#I kind of hope I don't have to take it down

[galaxywannabe]

The Miscommunication Trope™

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting into the first real argument of your relationship, some misspoken words from Bucky leave you thinking that he's done. By the time he realizes just how badly he screwed up, will it be too late to correct his mistake?

Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Miscommunication; Crying; Arguing between romantic partners; Bucky is mean but he makes up for it; Happy ending; Reader identifies as a woman and uses she/her pronouns, but other than having hair that can be swept behind an ear I don't think there are any other physical descriptors; Please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: Almost 9.3k.....I'm sorry lol

A/N: Ummm....so. I'm fairly certain I promised this fic, like...3 months ago? In fact, I actually just went back to look and I first teased this fic on Febuary 19th, so um...lol? I made it! Listen, idk if it's even any good anymore but if I look at it for another second I'll scream, so please take it off my hands. Any and all comments or reblogs would be SO appreciated because this has truly been a labor of love, I didn't know if I had it in me. Also!! I have not forgotten @buckyinmyuniverse - you asked to be tagged in this wayyyy back when I first posted about it and I have FANTASTIC news for you babe: The wait is finally over!! I know you've no doubt been refreshing your feed for months looking for it (/j) but this whole time I was cooking this thing I remembered you asking for a tag. So, this one goes out to you. Hope you all enjoy! <3

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You and Bucky hadn’t ever been in a fight before, not really. You bicker, sure, usually over something lighthearted, usually resulting in an eyeroll and a “whatever you say, honey,” from Buck, but nothing serious, nothing that can’t be worked out through a civilized conversation. That was, until today.

You weren’t even trying to start an argument, you were just expressing your concern. He works too much, he takes more missions than anyone else, and it’s running him ragged, anybody can see that.

Obviously, you miss him when he’s away, but that’s not even the point - the point is that he’s taking on too much because he thinks he owes the world something, and that’s not sustainable, it’s not good for him. All you said was that maybe he’d ought to ask Fury to take him off the rotation for a while, or even just cut down on his assignment load, to give him some room to breathe. And Bucky got…defensive.

Obviously, you knew that was a possibility. Typical male pride of course prohibits silly ideas like “self care” and “burnout,” but on top of that is Bucky’s specific brand of guilt, the kind that makes him work himself into the ground no matter how badly his brain and body beg him to stop.

The defensiveness you were prepared for, but you were only coming from a place of love, your concern that of a devoted girlfriend, and surely he’d understand that, wouldn’t he? Except he hadn’t. He’d immediately dismissed your suggestion, waving a hand and continuing to type up his latest mission report with a laser-like focus. 

“I don’t need a break, I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes trained on the bluish light of his laptop screen.

Again, you weren’t trying to argue. You certainly weren’t going to  force him to take a break, you just wanted him to at least consider it, to remind him that it would be okay for him to rest a little, if he wanted to. The world would go on without his help for a few weeks, and there were other heroes available besides him. 

“Honey, I know you might not need one, but it’s okay if you just want one. No one would judge you if-”

And then he did something he’d never done before: he snapped at you. He didn’t even look up from his screen, his fingers still a steady staccato on the keyboard as he barked out harshly.

“I said I don’t need a fucking break. I’m just doing my goddamn job, and I don’t need you breathing down my neck watching my every move the whole time I do it. I can take care of myself.”

You winced. Obviously, that stung, and if he’d bothered to look up from his computer screen, he might have seen that on your face. But you could tell he wasn’t as unbothered by this conversation as he was acting.

Despite his brusque attitude, your words were striking a chord with him, hitting a little too close to home. His shoulders were stiff as a board, bunched up around his ears in a telltale sign of defensiveness, and you understood, really you did.

For Bucky, doing this job is the one way he can even attempt to atone for all the bad shit he’s done. Of course he felt uncomfortable with the idea of a break, he thinks he has to do these missions as some sort of self-imposed penance for the things he’d been made to do as the Winter Soldier. 

So you didn’t judge him too harshly for lashing out. You understood the reason he worked so hard, and you knew what motivated him to continue going out there even when he was exhausted. You just wanted him to see that taking a break for his own mental health wasn’t a bad thing, that even if he was making amends he still needed to find time to take care of himself, too.

You took a deep breath and spoke in a calm voice, hoping to express your concern in a nonthreatening manner even as he still refused to look at you. 

“Angel. I’m not trying to breathe down your neck or tell you how to do your job. I know it’s important to you, and I love how hard you work! It’s just that, super-soldier or not, if you want to continue to do this job, you’re gonna need to stop and rest at some point, honey. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m worried about you, love.”

Finally, he looked up at you, and your heart fluttered just seeing those baby blues you love so much. Until you clocked the scowl on his pretty face, and the hope in your gut curdled to dread. He was angry, you knew what that looked like, but in the six months of your relationship so far you’d never once seen that anger directed at you before.

It wasn’t frightening in a physical sense, not like you were scared for your well-being, of course not. But it deeply unsettled you, seeing the man you love looking at you like that. It made you want to apologize, though you weren’t quite sure what for. Before you could do anything at all, he spoke, his voice a cold, steel edge.

“You don’t know anything about what I can handle. I was doing just fine before you came around, and I don’t need you fussing over me at every turn just because I don’t sit around here all day scrolling on my phone or whatever it is you think I should be doing. I don’t need or want your hovering, so just stop, okay?”

There was silence. His shoulders heaved in the wake of his outburst, and you felt almost dazed, like this was some kind of mirage you could will away if you blinked hard enough. He’d never spoken to you like that.

Obviously, you’d hit a nerve, and while logically you understood that, it didn’t lessen the pain in your chest. You were just worried about him, why was he fighting like you were trying to strap him down and force him to quit?

While you tried to regain your bearings, breathing deeply and forcing back the stinging you felt building in your eyes, he slammed his laptop shut, standing and stalking towards your bedroom door. He’d come over to your place to work on his mission reports at your insistence because you’d wanted to keep him company, and now it appeared he was leaving.

“W-where are you going, what are you doing?” you’d squeaked, alarmed, following after him as he made his way to the foyer of your apartment and shoved his feet into his boots.

“I can’t fucking do this, I'm done,” he’d muttered in a gruff, hard voice, lacing his boots efficiently and standing back to his full height as he reached for the doorknob.

You shook your head, panicked, reaching for his arm and trying futilely to drag him back into your apartment. “Baby, please. I’m sorry, don’t go.”

But he just shook off your hold and stalked out the door, leaving you there as your eyes blurred with tears. After standing there in your foyer for several minutes, waiting for him to turn around and come back, you’d simply fallen to your knees and curled up right there on the polished wooden floor, bawling your eyes out.

That’s where you still are a couple hours later when your phone starts to vibrate incessantly in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe to answer a call from Natasha.

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“H-hello?” you croak into the receiver.

The second Nat hears you pick up the call she’s talking, looking distractedly through her closet as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hey honey, listen, me and the girls were thinking about running to Target, and we wanted to- wait, what’s wrong?” Natasha’s cheerful voice quickly drops into something soft and concerned as she picks up on the sniffles coming through her tinny cell phone speakers.

For a few seconds all she can hear is you sobbing quietly, the way you struggle to slow your hysterical breathing so you can put together a sentence. “H-he left, Nat. He broke up with me,” you whimper, voice barely audible. 

This stops Natasha in her tracks, her brow furrowed in deep confusion as she freezes with one hand reaching for her favorite sweater. What the fuck? Why in the hell would Barnes break up with you? Especially when she knows for a fact that on the last mission she had with him, he stopped into a jewelry shop in Germany ‘just to look’ at engagement rings? This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Honey,” Nat speaks into the phone again, her voice soft and soothing even through the crackly audio coming from your cell phone. “What happened, what did he say?”

You sniffle again, and clear your throat so she can hear your scratchy voice a bit better. “We…there was a fight, a-and I didn’t mean to, Nat, I swear, I was just worried, but…he said he can’t do this anymore, that h-he's done, and then he left. He didn’t take any of his things with him, but maybe he’s gonna come back for them, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Nat…” As your sentence tapers off, your voice fades out, and a few renewed sobs float over the phone call into Nat’s ear, the sounds soaked in agony.

Oh, okay. Nat thinks she can see what really happened here just from your description, but that doesn’t make the sounds of your misery in her ear any less painful to hear. Likely, when Bucky had said he couldn’t do “this” anymore, that he was done, he’d meant the argument, the conversation, not your relationship.

But Barnes is your first real boyfriend, and you’ve never had a fight with him before. You were probably so confused and upset in the moment that you weren’t thinking about the context of his statement.

All you knew was that Bucky got upset with you for the very first time, and then he left. To you, that must certainly look like a breakup, and when Nat thinks about it from your perspective, she understands how you’d come to that conclusion.

She’d love to explain to you how you may have misunderstood, but as she listens to your hoarse crying over speakerphone, she knows you’re not in the frame of mind to process rational thought right now. Instead, she decides to focus on soothing you for the moment.

“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why he’d ever do anything like that to you. I’m gonna get to the bottom of it, alright? In the meantime, I just need you to do something for me,” she coos, her voice comforting and warm.

You don’t answer, just sniffling occasionally as you sit there in silence. Natasha, interpreting your lack of response as an affirmation, continues on.

“Where are you right now?”

There’s more silence for a few seconds, the sound of you pulling deep breaths into your lungs as you regain awareness of your surroundings. Then:

“Uh. The floor. In my apartment,” you mumble, confused, like you’ve just now realized that fact.

Natasha feels an additional lash of anger at Barnes flood her system when you tell her that, but she works to keep her voice calm even has her knuckles go white around her device.

“Okay, well, I need you to get up off the floor and go to your bedroom, okay? I want you to get dressed in your comfiest pajamas and crawl into bed for me, and wait there while I handle this. Can you do that? Just close your eyes and try to rest while I figure everything out?”

More sniffles, a hoarse cough, and then, after a beat of silence, your voice crackles over the line.

“Yeah….okay. I can do that, Nat,” you croak, the sound of shuffling floating over the line as you stagger to your feet after who knows how long on the floor.

She smiles, relieved to hear your voice coming through a bit more calmly, even as her mind races with the next items on her to-do list. “Okay sweetheart, you do that, then. I love you, I’ll call back soon, okay? Go get some rest.”

After hanging up with you, confident that at least you’re not curled up on your apartment floor anymore, she pockets her cell and immediately stalks down the hall towards the elevator, Target trip long forgotten.

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Bucky knows he fucked up. As someone who fucks up just about everything, he’s intimately familiar with the process, and he can say, with 100% certainty, that in this instance he absolutely fucked up. He never should have snapped at you - his sweetheart, his girl. You were just worried about him, and of course you were.

Bucky knows damn well he works too hard, especially lately, and he’s been on the verge of physical and mental collapse pretty much every damn day for the past month, running himself into the ground. He’d even been thinking to himself before your argument that he should slow down, take a break before he gets himself killed. So why did he get so defensive when you’d suggested it?

He doesn’t goddamn know. Because he’s messed up. Because it’s one thing when he decides to take some time off, but another when someone else has the idea, like they think he needs it.

He can’t help it; for decades of his life, the slightest sign of weakness meant pain, meant the frigid blast of a firehouse to wake him up or the wandering scalpel of a Hydra doctor looking to find a defect. Not that that makes his outburst okay, by any means, but it’s an explanation, and hey, he’s working on it, really he is. 

Still, he knew the second he walked out of your apartment that he’d fucked up, and so he’s spent the past two hours at his own place a few floors up, licking his wounds and gathering the courage to go apologize.

Because…yes, okay, he’s embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s ashamed of his own behavior, and he’d needed a minute to feel sorry for himself before he inevitably goes back down to your apartment and grovels for your forgiveness. 

He figures you’re pissed beyond belief, and if giving you some time to cool off also gives him a little while to stall the complete destruction of his ego, well, then, he’ll take it.

He finished up his mission report, he took a shower, and now he’s preparing his apology speech, debating the merit of walking down the street to a bodega for some flowers, when his doorbell rings. Shit, maybe he’s already out of time and you decided to come to him. 

When he opens his door, looking thoroughly contrite, it’s not your expected figure that stands in his entryway, but Natasha’s. And even given all his super-soldier reflexes and military training, he still staggers back a step in shock when she slaps him right across the face. 

“Whoa, what the fuck, Nat?” he barks, rubbing at the heat blooming under the skin of this cheek.

Standing there in front of him with her arms crossed, she looks anything but remorseful, her fists clenched as if she has to deny herself the urge to do it again.

“Why the fuck did you break up with her, Barnes? Are you insane?! The one good thing in your life, and you threw it all away, why, because you got a little pissed off? Out of all the stupid, careless decisions you’ve made in your fucked-up life, I really didn’t think you had it in you to top all that, but Jesus…”

As she continues to rant at him, her face pinched with rage, Bucky struggles to make sense of the words she’s already spoken. Broken up with you? Why in God’s name would he ever do that?

What an absolutely absurd thing to accuse him of, given that everybody in this building knows how insanely in love with you he is, especially your own best friend. Why is she here playing some kind of prank on him when he’s supposed to be rehearsing his apology?

“I did no such thing,” he answers bluntly, interrupting her impassioned speech, his expression confused and a little irritated at the accusation.

Nat barely even blinks at this denial. “Oh really? Then why did I just talk to her on the phone, bawling her eyes out on the floor of her apartment, telling me that you did?”

Of course, Nat’s pretty sure that Barnes hadn’t really meant to break up with you by leaving during your argument, but she’s pissed at him either way for not being cognizant enough of your feelings to foresee your interpretation of his behavior.

To Bucky, Natasha’s words might as well have been a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way they immediately freeze his joints with dread. He feels his stomach churn as if he might be sick, the horrifying mental image of you curled up on your wooden floors driving a stake between his ribs. When he’d left, you’d been standing. Sure, you’d looked upset, but surely not that upset…right? 

He tries to think back to your emotional state when he’d stormed out a couple of hours ago, but truthfully he hadn’t turned back to see your face as he’d walked out your door. Had you been crying? He didn’t think so, but now he isn’t so sure, especially given the look of anger on Nat’s face. Why would you tell her that he’d broken up with you? As a joke, some kind of payback for his outburst?

“I….” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You talked to her? What did she say?”

Natasha almost feels sympathy for Bucky in this moment, standing before her looking so confused and slightly horrified. But then she thinks about her best friend sobbing on the floor because he’s an idiot, and that emotion vanishes, replaced with her plentiful anger.

“Well, it was kind of hard to hear her, what with all the sobbing and such. But when I finally was able to get her to speak, she said that there was a fight, and that you broke up with her and then left her there. She said you hadn’t taken any of your stuff with you when you left, and she wasn’t sure when you’d be back for it, but that she didn’t know what she was going to do,” Nat recalls in a hard voice, her gaze sharp and accusatory. “After that she started crying again, so I didn’t ask her any more questions.”

Another bruising blow to the tatters of Bucky Barnes’s heart. What did you mean, he hadn’t taken his stuff? Why would he take his things when he’d left them there on purpose so he had them to use when he was at your place?

Why would he take his belongings out of your apartment just because you got into an argument? This doesn’t make any sense, and the longer Natasha talks, the worse his growing sense of unease becomes. 

Why were you crying? Sure, he expected anger, he’d been a huge swinging dick and he deserves some harsh words. But why is Nat saying that you were curled up on your floor sobbing? Why wouldn’t you be on the couch, or in your bed, or even down in the gym punching out your frustrations? 

And why were you on the phone with your best friend moments ago talking like you didn’t expect him to come back? Surely you know he’ll be back, he practically lives in your apartment - his wallet and keys are still sitting in the dish by your front door, his favorite jacket hung on the coat rack. He looks at your closest friend desperately, his face drawn in stark lines of horror and regret.

“Natasha, please, I don’t know why she said all that stuff to you, I didn’t break up with her, I would never break up with her. We had an argument. She was only worried about me, but I got defensive like an asshole and said some shit I didn’t mean, so…I just wanted to get out of there, get some space before I lashed out some more, that’s all. I just needed a minute to cool off, I was always fully planning to go back, to explain myself and apologize. I don’t know why she…” he trails off, looking lost.

Nat sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her best friend is in hysterics, and it’s all because men are the dumbest creatures on this planet.

“What do you think that looked like to her, Barnes? You guys get in your very first fight, and after saying some mean shit to her you stomp out of there and go ‘I can’t do this, I'm done’. What do you think those words might have sounded like to her ears? You’re her first serious boyfriend, jackass! She’s never been in this situation before! She doesn’t know that it’s relatively normal for couples to argue, even if you definitely shouldn’t have snapped at her. She just knows you’ve never fought before, and the first time you do, you walk out the door. She thinks you’re gone for good, James.”

You could hear a pin drop in Bucky’s apartment right now, the sounds of bustling Manhattan outside his windows muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. He wants to be upset with you, to question how you could ever doubt his love enough to think he’d really just walk out after one disagreement. But in truth, given his actions and your lack of relationship experience, he doesn’t see how you could’ve come to any other conclusion. 

Bucky thought he’d been regretful before Nat got here, but after hearing his behavior described in this new light, he’s got a whole list of emotions to add to the pile. Self-loathing, remorse, fear. You’re in your apartment right now, believing yourself to be single. All that time you two spent together, every memory and intimate moment, you think it’s over, just like that, in the blink of an eye. 

Obviously, he needs to explain himself immediately, to tell you that he hadn’t meant to end your relationship in the slightest and that this is all just a giant misunderstanding.

But what if you don’t care? What if, after the way he acted towards you today, you’d rather accept his words as you’d thought he meant them and stay broken up, even knowing that wasn’t his intent? He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, noticing the way Natasha looks at him with concern in her eyes now.

He hadn’t ever really let himself consider that you’d turn him down before, when he was rehearsing his apology speech. You’re in a committed relationship of six months, you’re in love. Surely, even if he was a bit of an asshole, one transgression can be forgiven as long as he apologizes sincerely.

But that was back when he thought his only sin was his harsh words, back when he thought you were angry with him for his outburst.

Now that he knows what you’ve really been feeling, that you’ve apparently spent the past two hours sobbing on your wooden apartment floors waiting for him to come back and take his belongings, he’s not so confident that he can grovel hard enough to make up for this.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, god damn it, that’s the whole reason he left in the first place, to spare you from his undeserved anger. Now he might be about to lose you because of his own childish temper tantrum, and the terror of that thought feels icy in his veins as it travels straight to his heart, freezing it in place. 

His body is moving towards his apartment door before he even commands his muscles to do so, single-minded on the only thing that matters anymore: fixing what he’s done. His hand is already turning the doorknob by the time a slightly startled Nat is able to catch up with him, her hand on his shoulder stalling him for only the tiniest moment before he’s barrelling ahead again.

“Don’t fuck this up. You love her, now go make it right,” she commands sternly, and Bucky just grunts his acknowledgment before bursting through his door out into the empty hallway, towards the elevator.

He doesn’t stop to voice his fears to Natasha, that it might be too late to make anything right, that he may have fucked it up beyond repair already. He just keeps moving, hoping beyond hope that he still has a chance.

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When he makes it to your apartment a few floors down from his own, it’s eerily silent as he pushes the door open. He’s never needed a key, FRIDAY has explicit orders to grant him entry, but for the first time ever it feels wrong entering your space unannounced, like maybe he should knock and wait for permission in light of what’s happened. He ignores the impulse. 

You’re not crouched on the floor of your entryway like Nat said you’d been, so he supposes that’s a good sign, but it occurs to him then that he’s not even entirely sure you’re home. Bucky pauses to ask FRIDAY where you are, and is relieved to hear that you’re only in your bedroom.

He almost thinks he picks up a hint of annoyance in the AI’s voice when she responds to his inquiry, though, as if even the damn computer program is pissed at him for the way he treated you. It must be his imagination.

“Angel?” he calls out softly, making his way slowly through the apartment to your bedroom, noting the oppressive stillness of the place as he goes deeper. “Honeybun? Sweet pea?” he uses his softest, most gentle voice, disturbed to find your usually lively dwelling so silent. 

The TV in the living room - usually playing some youtube video or episode of your favorite show - is powered off, and the lights are all off too, as if the sun had set and you simply hadn’t bothered to flick any of them on to combat the encroaching darkness. The place he’s wandering now is like a ghost of your apartment, no scented candles lit, no steaming mug of tea waiting for you at your usual spot at the coffee table. 

It’s unnerving, to have a place usually so full of life be so startlingly empty all of a sudden. His slow steps and his soft voice calling out for you are the only sounds in the entire space, until he finally reaches your bedroom door and pauses to listen. For a moment there’s nothing, and he worries that perhaps you aren’t home after all, until he hears a soft sound coming muffled through the thick wood of your door. 

He presses his ear against it to listen closer, brow scrunched as he waits to hear the sound again, and a moment later his heart shatters as it becomes clear that what he’s hearing is your soft sobbing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle.

Bucky pushes your door open ever-so-carefully, cursing under his breath at the slight squeak of the wood on its hinges. It’s hard to see anything in your room, even with his perfect super-soldier eyesight, as the lights are off in here, too, the curtains closed to limit even the soft moonlight coming through the windows. 

His instinct is to flick on the light so he can see you better, but he doesn’t want to startle you, and besides, you obviously prefer the lights off or you would’ve turned them on yourself when it got dark. Instead he just steps further into the room, squinting his eyes as he can just barely make out the lump under the covers where you lay, curled in a ball in the center of your mattress, crying quietly.

He knows you must have heard his entrance, must realize he’s standing at the side of your bed right now, but you make no move to acknowledge him, continuing to sob softly as he watches on, heartbroken.

“Oh, darlin’...” he sighs, pulling the covers back a bit to expose your head, kneeling with one knee on the mattress so he can get a closer look at you.

You sniffle pitifully as you feel the cool air of the room on your face, extra cold against your cheeks where they’re wet with tears. Your vision is too blurry for you to actually see him, but you know who it is, know the scent of his cologne and the familiar touch of his fingers on your face as he brushes your hair back to see you better. 

Your stupid, traitorous nervous system reacts immediately to his presence, your panicked breaths slowing and your tears subsiding, a warm wash of comfort moving through your chest along with an instinctive sense of safety.

Your body knows nothing of the events of the past few hours, that he isn’t yours anymore, that he isn’t here to comfort you. It just instinctively calms under his attention, unaware that it is fleeting now, sure to be gone in only moments.

As the man you love wipes the tears gently from your face, his touch so sweet and soft it inadvertently causes more of them to fall, you force your hoarse voice to speak, the sound a barely audible croak even in the silence of your room. “Are you here to get your things?”

Bucky’s own eyes sting at your words, at the miserable tone to your voice as you say them, and he shakes his head vehemently, though he’s not sure you’re even really seeing him right now.

