrapped his arms around her. 

“What’s wrong?” he tried again. “What happened?” 

Her voice cracked when she answered, “I started my period.” For the second time today, his heart plummeted, and it broke into a thousand pieces when her body began to shake with sobs. 

“Oh, baby.” He hugged her closer to him, tilting his head to rest his cheek on her hair. “It’s okay, mi amor. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay.”  

“Why do I feel so sad?” she cried, gripping his T-shirt tightly, tears soaking the cotton. 

He understood why. A small part of themselves clung to the idea that maybe the test was wrong, or it was too early to tell. This slammed those doors shut. It was the nail in the coffin. This made it final. There’d be no miracle, no surprise, no second line appearing late. Just… No. And it fucking hurt, but not in a loud, pronounced way. It was something deep and dull, making their chests feel heavy and ache.

His eyes burned, and he ignored the tightness in his throat. “Because it is sad, Cielito. We wanted it so fucking bad. Even with trying not to get our hopes up, it was already real in our minds, and now we’re feeling that loss.” 

She pressed her face against his chest like she was trying to disappear into him. “I did want it bad,” her words were muffled. She’d calmed down enough; she was sniffling, and he could still feel her tears wetting his shirt. “It feels silly to be this upset over nothing.” 

“It isn’t nothing, and it’s okay to be sad, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I’m sad, too. I’m fucking devastated.  But you know what? This shit we’re feeling? It’s temporary. A day or two from now, it’ll pass.”

“Will it?”

“I think so, once we accept that what you said earlier is true, that this isn’t the end of the world, and it can take time. Remember, this was our first shot, and we get to try again next month. We’re just gonna keep having a good time, and it’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.”  

“I wanted it to happen now.” 

He huffed out a breath. “I did, too, mi amor, I really fucking did. For now, though, we can be sad together. Is there anything I can do that’d make you feel better?”

“Just keep holding me, please.” 

He smiled and kissed her temple, squeezing her tighter. “I won’t let go.” 

“Can we still get ice cream?”

“Absolutely, baby. We’ll get you ice cream.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Nothing to thank me for.” He pecked her head again. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He held her close with his nose in her hair, smelling her floral-scented shampoo. He’d stay like this for however long was necessary to make her feel better. Frankly, he needed this, too. The comfort. It was soothing to have her in his arms, inhaling her familiar scent. 

Javier felt guilty about today. He knew it was his fault they were so sad. His wife was the more rational of the two of them and was aware of the statistics. She knew her body. She’d even saved him from the heartbreak yesterday when she refused to take a pregnancy test. Yet, today, he got ahead of himself, letting his optimism run rampant, and all it did was give them a false sense of hope that ultimately led to their sorrow. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He couldn’t do that to Cielito. It killed him to see her like this. Next month, he was going to leave it up to her to decide when she felt it was the right time to take a test, or maybe her period would start before they even had a chance, but they’d be ready. They knew what to expect, and it wouldn’t be as bad as today. 

They wanted a baby, and now more than ever, that desire wasn’t going away. They just had to be patient, which would be hard, but it wasn’t impossible. 

The line for Dairy Queen wrapped around the building. They were idling in the middle of the parking lot, with four cars ahead of them to reach the drive-thru menu board. Javier was on the driver’s side of his truck, and his wife was beside him in the middle of the bench seat. Her upper body was turned his way, her fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head while he held her other hand on her leggings-covered thigh. 

He could tell she was feeling better as she smiled at him and told him terrible puns like, ‘Why don’t oysters donate to charity? Because they’re shellfish.’

“You wanna hear another one?” 

He was smiling, staring at her beautiful face. “Yes.” 

“What do you call someone with no body and no nose?”

“What are they called?” 

With a straight face, she deadpanned, “Nobody knows.” 

He laughed. Javier knew why she was doing this. It was something she did at work to cheer up her patients, telling them dumb jokes and puns to make them laugh. She understood that the hospital was the last place they wanted to be, and she did her best to make it as pleasant an experience as possible. That was one of the things he loved about her. She genuinely cared about strangers. Just look at how they met; she came in out of nowhere to help him because that was who she was as a person. 

“Where do you get these?” he asked. 

“It’s a mix of ones I’ve heard and the pun book I keep at work.”

“Of course, you have a book.” 

“I’ll show it to you next time you stop by.”

“I’d like that. Can I hear another one? Give me a fucking awful one.” 

The car in front of them moved forward, so they did, too. For a second, his eyes got caught on the splash of color dangling from the rearview mirror. It was his wife’s wedding garter, the loop of dusty blue satin covered in an overlay of ivory floral lace, with a small satiny bow in the center. It was going to be put in the box with her wedding dress, his black bow tie, and lavender pocket square, but he preferred to keep it in his truck as another reminder of the best day of his life. 

His attention returned to her, and he could see her delight. “I can do that.” She nodded. “What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?” 

That one he didn’t get right away. When ten seconds passed, and he still didn’t know the answer, he asked, “What is it?” 

“A carrot.” 

Javier groaned, and she giggled. “I have a story about a parrot,” he said. 

He glanced through the front windshield to move them up one more spot before looking at her again. 

Her eyes shone with interest. “Color me intrigued.” He loved the feeling of her fingers slipping through his hair. 

“Back in Colombia, before we got Escobar, we received intel that one of his mid-level sicarios, who we thought we could flip, was working out of this house in one of the comunas—those were the poorer parts of the city and some of the most dangerous. So, we get this intel that the guy is there, and we go to bust him. With how we had the operation planned, there was no way he would’ve known we were coming until we were on his ass. I’m running up along the front of the building with my gun drawn, and I hear this shouting, “Corre! Corre! Corre! (Run! Run! Run!)” I’m thinking, fuck, how did they spot us? How did they know we were already here? We get inside, and aside from a couple of kilos of coke, the place is empty. We checked the surrounding area, and the sicario had vanished. Just gone. You wanna know who tipped him off?” 

She was grinning. “You better fucking say it was a parrot.” 

“A fucking parrot!” 

“Oh my god!” she laughed. 

The situation made him distrustful of talking birds. 

“They trained this damn parrot to alert them if it saw the police coming, and this fucker was obedient as hell. One of the men from Search Bloc—that was the local law enforcement unit we worked with—seized the bird and tried to interrogate it.” 

“The parrot? He tried to interrogate the bird…?”

He smiled. It was as dumb as it sounded. “Yes, they tried to interrogate the parrot, and this avian asshole kept his beak shut. After we took him, he didn’t say a single fucking thing. Even had a vet look at him, and they couldn’t get him to talk.”

They moved forward again. 

“What happened to the drug-dealing parrot?” 

Javier snorted. “Sapo.”

“Sapo?”

“His name was Sapo. It’s Colombian slang for ‘snitch.’”

“That is amazing. What happened to Sapo? And lie to me if he died.” 

He frowned. “He got to live, but he was arrested and charged with aiding and abetting. It’s a serious crime, so he was sentenced to life behind bars—” Her eyes went wide. “—of a bird cage.” 

She glared and pulled his hair. “You jackass.”

Javier laughed. He reached across his body to caress her cheek, his face following to kiss her lips. “But you still love me,” he murmured into her mouth and kissed her again. 

“Yes,” was her muffled reply. “I still love you.” 

A horn honked behind them, and it was his turn to glare as he broke away from Cielito to look in the rearview mirror to see what asshole interrupted their moment. It was Terry from the hardware store, and he had to resist the urge to flip the man off as they slowly approached the menu board to place their order. He hit the button to roll down his window. 

“Hi, one moment, please,” crackled through the shitty speaker. 

His head turned to his wife. “Small or medium.”

“Small.” 

“Okay,” he nodded. 

“Thank you for your patience. May I take your order?” the employee asked. 

Javier faced the menu board. “My wife would like—” He ordered the Blizzard she wanted and got one for himself, with crushed Heath bar in it. He liked the vanilla soft-serve ice cream with crunchy bits of milk chocolate-covered toffee and almonds mixed in. 

“Anything else?”

“That’s it.” 

“We’ll see you at the window.”

“Thank you.”

The car in front of them had already moved, so they pulled forward one spot. There were three vehicles between them and the window.

Cielito removed her hand from his hair so she could reach into her purse on the passenger seat and pull out her wallet. Usually, when they went out, Javier was the one to pay, and he would buy their ice cream tonight, however—

She held up her credit card and pointed at her last name. “What does this say?” 

He smiled. “Peña.” 

“Wait!” She went back into her wallet to get her driver’s license and raised it for him to see, but conveniently covered her photo with her finger. She thought it was worse than her last one, which she described as looking like ‘a mugshot if she’d been arrested for public intoxication.’ “What’s my legal name?” she asked. 

It made him chuckle, and he said it, her first name rolled off his tongue, followed by Peña.

Her happiness was contagious. “Hell yeah, it is!”

His wife’s new driver’s license, credit cards, and debit card with her married name had all arrived over the last few days, and she had been insisting on paying for things to show them off. The day her driver’s license arrived, they went out so she could order a drink and get carded.

It was adorable. 

As soon as she had a chance, his wife had gone in to change her name. She told him nothing had ever felt more freeing than filling out the paperwork and leaving her old life behind. To say she was excited about being Mrs. Peña was an understatement, and it filled him with joy.

“I love you,” he told her before closing the distance to kiss her. 

He could feel her smiling. She replied into his lips, “I love you, too.” 

When the kiss came to an end, he nuzzled his nose against her. “I’m really fucking happy you’re a Peña, too.”

“It feels so right.”

“‘Cause it is.”

He finally pulled back and noticed the vehicle in front of them was rolling forward, so they followed. 

She returned her license to her wallet and handed him her card. Javier sighed happily as her fingers went back into his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp.  

His head was turned her way. He watched as she rested her chin on his shoulder and hugged his arm. She had the sweetest smile on her face. 

“How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m okay. I’m not feeling crampy or bloated, so that’s a plus.”

“That’s good. If you need anything, you only have to ask.”

“Because you, sir, are the best husband in the entire world.”

He smiled. “Because that’s what you deserve as the best wife in the world.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Never. But, aside from physically, how are you?”

“Um, still a little sad. I don’t want you to be alarmed if I cry more this weekend. Since it’s that time of the month, my hormones will be outta whack, and it might make me extra emotional.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know.” 

He was familiar with her hormones fluctuating during her period and the potential mood swings. Last month, she had a day where one minute she was crying over dropping what remained of her chocolate chip cookie into her glass of milk, and the next she was so horny, she was begging him to fuck her. As she would say, she kept him on his toes, and he was thankful for all the years he worked in a profession where things changed at the drop of a hat. He knew how to adapt quickly. 

“Yes, you do. How are you?” she asked. 

“I’m okay.” He glanced toward the windshield and moved them up another spot.

“Really, or are you just saying that?” 

His eyes met hers again. “I’m as okay as I can be.” Javier took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, it was a shitty day, but we got through it, and that’s all that fucking matters.” 

She frowned. “Sure, but how do you feel?” 

He matched her expression. “I don’t know, I guess I’d say I still feel sad and disappointed, and that’s fine. Because I know these feelings will go away in a day or two.” 

“Okay, so, until that happens I’m gonna comfort the fuck out of you.” Her fingers were still playing in his hair, and her other arm was wrapped around his; she hugged it tighter.

He huffed. “I should be comforting you.” 

Her eyebrow rose. “What, because I’m a fragile woman?” 

The question made his eyes widen, and he gulped. Well, fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. 

Quickly, he answered, “No. It has nothing to do with you being a woman, and we both know you are anything but fragile. You are a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t even need an asshole like me, and I am so fucking thankful you put up with my bullshit.” 

“Chill out, babe. I’m messing with you.” That had him letting out a relieved breath. “I do, however, want to know why you feel like you should be comforting me?” 

He looked away. “Because I’m the reason we’re sad. I got too excited, and you felt like you had to take the pregnancy test. If I had just taken your lead and waited for when you thought it was time, we wouldn’t have been so crushed.” 

She sat up in her seat. “Look at me.” He did. “Stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault. To be honest, I would’ve cried when I got my period with or without the test, and I’d be just as devastated. We were both excited and hopeful. You did nothing wrong.” 

“Okay.” 

He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt even with her reassurance.

“Don’t do that, Javier.” 

“Do what?” 

“You’re still blaming yourself, and I won’t have that.” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry.” What else could he say? 

Her arm unlooped from his, and she held up her pinkie. 

“I pinkie promise that it wasn’t your fault and that you did nothing wrong, and what are pinkie promises, Javi?” 

He smiled. “Sacred.” He wrapped his larger pinkie finger around her smaller one. 

“Yes, they fucking are.” 

Other people would probably think it was crazy that a simple gesture could bring so much relief. But for Javier and his wife, it was true, pinkie promises were sacred. They bound their agreements to the same degree as the vows they made on their wedding day, and they could also be the equivalent of a sworn oath. By pinkie promising, what they said was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Breaking the symbolic gesture wasn’t even fathomable to either of them. 

“Feel better?” she asked. 

“Yes.” With their pinkies interlocked, he pulled her to him for a quick kiss. When they separated, they were smiling. 

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up. So, here’s how this is gonna go, babycakes. I won’t be the sole comfort-ee, seeing as this situation affects us both. I got to be held by you while I cried earlier, and tonight, you’re gonna be my little spoon, so I can hold you while you’re a sad boy. Crying is optional, but highly recommended for the catharsis.”

His lips crooked up a little. “I like your plan.” 

“Good. Go team!” She lifted her hand, and Javier laughed as he smacked it with his own.

Her arm went around his again, and he reached across his body to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Thank you.” 

“Nothing to thank me for. Gotta say, we’re really rocking this marriage thing. 

He smiled. “Yes, we are. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

It was hazy, the edges of your vision blurry. The red thread that stretched out before you, however, was vibrant, leading you down a hallway and around corners. You knew this hospital, recognizing the color on the walls, and passing rooms that flickered between memory and something dreamlike, the scenes out of focus. You didn’t know where you were going as you walked, and walked, and walked. It felt like you were stuck in a maze from all the turns, and it seemed endless, walking miles and miles until it finally ended—the red thread leading you into a room.

It wasn’t a hospital room. 

Instead of fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over sterile white walls, they were painted in a shade of daffodil yellow. There was a rocking chair in the corner and, directly in front of you, a person blocking the view of a crib. Even from behind, you knew that brown hair, you knew those shoulders, and that back. You knew the voice, the deep rasp, but words you couldn’t make out. He was talking, and no matter how hard you tried, you understood nothing. You took one step toward him, then two, reaching your hand out to touch him. Suddenly, the thread snaked its way around your waist, and when you tried to move, it only tightened, pulling you back. A dull, dragging ache began to bloom low in your belly, growing deeper, sharper. Your hands went to your stomach to try and get free, but they sank right through, the thread tugging you like an invisible weight. The walls closed in, and searing pain had your eyes snapping open, your heart pounding as a fiery cramp twisted through your lower abdomen. 