“No, baby, of course not. Why would I take my stuff, huh? I left those things here so I could use them when I’m visiting my girl, you know that,” he counters in a painfully soft voice, like he thinks speaking above a murmur will shatter you. Maybe he’s right about that, you do feel awfully close to shattering.

You feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind your eyes, and you close them for a moment, struggling to craft a coherent thought through all the heartbreak clouding your brain. Why is he here speaking nonsense when you’re in the middle of trying to mourn him? Does he not see that it’s cruel for him to be here with his comforting touch and his sweet voice, knowing that those things are lost to you forever now? 

“I’m not your girl anymore…” you mumble brokenly, the very act of having to speak the words into existence pulling another sob from your chest. 

Despite yourself you nuzzle your cheek into his palm as he cradles your face, desperate for his affection. If you’re never going to feel his touch again, you’ll bask in every opportunity while you have it, savoring the familiar warmth even as you question why he’s offering it to you in the first place.

Your face is pinched in concentration, like you’re trying to commit the sensation to memory, and Bucky’s heart might as well be in shards by his feet at this point, the way you seek out his touch like you’re starved for it. Like it hasn’t only been hours since he last gave it to you, like you’ll never have the chance to feel it again.

“Yes you are, baby, you’re always gonna be my girl. You’re mine, honey, just like I’m yours. Forever, haven’t I told you that?” he speaks desperately, like he’s pleading with you to agree with him, and although you’d love to, you have very recent evidence to the contrary.

“B-but, you said…” you trail off in a whisper, unable to repeat the words. You don’t need to anyways, you both know what he’d said. That he can’t do this. Can’t be with you anymore.

Bucky’s quick to interrupt you, needing you to understand that that’s not what he’d said, or, at least, not what he’d meant. “Baby, I didn’t- I’m sorry I said it like that, and I understand why you took those words the way you did. But that’s not what I meant to say, sweetheart, I swear.”

He huffs and slides a frustrated hand through his hair, suddenly unable to bear having this conversation with you while you lie curled up alone in your bed, looking up at him blankly with your shining eyes.

Before you can speak another word he peels back the covers some more, making room for himself as he slides into the bed beside you, pulling you up and onto his chest so he can hold you in his arms. The tears on your cheeks immediately soak through the soft cotton of his T-shirt, but he doesn’t care, cradling you tightly against his chest and rubbing slow, comforting circles onto your back.

You want to say something, to express your confusion at his incongruent behavior, but you can’t, not with his arms around you and his scent in your nose. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out are more shuddering sobs, your body limp in his hold, completely helpless against the comfort he offers.

Even if he shouldn’t be, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s holding you like you’re something precious again, and even if you know that there must be some mistake you can’t stop yourself from completely melting into his embrace, any semblance of your remaining composure crumbling completely.

Bucky just coos softly, murmuring gentle assurances in your ear and holding you, solid and steady as you weather the storm of your heartbreak. Despite having spent the better part of the past two hours bawling your eyes out, the crying starts anew with him here, his comforting presence both a relief and a reminder of what you’ve lost, what you’ll be missing when he walks out that door again.

You two lie like that for a while, though whether it’s for a few minutes or several hours you can’t say, time stretching into infinity as you cry into his chest. As the tears finally subside once again, your body exhausted and your throat sore, your mind belatedly registers his words from before. He’d been saying something, hadn’t he? 

“What…” your voice comes out scratchy, so you clear your throat to be heard better - though Bucky couldn’t have missed a word out of your mouth if he tried, focused on you as he is. “What do you mean, that’s not what you meant? You broke up with me.”

Bucky shakes his head immediately, bringing his mismatched palms up to cradle your face, sweeping your hair back behind your ears so he can see his beautiful girl. God, it’s torture watching you cry, but he seems to have broken through to you somehow, and he’s not going to squander this opportunity to explain himself.

He can’t suppress the urge to lean down and drop a tender kiss to your forehead, though, your tear-stained face so pitiful he could cry right along with you if he didn’t have something more important to be doing at the moment.

“I mean, that’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I never intended to break up with you. How could I? Leave my girl, my princess? Don’t you know you mean more to me than every other person on this planet put together?” He speaks calmly but firmly, his gaze steady on yours as he practically begs you to believe him. You have to believe him.

You frown, confusion pulling your brows together as you take in his desperate expression. His words make your heart flutter with hope, but you don’t understand, can’t make sense of the reality he’s trying to assert when you know you heard otherwise only a couple of hours ago. It’s all a bit much for your heartbroken brain to handle, and you just blink at him blankly, completely lost.

“I don’t understand, Buck. Y-you were so upset, and then you left, and you said ‘I can’t do this, I'm done.’ I thought you meant we were done, that you can’t do us anymore.” you recall in a miserable voice, searching his eyes for answers as you desperately try to understand.

He nods empathetically, his thumbs brushing at the tears on your cheeks even as more continue to fall to take their place. “I know that’s what I said, sweet girl, and I know how it sounded to you, but that’s not at all how I meant it, I swear. I just…” Bucky sighs, his features plastered with remorse, his eyes falling from yours in shame.

“I was being an asshole. I knew, even as I was doing it, that I was being an asshole, that I couldn’t stop being an asshole, so I just…I wanted to get away from you before I lashed out any more, that’s all. I knew if I kept trying to discuss things with you right then I was only going to say more shit I didn’t mean, so I tried to put some space between us, just until I could cool off and be rational again.”

Bucky pauses, sighing deeply and stroking your cheeks. His eyes are swimming with guilt so deep it hurts your chest just to look at it. He looks almost as torn up about this whole ordeal as you do, which, although his pain isn’t something you revel in, does make your heart beat a little faster with hope. Would a man who doesn’t want to be with you anymore still look at you with that much guilt over having caused you pain?

When he speaks again his voice is low and strained with emotion, apologetic. “Darlin’, I…I am so sorry for the things I said to you today. I didn’t mean a single damn one of them. I love that you look after me, I love that I have someone waiting for me when I come home, making sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. I need you there to do that for me, because we both know I’m too proud and stubborn to take a break on my own. I got defensive, and I lashed out because I felt threatened, and that is not okay or fair to you. If you can’t forgive me for those things I said, I understand.” 

He swallows thickly, his eyes closing as hot tears sting the backs of them, fighting to escape. “But you need to know that when I told you I couldn’t ‘do this,’ I sure as hell didn’t mean you, or us. All I meant was that I couldn’t keep having that conversation with you, that I needed to get away before I hurt you worse. That’s all it was. When I left your apartment today, it was to get some space because I knew I was throwing a temper tantrum. In no way, shape, or form was I breaking up with you, or trying to end what we have. I couldn’t do that, it’s not in my DNA to do that. I’m simply not capable of it, and you have to know that. Even if you decide you’re better off without me, I need you to know that. Please.”

You stare down at him in the wake of his speech, watching as he blinks rapidly to keep tears at bay, and you’re so god damn confused in this moment that you wish he would give you a timeout, let you process everything he just said before you have to respond to it.

Could it possibly be true? That he’d never meant to break up with you, that he still loves and wants you? Could this all just be some massive misunderstanding on your part?

The possibility has hope fluttering warm in your chest, but you suppress it. Better to make absolutely sure first, before you let your heart get obliterated for the second time today. Letting yourself have this hope only to quash it moments later might actually break you for good.

“You weren’t…I mean, you didn’t want to break up with me?” you whisper hesitantly, afraid to let yourself believe it even though you’re desperate to.

Bucky’s heart cracks in his chest as you ask that so timidly, like just voicing the question is opening you up to a whole new potential world of hurt. He shakes his head firmly, his metal hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull, his fingertips massaging your scalp gently.

“No, babygirl, never. Not in a million years. Even though we were arguing, it was the last thing on my mind, trust me. I’ve never wanted to break up with you, not for a second. I love you,” he reassures you smoothly, his voice low and calm, exuding certainty.

You have to sniffle hard to hold back a fresh round of tears at those three simple words, ones you never thought you’d get to hear from him again. Jesus Christ, if you never cry again it’ll be too soon. Your gaze is particularly frail and fragile as it meets Bucky’s, some of that hope you’d been suppressing earlier making itself known in your features, tentative but present.

“So…you’re still my boyfriend?” you ask in a tiny murmur, like maybe this is the part where he pulls the rug out from under you and announces he was kidding about the whole misunderstanding thing.

Bucky’s features tighten a little at your question, and dread pools in your stomach rapidly, fearing the worst. But his words aren’t quite the heartbreaking blow you’re expecting, more like a puzzling wrinkle.

“If you want me to be, yeah, baby, I am.”

Your brow furrows, confused. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you recall a few other parts of his speech just now, parts that had been immediately overshadowed when he’d said that he still wanted to be with you. Now that you think about it, he’d also said a bunch of stuff along the lines of ‘If you can forgive me,’ and ‘If you decide you’re better off without me,’ hadn’t he?

What the hell was that all about? Why’s he talking about whether you want to be with him? Like you haven’t been literally bawling your eyes out for the past two hours at the prospect of having to live without him? How does that make any sense?

“Of course I want you to be. You think I was curled up on the floor sobbing because I was happy to think that our relationship was over?” you ask incredulously, frowning at him. 

He chuckles a little at that, the sound vibrating through you as you lay on his chest, but it’s strained, his expression vulnerable. Although you attribute this misunderstanding mostly to your own mind jumping to the worst possible conclusion, Bucky is riddled with guilt for both his abrupt exit from your apartment and the things he’d said leading up to it.

In his eyes you went through a lot of pain today, and every inch of it is his fault. If he’d stopped to explain his meaning, or, hell, if he hadn’t gotten so damn defensive in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. His girl wouldn’t have spent hours of her life sobbing on her hardwood floors if he’d just stopped to breathe like his therapist taught him to. His pale irises swim with shame as he gazes up at you.

“No, no, I just…I said some horrible things to you today, darlin’. And just because you were upset to think that I’d broken up with you doesn’t necessarily mean that all is forgiven, I know that. I understand if you’d rather keep us apart after the way I acted,” he murmurs defeatedly, like he’s already prepared himself for a thorough scolding.

Which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous, in your eyes. You snort, brows raised in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? All is forgiven, Buck, all is so past forgiven. I don’t care about the shit you said. You’re here, you’re still mine, that’s all that matters now. Forget the fight, forget all of it. I’ve got you, that’s all I care about.”

You say it so simply, like it could be so easy. Like his indiscretions are just wiped clean in the face of your pure relief. But he knows that they aren’t, they can’t be. It’s not that easy, as much as he’d like it to be. He fucked up, and he deserves what’s coming to him.

He tries to reason with you, his expression pained. “Baby, you can’t just-” 

“I absolutely can, actually,” you interrupt, looking unamused, stern. “I’m the one you said those things to, so I think I have the right to determine how I feel about them, don’t you?” You keep your eyebrows raised, challenging.

You watch as he mulls those words over a bit, licking his lips anxiously. It takes him a moment to decide how to respond, and when he does his words are slow, strained. Like maybe he doesn’t want to say them, but he feels like he has to.

“Yes, you do. It’s ultimately your decision, of course it is. I just…before you decide to blindly forgive me for this, I want you to really consider how you feel, okay? I know your instinct is to forget all about it because you’re just relieved to have me at all right now, but…I messed up. I hurt you, I said hurtful things even if I didn’t mean them. You didn’t deserve that, least of all from me, the man who’s supposed to love and protect you. You’re allowed to be upset about it, and if my actions made you realize that you don’t want to be with me anymore, then…you’re allowed to feel that way, too.”

His voice cracks on that last word, and your heart aches painfully in your chest at the sound. In this moment, you’re realizing with horror that Bucky truly believes he deserves to be broken up with tonight. With the unshed tears clinging to his lashline and the devastated look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be dumped, that in fact that’s the last thing he wants.

But it’s obviously what he thinks should happen, the punishment he thinks he’s earned for the inadvertent heartbreak he put you through tonight, and that’s just…unacceptable, to be honest. 

The man would forgive you if you literally drove a stake through his chest, for Christ’s sake, yet he’s expecting you to kick him to the curb? What, because he got a little snippy with you? Because you jumped to the wrong conclusion and convinced yourself he left you? You would almost be insulted that he could think such a thing of you if you didn't know where the fear comes from.

You've seen them firsthand: the deep layers of self-loathing that have bogged him down since long before your relationship started, the inherent belief he carries that he is irreparably flawed and unworthy of love. He doesn't feel like he deserves you on his best day, so when he screws up, no matter the size of the infraction, he expects to be cast aside.

You reach out with one hand to cradle his cheek, his stubble gently scraping against your thumb as you caress his skin. Your expression is caring but firm, your eyes holding his as you speak in an even voice.

“I need you to understand that I don't expect you to be perfect, James. I don’t expect that you will always say the right thing, or have a perfectly even temperament in every situation because hell, none of us do. You’re allowed to fuck up sometimes, sweetheart, and you still deserve to be loved even when you do.”

His brow furrows as you speak, his instinct to reflexively deny the forgiveness you’re offering. “But I hurt you,” he interjects, the look on his face so miserable it tugs at your chest.

You nod your agreement, though your expression is still full of compassion and love. “Yes, you did. I won’t even begin to address the break-up fiasco because that was a complete misunderstanding on my part, but yes, the things you said before you left really stung me. Do you know why I’m going to forgive you anyways, though? Why, even if this happens again, I’ll probably forgive you a hundred times over?”

You pause for effect, giving him the opportunity to respond. Honestly, as upset as you’ve been these past few hours, it’s all begun to fade in the face of this man you love trying to convince you he’s not worth it. When he just looks at you helplessly, his eyes tracking your speech with rapt attention, you smile and continue.

“It’s because I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, Bucky. Let me ask you something: when you snapped at me today, did you do it because you were trying to find the absolute meanest thing you could say at that moment? Did you say it because you wanted me to feel bad?”

Looking a bit startled at the suggestion, Bucky shakes his head mutely. He hadn’t really even been conscious of the words at all until after they’d already blurted from his mouth, and even then it didn’t fully sink in until after he’d calmed down. You smile, satisfied by his immediate denial. 

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t say that stuff to be mean, to hurt just for hurting’s sake. You were feeling ambushed and defensive, and you lashed out. Is it ideally how you’ll always react when I try to express my concern for your wellbeing? No, of course not. But is it a realistic thing for a person to do who’s not used to being cared for? Absolutely, it is. And it’s just something we’re gonna have to work on, baby. I’ve never done this whole relationship thing before, and you’re trying to do it for the first time in 80 years with a hell of a lot of additional trauma thrown into the mix. 

“We’re learning, and it’s not always gonna be perfect or easy. Maybe before this becomes an issue again, we’ll think up some ways for you to politely tell me ‘I’m feeling overwhelmed by this conversation, please back off and we can come back to it later.’ Or maybe we’ll discuss how I can voice my concerns to you in the future without triggering your defensive response, how I can come off as less accusatory and make the discussion feel more safe for you.

“We’ve only been doing this for six months, and as real as it is, as much as I love you more than anything, we’re gonna face a hell of a lot more than this one hurdle if we want to keep doing this thing in the long term. So, yeah, tonight has sucked, pretty much every minute of it was a disaster, but you know what? It’s over now. You apologized, we’re gonna try and do better next time, and…that’s the end of it. Clean slate. All I want to do with the rest of my night is finally stop fucking crying, and eat a burger the size of my head. Preferably, with my boyfriend next to me the whole time, trying to steal my fries when I’m not looking. Do you think you could help me make that happen, Buck? Please?”

He looks stunned in the wake of your speech, silent for several moments as his brain struggles to grapple with the reality of your easy forgiveness. He blinks at you hard, like he truly can’t believe that you’re not running in the opposite direction right now, burning every trace of your life together and cursing his name the whole way.

But the truth is, you’d already made up your mind to forgive him the second you realized he hadn’t meant to break up with you in the first place, and Bucky must see that, too, because the fight in his eyes is slowly dimming into something more fragile, vulnerable. 

His gaze fixes on yours in the dark, searching for some hidden shard of resentment or anger that you may be holding back for his sake, but he doesn’t find it, there is no such thing for him to find. You just smile weakly up at him, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day but no less sincere, and when he blows out a slow breath through his nose, you know you’ve got him.

He’s definitely not done badgering himself about the mistakes he made today, not by a long shot, but he must see your weariness on your face, your desperate need to move on from this at least for the moment, so he nods slowly, his flesh hand rising to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can make that happen. Whatever you want.”

Your smile brightens, the relief so stark in your features that it brings a lump to his throat, and when you press your lips against his he makes a silent promise to never put you in a position like this again, to never let his bullshit drag you down or put your relationship at risk like he did today.

He’ll go to therapy twice a damn week if he has to, you deserve better than his temper tantrums, than cruel words spoken out of a defensiveness he doesn’t need anymore. Not with you. 

Half an hour later finds you perched in his lap, draped in one of his hoodies and talking and laughing at your favorite diner like there never was an argument, like not a single tear was shed today. He hates that the joy on your face is most likely motivated by your sheer relief that he’s still yours, but he can’t complain about the sparkle in your eyes, nor the way you lean back against his chest as you sip your shake.

Obliging your request, he steals some fries off your plate while you gesticulate wildly through a story, a warm flutter going off in his chest when you pretend to squawk in protest. He soaks in every second, every twitch of your lips and brush of your hand against his, reminding himself what he could have lost, what he perhaps deserved to lose after his actions today. 

He’ll make this up to you, he knows he will - he’s sure Natasha will have plenty of suggestions for how he can start. He thinks back to that little velvet box he’s got buried deep in the back of his sock drawer, a sharp pull tugging at his heart as he realizes he almost lost his chance to give it to you at all. He resolves right here and now, basking in the warm light of your infinite patience for him, that he won’t take that box out until he’s earned it.

He hates to wait even a second longer, itches to lock you down with every passing moment, but he won’t ask you to make that kind of commitment to him until he’s sure he’s the man that you need him to be. As he presses a firm kiss to your temple, swiping another morsel from the edge of your plate with a smile, he swears up to his Ma that he will work hard to deserve you, even if you seem to think he already does.

[sevsevteen]

Hi I'm a huge fan of your fics🤩! Can you please write a Svt × 14th member where the reader has a crush on one of the oldest members (preferably joshua) and is afraid to confess because of their age gap (5 or 6 years) and during an incident joshua realises that he likes the reader too and reacts emotionally and ends up kissing her in front of the members. SCoups is worried that it is too early for the reader to enter a relationship

helloo :9 this actually took a while because i was debating how to write this - please note i didn't include the kissing scene! i don't write for apparent romance between members, so this came in a way that's more of a quiet, caring joshua. i tried my best to fulfil your request ~ and i hope you still enjoy reading <3

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

It was the little things that made you double-take.

The way Joshua always reached for the mic closest to him and handed it over to you without a word. The way he lingered just a second longer when patting your shoulder after a long practice. The way his eyes sometimes scanned the room before quietly landing on you, and then flicking away just as fast.

You weren’t supposed to think anything of it.

He was Joshua.

Gentleman. Calm, composed, soft-spoken even within your own group. You were years apart - born into different generations of humor, playlists, and levels of self-awareness even if you did grow up together.

And you were careful. Too careful.

So you turned your feelings into something fleeting. A harmless fondness tucked between syllables when saying his name. A warmth that curled into your hoodie when he passed you a hot pack in winter without even looking up from his phone.

Like now.

You sat curled on the edge of the photoshoot set couch, arms wrapped around your knees, still catching your nerves. The shoor had run longer than expected, and everyone was sluggishly gathering their things to head out.

Joshua walked by with his water bottle, only to pause, backtrack, and gently press a folded jacket over your shoulders. Yours must have slipped off somewhere mid-film.

“Oh,” you blinked up at him. “Thanks.”

“You looked cold,” he replied simply. “You okay?”

You nodded - automatically. Smiled - barely.

Joshua looked at you for a moment longer than he needed to. Not with amusement or teasing, just that soft, unreadable gaze of his that always felt a bit too kind. And maybe that was what made your heart trip up in the first place. He was kind to everyone, but with you? It always felt quieter. Unspoken.

“It’s been a long week,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua’s lips tugged into a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“It has,” he agreed. “You’re doing well.”

The words landed somewhere in your chest, catching you off guard.

You ducked your head, unsure how to answer.

But just when you wanted to make a quick escape - your ankle bumped the side of the coffee table, hard enough to sting. You winced.

“You okay?” Joshua leaned down slightly, eyes narrowing in concern.

“I’m fine. Just… clumsy.”

“Still,” he said, crouching so he could be eye-level, brushing your hand away to gently check the bump forming above your sock. “Be careful.”

You froze - every part of you begging not to overthink the way his fingers brushed against your ankle, not to replay the way he softly clicked his tongue like he cared more than he let on.

“Hyung,” someone called from the hallway, probably Mingyu. “We’re leaving.”

Joshua glanced toward the door, then back at you. You weren’t sure what he saw - maybe the flush rising to your ears, maybe the way you avoided eye contact, heart thudding.

He stood up. Hesitated.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he reached over and gently tapped your head. “If I send hot packs to your room later, it’s because I know you’re going to pretend you're not sore.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his, caught off guard. “You don’t have to do that…”

“I know,” he replied easily. “I want to.”

And just like that - he left.

No implication.

Just warmth left behind in the silence. Just a small kindness you weren’t sure meant more than it should.

But when you found the hot packs outside your door later that night - neatly stacked in a paper bag with a sticky note that read, “Don’t forget to rest” - your heart thumped in a way that scared you.

Because maybe you weren’t imagining it.

And maybe he wasn’t either.

Not quite love. Not quite nothing.

But something.

And for now - it was enough for you.

.

Dusk in the dorm was quiet.

You sat alone in the kitchen, legs swinging slightly off the edge of the stool, notebook on the kitchen island as your pencil skimmed across lyrics. Your jacket was still draped over your shoulders - Joshua’s, you realised later on, with a pang of heat rising to your cheeks.

You had meant to return it.

But now…you weren’t so sure you wanted to.

Your pencil stopped moving when you heard the door click open behind you.

“Can't sleep?” Came Seungcheol’s low voice.

You looked up with a small smile. “Hey, Cheol.”

He walked in slowly, not with his usual leader bounce, but something more thoughtful. His gaze swept across the room - at your notes, the mug beside you, the jacket still not yours - and then settled on you.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Just a few check-ins. I figured I’d stop by.”

You nodded, unsure where this was going.

He moved to sit beside you - close enough for comfort. And when he spoke, his voice was calm. Gentle. But deliberate.

“I noticed something lately,” he started. “Between you and... you know who.” His voice trailed off.

Your hand stilled.

You said nothing.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Seungcheol added quickly. “You’re both adults. And it’s not like I’d try to control that.”

You let out a slow breath, still not looking at him. “So… why bring it up?”

“Because it’s my job to make sure both of you are okay,” he said simply. “And that things don’t get… complicated.”

Finally, you met his eyes. There was no judgment in them. Just care. Quiet concern. The kind that had carried the team since debut.

“I’m not acting on anything,” you said softly. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know. But I also know you.” He tilted his head, eyes kind. “And I know Joshua.”

You swallowed.

He let a pause settle between the two of you before adding, “But even if no one says anything out loud, people feel things. Tensions shift. Rehearsals get awkward. Trust me - it happens.”

Your heart dipped, because he wasn’t wrong.

You thought of the jacket still on your shoulders. The way Joshua’s gaze lingered sometimes longer than it should. The hot packs. The quiet.

And the rollercoaster of emotions that came with it.

“I don’t want to mess up our dynamic. Or anything in fact,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “He means a lot to me. You all do.”

“I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt the group,” Seungcheol said. “But sometimes, when you care about someone too quietly… it hurts more.”

You blinked.

He smiled faintly. “I’m not asking you to stop feeling. I’m just asking you to be honest with yourself. Because pretending you don’t feel anything can cause just as much trouble as acting too quickly.”

You sat in silence, letting his words settle.

And then - you gave a small nod.

Seungcheol stood up, ruffling your hair gently before heading to the door. “You’re doing well. Don’t forget that.”

Just as he opened the door, he turned back.

“Also,”

You looked up.

“if he ever gives you his jacket again… at least wash it before returning it. He’s going to start running out.”

You flushed red, and he chuckled all the way down the hallway.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t try to hide the smile on your face.

--

[overcastcat]

It's also a pretty thorough illustration of why "no cops at pride" is as relevant as it has ever been.

The San Antonio Police Department allegedly knew about the threats they'd been receiving and had known for quite a while: Joss and De Gonzales had reported several instances of their neighbors threatening them with arson that took place over the course of more than two years [1,2]. As far as De Gonzales can tell, the SAPD couldn't even be bothered to look into these reports of threats even after their house actually fucking burned down [1,2]. I can't help but find it fascinating that none of the comically obvious suspects for said potential arson seemed to have been affected by much in the way of police investigation, even after the house they'd been threatening to set on fire repeatedly *mysteriously* burned down. They had years to intervene before this resulted in a murder, but they didn't.

The police don't seem to bring up the fire or this history of threats when they discuss Joss's murder, probably because it'd make claims like “Our investigation has found no evidence whatsoever to indicate that the Mr. Joss’s murder was related to his sexual orientation. We take such allegations very seriously and have thoroughly reviewed all available information" [2] look even more like total horseshit than they already do. I find it hard to believe that reports that could potentially implicate some of these people in homophobia-motivated murder and demonstrably premeditated possible arson have actually been looked into without the possibility of investigating this case as a hatecrime becoming relevant to the investigation as a result. I know it's not DNA and fingerprints at the scene, but it merits some kind of investigation, especially when police are demonstrably willing to kill and detain people based on way, way less.

Either De Gonzales is lying about this (which I doubt, considering his house burning down and his husband being murdered), or not a single police employee bothered to keep any kind of record of a gay couple repeatedly coming to them for help after being threatened with arson, or the cops are too lazy to look for said records and lied about it to maintain some pretense of giving a shit about their jobs. At this point I'm half convinced that the only reason they have investigated anything in this case is because of media attention and public scrutiny. The SAPD chief tried to issue a statement "which ruled out [Joss's] death as a hate crime" and then withdrew it after apparently chickening out just a few days later [3], thankfully.

Also, if the SAPD's negligence while Joss was still alive wasn't enough insult to injury, the officers and those working with them who will acknowlege the theoretical possibility of Joss's murder being a hatecrime don't seem willing to do much more than pay lip-service. Despite plans to "keep their options open," the DA is also not-so-subtly discouraging the idea of pursing hate crime charges in interviews, since it won't add anything to the murderer's prison sentence: "'The man is already facing the maximum punishment being charged with murder, and that is a maximum of 99 years to life,' Gonzales (the District Attorney) explained. 'There is no advantage to alleging a hate crime because it's already at a first degree'" [3]. Being willing to try calling a hate crime what it is (despite the difficulty of getting those charges to stick officially) is apparently only necessary to ensure that some guy gets life in prison as opposed to... trying to tell the truth. Cool.

The former DA weighed in too, offering this delightfully thoughtful and compassionate tidbit: "'name calling during the commission of a crime itself does not mean it's a hate crime. People say stupid stuff all the time'" [3]. Nice. I really hope this was extremely poor word choice on his part, bc otherwise this kind of implies that people who make these claims are just spouting "stupid stuff." Does that include Joss's husband, the witness who was standing right next to Joss as he was murdered? I don't think he's "name-calling" when he offers eyewitness testimony about the goddamn events that he watched happen.

EDIT: After having slept on this, I realized I have to amend this part in the the interest of presenting things accurately. I misinterpreted what he meant by "commission:" I thought that referred to the investigation of the crime in the aftermath rather than the actual crime itself. Thus, him saying "'name calling during the commission of a crime itself does not mean it's a hate crime. People say stupid stuff all the time,'" [3] is referring to the "violent homophobic slurs" the killer shouted at Joss and De Gonzales before firing [1], rather than the people calling the killer homophobic and calling the events a hate crime afterwards. He does trivialize the killer's hate speech by referring to it as "name calling," but he wasn't calling accusations of homophobia like De Gonzales's "name calling" as I'd initially thought.

I get that DAs and cops have to put in time and effort to prove a hate crime officially/legally occurred in accordance with procedure, and even if they were trying to they probably couldn't pull that off in a week. However, their general unwillingness to sincerely entertain the possibility that the man who shouted homophobic vitriol at a gay couple before opening fire on them could have maybe done a hatecrime shows a pretty incredible medley of apathy, incompetence, and dispassion for Joss and his loved ones. This is all made blatant by the SAPD seemingly letting this escalate from harrassment to threats to (potential) arson and finally to murder before bothering to get off their asses about it.

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[prettyfastcars]

that bit of fuel to your fire

Mob!Lewis x Reader 

Summary: Lewis makes you nervous. Yes you’ve been married to him for months now, but still. And no matter how much you crave him, you can’t seem to muster up the courage to openly ask for what you want. So you keep dropping little hints, you keep playing this little game. Hoping that he would catch a hint one of these days… and he does. 

Themes: age gap, arranged marriage, smut, fluff, explicit language

“Can you please help?” 

Lewis looked up from the papers scattered all over his desk, and saw you standing at the doorway of his home office, looking at him with those mischievous eyes. “Sure, what do you need, wife?” He asked, smiling. 

Gods. He looked divine sat there behind his desk in his suit. The two of you had just gotten back from another fancy dinner party, and once home, he was already working again. Always busy working. You sighed dramatically and said, “The zip at the back of my dress is stuck.” You walked into his office and leaned against the side of his large, ancient looking desk, “Can you help me take the dress off?” 

Nice choice of words. He thought. “Anything for you, darling.” 

Lewis got up and reached you in less than a second. You turned around and gave him your back, with the zip halfway down. You caught the way his fingers ghosted over your skin before he grabbed the zip to lower it down. Which he did agonisingly slowly. And it had you shivering in no time. 

You’d been married for months now. It was an arranged marriage so Lewis was basically a stranger. And you’d heard of him before getting married and he made you nervous ever since. He was older, dangerous, and he was quite famous with the ladies… 

Getting married was the easy part. But living with him? Living with a drop dead gorgeous older man was… tricky. Especially when he was so sweet, attentive, and kind to you. You soon found yourself thirsting after your own husband. But you were too nervous to initiate anything. You never sought him out for sex. Ever. After all, given his age and the rumours, he was much more experienced than you were. Plus, he was intimidating as it is. And to imagine all that power unleashed upon you…

“You know,” He began, breaking you out of your reverie, while tugging on the zip that was actually stuck, “I hope you know you’re not being as subtle as you think you are.” 

You turned your face to the side and asked, “What do you mean?” 

“Oh really? We’re back to playing this game then.” Lewis chuckled, his fingers still brushing against your exposed back, his cold rings tracing down along your spine. “You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been making eyes at me all night? You think I don’t know what you’re doing? What you’ve been doing for weeks now?” 

You held back a smirk. Not that he would’ve seen it anyway. “I still don’t know what you mean.” 

Zip undone, but he didn’t let you go just yet. You watched as one of his large, tattooed hands reached around your waist to pull you back into him. Your exposed back pressing against the cool, expensive fabric of his suit. 

“Don’t act so innocent, wife.” He said, nuzzling your neck and letting his lips brush against your skin. “You think I don't see right through you? Your little antics, huh?” He kissed up your neck till his mouth reached your ear where he whispered, making you shiver, “Accidentally pressing against me at night? Always wearing those little things to bed that barely hide anything? Walking around in those tight leggings? Wearing your little running shorts in the morning?” He chuckled into your ear, the sound making you almost moan. 

His hand drifted downward, getting dangerously close to where you needed him the most. That damp spot in between your legs getting wetter, pulsing for him. 

“You’re my wife.” He reminded you. “You don’t even have to seduce me. You just have to ask for it.” He reasoned. “Just ask for it, whatever you want. I’ll give it to you.” You heard the smirk in his voice. “I’ll give it to you good and you know that.” 

“I… I–” 

He turned you around so you faced him. 

And that didn’t help at all. Lewis’ beauty was lethal. His pretty brown eyes, his smooth skin, the tattoos all over his neck… he looked like a god. 

“Say it, wife. Tell me what you want.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the corner of your lips. “Ask me to fuck you. Ask nicely.” 

Shit. 

“Please Lew… please…,” You couldn’t even beg properly. Your mind was melting already, he was too close, his scent, the look in his eyes, it was too much. 

“Oh baby…” He leaned in closer, rubbing this thumb over your chin gently, “Can’t even ask for it, huh?” He chuckled, “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. I’m gonna take care of you.” He whispered, before he pressed his mouth to yours. 

You melted immediately. Sliding your hands up his chest as you kissed him back with just as much passion as he kissed you. You were starving for him, for this. You had been for way too long now. His mouth moved against yours perfectly, his facial hair felt rough against your skin but you welcomed it. 

As he pushed you onto his desk, making you sit on the edge, you mumbled against his lips, “I want you so badly.” 

“Yeah?” Lewis smirked into the kiss, “How long have you been dreaming of this, huh? Of me touching you? Of me fucking you?” 

He pushed you onto the table, stepping in between your legs already. You spread your thighs, “Too long.” You answered, your dress falling off your shoulders to bunch around your waist. “Way too long.” 

He gave you another smug chuckle. Then he got impatient so your underwear came off of you immediately, and in pieces because he ripped it off before he leaned in to kiss you again, as his hand reached in between your legs to play with your wet folds. 

He smiled into the kiss upon finding you already wet for him. “All that for me?” He teased, sliding a finger, then another inside of you, Lewis stroked your walls gently, preparing you for more. 

You clenched around his fingers, moaning into the kiss as he finger-fucked you relentlessly, his rings cold against your warm skin, making you whine in need and desperation. 

You held onto his broad shoulders and kissed him deeper as he made you come all over his fingers in no time. He smirked, looking down at you, given how quickly you came. “You couldn’t hold back, huh? Do my fingers feel good inside you, wife?” 

“Yes…” 

“I know it does, baby. Look how quickly you came all over my fingers.” He whispered, removing his fingers and shoving them into your mouth without another thought. “Now clean them.” He said, watching intently how you sucked on his drenched fingers. 

He couldn’t wait anymore. 

He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, looking deep into your eyes as he did. He watched how the sound of his zip made you shiver with lust and desire. He smirked, watching you as you looked down to where he lazily stroked himself. That tattooed hand moving lazily up and down his cock… 

Lips parted, heart pounding, you watched him play with himself like you were starving for it. Which you were. 

“You want it?” He asked, teasing you with an even slower stroke. 

You whined at the way his big hand moved up and down his erected cock. You squirmed, trying to scoot closer to him, “Please…” 

“Ask nicely,” He demanded. 

You would give him whatever he wanted in that moment, so you fisted the fabric of his shirt and looked up at him, pleading, “Please, Lewis. I want you so much it hurts.” You begged. “I want it, please. Please, can I have it? Can I have your cock?” 

He just smirked in triumph, “Of course you can, baby. It’s all yours.” He said, spreading your legs and sliding his cock into you finally. You wrapped your legs around him and welcomed him inside you. 

And fuck, he felt good. 

You were a moaning and whimpering mess as he began moving in and out of you so perfectly that it felt like you were losing your mind. 

“I’ll fuck you whenever I want now,” He whispered, staring into your eyes while he pounded into you relentlessly. His possessive tone only lit your body on fire even more. “You made me wait long enough, baby. No more waiting. I’ll fuck this tight pussy all the time because it’s all mine, isn’t it?”

You nodded, unable to utter another word. 

“Yeah it is. I’m your man, and you’re my wife and I’ll fuck you whenever you want me to, you hear me? You’re all mine.” He said, fucking deeper into you like he did own you. He bent down to kiss your open mouth, swallowing all your moans and whines in the process. “All fucking mine.” 

His mouth, his taste, his scent. The way his strong body moved to bring you pleasure like only he could. It was all that existed in that moment. The rest of the world was not here. Just him. All of him. 

You could only gasp and moan, unable to form coherent sentences while he pounded into you like he owned you. Your entire body tingled. “Lewis…” The pressure between your legs was getting hotter, tighter, and it would snap at any moment now. 

Then he pulled away just a little, looking down to where your body swallowed his cock each time he thrust in and pulled out. “Look,” he said and you followed his eyes, letting out an even louder moan when you saw what he was looking at. “I’m fucking my wife, do you see it?” He purposely slowed down his thrust just so you could see. 

You nodded. 

“You’re mine, then why did you wait this long, huh?” He asked, leaning in to kiss you. A messy, desperate kiss. One that demanded answers. “Why did you keep yourself from me? Why torture me all this time?” 

Fuck. Why now? 

“I don’t know…” You gasped. “I was too nervous.” You mumbled, looking into his deep, brown eyes. 

“Babygirl,” He chuckled, “I’m all yours. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Do you know how hard it was to hold back from touching you?” 

You whined, regretting all the time you wasted, and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. You kissed his skin as best you could while moaning and whimpering, “Please,” You begged, “Please, can I come?” 

He smirked and sped up into you again, “Wait for me, baby. Just a little more,” He sounded all growly and it only made you clench around him even tighter. 

Hearing you moan and squirm under him only encouraged him to thrust deeper and faster into you. He was relentless as his body moved perfectly against yours.

A tear fell from your eye, out of pleasure. He was quick to wipe it away as he bent down and kissed your lips again, pounding into you rapidly. “Come for me,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice strained and raspy. “Come all over your man, baby…” 

And that was all you needed. You cried out as you came around him, the pressure finally exploding and a familiar warmth washed over you. 

“There we go, baby. That’s it… milk that cock, it’s all yours.” He murmured, his voice like a distant memory given how loud your heartbeats echoed in your ears. 

You felt Lewis come as well, his cock throbbing against your walls as he came with a grunt, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise your skin surely as he filled you up nicely. His cum leaking out of you already, even though he was snug, deep inside you still. 

“There,” He sighed, “All mine.” 

[definefaulty]

sticky situation

spider-man x top male reader

(mlm smut, peter caught using a dildo, fisting, reader is hung, breeding kink, this is long, gets sweet at the end? supposed to be uni age)

Peter, is a dork. adorable, nerdy, very clumsy, awkward, and sexy as fuck. no one else seems to think so much to your bafflement. still, there’s a certain pride in being the seemingly only one who’s stared at his legs while he’s wearing shorts, smooth and toned. that you’re the only one imagining kissing his nape in class. or even the only one who has his entire face memorized, every cute detail, his expressions.

you probably should be embarrassed a little, but thinking of him fogs your brain up with all kinds of feelings, adoration, protection, cute aggression? your dreams often feature his appearance, where you to get to watch more expressions he could make come to life, waking up with intense morning wood and cumming your brains out thinking of him.

so eventually you decide that you have to just ask him out, jump off the proverbial cliff and see if your dreams soar.

which is how you’re now at his apartment, a bouquet of flowers in hand and nerves flying through you. his aunt greets you at the door when you knock, actually just leaving for a while. after explaining you're a friend of Peter's she lets you stay over, eyebrows raising at the flowers in hand, which makes your face flush.

the apartment falls silent when the door closes, distantly you can hear music playing from Peter's room. you swallow your nerves, taking tentative steps through the apartment as you start running the conversation in your head. honestly you were hoping to talk to him at the door, which would let him shut it in your face. if he wanted. your palms are sweaty around the plastic, and already it's hard breath properly.

you're still deep in thought by the time you reach his door, the music pretty loud behind it, and so you don't think at all when you reach for the door handle, grasp it, and push. seeing the scene inside makes your heart skip several beats, probably the blood rushing to your face and filling your cock out.

he's on his bed, a speaker playing on the nightstand, naked, sweaty, and laying on his back with his knees to his chest. the first thought you manage to have is that he's flexible, as he stares at you with wide eyes and his jaw dropped.

your brain finally processes that a thick dildo is in his ass, as he stutters your name, his hole clenches and shoots out the fake-dick making his eyes roll with a low moan. you get a good view of his gaped hole, filled with lube and clenching around nothing.

you gulp, and he stares at you, before slowly reaching over to his phone to pause the music. now in silence the two of you hear nothing but the other's labored breaths.

"i, uhm," he says, "thought i locked the door."

your eyes finally leave his hole to his red face, as his drop to your dick snaking down your thigh.

"guess not," you hold up the bouquet and give it a shake, "brought you flowers. but uh," you let out a little laugh and close the door behind you, actually locking it, and place the bouquet down on his nearby dresser, "if you want, we can start with my dick instead."

you step closer to the bed, watching him bite his lower lip and stoop his head.

"i was gonna offer it to you later, anyway," you say, running your hand over your bulge, surpressing a shiver of pleasure.

he looks back up at your eyes, shifting over slightly to direct his ass to you, "well, i—i do... think of you... using this." he nudges the dildo with his foot, spreading his legs more as you stand at the edge of his bed.

your eyes sinfully take in everything about his state, his messy hair and cute eyes, flushed cheeks, his abs are surprisingly shreaded, his thighs thick and smooth, his cock hanging uselessly with a bead of precum hanging from it, and the depraved, holy grail, of your nerdy crush, his pussy he fucks dreaming of you.

you nod, taking a long breath through your nose, "i need you to say it, though."

he cringes, his hands clenching on the sheets by his legs, his hole winks at you, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"please, give me, gimme your cock," Peter manages, peaking at you through half closed eyes.

it's music to your ears, and you throw your shirt off, taking hold of both his legs and dragging him forward, more on his back. he gasps and you kiss his ankle, moving forward down his calf and knee, stopping to bite the plump flesh of his thigh. you run your tongue down it, close to his crotch and skip over his cock to leave a hickey on the other.

he whines, his hands in his hair as his breathing picks up. you pull from his thigh and lean down to kiss him for the first time, his lips are smooth and angular. he moans into your mouth and submissively lets your tongue enter, running over his and mixing your spit togther.

you pull back to admire his shiny eyes and lips, "open your mouth," you whisper, low and growly, he does and you let your spit drop into it, he swallows and moans.

"please," he mumbles, "fuck me—fuck me—fuck me—"

you move back down and stick your tongue in his accesable hole, his words cut out with a groan and you see his eyes roll, his cock flinch. his lube tastes like strawberry and you dig your tongue into him, running it over his gummy walls, at a spot you feel his thighs squeeze around your head, and you flick your tongue over that spot again and again.

"there, fuck right there!" he whines, as you attack his prostate.

your nose lays against his balls as you dig your face as far as you can in his ass, getting to your knees to give his back a break as you eat him out. he moans with his mouth open toward the ceiling, all the noises deliciously filling his room. you hope his aunt really won't be back for a while.

you pull your face back as he groans your name, inspecting his gaping pussy now mixed with your saliva in it. you give his hole another kiss, and stick your finger in, playing around with how loose and wet he is.

multiple fingers fit in him easily, and you start pumping them in and out, your knucles almost sliding in with them. he whines high pitched and his foot rests on your shoulder.

"please!" he yells, "breed me, fill me up!"

you find yourself grinning, your cock painfully hard in your pants, but your sadistic side wants to tortue him some more.

you stand up with your hand still in his ass and grab his hair, tugging his head up to capture his lips again. you suck on his tongue drawing it out his mouth, and have your eyes open to watch him.

you slowly push your hand inside and watch with glee as his eyes shoot open, his jaw dropping as a long drawn out moan escapes him. your knuckles breaching inside and your whole fist fitting in his cunt.

"holy shit you're a slut!" you groan, feeling his warmth encasing your fist.

tears fall down his face, his eyes glued to your gaze and his toes curling, "fuuuck, punch my pussy," he cries, "destroy my cunt daddy!"

you chuckle and lick his tears, bite his earlobe, and then stand back a bit to start moving your first. he cries out with every movement, you drag your knuckles past his puffy rim and then back in again, his cock is standing hard and leaking.

"oh my god, holy fuck!" Peter throws his head back, his hand holding your bicep strongly, the other twisting the sheet in his grasp.

he yells your name as you pull out, then in, and slowly push more of your arm inside getting up to your wrist, his foot on your shoulder pushes your arm back.

"too much! too much!"

you quickly but carefully pull your fist out and he lets out a loud groan, you inspect his hole, fucked and puffy, finding no blood, and get back to him, putting your arm around his shoulder.

"are you okay? need to stop?" you ask, carefully gathering him in your arms.

he's breathing hard but shakes his head, blinking his eyes open and, catching your worried expression laughs a little, it makes your heart flutter.

"no, no i'm good just, wow, a little too much," he says, you feel him cuddle closer to your chest, his body shivering.

you nod and place kisses on his forehead, his nose, over his eyelids, he giggles and grabs your chin, moving you to kiss your lips. and pulling back he looks up at you as cute looking as ever.

you feel his hand go to your cock, slowly dragging over the contained inches in your pants. a shiver runs through you, your eyes rolling and then focusing back on him.

"can i," Peter says, a shy smile on his lips, "suck you off for a bit?"

"yeah," you breath.

"and then," he gets closer, touching his nose to your neck, and then getting his lips next to your ear, "in a bit. you get me pregnant with this huge fucking cock, like i've been asking."

your chest fills with excitment, your face trying and failing to hide your emotions, "yes baby."

he pushes you gently to lean back on his headrest, getting on his knees and spreading your legs out. in-between your legs with his back arched, his round butt sticking up in the air, he runs his hands along your thighs and over your bulge and balls, getting his fingers in your belt.

he looks up at you as he unclips it, dragging it out and off, the metal clattering beside his bed.