“Ow,” you said into the darkness. “Fuck.” 

Beneath the blankets, it was cozy and warm. With wearing a t-shirt and underwear while spooning your human furnace of a husband, the bed was bordering on too hot. You didn’t know if the bead of sweat on your forehead was because of the heat or the pain. Another sharp cramp clenched in your belly, causing you to hiss through gritted teeth, “Jesus Christ.”  

Javi’s body tensed, waking from hearing you. Your arm was draped over his bare middle, and he grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Cielito?” he whispered. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m cramping really bad,” you replied just as quietly. “My uterus is being a real dick.” 

Immediately, he turned over to face you and rubbed his palm along your arm. His voice was huskier from sleep, “What can I do? Hot water bottle? Pain meds?”

You didn’t want to bother him. Unfortunately, you weren’t going to have much choice with how it felt as though your insides were being wrung out. Each cramp was more relentless than the last, and you needed some kind of relief. 

“Both,” you answered. 

“Okay, mi amor.” He pecked you on the lips before rolling to his other side and throwing the blankets off his body. He groaned when he stood up. The room was almost pitch black, but you could still make out the dark mass of his body as he walked to the bedroom door. 

Apparently, your uterus wanted to rub it in your face that you weren’t pregnant. 

Fucking rude. 

The pain was so bad that you closed your eyes and pulled your knees up, curling into yourself. You hoped the thicker overnight pad you were wearing was enough to keep you from bleeding through and staining the sheets. Minutes must have passed, as you heard Javi shut the bedroom door, followed by the light clunk of him setting a glass of water on his nightstand. 

“Are your eyes closed?” he whispered. 

“Yes.” 

He turned on his lamp. 

“Do you need help sitting up?”

That was something you could do. “No. Thank you, though.” With that, you unfurled yourself, sitting up, and crisscrossing your legs. Another sharp cramp had you hissing and your hand pressing to your stomach in hopes it’d help. 

“Here, baby,” your husband said. 

You blinked open your eyes and accepted the two white pills he dropped into your palm. They went into your mouth, quickly taking the glass of water to wash them down, and handing him back the cup when you finished. 

Javi sat on the mattress, one leg dangling off. He passed you the hot water bottle, its rubber surface slightly worn from years of use and faded to a muted maroon. You clutched it to your abdomen, the soothing heat seeping into your skin and muscles, easing some of the discomfort. Your husband’s hand was rubbing circles on your back. 

“Thank you,” you told him as you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He kissed your hair. “You’re welcome. Should I grab the towel?” 

He meant the sex towel, which was a big, thick, black towel you put down when you fooled around on your period, or did anything messy. It made cleanup easier and saved you from having to change out your sheets in the middle of the night. 

And this wasn’t him propositioning you. It was his sweet way of offering to help relieve some of the pain by getting you off with your preferred method, and with zero expectation or want of reciprocation. Basically, he was offering you a medicinal orgasm. 

He really was the best husband in the world.  

“I already feel bad for waking you up,” you answered. 

“I’d rather you wake me up than suffer alone, and you know that.” You did, but you still didn’t like bothering him. “Let me help. What sounds good? You wanna start with fingers, and go from there?”

“Tomorrow, when I’m feeling better, I am going to give you the sloppiest blow job.” 

He chuckled. “Is that a yes to my fingers?” 

“It is a yes, with an added pretty please.” 

“You got it, cariño (sweetheart). I’m gonna go get the towel.” He kissed your head again, then got off the bed. 

Even as you experienced another painful spasm, it cheered you up to ogle your husband’s naked butt as he walked toward the bathroom. There was a dark hickey on his right asscheek you left the other night, marking it as yours, that made you smile.

When Javier returned, you pushed the blankets to the end of the bed. He placed the towel under your lower half and had you lie on your side with him behind you, propping his head up with his arm. Automatically, you curled inwards, pulling your knees toward your stomach, but your husband intercepted your top leg, which he brought back to rest on him, opening up your thighs. The heated rubber bottle stayed against your tummy, held there by your hand. 

He leaned in, his lips at your ear as he whispered, “Are you comfortable?”

A pillow cushioned your head, and aside from the pain, you were comfortable. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kissed that spot behind your ear he knew drove you crazy while his fingertips skated along your inner thigh. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Just before his hand reached your panties, it left you for him to lick the pads of two fingers. Finally, he pushed his digits under the elastic waistband. Due to your current state, you were more sensitive, the hormones amplifying each touch. When his careful fingers swirled around your clit, the sensation had your eyes fluttering closed as you moaned his name. 

“That’s it, mi amor,” he purred. “Just relax, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Something you’d never take for granted was how lucky you were that you found a man who was comfortable doing stuff when you were on your period. It was a godsend when your pain was too much, like tonight, and with how unperturbed he was by it, it allowed you to truly relax and enjoy yourself. You had no reason to feel self-conscious that his knuckles touched the pad in your underwear, or that he’d get your blood on him. Between growing up on a cattle ranch and his work in Colombia, Javi had dealt with and seen much worse, and your normal bodily function was nothing in comparison.  

He started circling your bundle of nerves, and you whined at how good it felt. His mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, feeling his warm breath as he rasped, “You’re doing so good for me.” Slowly, he was building you up, the tension low in your stomach tightening. 

He kissed along the exposed skin of your neck, the tickle of his mustache and his fingers making you squirm.

His voice was low, “I fucking love you.” His digits dipped to tease at your entrance, slipping through the mess. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”  

He easily pushed one finger into you, then another. 

“Yes,” you gasped. It felt so good to have something filling you. 

“You like that? You like my fingers inside you?” 

“God, yes.” 

His digits pushed in deeper through the sticky wetness, and he crooked them, rubbing his fingertips along your upper wall, until he found that patch of nirvana that had you sucking in a breath, your eyes rolling back. 

“There it is,” he murmured. He focused on that spot with his fingers while the heel of his palm ground against your clit. “I love making you feel good.” 

The hot water bottle's heat was a lovely balm for the discomfort. When it was combined with him fingering you, the pain all but disappeared, and was replaced with neediness. Each slide of his digits and the friction on your tight bundle of nerves was pushing you closer and closer to coming, your thighs already trembling. 

“I can’t wait for our chance to try for a baby again,” he said. “Sex with you is always amazing, and I never thought it could get better until I got a real shot at knocking you up. You remember that, Cielito?”

How could you forget? According to your calculations, you should’ve ovulated during the first week of the month, but just to be safe, Javi and you fucked nonstop the first and second week. It was the hottest sex you’d ever had, and just the memory of it made your cunt clench around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered. 

The smile was evident in his voice, “Yeah, you do. We get to do that again. I get to fuck you full of my come over and over again. Keep you all nice and stuffed, to the point your pussy will always have some of me in it.”

“Oh, god.” 

This man knew how to play you like a goddamn fiddle. Between his digits fucking into you just right, the attention to your clit, and the things he was saying, the coil in your belly was close to snapping. 

“My dirty girl, always wanting my come.” He kissed your neck, then nipped at your ear. 

Moans spilled from your lips of their own accord. Javi was into this just as much as you were, feeling his hard cock against your ass. Nine times out of ten after you received your medicinal orgasm, you felt so good that you asked him to fuck you, and he happily obliged. 

Tonight was heading in that direction, too. 

His fingers felt great, but they didn’t quench the needy ache in your core that only his dick could satisfy. There was also all of the baby-making talk—and your near future of being his little creampuff—that had you craving a creampie, and not of the dessert variety. He wasn’t wrong when he said you always wanted his come. Or maybe all of this was the horny talking because you haven’t had sex in a few days—after two solid weeks of fucking your brains out, a break was needed, especially after Javi got dehydrated last weekend. 

“I’m close,” your words came out in a gasp. 

“Come for me, baby,” he said. “Let me have it. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It was audibly wet where he was curling his digits in and out of you. It didn’t take much more to have you cresting, your body tensing up as his name was pushed from your lungs. The coil snapped, the awful pain from earlier exploding into waves of pleasure that rippled from your center to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

Javi’s voice was husky when he whispered in your ear, “Good girl.” He followed that with a myriad of gentle kisses along the side of your neck, his hand continuing to work you through your high. 

When all of the muscles in your body relaxed, you let out a satisfied sigh. This was just what you needed. With how boneless you felt, there was a chance you’d melt into the mattress. His fingers left you to rest his palm on your mound beneath your panties. His lips were still littering the side of your neck with kisses. It made you smile, and you let go of the lukewarm water bottle to reach behind you, slipping your fingers into his untidy hair—you loved when he had bedhead and let his curls run wild. 

He hummed in appreciation and lifted his mouth. “Feel better?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

Javi leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “You’re welcome, mi amor. ” He nuzzled his nose against the spot his lips had been. “Should I clean up?”

Your leg came off of him for you to roll his way, facing him, his hand managing to stay in your underwear. The hair on his head was no longer the controlled mess from the previous morning; it was an actual mess, sticking up in places, with his bangs on his forehead, that you brushed away out of habit. 

“What if,” you started, “and I know this is a crazy suggestion. But what if you washed your hand so the sheets don’t get dirty and then—” you paused. 

He was smiling. “And then?”

“And then we, you know—” You wagged your eyebrows. “—while I’m feeling good.” 

Javi snorted. “We fuck?” 

“Yeah, we fuck, we go to Pound Town, we fold some laundry, we do the horizontal tango—you get the gist. I am asking you for some dick.” 

“And my answer is yes, no matter how you ask.” 

You smiled. “Good. Now, hurry before my uterus betrays me. Again.” 

“We don’t want that.” He pecked you on the tip of your nose. “I love you. I’ll be back,” he said, kissing you on the lips this time. 

“I love you, too.” 

He grunted when he got up from the bed, and once again, you found yourself staring at his ass as he headed to the bathroom. 

Who knew a butt could be so cute? And his back—god, his back. The lamplight was enough to see the definition of his muscles and to take in that honestly insane shoulder-to-waist ratio. There was a Polaroid on the fridge of Javi standing in the middle of the kitchen, facing away from you, while you held up a Dorito at the perfect angle and distance for it to hide his shoulders and back, illustrating how he was shaped like the cheesy chip. It delighted you that he went along with something so silly. It helped that he found your love for the comparison amusing. Plus, it made him feel pretty great about himself. 

He didn’t bother closing the bathroom door as he washed his hands at the sink, giving you a clear view of his profile. The glow of the bathroom’s lights painted his skin in gold. You were propped on one elbow, admiring the strength in his arms, the curve of his nose, and the adorable pudge of his soft belly. 

Javi must have felt you staring as his head suddenly turned your way. The moment your eyes met, your heart skipped a beat, and butterflies started fluttering in your tummy. It was crazy that even though you were married, he still made you feel like a high school girl with a crush sometimes. 

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. He shut off the water. “See something you like?” he asked. His gaze stayed on yours as he quickly dried his hands with the towel hanging on the wall beside the sink, before flicking off the bathroom light and heading back into the bedroom. 

You smiled. “I see a lot I like.” For emphasis, your eyes salaciously trailed up and down his body. 

He chuckled, low and warm as he walked toward the bed, his stiff cock bobbing at his hips. He gave you the same once-over, his desire obvious. His tongue peeked out, licking his bottom lip. “I see a lot I like, too.” 

His destination was the end of the bed, the mattress springs complaining as he crawled onto it. You sat back, sitting up on your arms, and out of habit, spreading your legs to give him room to kneel between them. 

He lifted your leg, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he peppered kisses from the inside of your ankle to your knee, making you shiver. Javi set the limb down. 

“You want my dick?” he asked, sliding his warm palms up your thighs. 

Arousal burned in your core. “More than anything.” 

He pushed the hem of your shirt up enough to bare your stomach. His hands went onto the bed beside your hips, as he bent forward to press his lips to the newly revealed skin just below your navel, placing a single kiss. 

His head rose. “More than anything, huh?” He kept his dark gaze on yours as he continued his journey up your body.

The want was evident on his face, and it had your heart rate picking up. “Yes.”  

“I’d better give it to you then.” He was close enough to smash his lips into yours, his hips settling in the cradle of your thighs, letting you feel his hardness.

Your weight went onto one arm to free a hand, threading your fingers into his hair, and pulling him down as you lay back on the mattress. Javi licked into your mouth, making you moan. He held himself up with a forearm beside your head, his free palm gliding over the bared skin of your belly and under your t-shirt to carefully cup your breast. 

His lips left yours to nibble on your chin. “How do you want it?” he asked, kissing along the underside of your jaw. 

“Like this,” you gasped. “Want you on top.” You had one hand in his hair, and the other clutching his shoulder blade. 

“As you wish, Mrs. Peña.” He kissed down your throat. “Shirt?” 

You frowned. “Stays on, please. My boobs are still sore.” They were tender, which was expected during this time of the month. That didn’t make it any less annoying when you usually loved his attention to your tits.

“No problem, cariño (sweetheart).” His hand came out of your t-shirt as he sat up onto his knees between your spread thighs. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them off your bent legs, and discarding them close by on the bed—he was mindful, ensuring your used pad didn’t touch the fitted sheet. He shuffled closer to you. His fingertips ghosted up the outside of your thigh, causing goosebumps to rise, while his free hand palmed his straining length. He watched you with a little smile. “You want it?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit. 

You smiled. “Yes, Papí.” That had him groaning, his eyes squeezing shut before they opened again, his pupils blown wide, with only a sliver of brown around them. “Give it to me,” you said.

“It’s yours.” A statement of truth that thrilled you. He positioned himself at your aching entrance and the mess of arousal and blood, the slickness there allowing him to slide right in with one smooth thrust. Your mouth fell open. Not only were you overly sensitive, you were also tighter than normal, making him feel bigger, the delicious stretch stealing your breath. Javier was just as affected as you, his jaw slack. 

This was almost exactly what you wanted. He was too far away, and you reached toward him. He smirked, knowing what you needed, and fell forward onto his arms, your palms grabbing his smooth cheeks—he shaved that afternoon and trimmed his mustache. He was careful not to put any weight on your breasts. “Miss me?” he asked, pulling one of your legs up onto his ribs, then the other. 

“Always.” You tugged him down, and he lowered to his forearms, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. Between his tongue slipping into your mouth and the rock of his hips, you had sparks dancing in your center. 

This was what you wanted—your husband on top of you, his dick inside you, and his lips on yours. You wanted him as close to you as humanly possible without crawling into his skin.

He started moving slowly at first, then building up to long, hard thrusts. With your legs high up on his sides, the angle had you going dizzy with every sweet drag of his cock over that perfect spot inside you. He adjusted his weight, holding himself up on one arm to slip his other hand between your bodies to play with your swollen clit. 

God, it was so fucking good. 

Your eyes were closed, your hands seeking out his ass for something to hold onto, gripping it. The muscles flexed under your palms as you pulled him deeper into you.

Every touch and sensation was bordering on overwhelming. A fire had ignited in your core from Javi pounding into you at a toe-curling pace, and the swirling of his digits. The sounds in the room were beyond obscene—the loud squelching where you were joined, the rough grunts, and soft moans. When it got to the point you both needed air, Javi broke the kiss, resting his forehead on yours. 

“I love your needy little pussy,” he panted. “Is this what you wanted?” 

It was hard enough to think with all he was doing to you, let alone speak. Somehow, you choked out “Yes!”

“I can tell.” His words were breathy as he maintained his rhythm, pushing in and out of your sloppy cunt. “You’re—fuck—you’re so fucking wet and warm. You feel so fucking good.” He kissed your lips, then your cheek, and tucked his face against the side of your head. 

He had you mewling. Your nails were digging into his ass hard enough to leave crescent moon imprints. Sweat was forming on your brow, your heart beating a mile a minute. 

“Fuck—” he groaned, “I love being inside you. I can’t get enough—I’ll never get enough.”

He put everything he had into each roll of his hips and press of his fingers. That was how it always was with your husband. His mission, which he chose to accept every time you fooled around, was making you come, and he was going to get you there no matter what it took.

With how his cock brushed over that one spot inside you with every thrust, and his digits circled your clit just right, you were a goner, your head empty of all thoughts. Instead, pleasure had consumed you, lighting up every nerve in your body like the Fourth of July. All of it had your second orgasm fast approaching, its tendrils winding tightly in your belly. 

Javi was speaking, and the effort it took to register anything he was saying was honestly embarrassing.

He sounded wrecked, his heavy breath hitting your jaw. “You’re gonna make me come. Your perfect pussy is gonna milk me dry. You want that? You want my come? You want me to fill you up?”

The thought of him coming inside you had your cunt clenching. Your husband moaned at how you squeezed him. 

“Please,” you practically begged. 

“You first. Let me feel you. Give it to me, and—Christ—give it to me, and you can have what you want.” 

That fire in your center had turned into an inferno, your insides burning brightly. 

“Come on,” he said. “Be a good girl, and take me with you.” 

It didn’t take more than a minute for you to tumble over the edge with a silent cry. Your inner walls clamped around him as euphoria took over every molecule in your body, your back arching and toes curling. Your clit throbbed underneath his skilled fingers, your thighs spasming at his sides. He said something, but you were too far gone to make out a single word, his hips continuing their onslaught. 

He was serious about you taking him with you. He sped up his strokes to chase his own high, grunting with the effort, before pushing into you one last time. His groan rumbled from his throat as he came. His thick cock jerked hard in your depths, feeling him pulse, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot spend inside you. He rolled his hips to fuck it as deep as possible, and when he stopped moving, you sighed happily. 

The room went still and quiet, save for heavy breathing. Your limbs felt noodly—loose, your legs shaking of their own accord. You anticipated your husband’s weight atop you as was usual post-coital, but were pleasantly surprised when he turned you both on your sides without slipping out of you—he did it to avoid hurting your sore breasts. One of his arms was under your neck, the other wrapped around you, holding you close while your hand went into his hair, your fingernails scratching at his scalp. He hummed appreciatively and kissed your forehead.

Together, you stayed like this for some time, basking in the endorphins flooding your systems. There wasn’t a single care that your bodies were sweaty and stuck together where they touched, or that you made a mess of you both, feeling thankful for the towel. This was the time when the world slipped away, and only the two of you remained. 

The peacefulness and how relaxed you were had you dozing off. 

A loud snore from Javi made you jolt awake, your pulse suddenly racing. It seemed sleep caught up to him, too.

“Javi?” you whispered. 

With how his body tensed, and he went quiet, you knew he’d woken. His eyes opened. “What’s wrong?” he gruffly asked.  

The question made you smile. You pushed his bangs off his forehead. “You fell asleep. Let’s take a quick shower and go back to bed.”

He said through a yawn, “Yeah, let’s do that.” His head turned to kiss the skin below your wrist, and he gave you a sleepy smile. “I’m fucking tired.” 

You frowned and stroked the back of your fingers over his cheek. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” 

“You know I want you to wake me up for shit like this.” 

“Getting your dick wet?” 

He gave you a look. “No. Helping you feel better. Getting my dick wet is a bonus.” 

“Definitely cheered me up.”

“Good.” He pecked you on the lips quickly and smacked your ass, making you giggle. “Let’s go, my beautiful wife,” he said. “I wanna get back in here and cuddle.” 

“That sounds nice.” It really did. “Let’s go, my handsome husband. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Wednesday, January 27, 11:03 AM

“We’ve been going through the cam footage at the border crossing for months,” Javier said. Sitting at the desk in his office, he pushed the manila folder with printed stills towards Sheriff Arturo. The other man picked it up and opened it, flipping through the pages. “We’re checking both commercial and personal vehicles, and aside from a handful of smaller busts, like those college kids over Christmas break who got caught by border patrol with a misdemeanor’s worth of weed—” Less than two ounces. “—everything so far has been spotless. No flagged tags, no suspicious stops, nothing unusual, which makes me really fucking suspicious.”  

The Sheriff’s eyes met his, setting the folder down. “Why?” 

“Because to be this spotless—” He tapped his finger on the desktop. “—means we aren’t working with just any average crew—they would’ve slipped up by now. We know product is moving north—money, too—but the vehicles crossing the border are clean. That tells me they’re switching them out constantly, so nothing goes through more than once, and leaves us no pattern to trace.” 

“What are you thinking?” 

“That they’re staging locally. Getting the drugs over the border and maybe using a shell property, or a business that doesn’t see a lot of traffic. Somewhere they don’t have to go far, and can easily distribute without anyone noticing.”

Arturo sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You think they’re local.” 

“Possibly. And they’re either using throwaway vehicles, most likely bought under fake names and stripped after one trip, or they’re piggybacking on legitimate imports, slipping in the product with the freight and paying the truckers to look the other way.”

“Border Patrol has the DEA breathing down their necks. If whoever these people are were able to piggyback on shipments, they would’ve been caught by now.” 

Javier smiled. “I thought about that after my amazing wife told me some really fucking good chisme (gossip) last weekend.” Given how his ex, Lorraine, ruined his life, he had zero pity that her husband was allegedly cheating on her. Javier grabbed another folder sitting by his empty coffee cup and passed it over to the older man, who flipped it open. “Schedules for the border patrol agents. They need at least two people at the checkpoint at all times. During the day, they always have five or six times that, with all the traffic of semi-trucks and tourists. Graveyard is substantially less busy. Look at the block of time from one a.m. to three a.m.” Javier pointed at it. “You have those two hours where the agents take turns going on their hour-long lunches, leaving only one guard.”

“And what? One of the agents is dirty? Or do you think the cartel has someone on the inside getting them this information?” He gestured at the papers.

“I’m not sure. What I do know is these fuckers aren’t lucky, they’re informed. I feel like someone’s feeding them, or fed them, intel, and maybe they do have the shift schedules, or were told about the maintenance windows and inspection gaps. I also think, given the possible leak and the possibility that it could be someone here or over at LPD (Laredo Police Department), we should keep this between as few people as possible. I haven’t even shared my suspicions with the narcotics team. One heads-up to the right driver, and we’re back at square one.” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. What’s your plan?” 

“Well, that’s the thing, and why I asked to talk to you. I need the traffic stop reports near the border for the last sixty days.” 

“That’s easy. Joy can get those to you by tomorrow.” Joy was technically the Sheriff’s assistant, but she was nice enough to help out Javier, too. He took a small pay cut at the beginning of the year in order for her to be compensated for the extra work. 

“It’s not that easy.” Javier’s hand ran through his hair as he sighed. “I also need the reports from the LPD, and you know as well as I do that if they find out I have anything to do with this, they won’t give us shit.” Because Lorraine’s uncle was the Chief of police and enjoyed making Javier’s life difficult. 

“That is a problem. I’ll take care of the request myself.”

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Anything else?” 

“Not right now. Once I get the reports, I’ll cross-reference with out-of-state VINs, find commercial manifests, and see if I can connect any dots.” 

Sheriff Arturo nodded. “You’re doing good work, Javi. Before I go, ¿Cuál fue el chisme que te dijo tu esposa (What was the gossip your wife told you)?”

Javier sat up straighter. “¿Oiste lo que le pasó a él esposo de Lorraine (Did you hear what happened to Lorraine’s husband)—” He paused when there was a knock on the closed door behind the Sheriff, both men looking toward it.

“Come in!” he called.

Joy cracked it open and stuck her freckled face inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Javi, but your wife is on line one.” 

The announcement made him smile as he checked his watch to see if he was late for their lunchtime call at noon. The clock hands showed it was only 11:13. Maybe she couldn’t wait to talk to him. The thought of that made him go soft. 

“Well, I better get back to work,” the Sheriff said as he got up from his chair. “We were done, anyway.” He looked at Javier. “Cuéntame más tarde (Tell me later).” 

“I will.” He gathered the folders, closing them and stacking them off to the side on his desk. As soon as the door closed behind the older man, Javier picked up his office phone and hit the button for line one. “Hey, baby,” he answered. 

“Hey, babe.” He loved hearing her voice. 

“Couldn’t wait to talk to me at lunch?” 

“No, definitely couldn’t wait.” 

His smile grew, and he leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly wrapping the telephone cord around his finger.

“Yeah? How’s your day?” He heard her inhale deeply, releasing it from her nose in a rush. His hand paused, and his lips turned down. That was her bad day sigh. His tone went gentle, “What happened, Cielito? Are you okay? Do you want me to come down there?” 

“No, I’m okay,” she reassured. “But, I need to tell you something you are absolutely going to hate.” 

His stomach plummeted, and his heart rate rose. He sat forward, resting his elbows on the desktop. “What happened?” he asked again.  

“Well, you know my ex, Daniel? Doctor Douchebag?” 

He’d never met the man, but he had heard more than enough about him. 

The guy was a real piece of work. 

She met him at a hospital in Dallas, where he was a couple of years out of his cardiothoracic residency, and she was a nurse in the emergency room. When he discovered who her father was, he pursued her for the sole purpose of getting an in with her family. 

Her dad was apparently the Bill Gates of her ex’s surgical specialty, revolutionizing it, and in general, a big shot in the medical community. He was also loaded, a pretentious dick, and a shitty father. 

So, she dated this prick, who got what he wanted, meeting and wooing her parents. Then he humiliated her when she caught him cheating with another nurse. It came out that basically the entire hospital knew he was fucking this other woman behind her back. He didn’t take it well when she ended things. One of those, ‘you don’t break up with me, I break up with you’ types. He spitefully revealed that he was using her to further his career, and that he would’ve married her for the connections and money, while continuing to sleep with other people.

Fucked up, right? Javier wanted to bash the guy’s teeth in. What confused him, though, when she told him about this piece of shit, was that she admitted he was an arrogant asshole, selfish in bed, and he thought her love for Star Wars was childish, so, why did she date him? Her answer was similar to why Javier dated Lorraine: she liked the attention. It was also one of the only times when her parents were happy with her life choices, and things were good between them. In those days, she was still vying for their approval, but with how disappointed they were by the break-up, and their attempts to get her to forgive the fucker and take him back, she became disillusioned and more resentful of them. What made it even worse was that they were still obsessed with him and stayed in touch. 

Remembering how these people treated his wife had Javier’s blood boiling, his fist tightening around the handset hard enough that the plastic creaked. 

His voice lowered, “Yeah. What about him?” 

“He’s here.” 

His jaw clenched, his heart pounding in his throat. “I’m on my way.” 

“Javi, no—” She was cut off by him hanging up the phone. His chair rolled back as he stood, Javier shrugging his suit jacket off onto it. He left the room, yanking open his office door and storming down the hallway. He undid his cufflinks as he walked, pocketing them, then rolling up his sleeves. 

“Everything okay, Javi?” Joy asked as he approached her desk, her expression showing her concern. 

“No,” he answered as he went past her, loosening his tie. “I’ll either be back or in jail.”

“Does your wife know?”

“She’ll be the one bailing me out,” he said, continuing down the hall.

He made up his mind a while ago that if he ever had the chance to kick her ex’s ass, he was going to take it. He didn’t care that what happened between them was years ago, or that she’d forgiven the guy. That asshole deserved what was coming to him, and if that meant Javier had to spend some time behind bars, it was worth it. He just hoped Cielito didn’t get too mad at him. 

“Oh, shit,” you whispered into the storage room. Your eyes were wide, staring at the darkened screen on your cell phone now that the call was abruptly over. 

There was no point in trying to call Javier back. He was stubborn and coming down there whether you liked it or not. Was it a good idea to tell him Daniel was there? With how much your husband hated him, no, but this wasn’t something you could keep from him, or wait to tell him when you got home. It didn’t feel right hiding something like this from him, and you knew if you were in his shoes, you’d want to be told. 

How did this happen? Why was Daniel in Laredo when the last time you heard, he lived and worked in Boston? Those were both great questions that you didn’t have the answers to because the second you saw him, chatting with the orderly pushing a bed with a patient dozing in and out of consciousness on it, post-surgery, you booked it to hide in the storage room. 

You needed to come up with a plan to avoid your ex and keep your husband from beating him up. Lifting your wrist, you checked the time—11:20. If you had to guess, you’d already been there for about five minutes. If you hung out for another seven, that should be enough of a buffer for Daniel to talk to the patient’s family, answer any questions, and have Robyn, your co-worker and best friend, take over care. The hope was that he didn’t know you worked there, and this was all one big coincidence, but if he were aware, avoiding him should make him go away. If he asked Robyn where you were, due to the time, she’d tell him you probably went to lunch early. Either way, seven minutes from now, he should definitely be gone, and that will allow you to intercept Javi and redirect him out of the hospital, where you can get him back into his truck and distract him, probably by making out. 

It was a pretty solid plan. 

As you stood there, waiting, you thought it was sweet that your husband wanted to defend your honor. You had to admit it was really sexy, too. Yeah, you were more than capable of handling things yourself and had done it most of your life, but Javi going into protector mode? Dear god, did it rile you up. Even if you loved it, you didn’t think it was worth his getting arrested. 

Minutes passed. You looked at your watch again: 11:27. 

Game time. 

Walking over to the door, you slowly opened it enough to peek your head out, looking down both ways of the thankfully empty hallway. You left the storage room and briskly walked to the nurse’s station at the end of the hall. Before you had to do your Houdini disappearing act, you’d just finished your rounds, so you knew your two patients were cared for. At the desk, you ensured neither of them had hit the call button. Everything looked good. Where was Robyn? You needed her help with the whole Daniel situation. Instead of waiting for her to show up, you left the nurse’s station, heading back down the hallway to find her. 

It seemed luck was not in your favor today. 