"i've always wanted to taste you," he says, "mmh, you're so fucking big daddy."

you groan, stretching your arms over the headrest, "get me in your mouth, Pete, please."

he nods, undoing the button and dragging down your zipper, he grabs your pants by the calves and drags them off with a shocking speed. you blink now in your underwear, his eyes are focused on your dick and he licks his lips. you gulp.

he kisses the tip of your cock through your boxer-briefs, placing more kisses down the shaft as he goes and licks the cotton over your balls, each placement of his mouth giving you a small blush of pleasure. a tease of what bliss you know his mouth will be, the back of his throat.

he bites his lip, fingers clasping the waistband of your underwear. he drags it down slowly, and when your member springs up he smiles, getting your underwear down the rest of your legs and tossing them behind him.

his hand grasps your cock, his fingers almost touching around the girth, you feel his hot breath on it as he stares, his eyes dragging up the whole thing like he's memorizing it. then he kisses the head, his eyes meeting yours as he does, flirty and sexy and cute, and you feel all that fog filling your head, wishing your cock would be filling his.

he lays down, his legs kicking behind him and his cute butt on display, he licks the underside of your dick from the base to the tip, moaning as he goes and flicking his tongue around the head. he puts his lips over your tip and starts jacking the rest off, his playful gaze trained on you as your breathing gets harder.

he rotates his mouth letting his drool spill down the sides of your cock. he pulls off with a wet kiss, stooping to lick your balls, he takes one in to suck on while stroking your length, moving his wrist around the end of it.

he picks his head up again, drawing in air while running his tongue over his lips, “your cock is addicting,” he mutters, placing both hands on you and energetically jerking it off.

he smiles with your groan, taking his eyes off the angry head to enjoy your expression. his eyes twinkle with a lust you couldn’t have imagined him having as he slows his movements, holding your cock in front of his head. he slaps your tip on his face, his eyes crossing as he stares at it.

“stop playing with your food,” you tease.

“yes sir,” he smiles.

with a breath he sucks your dick in and slowly pushes his head down, you feel the mind melting bliss of his tongue and mouth, breaching his throat, his saliva coating you, his walls massaging every inch of your cock as he audibly fights through gags.

“careful baby,” you manage through moans.

he squirms a little, his eyes pouting up at you as his nose settles into your pubes, your cock logged inside his throat to the hilt. his hand cradles your ballsack, the other pressing on your thigh for grounding.

you have to throw your head back as he holds himself there, moaning around your length, his tongue wrapping around what doesn’t get in his throat. when he pulls back a thick mess of his spit stays hanging from your cock, soaked in his saliva and your precum.

he gasps for air, but his eyes shine with that beautiful smile, he only takes a break for a moment—throating your cock again with ease, it has you grabbing his hair, brown and fluffy, slightly curly hair you’ve dreamed about, you clutch it to drive your pelvis into his face.

“fuck Peter! so, mh, fucking good.”

your brain is doing that melting thing, your eyes rolling back in your head. when you drop your hips back down he’s fighting for air, flushed face and drooling down his chin. you clean his tears with your thumbs.

“ha, fuck, my face.”

“you want it?”

“yes! i can take it,” he pleads, tapping your cock against his tongue, “be rough.”

“slap my thigh if you need me stop.”

“yes sir.”

you take hold of the sides of his head, he opens his mouth willingly keeping eye contact with you, you time it with him taking a deep breath—pushing his head down as you thrust forward, shoving your whole cock in his throat.

you pick up a fast pace, his hands relaxed on your thighs, as you fuck his mouth you feel your balls slap his chin. his eyes almost shut close, fighting to open and watch your jaw-dropped expression through tears. he takes it so damn well, not a gag coming from his as he breathes through his nose, his throat relaxed to service you.

your abs and thighs start to burn, but the pleasure blocks it out, your tongue hanging out as a wicked grin grows on your face. he keeps his eyes trained on you, drool flowing over the sides of your dick and coating your balls in it, getting on his bedsheets.

you feel your release approaching, moaning loudly, “Pete, i’m close, p-pull off, lemme-“

hearing that he grabs your chin and balls, burying his face into your crotch.

“oh Peter!”

he’s strong as fuck, but lets you push him off your cock, just barley holding back a fountain of cum. he takes scarily stable breaths as you hunch over to keep from cumming. your cock is buzzing with the pleasure he just gave you, harder than you’ve ever been.

“almost,” you say, grabbing his chin, “made me cum a little soon.”

he swallows the excess spit in his mouth, placing a finger lightly on your piss slit, sending a shiver through you.

“i want more than one load though, daddy,” he says, flashing his teeth.

you gulp, staring with a mix of excitement and fear at him, “alright, anything for you, c’mere.”

you drag him up and on your lap, your cock nestling between his butt-cheeks. you hold his waist, the both of you smiling as you lean into a kiss. you feel him push his ass back into your dick, his glute muscles flexing to mush them against your cock. you groan into his mouth, feeling his tongue slide into yours.

he’s slow and sultry as he explores your mouth, his arms around your shoulders, his back arched. he tilts his head to the other side, your tongues moving around the other. he rolls his head back giving you access to his neck, you quickly move to it to place more hickeys without a care. he sighs, caressing your back.

he leans down next to your ear again, “first load goes in my pussy, balls deep.”

you get your mouth on his nipple, suckling it, he moans.

“s-second load, i wanna drink.”

you push his arm up to lick his pit, a small patch of hair there and the smell of his body wash, fruity mixed over the musk of his sweat.

“th… third,” he gasps, you move to meet his gaze again, nodding, “i wan’ you to cover me with, nut on my,” he pushes his pecs together, “lil tits?”

you kiss him again, grabbing the base of your dick and lifting his ass up, lining your tip with his hole.

“and when will you cum?"

he whines and wiggles his butt over your tip.

"maybe a few times, if you're good with me."

you push his ass cheeks down, his hole sliding over your cock wet with lube and spit, you both moan in sync, eyes fighting to stay on each other through the penetration. he sits on your cock fully, jaw dropped gorgeously at how full and stretched you make him feel, you feel his heat encasing your member, his skin is warm on yours, his heart beat on your chest.

"i am good, trust me," you say in a whisper, clutching his torso with both arms.

he nods, eyes rolling as they close and he lifts himself up your length, keeping the end inside, and then dropping down with a flush of his cheeks on your thighs.

you both swear, every nerve in your dick firing on all ends how fucking good his ass feels. his adam apple bobs as he starts riding you, hugging your shoulders, his nails bite into your skin and you keep sucking the skin on his collar bone, planting a possesive pattern to bloom across his chest.

he about sings your name in needy moans, his hole squeezing around you, milking your cock to draw out that orgasm. that cum he needs to feel fill him up, needs to feel hot on his skin. you watch him through every bounce, your eyes taking in every shift of expression and bounce of his pecs, your hands on his waist, his round cheeks bouncing on your lap. you growl and move up to kiss his neck more, he clutches your hair with a hand, moaning throatly.

when he moves up you feel his walls milk your inches, fight to keep you inside, and when drops down it sucks you in, warm and wet and making your whole body buzz.

he groans his head rotating to lay on your shoulder, "every, hng, time it hits my! prostate, you fill me so good sir, so... so fucking good."

you lick up his neck, tasting his sweat, and get your tongue in his mouth again. your hands grab his ass-cheeks and squeeze them, helping him move up and down faster. he groans into you with every landing, and you feel his dick leaving precum over your abs.

"you're perfect," you gasp inbetween kissing, he hides his face in your shoulder, and you start thrusting upward, "so perfect baby, i'm gonna fuck you so good."

he cries out with your thrusts, his hands clenching your shoulders. he throws his head back, loudly moaning your name. you swear and shift him forward, getting him to lay on his side and hook his leg over your shoulder, getting on your knees to keep thrusting.

he grabs hold of the sheets by his head, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open, struggling to breath and moan at the same time. you huff, sweat dripping down your back and chest, but force your muscles to keep fucking him. you grasp his stiff cock and begin to stroke him, but he slaps your hand to get it off.

"no just-" he moans, "keep fucking me! wanna cum on your cock, j—just your cock!"

"Peter," you groan, your thrusts make his chest bounce upward, his abs sweaty and nipples perked up.

his cock keeps leaking uselessly, and you grab his other leg to get it on your shoulder, leaning him further on his back into a mating press. his eyes open as you do, teary-eyed and struggling to focus.

"cum in meee," he whines.

you swear, getting your feet on the bed, legs spread for more purchase. driving your cock harshly into his cunt has him moaning so loud the neighbors are probably hearing this, loud slapping noises emit from your hips colliding with his ass.

another few thrusts and your resolve is breaking down, your balls tightening approaching that point, you feel covered in sweat and have the biggest boner of your life.

"i'm close baby," you groan, "you want my nut? you wanna get pregnant?"

"yes!" he squeals, "cum in my pussy, knock me up! make me yours!"

your groans grow louder, your thrusts getting sloppy yet harder.

"i'm cummin' i'm cummin!"

with a final push, his walls squeeze you and you start cumming inside his ass. you press your forehead into his, forcing your eyes open to watch him feel rope after rope creampie him. it lasts for the longest seconds of your life, so much cum it starts spilling out around your cock.

“ha fuuuck i’m cumming! i’m cumming from my pussy daddy!” he screams, his hole clamping onto you, you feel his cum spill out onto his stomach between the two of you.

struggling to get back to earth from your high, you huff, and collecting his legs again in your arms you keep fucking him through his anal orgasm, his hole even more messy and loudly squelching with your load.

"i'mma fuck this load so far inside you, you'll really get pregnant," you growl.

he gasps and moans, nodding dumbly. your cock is overstimulated, your legs shaking with the effort and your core tired from all this movement. but you think of his orders for how many loads he wants and fire starts in your chest, your dick pumping up to go again.

"holy shit, you're so hard again!" he cries, you let his legs go down and he spreads them.

you lay your hand down, use the other to cup the side of his face, wiping more tears with your thumb. you groan, and have to lean back and pull out with a wet sound. he exclaims with your cock leaving, and you slowly stroke yourself to his creampied pussy, letting the sensitivity leave your dick.

he mumbles your name, his eyes blinking open, "keep, fucking me..."

"hold on baby," you breath, "i'm coming back, get on your knees for me, show me that hole.”

he swallows, moving over to get on his knees, he arches his back and lays his chest flat, his knees spread and presenting his fucked ass to you. you swing your dick a bit, getting up on your knees to smack it against his ass earning a cry from him. then you grab his shoulder with a hand and insert your cock back in, his head springs up as you do and he whines.

you huff and grasp both of his shoulders, quickly getting into another rhythm of fucking him hard, trying to aim your cock downwards to really press his prostate. his head bobs with your thrusts, his back covered with sweat, you can't get enough of how his ass bounces with your thrusts. or how sweet his moans are. you really feel on cloud-nine having the boy of your dreams like this, completely and totally.

his body is limp in your arms and you hold him to steady to receive your thrusts, the room smells completely of sex and sweat. you spot the dildo he was using earlier out of the corner of your eyes, and getting a wicked idea grab it by the base. you hold it to the front of his mouth, and without words or hesitation he sucks it in with a moan, eyes closed in bliss. his dildo sinks into his throat and your cock pounds him from behind, you feel his hole clench with the addition of the dildo, his swinging cock flinging cum on your thigh.

you hold the dildo down his throat to the base, holding it there for a moment before he gags and it comes back up wet. you smack his ass and pull out, moving over to his mouth. he looks up at you hungry and expectant, and compliantly you present your cock to him, he grabs it with one hand and quickly begins to deep throat it, straight from his ass. you feel your eyes roll involuntarily, and reach around him to sink his dildo inside of him. his moans vibrating your cock make you think the second load will come quicker.

he holds your thighs face fucking himself on your cock, as you grind and push the dildo in his ass. the view is crazy, his face pushed between your legs, his back and butt below you. his skin glistens, and your roughly hold the dildo with both hands to fuck him, your hips moving into his mouth, solo spit-roasting Peter. you feel a big wave of vibration around your cock, his ass grinding back onto the dildo. you feel that sweet release approaching again, keeping one hand on the dildo to grab his hair.

“ha, your meal is ready, FUCK!”

its beyond static as your second load fills his throat, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm grabs hold of you. he drinks it all, his throat guzzling around your length to swallow the load. you keep swearing loudly and push the end of the dildo further inside him.

as your orgasm ends he pulls off with a gasp, letting you look in his mouth to find it spotless. you swear and groan.

“shit, you’re gonna drive me crazy baby.”

his smiles, and slowly strokes your cock, “heh… i fucking came from that, wow.”

Peter’s expression is still so happy, and sweet, your cock stirs again with the juxtaposition of how sluty he is.

he moves your hand off the dildo to drag it out of him with a low whine, turning over again sluggishly onto his back, picking his legs up.

"o—one more, promise," he says in a low breathy one.

you gulp and stroke yourself to get harder, shuffling forward on tired knees and with a sore dick. but you sink inside his gaping hole, slotting yourself in completely with a sigh, he wraps his legs around your waist and his arms around your shoulder, a dopey grin on his face. you feel your bodies slot together perfectly, his hair is tousled and messy, his skin blemished with hickeys, you move at a gentle pace, thrusting deeply, pressing soft kisses into his cheek and neck. he whispers your name over and over, as if lost in a dream completely of you. you meet his eyes and kiss him deeply, rocking yourself into his body, sleepy but determined to do everything to blow his mind. you kiss down his neck and his chest, placing your hand on him to hold him down as you rise up, gazing at his face. he seems more bashful like this, taking your time to really make love. your head is full of him, everyday maybe, could be like this one—well less rough, even if he is stronger than you thought you want to pamper him, give him princess treatment?

"d... don't stare." he covers his eyes with the back of his hand, lips pursing.

you smile, lean down to kiss his wrist and gently pull them away, "why? you're beautiful."

his eyes pull with tears more emotional than before, he cups your face in his palms, his eyes searching your expression for something.

"you don't think i'm like, gross?" he asks in a whisper.

you shake your head, trying to keep a smile from breaking, "nah, we're perfectly kinky together i'd say."

he laughs, that grin breaking out like the dawn, "i'm tired, s—stroke me?"

you nod and go back to kissing his neck, taking hold of his member with a hand and matching your thrusts as you move your hand over him. you pick up slight speed, angling your hips upward, he moans softly, eyes closed and smiling. his legs are wrapped around you tightly, your core flexing as another release approaches. he gasps and squirms a little, you lift up a bit to watching his abs flex and his cum spurt out onto him, you slow your strokes to milk the last drop. your own release is right behind him, you pull out to jack yourself but Peter takes hold of it with both hands and massages up and down. you moan and roll your head, your eyes landing back on him, taking in the curves of his body, the muscles, his shoulders, his face, that face you've stared at for hours, will stare at for longer. you gasp as your build up climaxes.

"Peter!" you gasp, “i fucking love you,” your cum shoots out over his face and neck, more spilling down his chest.

he keeps moving his hands over your cock, getting all of your cum onto him. you stutter and a shiver runs down your spine, your abused cock leaking all the cum you have left. he drags his hands down your length and lets go at the end, wrapping his arms around you to drag you down for another kiss, light and airy, you both giggle. spent and sweaty and sore everywhere.

“i love you,” he whispers in reply, you hide your face in his shoulder, cuddling together in your mess.

you groan, "we've got to shower."

"mmh," he kisses your temple, "later."

[theladybrownstarot]

𝜗𝜚 Pick-A-Card: Why are you important to this world ? [Timeless] [collab : @kalki-tarot]

How to choose 🪴: choose where you the soul feels~

Magic : Comment down the type mentioned below every pile(s) to claim the positivity of every reading ! I'll bless you personally 🤍🪷

|𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ִֶָ |𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝-𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ִֶָ |𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 ִֶָ |

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Okay , so pile no . 1 , You are important to this world because you are One among a genuine person in the world of fake . Where people find for genuine companionship , all eyes turns on you With an indefinite hope . You Bring clarity and stability to the people who are surrounded to you . Actually , pile number one , you are a real person , real deal so Don't be afraid to accept that . The confidence that you keep in yourself by being a genuine person and taking that any approach , you feel confident for people automatically get inspired from you Believing that you are their ideal person to follow . You could be a good luck for people. I am getting this strong message that you have a roll of breaking the karmic cycle of many people , One among the important reason to why you are important to this world . You know you are a messenger of god you're a messenger for people to those who face any uncertainty you may come up with those messages that actually lighten the burden on people's shoulder . You're jupiter could be placed very good in your chart. You're a person who doesn't only believe that you should go ahead in life but you shouldn't be taking the people along with you nah you are like I'll go first but I'll too take along . You are a genuine , kind and giving person my pile 1 . You're at someone who is just sweet with everyone they meet around who are having trouble , but actually you are someone who will show them the ground reality by being mature and stating the facts as much needed than over . You come as a hope for people pile number 1 . I love the fact that you do not go ahead for popularity ditching others but play your role as a good human begin on this earth. I have no words to express to my gratitude here to you because ig you energy too doesn't allow since you are a laid back and chilled kind of person, pile 1. You only need to people to follow your advice and acknowledge thats enough you don't die around for compliments hell ya that's so amazing! Lysm 🤍 , Some Extra Messages : Capricorn sagittorus libra virgo , uttara ashada , revati , bharani, Swati, moon in aquarius, jupiter dominant or jupiter in fire sign & mars in scorpio .

Type : 111 to claim the positivity of the reading and I'll personally bless in the comment section wholeheartedly 🤍🪷

I too offer paid reading of various kinds, If interested than d.m me to get your own customized reading - link 🤍

For Donation- link

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐. [@kalki-tarot]

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

( lovers, 8 of swords, world, 6 of wands, Justice, Five of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, Strength )

The reason why this pile is so important to the world is because this group has creative and artistic individuals. You are blessing this world through your profound artistic abilities. People who are in twinflame or soulmate journeys have choosen this group. You are making a collective empact on this world through healing your wounds and changing your limiting beliefs. You were born into constraints or were pushed into self doubts. But all of this was a part of your journey, you're gonna alchemize all this pain into creative endeavors and you'll help others through your art by giving them comfort. You are a soul working with the higher power for a higher divine purpose, you're gonna help others by acting as a mirror so others can heal their shadow selves too and the collective can transcend into divine wholeness or union. You have walked through the shadows, some of you were also into toxic relationships. You are a rebellious soul, you'll inspire others through your own story. You are here to restore the imbalance created by false ego driven people against humanity. You carry the vibration of truth and rebellion, and you inspire the world around you to do the same. You walked through the pain, not as a punishment, but that was your initiation. Your importance lies in their ability to alchemize pain into love, turning separation into unity.

Type : 222 to claim the positivity of the reading and I'll personally bless in the comment section wholeheartedly 🤍🪷

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

OK , So pile number three , when I was doing your reading , I felt a lump in my throat which actually gave me a message that People in your early life must have mocked at you or would have actually laughed at you But you didn't stop there and became a voice for other people too speaking for yourself. So , inspiring and revolutionary you are . Your Quality of being stubborn makes you an important person to this world , because it helps you to find the eminent dangers around you lurking Which in returns help the other people. Your protective and caring of yourself and other people too . You are somaeone , who is patient and doesn't rush into things this helps people too actually inspire by living a life where they are truly living , enjoying the Bliss of their actions and doesn't rush into things . It feels as if being with you people forget about the fear of mortality and become more living ! No matter how critical you appear at same time, you are that warm humble person that everybody wants around because you give them security in all sense , especially their heart. People love you because you love them, People love themselves because you love yourself . How beautiful isn't it ? It's for that every person who choose this pile 🌸. You bring that positivity in people's life that couldn't find in Years , because of you they inspire to balance their life . It's you than it's them. You may not feel it but actually you really do impact people . Where everybody wants to fight for their things, you prefer.Negotiation , making people feel comfortable that they can approach and than cooperate with you , since you are a fair person . Some Extra Messages : Moon in Saggitaurus , Saturn in taurus , Venus in cancer, Capricorn and libra.

Type : 333 to claim the positivity of the reading and I'll personally bless in the comment section wholeheartedly 🤍🪷

I too offer paid reading of various kinds, If interested than d.m me to get your own customized reading - link 🤍

For Donation - link

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Pile 4

(Two of Pentacles, The Moon, 9 of pentacles, Ten of Cups, Queen of swords, 8 of pentacles, 5 of cups, page of pentacles)

You are so important to the world because you are someone who has lived through emotional confusion and personal struggles, yet you continue to grow and guide others. You can juggle many responsibilities like emotions, work, relationships, and help others do the same. You bring harmony into chaos. You might have gone through periods of darkness, confusion, and fear, but you are deeply connected to your intuition and the unseen forces of the universe. You are a lightworker. You understand what others hide and you are not afraid of emotional depth. You may have some strong 8th house placements in your chart. You are wise and compassionate towards those who are lost or struggling. This group is filled with empathetic souls who are guiding others through their emotional and healing capabilities. You are someone who is self-made and independent. You also inspire those who do the same. You carry the energy of peace and connection. You bring people together and create a sense of unity, whether it is blood-related or spiritual. You pursue illusions and you speak with honesty, but your wisdom is healing. You are not afraid of hard work. You are always learning and improving. You remind the world that growth is a process and dedication leads to mastery. You are a karma yogi, acting without attachment. This mix of emotions, wisdom and honesty in your personality will serve a greater purpose in this world.

Type : 444 to claim the positivity of the reading and I'll personally bless in the comment section wholeheartedly 🤍🪷

Thank you so much lovelies for reading this ! It's takes a lot of time and energy to make such pick-a-cards so please make sure you support us 🤍 also we will be happy to know your responses in the comment section below about the reading ! Don't forget to type in comment section to claim the positivity of the readings since we will personally bless you there wholeheartedly! Love you and be blessed bye ♡

[thirteenheavens]

age gap with wonwoo x reader?

Who’s your companion?|Jeon Wonwoo

Word count:1k

Notes: back to writing after revision hehe hope you enjoy anon thanks for requesting!

Wonwoo leads you into the upscale restaurant, his hand resting on the small of your back. You can feel the eyes of his coworkers on you as they notice the age difference between you two.

"Don't mind them," Wonwoo whispers in your ear, sensing your discomfort. "They're just surprised to see me with someone younger." He guides you to a table where his colleagues are already seated, pulling out a chair for you. As you sit down, Wonwoo takes the seat next to you, his thigh brushing against yours under the table.

One of his coworkers, a woman named Jisoo, speaks up with a smirk. "So, Wonwoo, care to introduce us to your... companion?" Wonwoo smiles politely at Jisoo, his hand finding yours under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Everyone, this is Y/N. She's my girlfriend."