“There you are.” The voice behind you had you stopping in your tracks, and a ball of dread settling in your stomach. Well, fuck. There goes your game plan. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you let it out with a sigh as you turned around. “Hello, Daniel.” 

He was standing there with his icy-blue eyes and his stupid pastel yellow surgical cap covered in trout he’d had since medical school—he said it was good luck. He didn’t look much different from the last time you saw him three years ago, before he moved to Massachusetts. Slightly shorter than Javi, clean-shaven, with a light tan, which was weird since he practically lived indoors, tailored black scrubs, and a watch that probably cost more than your car. Was he attractive? Sure. Hotter than your husband? Not even close. You still considered Daniel out of your league, and it had surprised you when he asked you out all that time ago. You should’ve known he had ulterior motives, but back then, you loved that the cute, young, hotshot surgeon at the hospital, who your parents loved, was interested in you. 

He frowned. “Don’t be like that, Kitten.” The nickname made you shudder. “It’s still Dan.” He couldn’t even smile without looking smug. “I heard you worked here, and thought we could grab lunch and catch up. For old times’ sake.” 

For old times’ sake? He was making it sound like your relationship was all sunshine and daisies, something it absolutely was not. After your breakup, the two of you pretended the other didn’t exist at work, and only spoke when your parents were in town because they always invited him to dinner even after you told them not to. Thankfully, three years ago, with a recommendation your father wrote on his behalf, Daniel ended up getting his dream job in Boston, so you haven’t seen or spoken to him since then. 

When your arms crossed over your chest, you caught him glancing down for a split second to check out your chest. Gross. “No, thanks. I have plans. If that was all, I have to get back to work.” 

“Wait, what about a drink when you get off? This sad little town must have a bar.” 

You glared. “It does, and once again, no thank you.” 

“Then talk to me for a second.” His tone softened, yet it came off as patronizing. “I heard you weren’t doing well, and when our old hospital called me to take the case for this patient here that they were going to fly to Dallas, it felt like kismet, and that I should come down here to check on you. I was worried about you.” 

What in the actual fuck was he talking about? Also, him worrying about you was laughable since he was pathologically self-centered. This guy never truly apologized for what he did to you, and thought he could charm away the damage. You squinted, your eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean you heard I wasn’t doing well?” 

He gave you a look like you should know what he was talking about. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Kitten.” Wow, hearing him call you that was like nails on a chalkboard. “I had dinner with your parents last week, and they told me all about how you made a mistake moving down here, and that you’re struggling, but don’t be too hard on yourself. We all have choices we regret, like how I treated you. If I could go back, I’d do it all differently and wouldn’t take you for granted. Maybe this is our second chance.” 

There was a lot to take in, from what your mother and father said to him to his attempt at rekindling your romance. Each part made you angrier and angrier. The fucking audacity of your parents’ lies, and Doctor Douchebag thinking you’d even consider taking him back. Your eyes squeezed closed, focusing on your breathing to stay calm so you didn’t make a scene. 

“First of all,” you finally said, your attention returning to him, “I’m very happily married.” You lifted your left hand to show him your rings. His eyes rounded, his general smugness fading as reality sank in. “My life is not falling apart. My life has never been better. I have a man who actually loves me, and not the perks I come with. I also love living in this ‘sad little town’ with my husband and our family. My parents? I am no longer in contact with them, and good riddance; they never liked anything they couldn’t control, especially my choices. All that shit they said about me was what they needed to say to make the world make sense to them again. The ideas you had about us getting back together are, honestly, fucking delusional. You seriously thought my life was in shambles and that’d, what? Make me forget about you cheating on me? Or the part where you told me, to my face, that all I was worth to you was my family’s money and connections? You thought you could show up here and play the hero? Go fuck yourself, Daniel.” 

With it being around lunchtime, you weren’t concerned about anyone overhearing. 

He regained his composure, standing a little straighter. “Dan,” he said. 

“Get fucked, Doctor Douchebag.” 

This was a man who wasn’t often talked back to or heard the word ‘no’ enough, which became evident from the look he gave, where his eyes screamed ‘danger,’ and he had a creepy little smile that made the hair rise on the back of your neck. 

See, Daniel grew up privileged. He attended the best schools and was always the best in the room. He was so good at his profession that people let him get away with everything. His arrogance was backed by brilliance, and he weaponized his charm. This all meant he believed consequences were for other people, and he could do no wrong. 

“You know, your parents and I, we aren’t the villains here,” he said. “We just see things clearly.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Sure, you’re ‘happily married’—” He did air quotes with his fingers. “—but we all know you were meant for more than this. More than a town with only one bar and patients who think Tylenol is a miracle drug.” He took a step forward, and you went back one. “You could have everything. Your dad told me about his job offer for you to be the director of nursing back home. Your talent is wasted here. You're giving up money, connections, and status for what? So you can play house with some guy your parents wouldn’t even pay to park their car? You can’t seriously think some hick town nobody is better than me. Your parents want what’s best for you. I want what’s best for you. Let’s go talk about this more over coffee.” He was quick to grab your bicep in an attempt to lead you away, his grip hard enough to make you flinch. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You jerked your arm, but his fingers only dug in harder. He was acting as if he still had some kind of claim to you, making you feel sick to your stomach. The hallway was quiet, save for the soft hum of the sterile lights above. 

“Stop being dramatic. I just want to talk.” 

“I said, let go!” You pushed at his chest. 

Before he had a chance to respond, a voice cut through the tension. Sharp and unmistakably furious. “Get your hands off my wife!” 

Daniel looked up just in time to catch the full weight of a punch square to the jaw. The crack of the impact echoed in the corridor, the thud silencing everything for a moment. The man staggered, caught off guard, stumbling back. You gasped, covering your mouth. Before the surgeon had a chance to recover, Javi was on him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, yanking him close until their faces were inches apart.

“Don’t you ever touch my wife again,” your husband said, low and dangerous. “You think you have the right to grab her and take her where you want, like she’s yours? She’s not. She never was. So, here’s your only warning. You lay a hand on her again, I’ll break it. If I see you even look at her the wrong way, you’ll be eating through a fucking straw. You ever show your face near her again, I will put it through a wall. I’m not fucking around.” 

Stepping to the side, you looked past your husband to see the other man glaring with blood dripping from his lip.  “Who are you?” 

“Her husband, and the hick town nobody you really don’t want to fuck with.” 

Oh. Was it wrong that Javier threatening your terrible ex with bodily harm was turning you on? He had a good twenty pounds on your ex and would easily wipe the floor with him. This was a new level of anger you’d never seen before. You didn’t want him to be so mad, but dear lord, were you dangerously close to swooning. His immediate response to seeing someone causing you distress was to come in swinging, and wasn’t that very sexy of him? What you knew for sure was that you’d never wanted to have his babies more.

Javi shoved him back, releasing his grip on the shirt. Daniel continued staring down your husband as he used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood on his chin and smoothed the invisible wrinkles from his scrubs. 

“Real classy entrance, amigo,” the surgeon replied. “Are you always this protective, or are you just insecure?” 

Javi took an immediate step forward, and it was satisfying to see your ex flinch. 

“You wanna rethink that question, pal?” your husband asked. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket; his white dress shirt hugged his back, revealing how tense he was beneath it. You knew it was taking a lot for him not to kick the smaller man’s ass.

Your ex smiled. “What I mean is that she and I have history. That won’t go away with a ring and a temper. You can threaten me all you want, but one day she’ll realize what she gave up, and that she deserves better than this backwoods fairy tale. I think deep down, you both know that, too.” 

Javier’s voice turned menacing. “She already knows what she gave up, and that’s why she happily wears my last name. It’s also the reason you’re here, grasping at straws, and pathetically bleeding.” He leaned in slightly. “Next time you wanna feel like a big, important man, maybe pick someone who doesn’t have a husband willing to break your jaw for it. You wanna listen to yourself talk more, or are we done?” 

This was when Daniel’s eyes landed on yours. “This is it?” 

You moved to stand beside your husband, his arm automatically going behind your back to hold your hip. The question made your eyebrows pull together. “Dude, this has been it for five fucking years. You’re the one who's too full of himself to accept that someone doesn’t want anything to do with you. So, for the love of god, leave me the fuck alone, and when you talk to my parents, ‘cause I know you’re gonna call my dad after this—you’ve always needed his approval more than you‘ve ever given a fuck about me—please let them know I’m a Peña now. See?” You pointed to your hospital badge clipped to the front pocket of your scrub shirt. “P-e-ñ-a,” you sounded it out for him. “I think it goes pretty great with my first name. Right, babe?” You looked toward Javi, who was already watching you with a smile. 

“It’s perfect with your first name, mi amor.” 

“Yes, it is.” Your eyes went back to your ex. The expression on his face was one of disbelief. This was a hard pill for him to swallow. “I’m not sorry that this puts an end to your dreams of becoming my father’s second son. Maybe if you suck up enough he won’t be too disappointed in your failure to get me back—I just wouldn’t count on an invite to Thanksgiving if I were you.”

“I don’t understand,” Daniel started, “how you can give up everything for something as trivial as love.” 

“Because I’d rather build a life that’s real than decorate one that’s empty, and it’s sad that you don’t understand that. Love isn’t trivial, it’s everything your life is missing.”

He huffed. “I’m not missing anything. I’ve got everything I need—a career, status, respect. Love fades, but comfort lasts. You’ll find that out the hard way, and when you do, your parents will welcome you back with open arms.” 

“You are a sad, strange little man. You have my pity.” Before he could reply, you barreled on, wanting this discussion to end. “Well—“ You clapped your hands together once. “—I hated this interaction aside from when my wonderful husband punched you in your stupid face and threatened you. I can assure you he is going to get majorly laid tonight. Everything is going to be on the table—he could even fuck me on the table if he wanted to, I am so down. So, yeah, fuck off, Daniel.”

“What my wife said,” Javi added. “Fuck off, Daniel.” 

The surgeon tore off his surgical cap, revealing his tousled, dirty blonde hair as he walked away. When he was out of view, you turned to your husband, who faced you. Snatching his punching hand, you carefully lifted it, inspecting it for any injuries. 

“Is there any pain?” you asked. His knuckles were red, with no abrasions or cuts, but there was some swelling. There weren’t any visible signs of a break, which was reassuring. 

“No, Cielito.” Glancing up, you watched his smiling face as you moved each of his fingers, checking to see if he winced or showed any discomfort. “I’m fine. I promise.” 

So far, he looked to be telling the truth. “Let me get you some ice to help with the swelling.” 

He didn’t let you leave, his hands instead moving to caress your cheeks, keeping your eyes on his. “Mi amor, baby, I’m good.” 

“Okay. They might be feeling fine right now, but there’s a chance you might experience some stiffness later.” 

He smirked. “Oh, I know I’m gonna experience some stiffness later.” 

“I’m in nurse mode, babe, is that a dick joke, or do I need to keep an eye on your hand?” 

“It was a dick joke.” He leaned in, kissing your forehead. His arms wrapped around you, and you hugged him back, the side of his head resting against yours. “My hand is okay.” 

“Good.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Your nose nestled into the crook of his neck, inhaling his spicy cologne with its citrusy notes and lovely musk, which mixed with his natural scent, had you relaxing into him. “I am now,” you answered truthfully.

“Good.” He kissed your hair and squeezed you a little tighter.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the middle of the hallway, holding each other. The Daniel altercation shook you up, and you were thankful Javi arrived when he did. Thinking back on your relationship with your ex, there were a few instances where he felt entitled to grab you like he did today. It usually happened at parties, and you didn’t think much of it at the time. Now, it felt violating and gross, especially since he was virtually a stranger. It was fucked up that after all these years he still thought he had the right to steer you like property. And with who you were nowadays, you couldn’t believe you ever let him treat you like that. It was jarring when he put his hands on you earlier, but you wouldn’t have gone with him without a fight, and a lot of noise. 

Javi leaned back to look at you, and there was something so comforting about gazing into his brown eyes, the dark amber flecked with warmth that radiated his love for you. His large palms rubbed your upper arms.

“You’re okay?” he asked, double-checking.

You smiled. “I’m wonderful.” 

His lips crooked up. “Perfect. Did I hear you say everything was on the table tonight?” 

You giggled, your hands smoothed up his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. “Yes, you did, and I meant everything. You came in here, my knight in a business suit, saving me from that asshole. You can have whatever your heart desires.”

“Yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m not saying I ever want to see you get that mad again, but it was extremely sexy how you defended and protected me. Really riled up the cavewoman part of my brain that sees you as the perfect mate to procreate with.” 

You could see his amusement. “The cavewoman part of your brain?” 

“Yep. You know, like that deep, primitive instinct you have that makes you wanna put a baby in me.” 

He didn’t get to reply. “And that’s why I’m on birth control and I make my male partners wear condoms,” Robyn said. Javi and you turned your heads toward her, standing there. Her chestnut curls were up in a bun today, and, as usual, her makeup was flawless, with her cherry-red lips and perfect cat eye. “That instinct is dangerous as hell. I’m happy Seb—” Her boyfriend and your husband’s cousin. “—is on the same page as me about no babies, and is very pro-condoms.” She smiled. “Somethin’ I know neither of you is, you nasty freaks. Y’all just goin’ at it raw from the very beginnin’. Crazy kids.” Her attention went to Javi. “Did she tell you I switched to her old birth control?”

“Uh, no, she didn’t…” 

“Well, knowin’ how often she gets creampied, and that it still prevented her from gettin’ pregnant, really sold it for me.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess?” 

“I’m pretty happy about it. So, what’s up with you guys?” She checked her watch before looking at you. “Are y’all goin’ to lunch? It’s about that time.” 

Did she not know what happened with Daniel?

Letting go of Javi, you faced her, while he took his spot beside you, his arm resting across your shoulders. Without thinking, you reached up to lace your fingers with his. 

“Uh, you didn’t hear what was going on out here?” you asked. 

Her eyebrows furrowed. “No, I didn’t. Did I miss somethin’ excitin’? My last thirty minutes were spent keepin’ that new patient alive, the one who had a fuckin’ left atrial myxoma excised—” 

“That’s a tumor inside the beating heart that is extremely difficult to remove,” you said for Javi’s benefit. 

“It’s so difficult that there’s maybe a dozen surgeons around the world who can do it, and I stupidly called dibs on the patient ‘cause cases like those usually get life-flighted to San Antonio, or Dallas—we sure as hell don’t have anyone talented enough here. They flew in some fancy guy from Boston for this one. I wanted to chat with him, but he seemed to be in a hurry. Then the patient tried to code on me.” She frowned. 

“A rough one?” 

“Yeah. He forgot how to breathe. Fought the mask, panicked hard, and his oxygen bottomed out. Took me a bit to get him stable, but he’s good now.” She smiled again. “So, what’d I miss?” 

“That fancy surgeon from Boston? My ex.” 

Robyn gasped. “Doctor Douchebag?”

“The one and only.” 