The table falls silent for a moment before erupting in whispers and curious glances. You can feel your cheeks heating up under the scrutiny, but Wonwoo seems unfazed. Another coworker, a man named Jun, leans forward with a teasing grin. "Wonwoo, you never told us you had a girlfriend. Especially one so... young."

Wonwoo's grip on your hand tightens slightly as he glares at Jun. "That's none of your business," he says firmly. "Y/N and I are happy together, and that's all that matters." Jisoo chuckles. "Oh, come on, Wonwoo. We're just curious. How did you two even meet?"

Wonwoo looks at you, a hint of pride in his eyes. "We met at a cafe. She spilled coffee on me, actually." The table laughs, and you can't help but smile at the memory. Wonwoo continues, his voice softening. "And she's not just young. She's smart, funny, and kind. That's what matters to me."

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, with Wonwoo's coworkers asking polite questions about your relationship and your studies. Despite their initial surprise, they seem to warm up to you. As the night goes on, Wonwoo becomes more protective of you, always making sure you're comfortable and included in the conversation. He keeps his hand on your thigh under the table, occasionally rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

When it's time to leave, Wonwoo stands up and helps you out of your chair. "Thank you for coming tonight," he says to his coworkers. "It was nice to finally introduce Y/N to all of you." The coworkers bid you both goodbye, and Wonwoo leads you out of the restaurant. Once you're outside, he pulls you close to him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "They can be nosy sometimes." You shake your head, leaning into his embrace. "It's okay. I know they were just curious. Besides, I'm used to it now."

Wonwoo chuckles softly, his hands moving to your hips. "You handled it well. You always do." Wonwoo cups your face in his hands, his eyes filled with affection as he looks down at you. "You're amazing, you know that?"

He leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "I'm lucky to have you," he whispers against your lips. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as Wonwoo presses you against the wall of the restaurant. His hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly.

"Wonwoo," you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist. "What if someone sees us?" He smirks, his lips trailing down to your neck. "Let them see," he growls. "I don't care who knows that you're mine." Wonwoo nips at your skin, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along your neck. His hands grip your thighs tightly, holding you in place as he grinds against you.

"You're mine," he repeats possessively. "And I'll show everyone who doubts it just how much I love you." Wonwoo steps back, still holding you in his arms as he lights a cigarette. He takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly before looking at you with a satisfied smile.

"That was fun," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But we should probably head home now." He sets you down gently, taking your hand in his. "I have other plans for you tonight, baby."

[utilitycaster]

We've seen three death moves overall for CR Daggerheart (in addition to this episode, Kexon, Travis's Menagerie character, did one as well) and every single time they've chosen Risk It All and so far they've all made it so I am EXCITED to see more. I do want to talk about multiple issues that can come up with D&D death/resurrection rules and which have, indeed, come up in Critical Role campaigns, which death moves address. I've mentioned a lot of these in scattered posts and comments, but here are the ones I have in mind all in one place.

Not ready to say goodbye to the character. It gives a graceful and easy option for people who don't want to let a beloved PC die - just go unconscious. The scar mechanic in Daggerheart is also great because it becomes more likely with higher levels (scars are if you roll equal to or under your character's level, ie, had Sam or Ashley picked that option, they only had a 1/12 chance to take a scar since they're level 1), so it allows you to ease in or hang on to a low level character for a while.

Less immediate burden on healers (or people with potions). I happen to enjoy the challenge of playing a D&D healer, but it does mean that if you're the cleric and you are perfectly positioned for a devastating Inflict Wounds and someone goes down and rolls a nat 1 death save, suddenly your turn becomes "heal or at least stabilize now or else you're kind of an asshole." The collaborative, turn-based but not specifically ordered battle rules of Daggerheart do a lot to (pun not intended) combat this, but the fact that someone can simply go unconscious and sit out the rest of the fight means it doesn't shift what everyone else does.

No anticlimactic deaths. This is, off topic, a big refutation in my opinion to the "made for actual play" argument (which is itself not a valid argument anyway) but: there is no going out quietly on a third failed death save. Either you stay alive, you canonically go out in a blaze of glory, or there is a literal above table gamble for your life with the odds only slightly in your favor. No slow bleeding out that the DM has to narrate to seem more cool than it is; no five rounds of dread; even if you risk it all and fail, it's one and done.

Less fear of bold moves. Consider: you do have slightly in-your-favor odds to risk it all; and if you win, you may very well end up in better shape than you were before! You probably will, actually, given that you have no hit points left. Because there's an out provided if you really can't say goodbye there's really no reason not to risk it on the battlefield, and also if you're staring down a TPK, one of you risking it all could genuinely turn the tide in your favor. It might be better to go down and hope you get back up than to play it too safe in a battle of attrition.

No critting and immediately falling unconscious again. A crit on a death save is in fact really fucking good in D&D too, but you do have one hit point, so you get your turn, and then you might just go straight back down. A crit in Daggerheart? You're fully back on your feet and better than ever.

You can choose to let a death stand with minimal OOC discussion. On the other hand, if you feel this is a narratively meaningful place to let the character die? You ensure a dramatic and satisfying finale, and you make your definitive exit, without needing to pause an emotional combat scene to provide the other players with, effectively, your character's DNR. The death move you chose (and the fact that it's very hard to resurrect in Daggerheart) does the work for you.

Resurrection never feels cheap. Obviously there's the fact that resurrection is literally extremely difficult to do in Daggerheart, far more so than D&D; but also, if you die via running out of hope slots from multiple times choosing to avoid death, that is something you'd be aware was coming up - rather like how a character with multiple scars in Candela Obscura knows they'll need to retire. You can't stave off death forever, but you'll know when you're running low on hope slots and be able to make peace with it - or decide to meet it head on.

[cherrychilli]

Absolutely have to know if you're doing a part two for the Eddie and virgin reader chastity cage bit, because ough! It's incredible stuff.

Either way, thank you for writing it!

Thanks for reading!

So, I wrote it intending for it to be a oneshot and I'm going to keep it that way

but

I woke up this morning with an idea for an extended ending. Just a short scene but I think that's all that's really needed. Hope you like it💛

Everything's so delightfully sticky and wet.

It's all sore between your legs from where his spend drips down onto your thighs. A wonderful feeling you doubt you'll ever tire of.

You're glad you waited too. He couldn't have been more perfect with how he took care of you. Stretching you out with his thick, dexterous fingers. Making you cum with his tongue first before he fit his cock inside you, his hand holding yours. So many sweet whispers of 'I've got you', 'you're doing so well', and 'fuck, you feel incredible.'

Then suddenly, the afterglow crumbles.

Someone's at the door. Someone persistent because they don't let up with their insistent knocking. Both Eddie and you groan, forced to unstick yourselves from one another so he can pull on his pair of sweats once more. Before he goes he makes sure to turn back and reach for you, placing a kiss on your lips that makes your body fill with butterflies.

Walking out of the bedroom, he's half ready to cuss out whoever's knocking on his door, swiftly pulling the thing open only for Eddie to nearly stagger back.

Danny Vaughn. Danny Vaughn is at his doorstep.

"Finally. Listen Munson, I've got a girl waiting", he gestures at his car parked nearby. Convertible. Ferrari red. Douchey. "And I don't have much time. Need some blow if you've got it. Dirty thing, I talked her into letting me do a couple of lines off her tits", he winks at Eddie in that sickening bravado heavy kind of way. "Aint she classy?"

Eddie's eyes turn sharp. "Fresh out", he lies, stony faced with his fist clenched at his side

Danny's face twists with annoyance but only for a moment, taking in Eddie's shirtless state, his body dewy and the smell of sex clinging to his skin.

The prick puts two and two together, clapping a hand against Eddie's shoulder with a thick grin. "You dog. Got someone over don't you? didn't take you for the lady killer type."

If it weren't for the fact that Eddie and you were together now he would have had Danny's beaten, pulpy body to deal with on his doorstep. He restrains himself though, not wanting your first date to be spent visiting him in jail.

"Eddie, I'm going to fix myself a drink. You want one?"

The sound of your voice has Danny immediately straightening up like a meerkat, craning his neck to see you over Eddie's shoulder, passing by in nothing but the tee Eddie had been dressed in a couple hours ago. So blissful, you don't even notice your dick ex at the door.

"Sure. Surprise me", Eddie calls out with his eyes cemented on Danny's face. God, it is so satisfying to see the crestfallen look taking over his stupid face.

"Yeah, so as you can see I'm pretty busy", Eddie goes to close the door, shit eating grin wide on his face. "Got a good thing going on here so I don't want to keep her waiting. It'd be pretty fucking stupid to take a girl like that for granted" he tells Danny pointedly.

Happily, Eddie closes the door on Danny's shattered face, calmly making his way to the kitchenette where he finds you going through the fridge, looking all kinds of amazing in his clothes.

"Who was at the door?", you ask him when he comes by to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. He hasn't been this happy in a long time, half wondering what he'd done to deserve someone as good as you. The other half not caring why, only vowing to become everything you deserve and more.

"No one, baby. No one important."

[thetrasha]

Hey there, Tasha! My name is Asher! I love your blog! I was wondering if you could do a “his love” headcanon for Sabo, Ace and Law from one piece please? Thank you for your time!

Hello Asher, you're my first ask!! So glad to have you around and thank you so much for showing interest in the first place. I hope you like this one (✿◠‿◠) [Disclaimer: I'm in the middle of Dressrosa right now, so I don't know Sabo that well yet. But I tried my best to do him justice based on the flashbacks and the bits of info🫡]

His Love Is...

feat. SABO, ACE and LAW

SABO

…authentic.

Sabo is someone who’s had to grow up quick, standing up for what he believes in from a young age. He challenges the status quo and is a rebel through and through, someone who yearns for a better world, true justice and lasting peace. He is intelligent, loyal to a fault and never backs down from a fight – if anything, he’s likely to seek it out, just to please the perfectionist pacifist in him. He was meant to be someone who lives a life of luxury and excess, but he deliberately chose to become a notorious criminal to give a voice to those who’d been long silenced. In fact, he’d rather not live at all than sit idly by and watch the oppressed struggle. Sabo has a strong moral compass and an even stronger sense of justice, which makes him highly protective. He may seem aloof at first because he doesn’t open up quite as easily, but you’ve somehow wormed your way inside his heart and now you wouldn’t budge. On some days, when being with you has become such a huge part of who he is, which he is eternally grateful for, he remembers a time without you and it is rather bleak, in his opinion. You stimulate him in ways that make him yearn for you all the time… especially when he’s busy. You engage in conversation with him, you are steadfast in your own beliefs and wouldn’t trade your own principles for anything in the world, while, at the same time, you’re so… real. You have your flaws, but you’re perfect for him. After all, you cope with his darkest thoughts and tell him that he’s your love, too, don’t you? You’re his other half, his better half… his stronger half. Whenever the world is too much to handle, when times get rough, when he questions why he does all of this in the first place, well,… he sees you appear in his mind like a vision. Sabo wants to create a future you’d be proud to live in, no matter how hard it’s going to be.

You deserve to be liberated.

ACE

…forever.

Ace never expected to end up in a relationship; he really wasn’t looking for one! He’s way too tortured and self-critical to believe that anybody could ever love him when he doesn’t love himself either. He is a good soul, friendly with everyone and charismatic enough to keep any conversation flowing, but he certainly doesn’t consider everyone a friend. Showing vulnerability and revealing who he really is has become a great factor of shame for him, for he’s had a lifetime of mockery, disbelief, fear and ridicule behind him – his biological father may be gone, but the stain of his legacy remains a point of great frustration for Ace. He doesn’t like talking about that part of his past, but he… he really likes you. So he talks about his brothers, about Dadan, how he was a bit of a gremlin – he projects a childhood filled with happiness and adventure. He wants to get closer to you, but doesn’t trust himself to not scare you away with the depths of his despair. You’ve seen glimpses of it and cared for him during those times, it was blissful… but he was certain that he was taking advantage of your kindness, that has to be it! You just… you saw someone worth of your affection when in reality Ace thought he was just deceiving you. Naturally though, you tell him about your childhood in return, and he listened to it all. The good bits, the bad ones, and those that made your eyes water. That broke him, Ace immediately knew that he had to be honest with you, out of respect for your sincerity and the sanctity of your friendship. You cried for him that night, just because he’d already shed too many tears throughout the years to properly express himself… and he knew that he had found his soulmate. Not because you listened to him and reacted neutrally, but solely because you saw worth in someone who had already abandoned himself and dedicated his life to his crew. That promise still stands, but now he wants to see the world with you, he wants to make you smile and watch as you thrive. You’ll forever be shielded from harm and maybe – just maybe – he’ll feel content just being who he is when you’re with him. You gave him yet another purpose, now he’s actively trying to get better… your belief is his greatest source of inspiration.

You deserve to be treasured.

LAW

…omnipresent.

You deserve to be here.

People silently judge him when he passes by. A cold, ruthless pirate whose cruelty knows no limit. His abilities, as impressive as they may be, scare people. They steer absolutely clear of his path… and his attitude doesn’t help. Law doesn’t trust people easily, harbouring deep thoughts about conspiracy and death deep within him. His life has been hard, but he thinks that he’s doing fine. He’d rather be laser-focused on his goal than get distracted and become sloppy. But… you are a distraction. He knows he isn’t exactly light-hearted, but you are one of the few people – aside from some fellow crew mates that know him well enough to have the guts to tease him – to not look at him with apprehension. Your eyes sparkle around him, and you walk by his side with your head held high. It may not seem like you are a couple, because he isn’t exactly the most affectionate, but his deep critical thinking and intelligence absolutely make him one of the most romantic people out there, even if it’s subtle. Yes, it is not obvious, but whenever it concerns you, every actions drips with love. It’s ubiquitous, always there and it’s like a secret code between you two – A connection so deep that not even disapproving glances could sever the tie that keeps you together. You cared enough to understand him, unravel his mind with him as your guide. Every aspect, none of it was too taboo or too unsettling. You’re intelligent enough to not make excuses for his mistakes, but when times are rough, you’re there to tell him that it is okay and that it is always going to be okay. And… he believes you. With anybody else, he’d shoo them away and work on more back-up plans, but he believes in your judgement… because you’ve never judged him. You’re the only one he trusts with his heart and dreams. Besides, having you near eases most of his worries. And in privacy, you have all of him – the man who distrusts the world and the man who wishes to give you the world. And in those moments, you see someone deeply hurt, in need of love and someone so light and free… rumours would never believe the version of Law you knew by heart.

[angeliteeyes]

I promised @cmiru Aven content. And now, I deliver to you

Aventurine x Reader Headcanons

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

- I don't care that Hoyo was dumb and gave him plain ass nails. He 100% loves to get them done, especially if you're also into it. On his own, he's more of a manicure kinda guy, but he's more than down for you to do his if you offer. Even if you're a bit clumsy and the polish gets everywhere, he'll take it in stride. Although, he may have to make sure his gloves are on during business meetings.

- You do NOT have to worry about toxic masculinity with this man. Yeah, sure, he's got plenty of overwhelming insecurities bubbling under the surface, but this isn't one of them. He loves the finer things in life, so why should he limit what pleasures he indulges in? Frankly, it's the least life can give him after the shitshow that was his past.

- You would expect him to win every game you two play together, whether it's a card game, board game, or whatever else—as long as it involves luck. I mean, it's him we're talking about. Yet, after some coercion on his part to get you to play, you actually win? Like not every once in a while, you win more rounds than he even does. If you comment on it or start to boast, he'll just sit there and happily take it. Little do you know that this is what he was hoping for, to see you all happy and excited like this. So really, who's the winner here?

- He laughs a lot when he's nervous. The more nervous he is, the louder it tends to be. It gets especially bad if he ended up blurting out something that he immediately regrets or finds embarrassing, which is a lot once he tries to court you. The end result is shit like this:

"Wow, the sunset's really pretty... like you."

"Huh?"

"HAHAHAHA nothing! Nothing..."

Aven. Please. You're not being as sneaky as you think you are.

- Surprisingly not that forward when it comes to flirting with you? At least, not once he's seriously into you and wants to have a genuine relationship. His mind is eternally stuck in gamble mode, which means that he ends up seeing you yourself as a game of luck. And in turn, he sees all the chances for things to go wrong. Maybe he'll go too fast and make you uneasy around him. Maybe he'll take things too slow and you won't realize just how earnest his feelings are. He's used to making bets, but not like this.

- His saving grace is that he's got socializing as a whole down pat, which he uses to his advantage to learn as much about you as possible. What kind of guys you're into, which ones you're not into, insecurities, pet peeves, and so on. This way, he can get his odds of winning your heart up as much as possible before the final bet of asking you out.

- For how much time he's spent worrying about if you like him back, it really doesn't show when he bites the bullet and confesses. If you take a moment to think about it, you can tell pretty easily how rehearsed and planned out the whole ordeal is though. Every line is as sweet as honey, painfully so, and without a hint of shyness or embarrassment in his voice. Don't let his act fool you. There's a reason why he hasn't made direct eye contact with you this whole time, and why his hands you caught shaking are now surreptitiously hiding behind his back. For his sake, pretend you didn't see anything.

- Once he actually has you as his partner, he has no fucking idea what to do. Of course, he's thought about it a lot. His fantasies of going on dates with you, holding you, etc. have been the one thing getting him through all his boring business meetings, after all. But he was so focused on getting you that having you feels like a far-off notion. His search history may or may not have an embarrassing amount of questions like "how to be a good boyfriend" or "things you should never say to your partner" (gotta be prepared).

- It's not too noticeable unless you're already dating but... the way he thinks of you is a little off, or more accurately, how he thinks YOU think of him. He constantly gets you nice, luxurious gifts, spends plenty of money on you, all the works. Yet it feels like a given when he does, as if there's no other option in his mind. Even if you don't ask for a single thing or even say explicitly you don't want material stuff from him, it's like he can't comprehend it. As if he doesn't believe you'd sincerely like him and stay with him without some sort of transactional benefit. If you reassure him enough or refuse his gifts, you might be able to change this for a little... but don't be surprised when he reverts back to his old ways.

- He thrives off of any sort of positive reactions or general affection from you. It helps a lot to ease the neverending fear he has that you're losing interest in him, and believe me when I say he needs that help to stay sane. He won't say it out loud, but he likes you best when you're clingy or possessive. It means you want him and won't run off with some other guy, right? ......Right?

- On a happier note, he loves saying your name every chance he gets. Specifically in a happy sing-song sort of way. He kinda just likes singing to you in general, whether it's soft, romantic melodies or random, jokey stuff to make you laugh.

Imagine him singing Sweet Caroline. Now imagine him very loudly going

BUM BUM BUM

because he knows you'll find it funny. There you go.

- Also. When he laughs way too hard he snorts like a pig and then goes dead silent from shame. Looks at you like this

Unless you also snort when you laugh, in which case congrats!!! You two can live in a barn together happily <3

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 Redesign! 🦄

Aaaaaa my first redesign post!! I had so much making this and been looking forward to finally share it. (but my hand hurts right now from drawing lolol)

To those new to me: I do this thing where I redesign characters as a challenge (+ have fun being creative with design tweaks (✿◠‿◠)) , I don't dislike any of the OG designs, I just like to give myself something fun to do :'D

Keep reading below for design notes! :D

OK so starting off with species differences:

I make it a point to make each species unique from one another with different tail + ear shape for each kind of pony

in order to explain away how do ponies in this iteration get conveniently matching body markings, I imagine that fillies are born without markings but slowly get them after receiving their cutie mark. the markings slowly leaves changes on the coat/mane as they grow into adulthood :D

also gave all species hoof markings, the shape of the hoof corresponds with the pony's cutie mark

for unicorns– they also have horn markings that correspond with their cutie mark. OH and, horn magic color corresponds with the color of the pony's eyes

for pegasi– the tips of their wings would match with the color of their manes

not mentioned in the images attached but the eye light shape also corresponds with the ponies' cutie mark >_< (fillies just have regular circles until after they get their cutie marks-)

misc feature: ponies may or may not have leg tuffs, like with some ponies you'll see below, some may have fuller leg tuffs that goes all the way around.

Alright now that you know more about the species design notes, I'll get into each ponies' design choices

Pinkie Pie

Starting off with Pinkie, I made her coat fluffy, matching her mane, her mane was shorten a bit and also gave her a white streak in her bangs + added a hair accessory + confetti in her hair from throwing parties (my headcanon is that she doesn't bother to pick them out so she just leaves em there)

she has pebble shaped markings on her face and coat running down her back. In her pink form, those markings are commonly mistaken as large freckles

her desaturated form takes inspo from how she looks as a filly, also her mane shape may or may not have been inspired by the shape of pinata paper strips.

Among all the ponies, Pinkie is also the shortest. I try my best to give each pony a different height, hope that was noticeable haha

Applejack

Next up, Applejack, now for her design (+ most of the mane 6's designs) there isn't too much change. For her, I gave her coat more texture akin to actual patterns from real horses. Similar to pinkie, Applejack's back has pebble-shaped spots (feel free to believe that I intentionally added it there to link AJ + Pinkie as distant relatives haha)

In comparison to pinkie though, I used a lot of sharp lines while drawing AJ, also made her look more muscular / "box" shaped compared to the other ponies. (which fits too as I imagine her farm work made her pretty fit)

As mentioned, AJ's hoof tuffs go all around

Twilight Sparkle

For twilight, I tweaked her colors to be more Purple and included a bit of orange to create a small contrast as I noticed her OG palette was a lot of Purple. (cool colors) + I wanted her palette to resemble more of a twilight color (?)

I also noted that some other people felt that Twilight doesn't match the archetype she was meant to represent so I gave her glasses in an attempt to make her appear more "studious"

Her unicorn form is also shorter compared to her alicorn form. (gave her slightly shorter horn + legs)

Rarity

Okay Rarity's has to be my favourite redesign HAHA. I also have a feeling a lot of you will point out she resembles the last unicorn a lot 🥲 to that, i'm deeply sorryy

Anyway, for Rarity I changed her palette a lot more compared to the others because I wanted her palette to match her name sake 'Rarity', so what better way to set her apart as being a pony with a different mane/tail color!! + heterochromia which means her horn magic is 2 different colors. (that's my headcanon of what might constitute as 'rare' in pony genetics. ALSO off topic but is it just me or has there never been a pony in the show that actually has heterochromia? 🤔 tbh I can't remember)

I also gave her some gem accessories that she wears as a necklace, oh and a matching earring as well

Fluttershy

ah yes, my other favourite design. For Fluttershy, I softened her colors and also added some green

also, among rainbow and twilight, Fluttershy's wings are purposely designed to be fluffier. I imagine as opposed to rainbow who actively trains her wings for athletic flying > sharpens them to become aerodynamic, when fluttershy flies, she takes her time, so they aren't as worn down as RD's.