Her eyes were wide. “Oh my god, and Javi’s here. Don’t tell me I missed your husband beatin’ his ass!” 

“Let me tell you what happened…” 

You recounted what she missed, starting with your attempt to hide from Daniel in the storage room. When you got to the part where Javi hit him, she high-fived your husband, and told you both if she’d been there she would’ve throat-punched the fucker. When you finished, she shook her head and said, “Girl, your life is insane. I do not envy you. But you know what?”

“What?” you asked. 

She pointed at Javier. “His life is probably more insane than yours, and I think that’s why he handles all the crazy so well. I hate sayin’ it, but a weaker man wouldn’t have lasted this long. Y’all really are perfect for each other.” 

“Yeah, we are,” your husband said, leaning in to kiss your temple. 

“We sure the fuck are,” you agreed. 

“You guys gonna head to lunch?” Robyn asked. 

Given all that happened, you assumed it took up your designated lunch hour. If Robyn was cool with you going, though, well, you’d definitely love to get your husband alone somewhere. 

Your head turned to find Javi already looking at you. “Lunch?” 

He smiled. “I’ve got time.” 

Your eyes went back to your friend. “We’re gonna go, but let me check on my patients really quick before I leave.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She waved away your concern. “You covered my longer than normal lunch yesterday. I’ve got you.”  

Her boyfriend had surprised her at lunch with flowers and a new haircut. They lost track of time fucking in the back of his Ford Bronco. 

Girls support girls getting laid. 

“You are the fucking best.” 

“I know. Go.” She shooed you away.

That was all your husband needed to hear. His arm came off you to grab your hand at his side, and pulled you along behind him as he walked around Robyn. 

“Thank you!” you said over your shoulder. 

“You’re welcome!” 

You focused on Javi’s back. “What do you want to eat?” you asked. 

He didn’t stop as he looked back, his eyes darker. He said low enough for only you to hear, “We both know we’re not eating.” 

He made you smirk. “No, we are not. At least not food, anyway.” 

He smiled. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

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[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 4]

masterlist | ao3

warnings: anxiety attack, depressive episode and working through really low days, self-loathing/feelings of uselessness

With the Void incident having occurred Saturday, you had one day to settle back into a normal routine before returning to the tower Monday afternoon.

The thing was, Yelena knew when to expect Bob’s low periods, and this resulted in her taking you aside as soon as you arrived.

“It’s better when he doesn't know,” she admitted somewhat guilty as the both of you talked on the ground floor of the Watchtower. You hadn't expected to be ambushed on your way in, the two cups of steaming tea now settling into room temperature. “Things come back to him sometimes, but it's usually only with bigger accidents. When they do, he spirals.”

She toyed with her gloves, steel knuckles glinting in the little sunlight seeping through the windows behind you. You weren't sure if it was some unspoken rule with Nat and her sister, but they were all about bodysuits and hard edges. And they always managed to look effortlessly beautiful.

You glanced down at your high waisted jeans and knitted jumper before her sigh brought you back to the moment at hand.

“Most of the time he’s oblivious. It's easier.”

You don't particularly enjoy the way her eyes flit up to yours. It's a look of asking, of settling.

“I promised I would tell him,” you said. “I won't break that promise.”

“I don't know what you saw in there. I don't know you.” She drew her shoulders back, power in her stance. “I know Bob. He will blame himself for whatever you went through and it will throw him into his bad days much quicker because he likes you.”

The way she narrowed her eyes had your heart twisting. Nat did the same thing when she was trying to talk you out of something.

“He's done a great job so far.” You tell her this not to cushion your reasoning but because it's true. “He's been very open about his past with all of you. Less with his childhood, but I expected that.”

You glanced down at your hands, frowning as the lack of heat passed through the cups’ sleeves. While your favorite shop brewed the best, their to-go cups didn't hold up well. The time on your watch showed you were about to be late to your meeting with Bob.

“I don't want to trigger a low period,” you continued, “but I have to understand him for me to figure out how to help him with Void. Me understanding him comes with building trust.”

“Don't let him see it.” Yelena wasn't asking as she remained between you and the elevator. “If you want to be honest with him, fine, but don't let him relive it. Keep those memories to yourself.”

The words stung. You’d been taught by the strongest to hold your ground, but against the storm of Yelena’s stare you felt small.

What if Bucky was wrong? What if I’m not helping?

You wanted to be nothing but open to Bob, but that didn't mean you'd let him see things that were going to hurt him all over again. That's why you muted the shame rooms, why you assessed what memory of yours he was about to see and made sure you both warned earth other about anything that might've slipped your mind. Things that neither of you wanted to see let alone be seen.

The first time, you couldn't very well list everything you'd been through. Now you knew better

“Was never planning on it,” you murmured, raising your chin as Yelena looked you up and down. She didn't move from where you needed to go. “It's okay not to trust me, Yelena. It's not okay to make me late. Can I go, please?”

She blew out a short stream of air, her lips barely parting as she stepped aside, arm waving towards the elevator as she looked the other way.

“Thank you. Good luck on the mission.”

As the elevator doors closed, your throat felt tight.

You sipped your lukewarm tea.

Stepping off on Bob’s floor, you found him with his back against the living room windows, head turned to stare down at the streets below. He seemed lost in thought, not noticing your presence as you went to the kitchen to reheat your teas in the microwave.

You let your mind skirt his. It was a deadly quiet thing, tucked into itself. While not unusual, it was a sign he was falling a bit too deep into the wrong train of thoughts. He'd been like this the few times you'd visited only to have Bucky shake his head at you, murmuring some excuse.

You knew about his bad days, you just hadn't been around them. The relationship was still new then and besides checking in mind-wise there wasn’t much you could do.

After Void’s attack, you knew things would change, but you wouldn’t let anything change at the expense of Bob’s comfort. Whatever was happening inside of him, you hadn't missed how easily you'd been swept into his mindscape unlike the others.

Void had wanted you there and he'd gotten you. What that meant, you hadn't figured out yet.

Opening the microwave caught Bob’ attention. You couldn't help but smile as his psyche unfurled into the space, leaving you to draw back into your own little corner.

“Hey.” It was a soft word, barely making it across the room into the kitchen. “I didn't hear you come in.”

Bob's hair was getting close to reaching his shoulders. He’d mentioned how Yelena trimmed it from time to time, sometimes Ava if she wasn't around and he desperately needed it done. If how he kept fiddling with it was any indication, you would bet he was getting to that point.

“You okay?”

You’re not sure why it surprised you that he noticed. Maybe the mask you’d practised all these years was wearing down.

“I thought you hated heights,” you said instead of answering, nodding to the windows.

“I'm getting better with them, living up here. Facing my fears.” He tried to lift his voice up on the last sentence, but he sounded like he was making fun of himself more than anything.

You took his steaming cup out to cool. “You should be proud of yourself.”

He was tired. You could tell by his smile as he got to his feet and shuffled over. He was barefoot today, dressed in some corduroy pants and the first sweater you'd ever seen on him. As he grew closer, you noticed the bags under his eyes.

“Sorry, I let our tea get cold.” It was warm and inviting in its cup again as you held it out for him, popping the lid back on. Yours was half full and barely needed ten seconds to be drinkable again. “Bad dreams?” you asked as the numbers ticked down.

He sipped his drink, chocolate strands sweeping across his cheeks with the movement. “I couldn't sleep. I was trying to remember what happened.”

“I promised I'd tell you today.”

“I know, I just…” His hand went to rub his eye, but you grabbed it, carefully bringing it back down. You held his gaze as the microwave beeped.

“You rub it when you're anxious,” you told him, turning to pop the door open and set your drink aside with your free hand. “Skin turned pink last time.”

He doesn't pull away but he doesn't try to hold your hand back. You swallow and let go.

“Couch?” you asked.

“Sure,” he mumbled, following a beat behind you.

There was a throw pillow between you. Bob took to messing with the edges of it as you crossed your legs underneath each other, finishing off your drink with slow sips.

“I know it was bad,” he began, voice wobbling in a way that made your heart clench, “I just can't remember what I did.”

“I'm going to tell you. Look at me first, though,” you asked him. He did, head tilted down and everything weighed with guilt, even those long, dark eyelashes. “I'm not upset with you. I don't hold you accountable for anything that happened the other day, okay?”

He nodded, jaw moving in a way that let you know he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I'm telling you because I promised,” you continued. “And because I didn't mention something that I should've warned you about when it came to my past.”

Telling him about your interaction with the Void and the shame room that had surfaced from it had been the hardest thing yet. But you did it. You sat there and laid the trauma out in the open, hands clasped in the space between your legs.

“I knew we'd run into it, but I should've told you. Seeing that would… It'd make anyone feel like shit. I should've been more open about it.”

“Please, please don't apologize for that,” Bob whispered, rubbing his face harsh enough to worry you. His fingers shook as he pulled away. “I forced you to relive that and you're apologizing to me. That's not how this should be—you should be—”

You watched his chest shudder and uncrossed your legs, leaning into the cushion between you.

“Bob,” you called softly, “I’m alright.”

“This is fucked up. You should be angry at me,” he kept on, hands going for his hair. “I make everything so much worse and you don't—you're not—fuck!”

The curse was a vehement whisper. You could feel his psyche closing in on itself, wrinkling with pressure like a vacuum sealed bag.

For all of a second, you could see those piercing eyes in your mind and a shadow hand around your throat.

“Bob, listen to me.” You were on your knees on the couch now. They brushed his thigh as you grabbed his wrists, squeezing and guiding them from his hair. “Breathe. Take some deep breaths.”

He took a long, shaky inhale as you kept a solid pressure on his hands. With his eyes screwed shut, his chest shuddered.

“I-I can’t,” he wheezed.

“You can.”

It took some time before he found the air he needed. His tea was long since forgotten on the table nearby, but you watched him focus on it, following the outline with his eyes.

When the tension eased from his shoulders, you felt confident enough to speak up again.

“If there was ever a reason for me to be angry at you, trust me, you would know. I can't hide things from you, remember?”

He slowly nodded, zeroing in on your joined hands as he blinked.

“Everything we're doing together is to keep incidents like that from happening again. We're working to a point where you feel in control and until then, I'm here to help.” You nudged his chin up with the curve of your finger, aching at how watery they'd become. “None of this is your fault.”

Something softened the distance between you and Bob at that moment. There was this raw look—one of pure, shaking relief.

You'd gone through that dark tunnel in him and come out with your arms opened wide, no different from his team. That changed things for him, you understood that much.

The rest of the day, you resumed your latest lesson, keeping things easy and allowing him some space to think.

Inspired by his love of the library, you had explained a very important part of your mental fortitude when it came to meditation. You were well aware the concept wasn't new to him—having heard about the quietest place in his maze of shame rooms. This one would be better.

You helped guide him through his happier memories like the one with the library, crushed by how few there were before meeting the New Avengers.

“What's yours like?” he asked as you watched another bookshelf pop out of existence. You were beginning to learn how particular he was when it came to them.

The room’s outline was still hazy, but it was smaller than you would've expected. The entire team would barely fit and Bob was trying to find the right amount of shelves and books to fill it before even imagining wallpaper or flooring.

I modeled it after my first apartment. It was twice the size and filled with things you'd only dreamed of buying at the time but never did out of fear of up and running again. The windows were the best thing about that place. One had a place to sit and just stare out at the city. I was able to keep one measly mint plant alive.

There was plenty more in your safe space, ones that didn't make sense being in a hanging pot. You even had a childhood stray cat wandering around the place from time to time. The real Whisk had long since passed and would never be caught dead inside. You'd tempted her with snacks forever and had never gotten her further than your porch.

“Can I see it?”

Both of you felt the hesitation bubble up. For the first time since you'd introduced yourself to Bob, you felt shy and clumsy in the connection between your mind and his.

Sorry, you hurried to say.

“No, I'm sorry!”

It's not that I don't want to show you it's just…private. And it was in the deepest part of your subconscious where nothing was filtered or neat or made for prying eyes. Which yours should be too. This is just practice. The real one you'll need to meditate on your own time. Put it somewhere deeper. You waved a hand at the murkiness surrounding you both in the small room. That's why this is tricky and not really wanting to stay put. We're not that far in.

“No, I think that's just me.” The trembling smile in his thoughts was infectious. “My imagination is lacking.”

Says the bookworm. You're shocked at the nudge he gives you and laugh into his head. How did you get good at this so fast?

“What do you mean?”

You already can mimic body movement here and pinpoint me enough to touch me. Wanda had teased you constantly for how slow you were when it came to physically finding yourself within your own mind. You're more aware. I’m jealous.

“You make it easy to follow. I feel everything you do so I just mirror it—”

Both of you jolted back into your bodies as a snap reverberated. You watched Yelena step back, clearly shocked by how strongly you reacted to the sound as Bob grabbed the back of the couch, his eyes practically rolling around his head

“Bob? You good?” she asked, her hand landing on his shoulder.

He nodded, eyes shut as he gripped the couch cushion. “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

“Maybe we were in a little too deep,” you chucked, standing to grab him some water.

“I called your names like three times,” Yelena huffed, apologetic. “We're going out to dinner.”

“How’d the mission go?” he asked, thanking you as you held out a cold bottle fresh from the fridge.

“Great. That's why we're eating out,” she chuckled, glancing up at you as you grabbed your jacket off the couch to slip on. “You're invited too.”

“No, it's okay.” You struggled to get the sleeves from being inside out. “I don't wanna intrude on team bonding time.”

“No, come,” she insisted and you froze, eyes widening as she stepped towards you. “I was being a bitch earlier. Let me buy you dinner with Valentine's money.”

“What?” Bob murmured, looking between you both.

“You were not,” you breathed. “You're just cautious—it’s fine. I'd be the same way.”

“No, I totally was and you've been helping a bunch and I don't want you to think I don't trust you because I do.” This was quite possibly the most open you had seen her since officially meeting her over a month ago. “Like, I know how cool you are. Nat talked about you and I've made no effort to get to know you.”

“I mean, I haven't really either and she did the exact same,” you assured her.

“She talked about me?” she mumbled, eyes round.

“Is this a good time for me to change?”

Both of you looked down at Bob who was trapped on the couch with either of you standing over him.

“Yes! Go change. Wear some of your new clothes we got, it's cold out tonight.”

“Okay, mom,” he teased with a wisp of a smile, scooching off the couch as you backed up to give him room. You brushed his elbow with your hand as he stood.

“You really are learning fast,” you told him and he ducked his head, coughing out a quick thanks before shuffling off. You watched him go, eyes drawn to the length of his back as his hand went up to run through his hair.

“Did everything go okay?”

You blinked, looking back at Yelena and nodding. “I think so. I'm trying to show him how to meditate in his own safe space when he's feeling overwhelmed.”

“And Void?” she questioned, whispering.

You crossed your arms loosely, glancing towards the hall.