I imagine Fluttershy uses floral-scented shampoo that she handmakes with flowers from her own garden which attracts the butterflies that rest in her mane

I also purposely designed fluttershy's ears to be down on default, playing into her 'shyness'

Rainbow Dash

last but not least, rainbow underwent a few changes. Firstly you'll notice I shortened her hair + added white streak bangs & side tendrils that cup her face. (now that I'm looking at it, her hair resembles the pony life RD 😭)

Additionally, RD's wings are sharper, more chipped due to active use.

also among the rest of the ponies, Rainbow is also on the shorter side but she's also more lean/fit. I took into consideration her being an athlete (and a flyer at that) would influence her body shape, I feel that in order for her to fly fast, her body shape suited her nicely.

I also gave RD some googles as accessories.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! here's a height lineup ref for the mane 6!!

Thanks for reading all my design notes :'D I'll definitely be drawing more. (I definitely wanna draw secondary characters and also the mane 6's families soon)

[threegoldfish]

Marc wonders if Harrow is even believing him, everything he's saying here; While Marc had hoped, even expected the other to do that, as he's a doctor and all of that, he's... suddenly not so sure anymore, for a reason he cannot quite grasp just yet. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the other doesn't prod as much - maybe it has to do with the fact that medication is brought up just like that, without wanting to know more before taking that route.

It finally prompts Marc to look up from that bottle, for a dark gaze to meet a much brighter one that looks straight back at him. Harrow almost appears... expectant, in a way, and Marc doesn't like that, not at all; Something within him shuts its doors immediately, causes thick brows to knit and a mouth to press into a thin line.

"...You don't believe me?" A question, but also a bit of a statement, perhaps. Maybe Marc's wrong with what he feels, with that vibe he's getting from the other there... but with how his chest suddenly feels a bit more heavy than before, a lump forming within his throat, he just cannot ignore that feeling. He swallows, licks his bottom lip, and gives the bottle between his hands a bit of a squeeze.

"---Or is it something else? The whole thing of you just... sitting there, asking me about whether I want to take some pills, just like that? ..Didn't you say yourself, mere moments ago, that Steven's not a bad thing?"

Suddenly starting to feel protective, Marc shifts a bit on his seat, straightens his spine. He blinks once, gaze firm, before he puts the bottle back down onto that desk in front of him, then folds his arms across his chest once more. He's cautious now, a bit wary, incredulous...

"You hear me talk about him, you want to give me pills. I opened up to you about--- about knowing of him, and you want to give me pills. I told you that I've heard the conversation you both had, and you want to give me pills?! ...The things you said to Steven, speaking about me, they sounded a lot more friendly and kind than I've ever expected you to be - hell, Steven even wrote me that letter you asked him to write me, hoping to make us both communicate. And now that I sit here, kicked my own ass to make myself thank you for being so nice to him... --- you want to give me pills? Set me on some kind of medication?!"

Fuck, Marc almost feels betrayed. It's not necessarily about the fact that these pills are, apparently, for depression and anxiety - but rather that he offers them so quickly, as if only having waited for this moment to happen so he could start to use some weird drug on him. No, Marc is not having that, not at all.

Teeth grind together behind closed lips, and Marc huffs out another breath - all of that previous vulnerability and softness gone, replaced by something hard, something hurt, something that regrets having spoken out in the first place. He should've kept Steven a secret, he should've tried to keep him back and away from now on. All he did was to bring them both into some kind of danger here...

"...Who knows, maybe those pills aren't even for the anxiety-bullshit. You think I'm shizophrenic, want me on some sedatives or whatever to keep me calm, take Steven away from me, yeah? Is that it?!" Okay, that one's a bit far-fetched, but... Marc cannot help himself. This is about Steven, after all, and Marc turns into a very feisty thing when someone is messing with that part of him.

Arthur nodded, watching Marc politely. The way he spoke, the way his breath was as he spoke. The way he seemed to not want to meet Arthur’s eyes - it seemed that Marc had a habit of that, when being honest. As if it were harder to look someone dead-on and say the truth, than it was to look at them and lie; he was used to lying, then? Perhaps that was typical, for life in the military. 

It looked like there was guilt, too. Heavy guilt, over something that didn’t seem fair to himself; Arthur didn’t say much to the man over it, instead just allowing him to have it. If he felt a need to hold onto guilt, for now, he could - but Arthur did write a brief note of it, just something to watch for. 

“You were there,” he repeated, with a nod. It wasn’t a question, only a confirmation; saying he accepted it, that Marc wouldn’t have to prove it if he didn’t want to. He practically did, by going into what had happened; Arthur had taken care of Steven, sure. But he would have done that for anyone. 

“I’m grateful that you were listening,” he agreed. “And I’m glad I could be there. That he wasn’t alone — that neither of you were.” Another note, silently written down, just something he found important to take down. He didn’t set the pen down, but did lean back again, looking over Marc. 

He didn’t take offense in Marc choosing not to look at him. In fact, he found it almost meant more; it was a type of trust. A quiet type of trust, but a type of trust all the same - one that Arthur appreciated. 

“You care about him,” he pointed out, carefully. “That makes sense. And your instinct doesn’t seem to be pushing him away - I think that’s protective. And I think that’s a good thing. That’s a very good thing, Marc. You’re a very good man, too.” 

He let his fingers tap for a moment, before leaning in again, folding his hands in front of himself. “I’ve been thinking for a bit,” he offered. “If you’d be willing. We could try putting you on a medication - for you, it would help with things like depression and mood. For Steven, it would help with his anxiety. It wouldn’t do anything too severe to either of you, but it could take the edge off - I think it might help you both, if you’d allow it. Just to try it, just for a bit.” 

He watched Marc for a moment, as if there was something hidden under that question. There was, of course; things rarely came at face value with Arthur, especially in the course of treatment. “Would you like to try that? It’s alright, if you wouldn’t.” 

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 6)

Thank you all so much for the continued love you're giving this story! It honestly means so much to me! 💛

I hope you all enjoy this part 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5

Warnings: Feelings of anger, confusion, sadness, jealousy, brief mentions of death/being killed/being shot, angst

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

You were lying on your sofa, simply reading and relaxing after what had been an exhausting day of wedding preparation. 

Your social battery was absolutely drained, you didn’t want to talk to anyone; you just wanted to read your current book and chill, before going back to work. 

Thankfully, Phillip knew you well enough to know how socially exhausting today had been, and decided to go out with some work colleagues to give you some space. 

He was good like that. 

You were so engrossed in the book, that the sudden ringing of your doorbell made you jump a little. 

You scowled at the door as though the inanimate object itself was the source of your distraction.

You knew it wasn’t Phillip, he’d made sure to take his keys in case you fell asleep before he got home.

Knowing that it wasn’t your fiance at the door made you a lot more reluctant to open it; especially given that it was 9pm and starting to get dark outside. 

But then the bell rang again, followed by several quick yet short knocks. 

Whoever it was was certainly persistent. 

A defeated sigh left your lips as you placed the book down on the small coffee table next to you.

All you wanted to do was read and have a peaceful evening, was that too much to ask for?

You’d only just got to your feet before the ringing of the bell came once again. 

“Just gimme sec, jeez,” you shouted from the living room, quickly walking into the hallway and opening the door. 

“Look, I don’t know what-” you began your voice trailing off as you stared at the four men in front of you. 

“Nope,” you pretty much shouted at them, attempting to slam the door in their faces, but the door was halted by Simon’s foot on the bottom of the door frame. 

He didn't flinch.

Not even a little.

“We just wanna talk, sweetheart ” John spoke, leaning his head around the door slightly so that he could see you. 

“I don't want to talk to you,” you snapped back, “and don’t call me, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” John apologised, even in the dim light of your porch, you could see the hurt flicker in his eyes at your words. 

“How did you even know where I live?” 

“We had some help with that,” Johnny admitted, his voice coming from behind John, his figure hidden.

You didn’t need to ask who. 

You knew who. 

Kate Laswell.

Well now you just felt like all your privacy had been violated; fantastic. 

“Please, just let us explain why we’re here,” Kyle urged. 

You couldn’t understand what had changed in such a short time with Kyle, one minute he was congratulating you on your engagement and apologising for his partners uninvited arrival at your workplace, the next he was partaking with them in an uninitiated arrival at your home. 

Another sigh fell from your lips; knowing that there was no way you were going to be able to close this door with Simon’s foot wedged on the frame.

You didn’t really want to let them in. 

But what choice did you really have? 

Your mobile was in the living room so you couldn’t exactly call anyone. 

“Y/n, please,” Simon's plea filled your ears; you suppose you should be grateful he wasn’t forcing himself into your home, you knew his strength, knew he could easily just shove the door and be inside the house already. 

You pulled the door back, away from Simon’s foot and looked at all four of them, crossing your arms across your chest, trying to keep control of the anger burning inside of you. 

Your eyes met John first; hearing a relieved sigh fall from his lips. 

Next to him was Simon, unreadable as ever.

Behind Simon was Johnny, who you noticed was wearing the hoodie you stole and slept in for a month when you were dating. 

And next to the Scotsman was Kyle, who looked nervous, you noticed how much he was fidgeting behind John.

It was weird; you’d never really seen Kyle nervous before. 

And his nervousness only added to your confusion as to why they were here.

What were they expecting? 

To just pop back up in your life and waltz back in as your  partners like nothing had ever happened?

“What are you doing here?” Your questioned firmly, part of you desperate to have an explanation as to why they were here. 

The other part, knowing that their answer, regardless of what it was, was probably going to involve you cancelling your wedding which just simply enraged you. 

“We need to talk,” John stated, his voice continuing to remain calm despite the evident rage in your words and actions. 

“I gathered that,” you snapped back coldly, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down before talking again.

“What about?”

“About Graves,” Johnny answered, his eyes meeting yours. 

Graves?

Phillip? 

They wanted to talk to you about Phillip?

Johnny called him Graves instead of Phillip….like he knew him…how the hell could he or any of them know Phillip. 

Your stomach flipped as your confusion grew, "Phillip?"

“Just let us come in and we’ll explain,” Kyle stated; you knew letting them in was probably going to be a bad idea.

You knew they wouldn’t hurt you, not physically at least; but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be more pissed off with them by the time they left.

Slamming the door in their faces wasn’t an option either, evidently. 

And you couldn’t help but be curious, curious about what shit they’d managed to make up to persuade you to not marry your Fiancé. 

You were certain it was about that subject at least.

You stared at them; the four men you'd loved, the four men you'd trusted with everything, and stepped back, pulling the door fully open. 

“You’ve got ten minutes, after that I’m calling the police,” you warned, watching as the four men filed into your home, walking down the hallway and into your living room. 

It was a bizarre feeling, seeing people that you thought you’d spend a future with in a home you’d built (metaphorically) with the person you were actually going to spend your future with.

You noticed each of them looking around at different things; a sense of familiarity washing over each of them as they recognised things that used to live within the walls of their home. 

Little things, like candles, pictures, throws that were over the sofa. 

“Talk,” you instructed, making them all turn and look at you. 

“You can’t marry Graves,” Johnny began, taking a step closer to you. 

You backed away, a bitter laugh leaving your lips as you shook your head, “none of you, have the right to tell me who I can and cannot marry.”

“He’s not who you think he is,” Kyle continued, mimicking Johnny's steps.

His words made your blood boil. 

“Pot kettle,” you snarked back.

None of the men before you turned out to be the people you believed them to be; but Kyle had the audacity to say that about the man you were marrying; and your response signified that. 

“Y/n, you can’t trust him,” John stated, only adding to your anger. 

“But I can trust you right, John?” The sarcasm was dripping in your voice; and you didn’t even care at the frustrated and hurt look he gave you. 

Part of you felt like you were going insane; the people who broke your heart were standing here telling you that you couldn’t trust your soon to be husband,  without actually giving you any reason why.

“Why do you seem to believe I can’t trust him?” You asked exasperatedly, losing your patience,

Simon took a few strides towards you, you went to back away but the cabinet behind you halted your movements. 

“He shot Johnny,” his tone was quiet, as though he was worried there was someone outside of this room was going to hear him. 

You felt all the rage inside you freeze at his words for a brief moment. 

Your eyes searched Simon’s; looking for an indication that he was lying, but there was none, all you could see was truth in his eyes. 

You glanced behind Simon’s muscular figure to look at Johnny; searching for confirmation of Simon’s accusation. 

“Shot me in the arm when we were in Mexico, after trying to kill Si and me,” Johnny explained, taking his hoodie off to show you the scar on his arm. 

This couldn’t be real. 

They had to be making it up to just stop the wedding from happening….but something inside you, something deep down inside of you couldn’t help but believe the words they were saying. 

“You’re lying,” you whispered, unsure of who you were trying to convince, them or yourself. 

“I’m not,” Simon stated, his eyes meeting yours, “you know I’m not.”

Simon kept certain things from you during your relationship; that was true, but he never lied to you. 

Never. 

He was always straight with you about the things he felt comfortable talking about and if he didn’t want to talk about something, he simply told you that. 

“He’ll try to deny it,” he continued, “Or he’ll say we’re twisting the story to get you back,” 

His voice was firm, but his eyes were soft, you felt a slight ache in your heart as you stared into them, the moments you shared flashing through your mind, the good and the bad.

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do, twist the story?” You whispered, tearing your eyes away from Simon’s to look at the others. 

“Why did he try to kill you?” The words felt foreign leaving your mouth, your mind barely processing the words you were saying. 

“He had his orders,” John answered simply as Simon took a few steps away from you, allowing you to see the captain and the others. 

A shaky breath escaped your lips.

What did you do with this information?

Phillip was a soldier, you knew that; you’d assumed given his job that he’d killed people; just like the men currently in this room had. 

But trying to kill Johnny and Simon….it made you feel sick to your stomach and confused.

“Ye cannae trust him and ye certainly canne marry him,” Johnny spoke softly, clearly seeing how confused you were by what was going on. 

“Do you guys just enjoy ruining my life?” You scoffed, feeling the tears beginning to form in your eyes, attempting desperately to blink them away. 

You were not going to cry. 

Not in front of them. 

Not again.

You refused to. 

“Quite the opposite, love,” Simon replied back solemnly, “we fuckin’ hate it.”

“Then why can’t you just let me be happy?”

“You can be happy, with anyone else,” John responded back softly.

“Just not him,” Kyle finished; wanting nothing more than to hold you so you could cry properly whilst he comforted you.

You glanced up at the clock, realising that their time had ended and now they had to leave, before you completely broke down. 

“Your ten minutes is up,” you pointed out to them, nodding towards the clock on the wall.

“Y/n-,” Johnny started, reaching out to you, not wanting to leave you like this, not again. 

But you shrugged away his touch; worried that you would lose what little composure you were holding on to if you let his fingers linger on you. 

“Get out,”

Your words were harsh, anger and sadness morphing together and leaving no room for a discussion to be had.

"I'm sorry," Kyle whispered his apology to you as they all began to file out of the room.

It was only when you heard the door close that you let yourself break down; trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man you’re in love with tried to kill two of the people who’d once been as important to you as he was. 

Taglist:

@z0omi33 @mermaniaa @sunrise-willarive @imdeadontheinside786 @asterionex @pinkyyoshi @yaradigital @euriiverse @eternallyvenus @littlejoyfulthings @s-void @rivwritesiguess @lilyalone @salemlovespies @amongthe141 @z-wantstowrite @sleepybarnesbby @maryrhodalouandted @uraeus56 @skipping-throughlife @echo9821 @nanamisfootrest @tribbisweetdear @backalleytimetravel @fruitymoonbeams-blog @alejandro-vargass-wife @moon-on-the-crest @dasphinxone @iaozuyiling @magicwritesinspo @lilylovesliterature @tabbslouuformer @mahidiaree @disasterofastory @famouspoetrydinosaur @rosecastiello @massivescissorsthingperson @yearninglustfully @therapyneeds @beautifuleaglealpaca @bookworm1767

[sortagaysortahigh]

Nobody Gets Me | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyyy sexies...so don't be mad but I'm in my angst bag, this is giving Hurt/no comfort and I'm not sorry! I've been in my emo era so EVERYONE SHOULD SUFFER TOO!!! ugh anyways, i might do a pt 2 with a happy ending eventually, but I present: Divorced exes to something hopeful?? HURT!! WOOO HOO! Also, I did give Joaquin a sister for this universe specifically (hopefully i continue it </3) Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing this and apologize to her for not having a happy ending <3

Summary: Getting married young had it's risks, unfortunately for you and Joaquin, that marriage didn't work out, it's been years since you've been in contact, so why do your hearts still ache?

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort NO HAPPY ENDING!, OOC joaquin (he's mean, jealous, exhausted fr), the Blip </3, john walker jump scare!, SAM BUCKY SUPREMACY!, heartbreak, angst, failed relationships, divorce, mentions of joaquin's accident, spelling and grammar errors (we all know who I am atp), a lot of crying, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of sex (no smut/sex depicted). dual perspectives? switching b/w joaquin and reader??? idk im sorry if its all over the place

Word Count: 10.4k (of sadness)

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader (THEY'RE DIVORCED GOD DAMNIT! Reader also has long-ish hair/hair long enough to braid with 2 white stripes by her ears (this holds a future plot purpose </3)

Joaquin baby I'm so sorry for the angst i put you thru in this but maybe next time, do better! </3

Joaquin Torres is amazing at his job, he easily worked his way up in rank during his time in the Air Force, as a Lieutenant he met Sam Wilson, who he would eventually work very closely with and even consider family. It was a no-brainer when Joaquin had become a Captain, and while working side-by-side with Captain America, he was also able to take on the mantle of the Falcon.

He poured his all into his job, and from the outside looking in, he loved every second of every day. Joaquin was always positive, always putting on a happy face, always committed to making sure everything was going smoothly and that everyone was alright at all times. 

He truly was a hero in every sense of the word—at least to the public.

After his accident in the Indian Ocean near Celestial Island, he’d spent months in physical therapy and rehab, pushing himself past his limits, working harder and harder with the end-goal of getting back into the sky. 

It was accomplished after one year and three months.

One year of long days and even longer nights. A year and three months of being on the ground and being reminded of everything he’d swallowed down, all of the pain, all of the hurt, he did his best to ignore the ache and emptiness in his heart. But when he couldn’t drown himself in work and distract himself with the literal thrill of the skies, all of that bottled up emotion was bound to overflow.

That’s also around the time that he resorted to one night stands. He’d always hated one night stands, not because he didn’t enjoy the sex, but because sex without a genuine emotional connection was never enough for him. If anything, the random hookups had him spiralling even more.

His physical therapist had also told him several times that he shouldn’t have been partaking in any ‘strenuous activity’ which happened to include sex—or at least the kind of frustration fueled sex he was having.

She’d eventually referred him to an actual therapist, who he avoided like the plague, purposefully missing meetings every other week to force the therapist to schedule him bi-weekly. Opening up to a complete stranger was hard enough, but having to provide a co-pay to be questioned about his lackluster decision making and emotional trauma was a lot on him. 

Especially after the incident in the ocean.

The therapist had recommended he spend more time with his friends, which he did for a while, and it worked the first few months. Catching up with friends on and off base, but traveling back home to Miami was what had sent him into a downward spiral in the fourth month of his recovery.

Joaquin Torres has always been a family man, he spent his childhood telling his abuela about how excited he was to grow up one day, get a beautiful wife, and have his own little family. As a teenager, he admittedly did have two pregnancy scares with his then girlfriends, except each time he was fully committed to being a father, even at sixteen. 

He didn’t exactly love his exes, but he loved the idea of being a father, and he knew that one day, he would be. At seventeen Joaquin had only hoped he’d be married and not screwing anything on legs before having a kid.

The day he’d flown back to Miami he expected his sister to pick him up from the airport. It wasn’t a shock to see Ximena there, clearly on the phone with someone, however when he heard his ex-wife’s name slip past her lips, he was overcome with a sense of nausea that he hadn’t felt since the day in court when his divorce had been finalized.

Joaquin Torres hated telling people that he was divorced, being a divorcee at the age of twenty-nine wasn’t exactly the biggest green flag in the world. Nor was it something he was proud of. It’d been three years since the divorce was finalized, three years that he’d been drowning himself in work and a faux sense of positivity to ignore the rage and hurt he felt deep down.

She’d muttered a series of apologies for being there, stating that her husband couldn’t make it, before mumbling some excuse to Joaquin while simultaneously hanging up the phone.

He couldn’t be mad at his sister, not for having a best friend, even if that best friend was his ex-wife.

You and Ximena Torres met in the fourth grade, quickly bonding over a shared love of seashells. That bond quickly spiraled into running around the playground hand-in-hand while scaring the fifth grade boys—one of which being her older brother Joaquin.

The two of you hadn’t gotten along until your sophomore year of high school, when your then-boyfriend cheated on you and left you sobbing under the bleachers as if it was the end of the world. (To your fifteen year old self, it was the end of the world). Ximena was comforting you, and eventually, she managed to convince Joaquin and his friends to ‘go scare’ your ex-boyfriend and the group of guys he hung around with.

Joaquin was on the soccer team at that point, and he also knew several of the football players as they all did winter track and field together, so the fist fight that broke out two days later was a no-brainer.

The day you’d stormed into his house, quickly greeting his Abuela before rushing up to his room, slamming the door open and kicking his then-girlfriend out before cursing him out for thirty minutes while ranting about how ‘wildly wrong’ it was to ‘organize a fucking royal rumble’—your words not his—had marked the beginning of your friendship.

That friendship would later develop into something else when you complained about lacking a date to your senior prom. He’d been home from bootcamp and had a month before getting deployed overseas, so he simply shrugged and said he would take you.

Prom night Joaquin had taken your virginity, or rather, you’d given it to him on a silver platter.

From there, things just flowed naturally. He’d taken you on a few dates the month before deployment. During his first eight month deployment you’d written to him constantly, and those letters, plus photos, and occasional phone calls, gave him something to look forward to when he got back home.

He left for deployment in June, then came back in January of the following year. He was actually stationed in Florida, closer to Florida State University where you went to college. Although he hated FSU on the principle that he would always be a Miami fan, he had no issue in visiting you on campus. The both of you were casual for the latter half of your freshman year.

Then that summer he asked you to be his girlfriend, ‘in the official sense’—his exact words being ‘well, we’re always together, and I really like you, and you really like me, so will you be my girlfriend in the official sense because you’re already my non-official girlfriend’.

At that point he was twenty and you were around nineteen. The both of you dated consistently for two years before he proposed to you the week before Christmas on the beach. You’d obviously said yes, squealing in excitement as he slid the ring on your left finger.

The wedding happened four months later, it wasn’t anything major, something small on a private beach, but at the time, in 2016, it was the best day of both of your lives. 

The following two years were amazing, at least until the Blip happened and Thanos had managed to snap half of the universe’s population away. Joaquin was lucky that he and his wife hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the Earth. But life got harder much faster than expected.

Work was difficult, the sense of impending doom never really disappeared, not when dread was so common amongst global leaders. There were a few positives of the Blip—well, positives if you ignore the long lasting repercussions after the Avengers had reversed the Blip. Homelessness had found some sense of a ‘cure’, politicians using the available resources to make themselves look better, and to finally do something about the hundreds of thousands of people living on the streets and starving worldwide.

The first year of the Blip, things weren’t horrible. Not between you and Joaquin, or on a global scale. The sudden surge of resources did have some positive outcomes, however, the resources also led to a growth in greed. The greed led to a downward spiral on a global scale.

Sure, the global economy might’ve been great from a corporation-based standpoint, but day-to-day life for regular people wasn't.

Job hours got longer, the price of items did increase, inflation was actually an unpredicted issue for a lot of nations, then of course was the need to expand and grow militaries to account for the loss in actual soldiers and enlistments. That directly impacted you and Joaquin, to the point that you had to uproot your life in Florida and move to the West Coast.

Prior to the Blip, Joaquin had been deployed two additional times, one before you were married for six months, and a second for eight months the year after you’d gotten married. Both deployments were overseas, and each time he’d come home, he wouldn’t leave your side for days. 

Following the Blip, Joaquin was never home, or never at the house that you’d purchased off base in California. It wasn’t a bad house per-say, it just wasn’t home. It lacked any real warmth, and it felt like it was draining you. It was difficult to find work as a journalist and publicist, not because there wasn’t anything to be done, but because you freelanced, and during the Blip, major news outlets and magazines weren’t looking for freelance writers.

That also led you to working on base, which should’ve brought you and Joaquin closer together, but it did the exact opposite. Especially when he’d see other Lieutenants flirting with the ‘pretty new media relations’ girl, you usually smiled and laughed it off, doing your best to keep your job.

However, Joaquin Torres was the jealous type, and when you’d both get in fights at home about it, he’d constantly say that you were flirting, that you were feeding into it, as if you had asked for men to flirt with you during your day job.

His job was beyond stressful, which also led to him always being irritable, that combined with the grief that both of you were feeling over the loss of family and friends following the snap. 

You and him both were shells of who you once were before the Blip.

The blip had lasted five years, your marriage was over by the third. It wasn’t until the Blip was reversed that you’d both finished fighting one another in court.

Prior to that, you’d been sleeping in different rooms, and acted more like roommates that tolerated one another rather than husband and wife.

Once the divorce was finalized, Joaquin stayed in California while you went home to Miami. He hadn’t heard from you since, and he had no idea where you actually had been, considering you were never big on social media, and now it was like you were nothing but a ghost from his past.

He did his best to ignore the nausea in his stomach after hearing your name, it wasn’t just your first name, no it was your full name, as if you’d said something so outrageous that Ximena was yelling at you over the phone while laughing.

Joaquin knew you were still friends with his sister. He’d never hold that against you, but it did hurt.

During his time in Miami, he did his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts, telling him to call you, or to reach out to your family, or to figure out where the hell you’d actually gone, or who you were now. It’d been three years, three years since he’d seen you, three years since he’d heard your real actual voice, not just the recordings and videos on his phone and laptop.

With his skillset, he knew he could’ve found you, but you didn’t want to be found, that much was clear to him.

Whenever people would ask about you, he’d just laugh it off, shrug, and force a smile. He was so used to being positive all the time that he easily slipped into that persona, most people had never seen him irritated, and he liked it that way. 

Then he ran into your mother at the grocery store, she pulled him into a hug with a wide smile and started talking his ear off, asking how he was, congratulating him on becoming a ‘real superhero!’, then she’d gone on a tangent about you. That’s how he found out you were in Washington D.C. working directly under James Buchanan Barnes.

The same James Buchanan Barnes that Sam Wilson was best friends with, and the same person that he’d assisted in taking down the Flagsmashers. He’d seen Bucky several times over the past few years, and never, not once, did he see you.

So he knew you were avoiding him. It wasn’t just a weird sense of paranoia, no, Joaquin knew you. He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew the best parts of you and the worst, and he was absolutely positively sure that you’d been avoiding him.

He also knew that both Sam and Bucky most likely had no knowledge of you being his ex-wife, or even of Joaquin himself being married at one point. It was more likely than Bucky knew, mostly because getting the level of security clearances needed to work for a Congressman required several in-depth background checks.

Joaquin feigned happiness as your mother spoke to him, and as soon as he could, he got the hell out of there.

Slowly, but surely, his composure cracked. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy anymore with nothing but optimism. The thread of pessimism within him was unraveling, and he found himself slipping into a never-ending anger.

He used that anger to push through the next few months of his recovery once he was back in Washington. He went on a strict diet, stuck to his training plans, and started pushing himself even more, striving to go back to being the Falcon, to find some sense of purpose, and something to drown himself in.

The only vice he truly had was the lackluster one night stands. It was never enjoyable, but he needed to let off some steam, so he’d go to some of the bars in D.C., flirt a little bit, and go back to someone’s place with them, slipping out in the early hours of the morning without a word. It worked for him, or at least, he told himself it worked for him. 

He also told himself he wasn’t going for women that reminded him of you—which was a definitive lie.

Eventually, once he was back in the sky, back running drills, back working on his flips, kicks, and spins he stopped with the unhealthy coping habits. He’d even gotten a new suit from the Wakandans, a gift from M’baku himself after Sam had told him about Joaquin’s accident. The suit was carbon black, had some green detailing, and it was constructed from vibranium, the same vibranium that absorbed kinetic energy and released it.

Joaquin had never felt more unstoppable with the mantle and new suit.

But with the whole ‘New Avengers’ fiasco occurring in New York, Sam had been stressed, and he’d been doing his best to work with Bucky, trying to find some kind of work-around to the ever-present legal issues associated with there being two Avengers groups.

When he got the call that they were headed to the renovated Avengers compound in Manhattan, part of him was excited to finally see the place, but the other part of him was dreading the possibility of seeing his ex-wife. He didn’t know if she still worked for Bucky, and he never bothered to ask, he hadn’t even brought it up again after speaking with your mother.

He was tense on the flight to New York, and when Sam tried to pry it out of him, he lied about having a stomach bug.

By the time that Joaquin and Sam had arrived at the tower, it was nearly seven and the sun was setting. Admittedly, the place was nice, a bit too modern for him, but nice either way. 

He followed Sam’s lead, mostly because he had no idea how to navigate the tower and getting lost wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do. But the second the elevator doors opened, he heard your laughter, a series of loud, high pitched, wheezy laughs and giggles that he’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago.

Sam’s brows knit together as he looked at Joaquin, then he looked around the elevator and into the large common space. “You alright kid?” 

Joaquin blinked a few times, nodding his head, snapping out of his daze as he looked at Sam. “Uh-uh yeah sorry, I just, zoned out—nothing to worry about. Anyways, where's Bucky?” he was talking too fast, the composure he’d worked so hard on building up easily crumbled. Then he heard your laugh again followed by ‘Wait! Stop—put me down Parker!’. 

He must’ve been on fire, that would explain the heat raging throughout his body.

Sam shrugged him off, motioning for Joaquin to follow him as he made his way towards the commotion, Bucky easily spotting them, standing from his front row seat to your ‘fight’ with Peter. 

Joaquin quickly followed, jaw clenched as he finally spotted you. You looked so different while also looking just like yourself. Your hair was longer now, pulled into two thick braids trailing from the top of your head, down your back. It also had two large white streaks near your ears, which was different—but then again, Joaquin had been shaving his face religiously because the thought of your compliments on it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He noticed the way you smiled, wide and full of life. A look he hadn’t seen in so long, a look he missed desperately, every single day.

When Peter Parker finally put you down, you laughed again, shaking your head as you sat up, still not noticing Joaquin’s presence. But Joaquin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It was clear that you’d been much happier and healthier, having put on some weight—but it wasn’t bad—the opposite really.

The last time he’d seen you, you were stressed, exhausted, and that reflected in your features and body. You’d never been super skinny, and he loved that about you—at one point he loved everything about you—but the years leading to your divorce, you’d dropped weight at an unhealthy pace from the long days and even longer nights. 

His eyes traced your entire figure from top to bottom, noticing the small things you’d changed as well. The few new tattoos and piercings stuck out to him, the small gold rings on both sides of your nostrils, and the alligator tattoo on your leg were very apparent. Joaquin also tried to ignore the faded Air Force t-shirt you had on, it was clearly his, and he remembered the shirt well.

Then you finally turned and noticed him. Eyes widening at the sight of Joaquin, and he kept his eyes on you the entire time.

Everyone seemed to notice the shift in the room, well everyone except for Sam and Bucky who were too busy talking amongst one another about a few legal documents, and Sam throwing in several of his typical ‘anti-government’ remarks.

It was as if time was frozen.

You blinked a few times, eyes on Joaquin—your Joaquin. 

The same man that you’d loved and hated at one point in your life, you weren’t even sure how you’d felt about him now, but you did know one thing, you had done your very best to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you knew one day it would probably bite you in the ass, but you hoped that was years from now.

Then again, you knew there was a risk when you’d taken the job as Bucky Barnes’s media relations secretary. This was your wheelhouse, you specialized in media relations and journalism, you would’ve been a complete idiot to decline the job.

But now, it was as if karma was coming to kick your ass.

You stared at him, unmoving as you processed seeing him again for the first time in almost four years. He looked different, more mature in a way that you hadn’t expected. He still had that boy-ish charm, but he looked older, stronger, and sturdier.

He still shaved his face, something you always told him to stop doing. Constantly telling him he looked good with facial hair, making sly comments and innuendos in public, giggling whenever he’d pull you into him, burying his face into your shoulder, covering any inch of exposed skin in gentle kisses as you laughed trying to shove him away.

But now he had a very visible burn scar along the right side of his neck, clearly stretching to his shoulder. You knew about his accident, and you’d been traveling with Bucky during that time, having sat in the waiting room while he spoke with Sam. 

Part of you wanted to see him, desperately, but you couldn’t do it.

Bucky had asked you several times, stating that he ‘just wanted to make sure’, but each time you politely declined, shaking your head.

The Joaquin you were seeing now wasn’t your Joaquin, not anymore at least.

You knew something was off about him, his eyes weren’t as bright anymore. Then again, neither were yours. Heartbreak and grief had the tendency to suck the joy out of things.

“You alright Lightning?” you blinked a few times, registering Peter’s voice, nodding your head as you finally glanced back at him, then after clearing your throat, you gave everyone an awkward smile before muttering some half-assed excuses and making a beeline out of the room, towards the other set of doors, far from Joaquin.

He watched you leave, scoffing while shaking his head.

Everyone made their introductions, but Joaquin didn’t have it in him to keep up his faux positivity, giving everyone tight lipped smiles and head nods. Mentioning his name and rank a few times, forcing a laugh when Sam made a joke about being the ‘Falcon’. When Peter tried to talk to him about the mechanics of the new Falcon suit, Joaquin brushed him off.

Sure you two weren’t together anymore, but he had every right to be jealous. Even if Joaquin was just your ex-husband. Peter had a nickname for you! That was enough to piss Joaquin off and make him dislike the kid.

When John Walker tried to question the entire interaction prior to the introductions, Bucky shushed him, giving him a pointed look which was received with a small head nod, and a loud sigh. Followed by Yelena elbowing him. 

It was clearly a touchy subject.

That night Joaquin couldn’t sleep.

Neither could you.

For the first time in years, you found yourself fishing your old phone and it’s charger out of the small lockbox below your bed, the box filled with some of your most prized mementos, photos of friends, family, birthday cards, small trinkets, a few necklaces, an old camera, the phone in hand, and most importantly, your engagement ring and wedding band.

It had taken a few minutes for the phone to turn on after connecting it to the charger. Then you sat on the floor, leaning against your bed in the darkness, eyes focused on the screen as you unlocked it—your old anniversary being the password.

Your bottom lip quivered as you opened the photos app, the most recent photo being of you and Joaquin at the zoo three months into the Blip, when you were still trying to find a sense of normalcy. Back when the both of you would still go on dates and try to cheer one another up, when you still fought the grief instead of wallowing in it.

He looked terrified while you had a wide smile on your face, three parrots on you, one perched in each hand and the other on the top of your head. 

Then you started scrolling, eyes burning with unshed tears as you went through the photos, happy moments forever frozen in time. Moments you wish you could relive, just for a day.

Finally you found it, the wedding video. You turned your phone horizontally, playing the ten minute video, a perfectly edited version of your wedding ceremony and reception, with a few blooper pieces of your family members giving their commentary on the wedding. Ximena put it together for you and Joaquin.

You looked so happy as he held you in his arms, both of you laughing and smiling, embracing the newly-weds title. 

The choked sob that slipped past your lips at the sight of your first dance unleashed the floodgates, you were full on sobbing now, watching the video with your knees to your chest, hand perched atop them. 

Joaquin used to look at you as if you hung the moon and stars. 

You remember that look, the look of unconditional love. 

You might’ve had a crush on Joaquin in high school, but he was the one who fell the hardest. He was the first to say ‘I love you’ and the day he proposed to you, he couldn’t stop himself, it was such a candid moment. He had a whole day planned for it, but then you two had gone to the beach, and the sunset painted you like an angel sent from above, the second you’d turn around, squatting to pick up seashells, he knew it was time.

He’d tapped your shoulder that day, as if he was showing you a shell, then you turned around—laughing at the awkward movement while still squatting, then you practically fell backwards onto the sand at the sight of him on one knee with an open engagement ring box.

Ximena had a thing for dramatics, so at the end of your wedding video, she also added in the video of your proposal, which was shakily taken from his phone, propped up against his water bottle in the sand, the angle a little crooked, but it captured the moment nonetheless. 

Three knocks on your door interrupted your sobbing sessions. You were quick to wipe your tears away, hoping you’d have enough time to tuck the phone away and climb into bed, pretending to be asleep.

But then Yelena opened the door with Bob at her side while you were trying to grab the box from below the bed, still on the floor. The two squinting into the darkness, letting their eyes adjust to the room with the helpful aid of the hall-way light streaming in.

Bob noticed you first.

“McQueen? Why’re you on the floor—wait, are you crying? Shit, Yelena she’s upset about something.” 

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you finally looked over at them, tear stained cheeks, red eyes, and a quivering bottom lip. Not to mention your frizzy hair, and tear soaked sweater sleeves.

They easily entered the room, Yelena turning on your desk lamp as Bob shut the door behind him. Then Yelena was sliding onto the floor beside you, and Bob in front of the both of you. 

The both of them were an oddly comforting duo, they were the best of friends, and honestly, after helping Bob start working through a lot of his issues, he had helpful input on most emotional situations. Plus, the fact that he cared was enough for you to let him in, and that went for Yelena as well.

Yelena noticed the phone, picking it up and looking at it, her brows knit together at the sight of the paused video, seeing a younger version of you in the arms of Joaquin Torres, smiles on your face while you flashed your wedding ring. Then she noticed that you were in a wedding dress, and he was in a full suit.

She squinted slightly, using two fingers to zoom into the paused video, eyes widening at the realization that the Air Force Captain she’d met today, was the same man in the video that you were very clearly marrying.

“We got married young. Like idiots. Then the Blip happened and I dunno, we just hated each other after a while, there wasn’t anything to fix. Then we went to court—spent almost a year going back and forth for the sake of arguing. Honestly, I only prolonged the divorce because fighting with him was better than not speaking to him.”

You sighed, now leaning your head on Yelena’s shoulder while the two listened and nodded.

“I don’t think it was idiotic to marry him if you loved him—did you?” 

You blinked a few times, glancing at Bob, then down at your hands again. “I do—I did. He used to make me feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Then suddenly, the fantasy all came crashing down.” You sniffled a few times, shrugging.

He nodded, looking at Yelena who was swiping through the different photos and videos, then her eyes widened as she let out a loud gasp, throwing the phone to the side, where it now sat face-up, a video of you and Joaquin in a very intimate position on the screen.

Your eyes widened as you rushed to flip the phone. It wasn’t like a full blown sex tape, but you were half-naked on top of him.

“So I take it you had a healthy marriage at first? Based on that-” Yelena pointed to the phone. Then she finally broke, loud boisterous laughter filling the room. Her laugh was always contagious, and it led to the three of you laughing amongst each other.

They’d managed to cheer you up in minutes, and that reminded you of how lonely you’d felt before meeting them. How mundane life felt, how every single task was draining. It reminded you of how draining life really used to be, when you’d always feel so alone in a room full of people.

When you’d seek comfort in the one person that couldn’t provide it anymore. 

“I really do love you guys.” 

Yelena smiled, nodding her head. “I love you too, in a completely platonic way, don’t try to mount me the way you mounted him—wait what's his name again?” Her brows knit together as she thought hard to remember Joaquin’s name, but she was drawing a blank.

Bob finally stopped laughing, shaking his head. “Joaquin—I think? Yeah, that sounds right.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s Joaquin, Captain Joaquin Torres. Y’know when we were married he wasn’t a captain yet—” you stopped mid sentence, afraid of the potential word vomit or tears that might come out of this conversation.

On the opposite end of the tower Joaquin was pacing back and forth in one of the guest bedrooms. Not only was he angry, he was hurt, so hurt, in fact, that he’d spent thirty minutes crying silently in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water would numb some of the pain he was feeling.

It usually worked for physical pain, but emotional pain? It did little to nothing.

Seeing you was like opening Pandora's box. Joaquin always knew he was angry, angry at you yes, but he was angrier at himself. He’d never really forgiven himself for letting you slip through the cracks, for taking his frustrations out on you, for being overly jealous and never understanding, and for pushing you away. Constantly.

The Blip had taken a lot out of him, he was hurting, but so were you.

He forgot about that, about the pain that you’d been in. 

Your mother was blipped, and she meant the world to you. Anytime you’d call your father, you’d lock yourself in the bedroom after, sobbing for hours, holding a pillow against your chest, trying to find some kind of comfort. 

In the beginning, he’d slip into bed behind you, arms wrapped around your torso while you silently cried and mourned your mother. You were never really the blind hope type—he was. Joaquin had been there for you, there to comfort you, to bring you a sense of reassurance, and most importantly, to ground you.

His abuela had been blipped, he knew how it felt, the grief, but it wasn’t nearly as substantial as yours was. He loved his abuela, but he also knew she was an older woman who lived an entire life, and anytime they spoke, she’d always say ‘I love you Quino, if this is the last time we talk, just know i’ll always be there in spirit! Make sure you tell my princessa I love her too!’—or something along those lines.

He used to tell her not to talk like that, but his mother said it came from a place of love and of understanding. Every moment with someone was precious and needed to be valued, life was really too short to leave things unspoken.

So how he managed to leave so much? He didn’t understand. 

He blamed himself for the divorce, Joaquin knew that he was pushing you away. Then you’d gotten that job on base, and at first he was excited to visit his pretty wife during lunch. But then his jealousy took over, jealousy mixed with pessimism and all of the negative emotions he’d been swallowing down started surfacing.

It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You were constantly talking to him, constantly checking on him, spending nights with your hands in his hair while you asked if he was alright, telling him you were always there to talk. 

His job was stressing him out, he was under so much pressure, constantly. Tensions were rising at work, there were deadlines that needed to be met, tasks he didn’t have the time to do, and yet he still had to.

So he’d come home late, and he was bitter about it. Then you’d show up with a small smile on your tired face, mumbling something about making dinner, but he was tired, too tired to eat. He just wanted to sleep.

Some days he’d snap at you, and you were never one to sit and take it. 

That’s when the fighting would start, and the screaming for hours on end. You two would go back and forth until eventually you’d slam a door in his face and tell him to sleep on the sofa. 

Even now, as he paced back and forth, he remembers the sound of your muffled sobs, the way you’d cry after every fight. Then you’d pad out of the room in the middle of the night with a blanket for him, he’d pretend to be asleep as you covered him, kissing the top of his head, mumbling a rushed ‘I’m sorry’. 

You always cared, you did your best. 

He didn’t. 

He stopped trying, and he knew that. He was just so tired, so angry, so jealous, so frustrated. The world didn’t stop spinning, tomorrow would always come, but he was so angry as he focused on each individual day, then he couldn’t find comfort in you anymore.

At one point, you were able to calm him down within seconds, you’d wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, then ask to talk. He’d melt against you, an entire breakdown of his day would follow. Sometimes you’d comment, other times you’d nod your head while he spoke.

But eventually, the hugs, kisses, and gentle gestures stopped. Even the sex didn’t solve anything. It was just another way for the both of you to let go of tension, then he was grabbing a pillow and leaving the room, going to the sofa, and eventually, to the guest bedroom that had turned into his personal bedroom.

What made things worse was that you were both so young when you’d gotten married, young and naive. In a world where alien invasions were common, jumping the gun on marriage wasn’t that irrational, not  when you were truly in love with someone.

But sometimes love isn’t enough. 

That’s what had truly broken Joaquin, the realization that love wasn’t enough. 

Joaquin was twenty-six when the divorce was finalized, you were twenty-five. 

When he was twenty-two people told him it was idiotic to get married that young, that it was a mistake. So many people doubted you and Joaquin’s marriage, and now, he had to admit that they were right. 

He wanted to hate you, the last year of your marriage was the hardest. It was as if neither of you wanted to let go while simultaneously making one another’s lives a living hell. Buying a house together made it much harder to separate from one another, which also presented its own legal issues in terms of needing to be separated prior to divorcing one another.

Then there was the fact that you’d been married in Florida, seeking a divorce in California, while Joaquin was actively in the Air Force, and you also worked on base. It wasn’t like either of you would’ve been able to avoid one another, and truthfully, neither of you wanted to avoid each other.

The arguments and fights were never ending during that last month. Anytime he’d see you or you’d see him before a meeting with your attorneys, a screaming fest would start. Most of the fights had nothing to do with any divisions of assets, and you’d both already agreed to sell the house.

But Joaquin knew that he preferred fighting with you over never speaking to you.

The sound of his door slamming open caught his attention, his pacing stopped while he turned to look at the door. 

Sam stood here with Bucky by his side, a singular brow raised as he shook his head, the two men inviting themselves into the room.

“So you mean to tell me, this entire time, you had an ex-wife? Kid, you were married?” Sam was loud as he spoke, shock evident in his tone as he entered the rooms, hands moving as he spoke. “I had to find out from Buck! Of all people!”