He has super hearing, you told her. She jerked her head back at your voice in her head. Sorry. I just know he has super hearing with the thoughts that pass through his head. I don't want to worry him.

“It's getting better. I help keep him at bay when he gets too loud,” you explained, but your eyes told the rest of the story.

She nodded. “Did anything else happen with Void?”

No, but I can tell Bob’s retreating into himself a lot more. You thought it might be a sign of those bad days coming around the corner. Can you tell me more about how he is during his depressive episodes?

“He wants to stay in bed. Barely eats. We try to keep him in the main room so he isn't as shut off from everything since we all pass through there for stuff, but sometimes leaving him be and checking in around the clock is the only thing we can do.” You sensed how hopeless she felt as she explained. “He doesn't want to be treated like a child, so we try to give him his space.”

You're doing the best you can. Hopefully, Dr. Arlington will be able to help him with it. Once he knew how to spot these low periods coming, he'd be one step ahead.

“He has been a little better,” Yelena offered, picking up your to-go cups to throw away. You thanked her. “The first month, the episodes were worse than they are now.”

You've given him a home. There's lots of stress being on the streets. It made everything worse.

She nodded, turning and pursing her lips into a smile as Bob appeared from his room. You bit your lip as he fumbled with a beanie, his overcoat a nice mellow brown like his pants.

“You coming?” he asked, sunken eyes a bit lighter as they landed on you.

“Yes,” answered Yelena before you had the chance, “she is.”

It was a cold night as you all piled into a limo, Alexei begging someone to drink with him as Ava swiped through the menu of the restaurant on her phone.

“So you just live with us now, or…?”

You quirked a smile at Walker, shrugging. “Everyday but the weekends.”

“You were here Sunday.”

Bob sank lower in his seat next to you, now aware of everything that had gone down early that morning. You brushed your leg against his.

“Would've been a boring weekend if I hadn't been,” you said, holding Walker’s eye.

“What exactly is your deal though?” His hands opened where they were resting on either of his thighs, gesturing. “Just petty little mind tricks? What color am I thinking of?”

“Cool it, Walker,” Bucky warned from the head seat, eyes slim and unshaking.

You smiled as you looked down at Walker's arm, watching his smug face follow your gaze. He made a choked grunt as he swatted at his sleeve and you scoffed, letting the illusion of the spider vanish from his mind’s eye.

The car pulled to a stop outside the restaurant as he scowled at you.

“It was blue,” you said, leaning over to open the door.

Bob was smiling into his shoulder as he stepped out behind you.

You knew how quickly a depressive episode could hit, but you were still blindsided when Bob refused to see you the following day.

Yelena didn't bother with an “I told you so.” She did drag you along to the newly finished gym floor, wanting to see what you remembered from your training. This was her way of wanting to spend time with you and to really get to know you and you couldn't have been more ecstatic.

Since you stayed around the tower, you made a point to make your presence known to Bob’s mind before being thrown into the ring with the infamous assassin. He didn't say anything as you brushed by him, but it wasn't long before you were dodging fists and getting your ass handed to you on the mat.

It took a few rounds for you to get back into the swing of things. Yelena fought with a familiar style, heavier with her kicks and more likely to block than dodge. The best you got was swiping her feet out from beneath her. Everything else ended in a new bruise.

By late afternoon, you had taken to reading a book on the top floor in Bob’s alcove. Bucky and Ava were there doing research on some rising crime ring, but you weren't in the mood to stick your nose in that mess.

A text from Yelena revealed she'd gotten Bob to eat something and that he was doing better with Cucumber to keep him company.

Confused, you typed out the question before you felt Bob wavering near your psyche. You reached out to ask him instead.

Who’s Cucumber? He didn't say anything, but you got a quick flash of an orange and white guinea pig scuttling over a comforter. He seemed amused by your jealousy before you returned to your book, allowing him to trickle into your thoughts and listen as you read.

You left the tower a while after without a single word from him.

The next day, his bedroom door was open. Everyone was out and he was still in bed when you arrived, hair tangled and eyes distant.

He started to apologize when he noticed you. Shaking your head to silence him, you sat on the floor next to his bed, setting the tea you'd brought on the bedside table.

“He's so loud today,” he mumbled, old tear streaks drying in the corners of his eyes.

“Want some help?”

He sniffed and nodded minutely.

You kept your guard up when you found the writhing dark mass in his head, sweeping it up into a ball and sectioning it off for a while. The weight wasn't easy but seeing the relief on Bob’s face as you took hold of it was enough for you to bury the discomfort.

You could carry it for an hour or two. For him.

“What keeps you going?” he'd asked Wednesday. He had gotten as far as the couch, munching on a piece of toast but not really eating it. You'd brought some of your favorite broth from a place nearby in hopes he might try some. If not, more for you.

“I want to make old friends proud.” You flipped through some files from your other job, refreshing yourself on your next ‘client’ coming up. You had already made sure to leave out anything that might trigger wandering eyes. “Use what skills I have to help people.”

“Why do you care?”

It was an empty question, but you answered.

“I was in a bad spot for a long time. There wasn't room for me to stop and think about what I wanted to do.” You turned to smile at him, happy to find his head resting against a cushion and those eyes blinking at you. “I'm better now and I like helping people however I can.”

“Don't you get tired of it?” he sighed. You couldn't see auras but he felt overwhelmingly blue today—the hue that you saw when a sun glinted off a glacier. “Your job is the same thing, over and over.”

“It was,” you agreed, flipping to another page, “then I got to meet you. You're much more fun to hang around.”

“Even like this?”

You reached out to him in his head, making sure he felt your words as well as heard them. “Even like this,” you promised.

It was the first smile you'd gotten out of him in days.

Thursday had its challenges. Yelena had to drag Bob to get ready for therapy and into your car, a firm hand where you couldn't be.

At the office, you were on the other side of the wall when you felt Void flare up. Dr. Arlington has touched something sore in Bob, enough for that darkness to writhe.

By the time the session was finished, you were sweating under your clothes with a headache getting worse by the minute. Holding Void back wasn't usually so physically draining, but you'd been having an off week.

“This is pointless.”

“No, it's not,” you murmured, parking the car. You had just gotten back to the Watchtower and Bob was brooding.

“I haven't made any progress against Void. He keeps—” his hands were tense as he held them in front of him, gripping at something you couldn't see. “He's everywhere.”

“You've kept it under control.”

“Because of you!” His voice rose, leaving you to wince from the pounding in your head. “Its not me. I can't do anything against him.”

“You're the one holding him back constantly.” You kept your tone neutral as you opened the car door and walked around to get his. He scowled up at you. “If you weren't doing anything, all of New York would be caught in shame rooms. Now come on, I need some aspirin.”

As you gulped water in the kitchen, Bob paced by the window. He muttered to himself, psyche twinging and growing more and more compact. He was tugging at his hair again.

Leaning back against the sink, you eased your mind against his. He paused his muttering to glance at you but continued his back and forth. At least he had energy today.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head, pushing out a heavy breath as his hair went in his eyes.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you said.

“I'm tired of washing it.”

“Want me to cut it?” You felt him rippling, holding too much in. “It's okay, Bob.”

“Nothing feels okay,” he admitted. “I'm tired but I don't want to lay down. I'm angry but I don't know what I'm angry at.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

You gasped as his mind expanded, nuzzling into yours like a cat into your palm. An onslaught of thoughts and emotions blindsided you.

Hold me. Help me. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking her for help. She's done too much already. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of me. Nothing matters. She matters. I don't want to be here but I don't want her to leave.

The first thing you thought to do was envelope his psyche with your own, holding him in a different sense, something you weren't used to. His feet finally slowed to a stop, muscles unclenching.

You let him get used to your presence around him before you slowly stepped towards him and offered your hand. When he took it, his grip shook with an intensity you'd never felt but he refused to put any pressure against your skin.

It's okay, you told him, I'm here.

He nodded, sniffing but there were no tears. He refused to let himself cry. He felt less for it and it felt like a knife to your gut.

“Do you know how to?” You hummed, squeezing his hand for an explanation. “Cut hair?”

Yeah. Well, men's hair. You tugged him towards the hall. I wouldn't trust myself with anything fancy, but I can trim it.

You had him wait in the bathroom as you grabbed a chair from the dining room and a pillow from the couch. You ran a brush through greasy tangles and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, getting him as comfortable as possible before leaning him back into the sink to wash his hair.

His eyes followed your face with every action. You pretended it didn't send your heart somewhere high in your throat as a soft playlist echoed from your phone.

You were able to breathe when he closed them, relaxing into the sensation of your fingers against his scalp. Somewhere between the suds and the rinsing, his hand found your leg and stayed there, anchoring himself.

You should move it. There should be a line there, but you knew through the connection that there hadn't been any forethought to it. He had done it unintentionally.

And a small part of you didn't want him to move his hand.

What am I doing?

It was hard. Hard because you knew what you came here to do and you were doing it—you were helping him and training him just as you said you would. You had become a pillar you'd sought to be.

Bob knew he could trust you and despite the chaos pooling under his skin, you trusted him. You couldn't find any part of you that was afraid even in the passing nightmares of Void wanting nothing more than your pain. You'd felt everything for a blink of an eye when your psyche had sunk into him.

You understood why Bob could never find the right words to describe Void. It wasn't this separate thing and it wasn't him, except somehow at the cure of everything Void was Bob.

This entire time with Bob during the week all you've felt were reflections of Void when all you sensed was the sweet man fighting, but that darkness was still in a corner. Still on that horizon, watching and waiting.

And it was desperate. It clawed at your barrier, searched for way in at every chance when you were forced to take over and hold it for Bob’s sake.

But now Void whispered. He knocked. There was a game afoot and whatever he was—a piece of Bob or not—he was patient.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you had to face him again.

“Did it feel like this?”

You blinked, pausing your snipping to glance up at the mirror and meet Bob's rounded gaze. There was light in them again and you're not sure what changed or when.

“You said you were close with Yelena’s sister and Wanda because you were in their heads a lot,” he explained. “Did it feel like this?”

“Like what?” you murmured, swiping some fallen hair off his neck and feeling a shudder work up his spine.

“Like you can only breathe when they're in the room.”

You tried to swallow but there was something stuck in your throat. You focused on the scissors, on evening out the hairs around his ears and your eyes watered because he had curly hair and you were only able to notice it now with all that weight gone.

You found your strength as you finished combing the strands into place and shook the towel around his shoulders clean of debris.

“The way we dive into each other’s subconscious,” you began carefully, “it can be overwhelming.”

He nodded, staring down at his hands as he picked around his nails. “Yeah, I-I've talked to Dr. Arlington about it a bit.”

“That's good. I'm glad you're able to be open with her.” You threw the towel into a fancy hamper nearby, almost sure of the fact it had not been Bob’s choice to have it included in the bathroom. Then again, most of it was undecorated unlike his bedroom. “That's another reason why I wanted you to see her. I want to be able to help you, but I don't want you to believe I'm the only thing that can help. Does that make sense?”

He hummed, nodding. “Sorry. It was a weird question to ask—”

“None of this normal,” you chuckled dryly. “I think a few weird questions are warranted. And you and I have to have our boundaries, especially in our heads.”

“Right.” He blew out a breath and raised his gaze to meet yours in the mirror once more. “I don't want to make you feel like you have to take care of me, you know?”

“I know.” You wrinkled your nose. “You did need a haircut, though. It was getting rough.”

The laugh that escaped him sounded like it took him by surprise. It was only then he paid mind to your handy work, tilting his head every which way to check the length.

“This is really good,” he said and you shrugged, amazed by your average skillset as well but too shy to admit it.

“You have curly hair,” you told him instead.

“It's a lot healthier now,” he explained, running a hand through the tufts. “Maybe my super powers healed my hair genetics or something.”

You snorted at that. “Okay, sure. Where's a broom?”

Bob turned in the chair, a flat look on his face. “They don't have one.”

“What?”

“Alexei made Val buy a Roomba for every floor,” he sighed.

“What?” you laughed.

By the end of the week, Bob was back in a middle ground state. He'd been working on his meditating, building that safe room of his brick by brick. You refused to see it when he offered, wanting him to have that space all to himself just as you had yours.

He'd already allowed you into his bedroom and that had felt a bit too intimate when you stopped and thought about it. But the need for comfort in Bob was high, and his room reflected that in the sweetest ways. He was doing everything he could to fill his designated space slowly but surely, large bookshelves against one wall that were in desperate need of more novels, a fluffy rug beneath a king-sized bed, and a couple of movie posters surrounding a corner dedicated to watching TV on a cozy looking couch that Tony would have burned for even being brought through the door.

Now after another week of easing back into training, you spent your time together by poking and prodding him. Bob wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn't going to question your methods. The point was to defend himself.

Now it was time for you to pull out all the stops.

“We'll make a competition out of it,” you said, sitting cross-legged ahead of him on the floor, “it'll make things interesting.”

“Is having a mind battle not interesting enough?” he mumbled, only a bit amused while picking at the rug beneath you both. It was almost the same shade of brown as his button up. “You’re gonna beat me.”

“We've practiced all week and you've been able to block me out in our lessons.” Those blue eyes shied away at the slightest hint of praise, but unfortunately for him you were full of it. “You're a fast learner, years ahead of me, okay?”

He chewed at the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile as he used his shoulder to scratch an itch on his nose. “I'm not very competitive.”

“Or you don't have the right incentives.” You leaned back onto your hands, pondering. “What's something you want more than anything else?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth wobbling as you glared.

“There has to be something,” you pushed, squinting atthe man as if ideas would pop up over his face.

“I have a roof over my head,” he said, tone more than grateful. “Friends, food, books—I have everything I could ever want. Minus complete control over my powers.”

“Okay, pivot.” Your hands came together, fingers fanned out as you motioned to him. “We make each other do something we don't want to do but, like, stupid fun.”

He blinked owlishly at you. “Uh, can I have an example?”

“Like if I won, I could dare you to prank Walker.”

A bubble of laughter broke from his throat. “What?!”

“First thing to come to mind.”

“I wouldn't be able to come up with a good prank.” He shook his head. “And I'm a terrible actor. He'd know something was up.”

“It was an example,” you reminded him.

“What's the last thing you would wanna do?”

You sighed, searching for something that would get both of you out of your comfort zones. There was plenty you weren't willing to do, but you had to work with Bob. Something challenging, something that wouldn't be that bad in retrospect but a bit embarrassing. He needed to expand out.

And one thing about the two of you—you hated to be perceived by a group.

“I've got it,” you said in triumph.

Bob's eyes trailed away from the window to meet yours. The smirk you sent him had him swallowing. “Okay, you've got me nervous now.”

“Loser has to sing karaoke in front of the entire team.” Bob's jaw fully dropped. You purred out, an evil mastermind in the making, “And the winner gets to choose the song.”

“Wait, can you sing?” He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “That wouldn't be fair.”