“Hey—what’s that supposed to mean!” Bucky sounded offended while he leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head at Sam’s comment.

“It means, I’ve been working with the kid for almost four years—wait! When we first met, you’d barely been divorced? Is that why you were in Tunisia?! On some finding yourself through work journey?” 

Joaquin was frozen in place, eyes wide as he looked from Sam to Bucky, then back to Sam. He didn’t know the best way to approach this situation. Sure, he knew that eventually he would’ve had to come clean to Sam about you, but that wasn’t ever a priority of his, mainly because he preferred to act as if nothing was ever wrong and swallow all of his feelings down.

“Yeah, when you introduced me to the kid, they’d only been divorced for around four months? I found that out from McQueen. Honestly, I’m surprised Joaquin held it in for so long, five drinks in and she was crying on my living room sofa.”

Bucky sounded so nonchalant as he spoke, which only irritated Joaquin. It made sense that you’d be spending time with him, he was your boss. But, you? Drinking with him? Then spending time at his place? 

Joaquin’s jaw was clenched so tight he was afraid his teeth would crack.

“Buck, why were you drinking with her—you don’t drink often.” Sam paused, looking over at Bucky. 

“I wasn’t drinking, we were at a fundraiser, y’know they’re boring as hell. People kept passing her drinks, she didn’t want to be rude when she was technically working, I told her to just chuck the drinks into some plants—then she started rambling about plants and their root health. Anyways, long story short, she’s an emotional drunk.”

Joaquin stifled a laugh, a sad smile on his face at the story. 

You’d always been an emotional drunk, even as a teenager when you and Ximena would sneak into his mother’s liquor cabinet, sneaking out to drink in random parking lots or at the beach. Then someone would inevitably call him to pick you both up, he’d always feign reluctance, but he never had an issue getting the two of you, and whatever other friend was there.

That’s also one of the first times you’d kissed him. He remembers the day as if it was yesterday, you were a junior in high school, he was a senior, it was after the big homecoming game. You were clearly plastered, laughing and shrugging with Ximena, both of you practically falling over with wide smiles on your faces as you stumbled into Joaquin in the parking lot.

He lectured you both that night, Ximena had fallen asleep in the front seat, so you opted to help haul her out of the car with him, giggling as you backed into him a few times. Joaquin kept shushing you, and after you both managed to get his sister into the house, you smiled at him in the dimly lit hallway.

Then you kissed him. It was quick, as if the moment you realized your lips were on his, you were immediately reeling back. Apologizing while giggling, then you’d gone into Ximena’s room, waving at him before closing the door.

“Hey stop daydreaming over there! You’ve got some serious explaining to do!” Sam’s snapping caught Joaquin’s attention as he slowly nodded his head, acting as if he was listening—he very clearly was not.

“Start from the beginning, let’s hear it.”

Joaquin nodded at Bucky, letting out a deep sigh as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He’d spent the next two hours explaining everything to them both, from the start of your relationship, to getting engaged, then to the Blip, and of course, the end of it all. The divorce, the fights, the anger, all of it.

In a way, Joaquin felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He’d spent so long bottling everything up that it had just become normal to him. 

“So you’re still in love with her and from what Bucky’s told me—she’s still in love with you. So what’s the issue here? Clearly you’ve both grown up, and Ray Charles once said, time heals a broken heart but time has clearly sat still while you two have been apart—”

Bucky cut him off, “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Sam.”

“You shut the hell up, I’m giving the kid some emotional motivation to win his woman back! Sure, they’re divorced, but they’re young and clearly stupid!—no offense Joaquin. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other! You’ve heard her side, Buck, now we’ve heard his! They’re in love!” Sam’s hands moved rapidly as he spoke, constantly motioning in Joaquin’s direction and the opposite direction, most likely where you metaphorically would be.

Bucky sighed, shrugging. “Okay, you’re right—” he turned to look at Joaquin. “I get you two went through a rough patch during the Blip, but I can guarantee, things’ll be better now. At the very least, you should try. Lightning McQueen’s not gonna reject you outright.” 

Sam and Joaquin shared a confused look before Sam spoke up. “Why the hell is everyone calling her Lightning McQueen?”

Bucky shrugged. “She wears Lightning McQueen slippers around the tower, sometimes she’ll stop mid sentence and say ‘kachow’. At first I didn’t get it, then she forced me to watch the entire Cars franchise with her. She cried during the last two movies.”

Sam blinked a few times, meanwhile Joaquin couldn’t hold his laughter in.

“That’s one of her favorite movies, something about a coming of age story—I dunno, she’s loved it forever.” 

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, then back at him, speaking at the same time, the mixture of “you’re both idiots” and “idiots in love” sounded a bit jumbled and confusing, but Joaquin got the point.

The next few days Joaquin’s only goal was to actually talk to you. It was easy in theory, there were only so many places that you could run off to. However, you knew the compound much better than he did, and anytime he finally caught sight of you, you were gone in seconds.

It was obvious you’d been avoiding him, and that was only irritating him more and more. He’d gone from being slightly hopeful that maybe you two could start over, to feeling himself slipping into that same pessimistic mindset he’d tried to swallow down and drown out with work.

He was hanging on by a thin thread. 

That thread snapped the moment he walked into the lab in search of some data on a few samples of adamantium that was recovered near a small island neighboring the Celestial mass in the Indian Ocean. 

He still had a job to do, even if he was also simultaneously trying to win his ex-wife back.

The moment Joaquin stepped foot into the lab, you were there, standing beside a large metal table where Bob was laying flat. Not only was the man laying down, he was fully shirtless and your hands were on his abdomen. From Joaquin’s angle he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he did hear your laughter.

Yelena leaned against one of the tables behind you, her arms crossed as she questioned your motions, pointing down at Bob where you’d been stitching him up, “If you go any slower, it’ll prolong the pain.”

You scoffed, glancing at her over your shoulder. “Well, if you hadn’t been sparring with knives, none of us would be here right now. This is the closest thing we have to a med bay, besides, if I go faster, I’ll fuck up the stiching and unfortunately for you, you don’t exactly have health insurance in the state of New York. Actually, I don’t think any of you do outside of Bucky and Walker.”

Bob winced slightly as you pulled the thread through his skin, teeth clenched, one hand over his eyes. “Why couldn’t I have a drink or something again? No offense Lightning, but this hurts.”

You sighed. “Remember your whole addictive personality thing? Sorry, but the best I can do is get Yelena to knock you out cold. But I think that would be another issue. Besides, aren't you supposed to be like a God or something? You’ll heal just fine! Don’t be such a baby!” Then you started laughing.

He groaned, wincing as he laughed as well, which made Yelena laugh too.

Joaquin finally walked into the lab, jaw clenched as he walked right past the three of you, his own metaphorical storm cloud following him. Except this time, you couldn’t run away from him, which he was grateful for, but he didn’t really feel like discussing your past relationship with people he hardly knew.

“Good afternoon to you too, Captain Torres!” Your eyes widened at Yelena’s words, fingers pressing a bit too harshly into Bob’s skin—earning a loud groan.

Joaquin scoffed, nodding his head to acknowledge Yelena while mumbling. “Yeah—afternoon.” 

He found a more secluded area of the lab, but it still had a direct line-of-sight to you. So Joaquin sat, stewing in his own jealousy for thirty minutes while you stitched up some gash on Bob's side.

Then Yelena was helping Bob get back up, stating that she’d be back shortly, but once she was out of the lab, the lights dimmed, then flashed red for a few seconds, before settling on a blue-ish hue. That was followed by Yelena’s voice over the intercom. “Sorry Lightning! But you two need to talk it out, or sex it out, whichever you prefer! I’ll shut down the cameras! Oh and don’t try to do any other work, Peter’s shutting down the systems externally.” 

Once she finished speaking, you were left in a tense silence as you cleaned up the area. The sounds of metal clinking, plastic shifting, spraying from the disinfectants, and the sounds of your frustrated sighing practically echoed in the room.

“Are you gonna say something to me? Or just be angry and clean the whole time. Not that I’m not used to that.” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions before practically slamming the metal tray in your hands against the countertop as you slowly turned to face him. He was still several feet away, but now Joaquin was standing up, leaning against one of the larger free-standing countertops that you typically examined samples on.

“I have nothing to say to you Joaquin.”

He shook his head at that. “Well, I have everything to say to you Ms. Torres.” He noticed the way your eyes widened as he shook his head, then he ran his tongue along his top teeth. “Y’know what’s absolutely insane, that I had to find out from Bucky—your boss—that you hadn’t ever gone through with changing your name. So you’ve been walking around with my last name, while fucking whoever the hell you want.”

You scoffed at that, there it was, the jealousy. “Excuse me? I’m sorry that I didn’t feel the need to go through another extensive legal process to change my goddamn name, when I already made a name for myself with the last name Torres. And seriously? Fucking whoever I want? I’ve gone on dates—I’ve had sex with other people. Oh well! Do you want flowers and a fuckin handwritten apology? Like oh I’m so sorry Joaquin that I kept your last name after being married to you for five years! My bad!”

Joaquin let out a sardonic laugh, followed by a scoff before speaking again. “Well, if you hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the earth, maybe I wouldn’t care that much. It’s like the second we were over, you were gone!” 

“What the hell was I supposed to do?! Stick around? Fight with you some more?! As if it was ever fucking enjoyable? I choose to leave, I’m not mad about it! I had to get the hell away from you, I had to remember who the hell I was—who I am! I didn’t even know who I was outside of being with you! So sorry if I choose to put myself first and go live my life Joaquin!” 

Your voice got louder and louder as you spoke, chest rapidly rising and falling, feeling the waves of irritation and anger rolling through your entire body.

He shook his head. “Did you ever think that maybe—just maybe I didn’t want the divorce. That sure we could’ve used some space and time apart but that I still loved you?! Did you ever consider that! Or maybe I still love you! That I was never able to move on?!”

You paused, lips slightly parted, brows knit together at the confession.

Joaquin scoffed, rolling his eyes, leaning his head back slightly as he looked up, silently praying to whatever God truly existed, that this wasn’t a mistake. Then his eyes were back on you.

“There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought about you. Every single worthless hookup I had, I thought about you, I purposefully went after women that reminded me of you just so I could fucking feel something—anything! But they were never you!” 

He ran his hands through his hair. “I swallowed down every shitty emotion I’ve felt for years, drowning myself in even more work, I mean I guess it paid off-or at least it had paid off until I fucking crash landed into the Indian Ocean!”

Joaquin laughed again, sniffling slightly, doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes “The worst part was, when I woke up from a week long coma, I was delirious and high on whatever the fuck they were giving me for the pain—and I asked for you. I asked every single nurse for you. I get it, you wanted to go off and live your life without me—but you didn’t call, you didn’t text. Hell, I even asked Ximena if you knew and she avoided the subject.” 

You cut him off. “Shut the hell up Joaquin.”

He shook his head “No, I’m tired of holding this shit in, and if this is the only chance I’ll ever get to talk to you—then so be it! I waited for you, I waited in that goddamn hospital hoping and praying that maybe you’d show up with your sad smile and concerned eyes and tell me that I was an idiot and things would all be okay. But you didn’t, come to find out, you were there that day—the day they rushed me in.” 

You shook your head, jaw clenched, eyes watering. “Joaquin, stop.” 

Joaquin laughed again, shrugging. “Bucky told me you were there with him, that you hounded all of the nurses and the receptionists, but you never once went to see me. What? Hate me that bad you couldn’t even spare me five fucking minutes when I’m unconscious after nearly dying?!—” 

“Jesus Christ! Shut the fuck up, Joaquin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. For once in your life, shut your big fucking mouth! I’m sorry I didn’t go—you think I didn’t wanna see you?! I was fucking terrified! Terrified that you were gonna die on that table when they were operating on you! I was sobbing the entire time, I was so afraid of losing you—” 

You wiped your tears away, brows knit together, bottom lip quivering as you stared at him. “I’d already lost you once. I didn’t have it in me to lose you again. I couldn’t see you like that, I tried—I wanted to. I couldn’t do it. You don’t get to hold that against me—” 

You pointed at him as you spoke. “You don’t have the fucking right to hold that against me.”

Joaquin blinked a few times, watching as your walls were crumbling. He knew you were still hurt, that much was obvious in the way you’d been avoiding him—but to know you were hurting like this? 

It broke part of him, and for a second he felt like his nineteen year old self again on the night he’d taken your virginity. He remembered the way you tried not to cry, word vomiting your insecurities and vulnerabilities to him while the two of you sat in his childhood bedroom. Joaquin remembered the way you looked, the way you couldn’t meet his stare, the way you held the blanket to your body to shield yourself from him, even if you were still in your dress.

He knew you so well, he used to know exactly how to comfort you, exactly how to make your worries disappear.

Now he didn’t.

Now he was the cause of them.

“I loved you until the very end of our relationship. Don’t ever sit and act like I didn’t—like I don’t care about you. Joaquin, you were my first love, you meant everything to me. I married you when I was twenty-one like an idiot because I had so much faith and hope in our relationship—in our love. I know I was wrong to up and leave once the divorce was finalized, but I didn’t want to work through things just to be your friend. I could never in my life be your friend Joaquin—not when you knew everything about me—every single insecurity, every hope, every dream.”

You weren’t wiping the tears away anymore, a sad smile on your face as you looked down at your hands, then back to him. 

“If I could do it all over again, I would. Just to get the chance to love you like that again. That’s why I left, because I knew if I stayed, I would’ve been right back with you—right back to wanting to hate you, knowing I never could and I couldn’t take it.”

He was at a loss for words, tears finally flowing along his cheeks while he looked at you. Joaquin finally processed how he’d broken your heart—broken you. He’d broken you down time and time again, letting his own insecurities, exhaustion, and pessimism get to him. 

He’d hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt—you.

“Everyday I think about you. I think about how you’re doing, I wonder what Sam’s got you wrapped up in, I laugh at the stupid jokes you make during press releases and media statements as the Falcon. Hell, I even pray for you, which is crazy because I don’t even know if there’s even a higher power—but the faith that you’ll be okay each and every day is enough for me. I ask Ximena about you all the time. Whenever I go back to Miami, I make sure to go see your family.”

Joaquin was genuinely speechless. This entire time, he thought you just didn’t care. That you wanted as much distance between the both of you as possible. He’d been so angry for years, angry at you, and angrier at himself.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not love you Joaquin, and that in itself, is enough to make me avoid you. I don’t want what we had, I hated it. I hated every fight, I hated watching you leave after we had sex, I hated the sight of you sleeping on our sofa. I hated all of it. I know life was really hard at that point, I know I wasn’t the best wife or partner, but I tried. I tried everyday but you held everything against me, constantly.”

You sniffled, biting your bottom lip while trying to recollect yourself. The tears were flowing, and you couldn’t stop them.

“You were so mean, all the time. You weren’t the Joaquin I had fallen in love with, honestly, I know I was a shell of myself, but you—you were so much worse. You never let me back in—” a short sob slipped past your lips while you cried, looking down at the ground, taking a few deep breaths. “I wanted you to let me in again. I remember purposefully forgetting documents and prolonging our entire attorney experience, just so I could spend more time with you. Because I knew the second it was over, I was leaving.”

The silence was suffocating.

You were doing your best not to sob. Joaquin was processing everything—he’d never truly known how it all affected you. He’d never seen you sob at night, sure he knew you cried, but he didn’t see it, he didn’t notice how broken you truly were.

“I’m sorry.” Joaquin spoke softly “I’m so sorry—baby—I didn’t know. I just—I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was all over. And I was just so angry all the time, everything made me so mad. Then I’d see you, but everyone was always gravitating towards you, and it makes sense because you’re beautiful, funny and so intelligent, but it bothered me.”

He paused, now stepping closer to you, hesitating before gently caressing your face, angling it towards him, away from the ground. His thumbs softly wiping your tears away.

“I was so insecure and jealous and downright mean, and I’m sorry for putting you through hell. You meant the world to me—hell you still mean the world to me. I’ve been so angry this whole time, I thought I was mad at you, but I was mad at me. Mad that I’d fucked up so bad, mad that things hadn’t worked out, that I stopped trying.”

You leaned into his hand, teary eyes now looking into his.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I want you to know that, even if nothing comes from it. I’ll always love you, there’s nobody in this universe that gets me the way you do, I know it’s been years, but I don’t think I’m ready to just let you go again.”

Joaquin’s vulnerability shocked you, not because you didn’t think he was capable, but because this Joaquin, this was your Joaquin. This is the man that you’d fallen in love with.

“I never wanted you to let me go, Joaquin.” 

He’d been the one to suggest the divorce, and it had taken a few months of fights before you’d actually considered it. 

By that point, Joaquin was rarely sleeping with you, and the only time the two of you weren’t fighting was when you were both on base at work. Outside of that, the fights and arguments were constant, an unrelenting cycle, and you had finally hit your breaking point.

The last major fight before the divorce ended in you screaming at him before tossing a large yellow envelope on the kitchen island.

You both signed the papers that night. Then the filing process started.

That night you cried into the stuffed bear that he’d won for you at a carnival when you were nineteen. It was one of your first real dates, and you’d been so excited when he’d managed to actually win the ring toss three times in a row, scoring the large panda bear, giving it to you with a dopey smile on his face.

“Please—give me a second chance, I’ll do everything right this time—I won’t fall back into old shitty habits—I promise baby” his voice was strained as he tried not to cry. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees to beg for you back.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you shook your head.

“Joaquin, I think time apart might’ve been what we needed. But I still see the way you look at people around me, I still see the same shitty habits, and honestly, I think we might be better apart for now. We both have stuff to work through, but I won’t up and disappear from your life again”

He nodded as you spoke, biting his bottom lip, watching as you shrugged, sadness pooling in your teary eyes.

“I can’t be your wife again—not now at least. But maybe one day when we’re in a better spot.”

Joaquin sniffled a bit, looking up at the roof, then back at you. “One day for sure.” 

Then you kissed him, it was soft, hesitant, but he knew it wasn’t a welcoming kiss. It was similar to the last kiss you’d given him the day your divorce finalized. As if you were saying goodbye again.

Joaquin only hoped that the goodbye would be temporary.

-

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 as always feedback is appreciated!!!

[yup-thats-me]

–slow dancing in the dark • C. Jongho

𐙚pairing; ❝bf!Jongho x gf!reader❞ 𐙚summary; ❝sometimes to make the heart yearn only takes two to slow dance in the dark❞ 𐙚a/n ❝I really enjoyed writing this🥹hope you like it too pookie<3❞

⊹₊⟡⋆𐙚⋆.˚

"You sure you're going to sit in front of that blank screen, baby?" Y/n giggled as she teased her boyfriend.

Jongho groans in return, taking off his headset. "And it was just getting good."

Power outages were not unseen in their dorm but it was still pretty rare to occur. Y/n was in the kitchen making tea while the rest of the guys were out. Some were out shopping for groceries while others were in the studio. And Y/n's lover was playing games.

The man was having the time of his life, apparently, when 'zap' and darkness swallowed the entire building. Without anything better to do, Jongho comes out into the kitchen where Y/n was now lighting a candle.

"Finally out of your cave?" Teased Y/n.

"Shut up," mumbled the man as he rested his head on his hand, eyes following the girl around the space.

Y/n set the cup on the counter, darting around to open windows and move the shades. It seemed the locality was facing an issue, not just their building. The girl as she sighed taking a seat beside her man.

"Think they'll fix it by tonight?" she mused.

Jongho shrugged in response. The atmosphere around the two grew quite, not the suffocating kind. This was the kind where Jongho finally found peace.

Being surrounded by seven men came with its perks. Bickering and screaming from a pair to gaggle of laughter that Jongho swears came straight out of hell. In the midst of all the chaos, the ever constant paradise for the man was his girlfriend.

When socializing becomes too exhausting, Jongho can always count to snuggle close to his Y/n who will almost always wrap her arms around the man and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, all without asking a question.

While Y/n stared out the window, talking about something Jongho could pay no mind to, the man stared at Y/n. He really felt he had hit a jackpot with her.

How she was able to pull him out of his shell while not making him uncomfortable was beyond him. And with their hectic schedules, Jongho couldn't help but wonder how they were still together. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely loves the fact that they are still together and going strong after three years, it just baffles him how she is able to put up with him. He truly got lucky, didn't he?

Hundreds of thoughts running through his mind, the singer's eyes fell on the candle burning on the kitchen counter, its flame dancing with the light breeze that came through the window.

Suddenly, Jongho takes out his phone- soft music filling the empty room. Y/n perked up at the music, and Jongho didn't fail to notice her eyes sparkling, even in the dark. "Feeling romantic, Mr. Anti-romantic?"

The man did not have the time to react to her comment. Instead, he places his hand on her waist, the other waiting for the girl to grab. "Care for a dance, milady?" he smiles.

Smiling widely, Y/n gently rests her palm on his as she got on her feet. "Why, thank you, gentleman."

Jongho smirks as he leads, pulling her closer. The two seemed to be one with the music, each complimenting the other's steps perfectly.

The pair giggled as Jongho circled them around the candle, catching her just when Y/n thought she was going to hit some obstacle. It might be dim and dark, but Jongho is careful. He slows down right around the corner, his hand flying to her waist to balance her.

Y/n could feel her heart thump loudly against her ear. This is something grand. They're not out on a date in a fancy restaurant, hell, they're not even talking but somehow, it feels more intimate. Perhaps more than the times they were out having fun.

The little girl who always speaks to Y/n has always had this dream. The little Y/n, having watched many romance movies had wished to dance in the dark with someone. Someone who just loves them dearly without expecting anything in return. And after years of searching, both Y/n's seem to have found the one. Jongho is the one. Even if Venus herself ascends from the heavens above to tell Y/n he's not. the girl is ready to fight her.

Feeling tears blurring her vision, Y/n rests her head on his shoulder. Jongho smiles softly, hugging her close. "What's wrong, my love?" he asks in a low voice, swaying them both to the music still playing.

Y/n shakes her head. "Nothing. I'm just...happy."

And Jongho is satisfied. He rests his chin atop her head, fingers gently treading through her hair.

None of the pair knew how long had it been, and poor Y/n almost fell when the group of men who had silently entered the apartment eurppted in sudden cheer, most of them having their phones in hand, recording.

"The rare sight of the maknae actually loving his girl," joked Wooyoung, wiping a fake tear.

Seonghwa however was hugging the captain, his voice almost like Jongho's mother when she first met Y/n.

"Our child has grown so much, Joong," and the leader had hugged him back, nodding in agreement.

"I'm NOT your kid!"

And Y/n just giggles at her lover with her second family. Maybe she is where she's meant to be.

Home.

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⊹₊⟡⋆reqs are open𐙚⋆.˚