“Oh, God no. I can't hold a note to save my life,” you swore. “Can you?”

“My voice breaks when I yell.”

“Perfect.”

“Wait, no, you've had way more experience with this. You're totally gonna win!” he argued through a smile.

“You don't even know that— Okay, fine. How long do you think you can hold out against me?”

He pursed his lips, forehead wrinkling. “Is two seconds to low?” he whispered.

“You are severely doubting your capabilities, Bob.”

“Okay,” he nodded attempting a serious look, “Five seconds.”

You swallowed your laugh and rolled your eyes. “Fine. If I can needle my way past your defenses in less than five seconds, I win.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the stopwatch. “Close your eyes.”

He did, eyelids drooping shut as he took a breath.

“Throw up your defenses,” you told him. “There are no entrances, no exits. Your mind is only as powerful as you make it.”

“When do I know you're gonna hit me?”

“You won't get warnings in real life,” you murmured.

He nodded, a sharp breath escaping his nose as he rolled his neck and focused in. You watched the skin around his eyes crease, his fingers dig into the fibers of his pants.

Stretching your mind, you hovered ahead of him, just on the outskirts. A shark circling. You attempted a push on one side, felt his attention move. There was only a crumb of regret as you started the clock and rammed into his shield somewhere else entirely.

“Whoa! Shit!”

You drilled, energy sharpening to splinter into the barrier he'd built. Bob grunted, holding his ground well as you pooled all your strength and drove inward.

Stone. Brick. Cement. Your last push had glass shattering as you tore into his mind, hit with his shock as you tapped your phone screen.

Bob was panting as you opened your eyes to check the time.

“That was dirty,” he huffed, raising a hand and circling his head. “I didn't think there was a way for you to get behind me? What was that?”

“Its called strategy,” you grumbled, sliding your phone across the rug for him, “and I told you you were underestimating yourself.”

The timer read 15 seconds.

“Keep it PG 13,” you said, standing and stretching. His gaze followed you up.

“You don't have to—”

“Bob,” you sighed, playfully scowling down at him, “its harmless fun. Walker won't let me live it down, but it's harmless fun.”

“We need a karaoke machine.”

You hummed, shrugging. “I've already got that covered.”

He squinted, shaking his head and breathing out a simple, “Why?”

“You get lonely as a CSI agent so you pick up unusual hobbies or get drunk and make questionable orders. Next question.”

“What's up with the boxes? You movin’ in finally?”

Walker was questioning you as soon as you stepped off the elevator that night with Bucky in tow with an even bigger box. The ex-Captain America was settled into the couch, arms crossed as the TV played on in the background.

In the shared kitchen of the floor, Yelena was helping Bob with the food for the night. They both looked over at your entrance.

“Its the entertainment for the night.” You smiled as you spotted your target refilling her glass of wine. “Ava you're techy, help me.”

“I'm techy,” replied Walker.

“No, you're not,” Yelena called as she opened the fridge.

“And she didn't ask you,” Ava scoffed, pushing off the counter to meet you by the large television on the wall. You waited until Bucky had dropped off the second half before shooing him away to open the goods. “What am I looking at?” You gestured her to squat down to whisper the answer in her ear. “Oh my God.”

“Secrets don't make teams!”

“Not on your team,” you replied to Walker, passing the bundle of wires to Ava and keeping the microphones inside the box and out of sight.

The elevator opened to Alexei. His loud greeting took the team's attention off you and Ava as she fiddled with plugs and you got to work setting up the mini TV screen.

Over in the kitchen, Bob glanced up from lowering the heat of the stove eye as Yelena poked his shoulder and gestured to the women in the living room.

“You know what that's about?”

He shrugged, smiling mischievously as he strained the pasta into the sink. “Can you check on the garlic bread?”

Yelena eyed him as she shoved a heat mitt on and yanked the oven door open.

“Where's the remote?” you asked Walker this as he was sitting next to the empty table.

He gave you a pointed stare before shrugging both arms spread along the back of the couch.

“Make yourself useful,” Ava ordered.

“Tell me what it is.”

“You'll find out in like two minutes!”

A whistle from the kitchen had everyone turning to Bucky who waved the remote in his vibranium hand. You caught it as it flew across the length of the room.

“Thank you,” you chirped, changing the source and smiling as the background of the program lit up the screen.

“Oh, no,” said Walker, shaking his head and wagging a finger as he leaned forward onto his knees. “No, absolutely not.”

“YES!” Alexei shouted, holding his hands up as his laughter filled the room. “American karaoke!”

“It was actually invented in Japan,” you corrected him, fighting not to shrink as all eyes roved to you. “Trivia questions. They can come in handy.”

“I am not singing,” Walker stated.

You shrugged. “Okay.”

“What's the occasion?” Bucky asked, sipping on a bottle of beer as he walked up. You waved him over to show him the mini screen and how it hooked up to your computer.

“I lost a bet,” you answered, chuckling as Ava hummed into a mic, checking the speakers. She gave you a wink and a thumbs up.

“I'm so into this,” she announced to the room. “You better have Rhianna.”

Alexei snapped as he waved an arm at you from the dinner table. “I want to sing the, eh, the Sabrina song!”

“What?!” You shouted it through a laugh. “Sabrina Carpenter? Which one?”

“Oh, God,” groaned Walker, his head in his hands.

Dinner was delicious. Yelena really enjoyed the wine you brought, which was apparently a very rare thing as she hated wine. Ava was all over it. You managed to get Bucky to sip it before he wrinkled his nose and turned away.

Alexei was already half drunk as he told stories over the food. Walker looked like he was nursing a headache as he finished his salad last.

Bob was quiet, sticking to water and listening as he sat a few chairs over from you between Yelena and Alexei. You imagined anyone stuck next to the Red Guardian wouldn't get a word in conversation wise.

As Bucky and Walker handled the dishes, you tugged Bob over to your computer to begin the queue. Ava had texted you her songs as well as Alexei and Yelena had one but she wanted to go last. You were still trying to get Bucky to join. There was already one sitting out and you needed to see the Winter Soldier sing before you died. It felt like a bucket list achievement, at least.

“What have you chosen, my liege? Pop? Rock? Dare I say disco?”

Bob eyed you. A close-lipped smile making his cheeks puffy and adorable. “How many glasses of wine did you drink?”

“Like one and a half. Ava stole the bottle,” you chuckled. “Trust me, I'm much better with some liquid courage in me.”

“I don't doubt that,” he muttered, lithe fingers tapping away at the keyboard. You were stuck somewhere between the way his hands moved and one of those sweet curls framed his forehead before you noticed the song he had queued up.

“Bob,” you muttered.

“What?” he whispered, boyish as he avoided your eyes, smiling at the damn screen.

“Bob, that's a duet,” you hissed, jabbing your finger into his arm. “I said no pity!”

“It's not pity if I'm joining you,” he laughed, pointing towards the wireless mics in the case. “We’ll both be horrible together.”

“But you won.”

“Harmless fun,” he quoted as you passed him a microphone begrudgingly. “Also I would not be able to sing otherwise. It's better with someone there.”

Your heart was dripping down your ribcage at this point, too buzzed and warmed by wine and slate blue eyes. You needed to get a grip.

The second microphone was cold in your hands as you switched it on and double checked Bob’s.

“Are you guys going first?” Yelena was grinning ear to ear. “A duet?”

“It wasn't supposed to be. He won't let me be a loser,” you complained.

“Wait, what was the bet?” Walker scoffed, getting comfy on the couch again as Bucky started the dishwasher in the back.

“Training practice.”

“And he won?”

“Says the guy with a taco as a shield,” Bob called out.

“Which you still haven't fixed.”

“Ugh, start singing already! I hear enough of this everyday,” Ava slurred.

You brought your lips to the microphone. “You're gonna wish I’d never started singing.”

“You won't be worse than Alexei,” Yelena huffed.

As the music started every single face in the room lit up in amusement. Alexei was yelling with his fist in the air and you were this close to jumping out a window.

“Okay, I'm blue and your pink,” Bob noted, voice shaky.

“How original,” you snorted as the eight bar opening crescendoed.

“Ugh, this is gonna be embarrassing,” he breathed. Yelena cheered and Ava looked like that one meme of Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby.

Lookin' in your eyes, I see a paradise

This world that I found is too good to be true.

Oh, fuck him, he wasn't even that bad. Maybe a little unstable on some notes but nothing like the pitchy chaos that was about to come out of you.

Shaking out your arms, you committed to the bit and let the wine do the singing.

“Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care 'bout that!” you belted. “Put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back!”

Alexei was having the time of his life. Walker had a finger to one ear, eyes squinting with the same look of pain as Bucky. Yelena was dancing and pointing and singing along and Ava was busting a lung from laughing so hard.

All of a sudden, over a badly sung song of all things, it felt like a home again in the tower.

And we can build this dream together

Standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now.

Your voices did not pair well, but Bob was smiling and stumbling through his lyrics trying not to laugh and you were cursing when your voice broke on a high note.

It was horrible and it was everything.

By the end, Bob's face was red and his eyes wet from curling in on himself laughing. You went silent for a good part of the song because Alexei was up dancing and screaming over the both of you. Bucky, the fucker, was recording everything. Screw whoever taught him how to use a phone.

“Delete that!” you shouted as the music faded out. “Live in the moment, Buchanan!”

“I'm in the moment,” he chuckled. “You're awful.”

“Fuck you, I tried to warn you all!”

“You did fantastic! Don't listen to him,” boomed Alexei, clapping you on the back. “So much raw passion. Who's next?”

Ava raised her hand, finishing off her glass of your wine. The empty bottle sat on the table next to her. “Me!”

“You've got to sing guys, come on. This is team bonding time,” Yelena said to Walker, batting a hand towards Bucky behind the couch.

“No,” Walker ground out.

“Want some whiskey?” asked Bucky.

“God, after that? Yes.”

You turned to Bob who was putting his microphone back in the case. “You weren't even that bad.”

“No, I think you were just louder.” He smiled at your scowl before shuffling towards the couch as Ava bounced up, drunk and carefree.

Hey, you called after him, waiting until his eyes met yours. Thanks. It was fun.

He nodded, swallowing and laughing as Yelena clapped at his return, pulling him down next to her and praising him.

“Which Rhianna song do you want?” you asked Ava.

“Umbrella, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you agreed, scrolling the options. “You singing the rap part, too?”

She blinked. “I'd rather not.”

“Come on, Walker. One song!” Alexei crowed.

“I said no!”

Three turns later you're all clapping as Walker puts his entire heart into Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.”

Bonus (courtesy of @berryberryrad ):

[grieferkisser]

GRIEFER HCS ♡ ⠀ 𓎠 ⠀ happy pride month btw

Brad Thaniyel aka. Griefer 

⠀ transman omnisexualㅤ⠀

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ he / venom / poison

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ BPD PTSD psychosis

Has a nail biting problem, sometimes he even bites the skin around his nails making them bleed

Absolute gooner. (Don’t take this as a like “he’s a weirdo” thing btw.)

Very competitive.

He has nightmares about the venomshank incident, but can't really remember them when poison wakes up. It's more of a horrible feeling he can't explain.

When he sees all of the cans around his room he either:

1.⠀⠀Feels disgusted by it but can’t say bring himself to clean

2.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Doesn’t give a fuck and keeps doing whatever he’s doing.

Poison REALLY likes card games (green goop cards..he’s a nerd.)

Leaves on his body are kind of sensitive, venom actually takes care of them a little because he doesn’t want bugs on him all the time.

He thinks he looks pretty good with all of the plants on him.

When he blushes flowers bloom on his cheeks (they make him look kinda funny)

If he’s in battle and poison teammate/s are struggling poison WILL protect them as much as he can.

He’s kind of an “i eat everything” guy

He was probably the kind of kid to make a total mess just to make something for his dad.

He likes getting told he’s doing a good job, what a freak tbh..

Trust me when I say he shows off his torso like it’s an expensive car, what can I say he likes his appearance.

⠀⠀Despite this he spends days without showering.

Don’t even try to talk to him while he’s playing, that man will NOT hear you. He gets too immersed while playing.

You know those kinds of dudes that get HORRIBLY MAD when playing? Yeah that’s Griefer.

Brad is only reserved for his dad and people close to poison.

If looks could kill he’d kill millions.

When he’s mad he:

⠀⠀Stays quiet and doesn’t say anything until he feels better or the other person apologizes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Gets aggressive, this one only happened when he’s REALLY pissed off.

He’s very touchy, if you’re his friend hugs and hand in your shoulder is what he mainly does, if you’re his partner get ready cause this man will not take his hand off you.

Totally has a necklace with a picture of his dad or friends. (This is yumeship related btw..)

Party animal that’s all you gotta know

Gets headaches very often due to too much screen time

“I D0N’T N33D A J0B. TH4T’S F0R L0S3RS.”

Canonically has daddy issues so uhm.. guess who cried multiple times alone in his room because he felt he wasn’t enough!

these r kinda shitty but wttv..ill probably make more . im so happy hes back in this demo i love him so much i started crying when i saw him

[chadobi]

Hey guys! Work’s been absolutely crazy lately, but I finally found a moment to write something for you!

Even Geniuses Break

Pairing: Bayverse Donatello x Reader

Genre: Comfort / Hurt-Soothing / Romance

You’ve learned that Donatello doesn’t always show it when something’s wrong.

He’s good at hiding. Behind screens, behind sarcasm, behind tech babble and a forced half-smile that fools even his brothers sometimes.

But not you.

Not tonight.

You knew something was off the second he stepped through your fire escape window, dropping his duffel bag heavier than usual, shoulders slumped, and didn’t even crack a joke about how small your kitchen still is. You knew it when he didn’t greet you with a warm kiss to the cheek or a goofy, affectionate quip like, “My favorite human. Still the prettiest carbon-based life form I know.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just: “Hey.”

Low. Flat. Tired.

Now he’s on your couch, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his tech goggles tossed to the side like they betrayed him somehow. He’s been staring at the floor for ten minutes.

You bring him a mug of hot tea — hibiscus, his favorite — and kneel in front of him, gently placing it in his hands. He blinks, almost like he forgot you were here.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

You rest your hands on his knees and look up at him, searching his eyes.

“Donnie… talk to me. What happened?”

He exhales hard through his nose, jaw tight. For a moment, you think he won’t answer. Then—

“I messed up.”

You frown. “At the lair?”

“No. On patrol. Earlier.” He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly agitated. “There was a… miscalculation. I thought I had the building schematics figured out. I didn’t. The trip wires were a different model, older. I—Raph got hit.”

Your heart sinks. “Is he okay?”

Donnie nods quickly. “Yeah. Bruised up. Nothing major. But if Mikey hadn’t reacted fast enough, it could’ve been worse.”

He looks down at the tea in his hands like it’s going to judge him.

“I’m supposed to be the smart one,” he says bitterly. “The planner. The guy who calculates every variable. That’s my whole thing. And I nearly got Raph taken out because I got sloppy.”

You slide up onto the couch beside him, pressing your side gently against his.

“You’re not a machine, Don.”

“I should’ve seen it coming.”

“You’re not perfect either.”

“I have to be,” he snaps, then flinches like the words bit him on the way out.

You stay quiet, giving him space. You’ve learned that Donatello is hardest on himself when he feels like he’s failed someone — especially his brothers. Especially you.

He sighs, shoulders slumping further. “I don’t get to mess up like that. If Leo makes a mistake, he can fight his way out. If Raph slips, he bulldozes through it. Mikey can improvise. But me? I get one thing wrong, and someone bleeds.”

Your hand finds his — the three-fingered one he always worries you’ll find too strange — and you squeeze it tightly.

“You are so much more than your mistakes, Donnie. One slip doesn’t erase all the times you saved them. All the things you’ve built. All the nights you stayed up until sunrise making sure their gear was working, their wounds were clean, their comms were flawless.”

He’s quiet. Not because he disagrees. But because he doesn’t know how to let himself believe it.

You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “You can carry the team, but you don’t have to carry all the weight alone.”

His breath stutters a little. Then you feel it — the slow, subtle shake of his frame. The tears he doesn’t want you to see.

You pull away just enough to cup his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes as he finally lets it go.

“I try so hard,” he chokes. “And it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

Your voice is steady, full of quiet love. “It’s more than enough. You are.”

He closes his eyes, and for the first time all day, he lets himself fall — straight into your arms.

You guide him down gently, until you’re both curled up on the couch, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, his arm draped across your waist. You run your fingers slowly down the back of his shell — rhythmic, grounding.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper into the top of his head. “I always do.”

He doesn’t speak for a long while.

But eventually, in a small, raw voice, you hear him murmur against your collarbone:

“…I love you.”

And you smile, because you’ve always known.

“I love you too, Donnie. Even on the bad days.”

[dimlylittorch]

May i please get some delicious hcs for arcane characters x reader who smells like vanilla? Thx

sure thing! thanks anon!! :3

My Masterlist🌱

Vanilla Kind Of Love

Including: Viktor, Jayce, Vander, Silco

character x reader all have a romantic dynamic :3

Viktor:

Viktor had developed a special appreciation for food ever since he had moved to Piltover. In the Undercity, he never took much pleasure in eating. It was always something that drained his pockets, something he wished he could just forego altogether. But ever since he had his own money? He found himself visiting different restaurants as often as possible; sometimes not even to eat. Just for the smells alone.

Stepping inside of one bakery in particular, he was more than pleased when the entire shop smelled of vanilla. He felt his stomach gnawing at him already as he walked up to the counter, peering into the display cases at the different baked goods lined up uniformly. His gaze shot up when he saw you walk from the back, a tired smile on your lips.

“Hi! Sorry, it’s going to be just a minute” you smile weakly. “I managed to spill vanilla extract everywhere” you chuckled, grabbing a mop from the corner. He nodded, his eyes trailing over your form as you quickly moved to the back. After a few moments he hears a loud thud, followed by a string of curses.

He hesitantly slipped behind the counter, moving to the doorway that led to the back and pausing when he saw you on the floor, covered in sticky brown liquid. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at your frustrated pout, groaning as you stood up. “Perhaps we should be more careful around slippery floors.” He muses.

You shoot him a glare, huffing as you manage to stand up. “You don’t look like you’re known for your balance either.” You mutter in a weak retort, walking over to him as he chuckles. Before you can pick up the mop and slip out of his reach, he leans towards you, pulling a small handkerchief out of his pocket. Holding it up, he gently dabs a spot of vanilla extract off of your cheek.

“And you..” he murmurs as he wipes your cheek. “Look good enough to eat.” He hums. “Are you always such a sweet smelling mess? A mess nonetheless.. but it comes with its redeeming qualities.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words and you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you always such a flirt?”

He smiles, tilting his head slightly. “Would you like me to be?”

Jayce:

If there was one thing Jayce loved most about your relationship, it was getting to unwind with you after a long day. He often found himself being run ragged by different duties, his body aching and a headache starting to form behind his eyes. If there was one constant in his life, it was that at the end of the day you would always be there to drag him into the bath, cleaning him when he’s too tired to clean himself.

Sometimes it was just too difficult to prioritize his own self care. Before you he would spend nights at the lab, no concern for his sleep schedule. Now you would lull him into the bathroom as soon as he got home, helping him undress once you get the bath water running. He adored the way you always knew exactly how warm he liked the water, the perfect temperature to make his muscles unwind.

Helping him into the bathtub, making sure he doesn’t slip in his exhausted state. You even roll up a towel for him to lean his head back against while you clean his chest, using that special soap you’d bought for him. Before you he used the cheapest soap he could find, not seeing the point in having anything other than a three in one. The moment you showed him your own soaps he fell in love, asking if he could try. Ever since he insisted on using the same vanilla scented body wash as you.

He always reveled in how lovely you smelled, and the idea of carrying your signature scent around with him every day made him swoon. One time you bought him something new, a lavender scented soap to try. He almost immediately pouted, asking if he could just keep using your soap. Sometimes he’d insist on bathing together- you use the same soap anyways, right? Why not just conserve water together. Needless to say every night after his bath he curled up against you, burying his nose against your neck and falling asleep almost instantly.

Vander:

The two of you ran The Last Drop together, him tending the bar while you served drinks and chatted with customers. His eyes couldn’t help but follow you as you bustled between tables, offering sweet smiles and familiar conversation. If there was one thing you were good at, it was making people feel at home. Vander may be the one to break up bar fights, but you were the one who prevented them.

Having a real knack for knowing who needed what made you perfect for keeping the peace. He wasn’t sure how you did it- you just had such a calming presence compared to the people that passed through his bar, gruff and worn down. You were his to protect, his to keep soft. He might be the only man in the Undercity that could let you be as sweet as you are, shielding you from everything harsh beyond his doors.

When it got to be closing time, he was always quick to usher people out, closing and locking the doors with a contented hum. He throws his bar rag over his shoulder, starting to clean up the tables with a small smile on his lips as he heard the jukebox turn on. Call it a routine- or a ritual. He didn’t care. But it was yours; and he loved it. After every shift you’d turn on music, light a vanilla scented candle or two, and start to clean behind the bar.

And every night without fail, he was slowly meander behind the bar, his hands falling to your hips as he wraps around you. “Bed. Now.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head. Before you can protest he scoops you up in his arms, making you laugh. “M’bringin’ the candle too.” He mutters, grabbing one of the candles that you loved to fill your home with, always leaving a sense of safety in the sweet scent of vanilla.

Silco:

Having a crime lord for a boyfriend wasn’t as bad as everyone made it seem. You were well fed, well loved- and most of all? Spoiled. In the beginning you were embarrassed by how well he took care of you. But he quickly got you out of that mentality, ensuring you that you were doing his part by letting him take care of you. What kind of man would he be if his favorite plaything wasn’t well kept?

Bringing you to the shops, letting you pick whatever made your eyes dilate and your heart flutter. New clothes, a wrist watch- maybe something for your hair? He was always an active participant when he took you shopping, asking you to try things on for him and making different suggestions. Once when you thanked him for complimenting you so much, a little something snapped inside of him. His every breath would be something sweet if it was possible.

You come home one day with a small bag in hand, walking into your shared bathroom and humming sweetly. “Sil?” You call for him. He gently sets down his pen, slinking out of his seat at his desk and walking into the bathroom. “Something new?” He muses, moving behind you until his arm slips around your waist. “Only the best for you, hm?”

You chuckle softly, pulling a small bottle of cologne out of the bag- vanilla scented. “It’s for you, silly.” You beam as you look down at the bottle. “I thought you might like it. And you’re always buying me things.” You say softly, holding up the bottle for him to take. His mind blanks for a few moments as he reads over the label. You were thinking of him.

That cologne very quickly became a signature scent of the household. Not only did Silco use it, but if he ever had to work late nights he found out that you’d spray yourself with it, snuggling up in bed, waiting for him to come home. You constantly smelled of vanilla now, its trace leaving an imprint on your soul.

thanks for reading!! in a bit of a writers block right now, but i promise i think about writing 24/7 lol. Notes, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!! :3

[barnesonly]

Half-return

dad!bucky barnes x reader (implied)

trope: absolute angst.

summary: your daughter skips school to visit Bucky’s — her father’s — grave.

word count: 1499

A/N: Oh gods, I actually made myself cry while writing this. I imagine this happening in 2010’s, reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice. I might write part two one day, let me know what you think! Also this is heavily inspired by this song.

The cemetery was quiet that morning.

No birdsong, no wind. Just the gentle crunch of gravel under small, determined footsteps. Her backpack bounced against her spine with every step, heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the secret folded in the front pocket.

A homemade card. Pink construction paper. Crayon hearts. A little drawing of a man she never met.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked between rows of graves, her sneakers brushing against wildflowers that hadn’t been cut back yet. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, soft and gray, like the world was holding its breath.

She knew where he was.

She didn’t need help finding it anymore.

James Buchanan Barnes.

1917 — 1945.

Beloved friend. Cherished soldier. Never forgotten.

The letters on the stone were starting to wear a little. She ran her fingers across the name like she always did, just to feel it. She imagined his hand might’ve felt rough like the stone, big and strong and warm if she ever got to hold it.

She glanced around — empty. No one saw her. No one followed.

“I skipped school,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the sky. “I’m not supposed to. But I needed to see you.”

She sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone, brushing some leaves away from the base. Then she opened her backpack and carefully pulled out the card, like it was treasure.

“I made this at school,” she whispered. “Everyone was making cards for their dads. And I didn’t know what to do at first… but then I made this for you.”

She set it down gently against the headstone, the crayon hearts already smudging a little from the mist in the air.

“I just wanted to come alone this time… Without mommy… I wanted you to myself today.” She smiled, just barely. Her chin trembled.

She picked at a thread on her sleeve, then leaned forward like she was telling a secret.

“They gave us this math test yesterday,” she said, nose wrinkling. “I didn’t do so good.” She frowned for a second, like she was scolding herself. Then she glanced up at the headstone and shrugged.

“But… I think you wouldn’t have minded. Mommy says you weren’t great at math either.”

There was a small pause, and she plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between her fingers.

“My teacher, Miss Carr, she’s always talking about heroes. She says we’re supposed to write about one for this essay thing. I picked you.” She smiled again, a tiny, proud thing.

“Even though you’re not in any of the books at school. I had to ask Mommy a bunch of stuff so I could write about you right. I said you were brave and kind and that you protected people. And that you fell off a train ‘cause you were trying to save people. I think you would’ve liked that part.”

Her voice wavered a little at the end, but she pushed through it.

“They all picked people like Captain America… Or other Avengers… or firefighters. But I picked you. ‘Cause you’re my dad. Even if you’re not… here.”

She reached out and adjusted the card again where it leaned against the stone, like it needed to stand straighter.

“I think maybe you would’ve walked me to school. Or helped me with spelling. I bet you’d tell really funny jokes that made Mommy roll her eyes but laugh when you weren’t looking.”

A soft gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I see kids with their dads, and I wonder if you’d be like that. Or if you’d carry me on your shoulders even though I’m not that little anymore. Mommy says you’d love me so, so much.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think I’d love you too.”

She was quiet for a long time after that. Just sitting, legs curled beneath her, fingers tugging at grass. The wind picked up a little, brushing against her cheek like a hand that wasn’t there.

Then she spoke again, even softer than before.

“Uncle Steve told me you’d always protect him from bullies when he was younger…” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I wish you were here to help me like that now. I’d really need it.”

She blinked fast and looked up at the sky, like maybe if she didn’t look at the headstone, the sting in her eyes would stop.

“There’s this girl at school who always laughs when I get answers wrong. She says I’m weird. She makes fun of my shoes, and my backpack, and one time she called Mommy weird ‘cause she always looks tired.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I didn’t tell Mommy. I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s got enough worries. But I thought… if you were here, maybe you’d wait outside school for me. And if she said something mean, you’d just look at her and she’d stop.”

She smiled at the thought. A sad, flickering smile.

“Uncle Steve said you were like that. That no one messed with him when you were around.”

She traced the edge of the headstone with her finger again, slow and gentle.

“I really wish you were around.”

She sat still for a while, eyes locked on the card like it might fix everything just by being there. The crayon lines were running now — little streaks from the mist or maybe her fingers, she wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

The weight.

The emptiness.

The truth.

Her lip trembled. She looked down at her knees, then back at the stone. And the words tumbled out in a breathless rush—broken, cracked, helpless.

“I don’t even know why I came here alone…” Her voice shook, barely holding on. “I always come here with Mommy but… I wanted to talk with you alone. I…”

Her small hands curled into fists against her jeans.

“I realized I don’t have a single memory with you. None.” Her shoulders started to shake. One sob slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t know your voice. Or your laugh. Or how your hugs feel. I don’t even know what your hands looked like.”

Tears spilled over now, hot and silent at first, then building until they came in waves.

“And I… I just really wanted to have one. Just one memory. Just you and me, Dad.”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into the quiet.

“I came here so I could pretend. Just for a little bit. That you’re here. That you’re real and you’re listening and… and that I’m not alone.”

The card fluttered a little where it leaned against the stone, caught in the wind like it was reaching for her.

She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face, and then — barely above a whisper:

“Mommy misses you so much.”

She didn’t look up. Just spoke into her knees, into the earth.

“She tries to be strong… but it hurts her. I see it.”

Another tear fell, but slower now. Heavier.

“She cries when she thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear her say your name. Sometimes she just sits in the kitchen with the lights off.”

She looked up at the grave, eyes red and full of something bigger than a ten-year-old should ever have to carry.

“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you. I don’t think she ever will.”

She reached out again, touching the stone like it was his hand.

“Neither will I.”

She sat like that for a while — still, small, and hurting — until her legs began to ache. Slowly, she unfolded from the grass, stiff and heavy, like every part of her was tired.

She looked down at the card, bent from the wind but still standing. She knelt and adjusted it carefully, pressing a small rock against the corner so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small — just a string bracelet, all crooked and uneven knots, the kind only a kid could make.

“I made this in art class,” she whispered, holding it in her palm for a second. “It’s not… very good. But it’s yours.”

She laid it beside the card, fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Standing again, she looked at the grave, at the name carved so deep it would never fade. And even though her face was blotchy and red, her voice was steady — shaky, but trying.

“I have to go now.”

She hugged herself tightly.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad I skipped school. But I just… I needed this.”

A pause.

“I needed you.”

The wind rustled the trees above her, and she looked up, eyes shining.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

She stepped back, wiped her cheeks one last time, then raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed them gently against his name.

“Bye, Dad.”

Then she turned. And walked away.

The bracelet stayed.

The card fluttered quietly.

And the empty grave watched.