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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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I Never Missed You 3/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Angst and smut and fluff (the holy trinity!) in this last part.

Part 1 Part 2

Juice spills all over the table from the oranges you press, but you don't mind. There has been a soft smile on your face all morning.

Simon's still sleeping, and you want to surprise him with a special breakfast today: scrambled eggs, freshly pressed orange juice, berries, and…

"You took my shirt."

You flinch when you hear his familiar rumble not a few feet away. The staircase wailed like a widow last night, but obviously, this man has learned to avoid the creaky spots when he wants. A goddamn heavyweight ninja...

"I'm sorry." You lick your fingers from the juice and try to feign innocence. The sleeves of his black tee reach your elbows, but you're not sorry. Nor do you feel bad about seeing him in your kitchen without a shirt.

"It was not an accusation," he says, the corner of his mouth curving a little, the dark eyes that made love to you last night giving you an approving once-over.

You approach him with a glass full of sun, but it's you he grabs in his hold. Your fingers find the scars on his back as you two embrace, and you feel an odd churn in your stomach.

"What's this…?"

Your hand floats across the embossed, white ridges that crisscross his back. The collection forms an entire mountain range, and it's chilling because you've only brushed the space between his shoulder blades.

"A reminder. To trust no one."

"No one…?"

"No one."

You remain a coward and refrain from asking for more details. You doubt he would even share them.

"I made you breakfast," you lower your gaze to the colorful palette you've gathered on the plates. Is it some sort of an instinct to want to feed a man after they've fucked you so good?

"So I see," he says, ever more approvingly. Then you're lifted on the table, next to the plates, like you're the breakfast.

Soon you're only wearing his shirt and your tiny socks, which Simon decides to leave on, too busy with getting his face between your legs.

No one has done anything like that before… No one has chosen you over breakfast; an entire abundance of delicacies laid out.

He licks you until your legs are trembling on that tortured back. You're pure, you're untouched by evil, and he carries your naivety on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. He flattens his tongue on you, sucks your flesh, tortures you on that table and doesn't even mind his teeth all too much. The peak stubble he hasn't yet shaved stings and burns as he moves across your folds.

Saying that the coarse chin on your silk feels good would be an understatement. You come undone next to the breakfast, clad in golden light shining through the small window left uncovered.

You feel alive, and raw, and stellar. A shooting star, a comet high above the sky, although the space through which you ignite consists of golden rays of sunlight and the scent of orange juice.

He takes the shirt back after he's done. After you're done and try your best to return back to earth with shaking legs. The only thing you're wearing is your socks, but you feel completely naked before him, dopey and dumb before the day has even started. Simon only licks his lips, throws that shirt on, and grabs his plate.

He dares to comment that there's no hot water. You put the kettle on with a wobble, feeling hotness on your cheeks while he sits down to eat his second breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world: to wreck you first thing in the morning.

…............................

Simon.

He fixes the door on your fridge. He helps you clean your garage and fucks you on the table. Oily, dusty, filthy table. You go to shower after, together. You're giggling; he's smiling. Fully, now.

You want to ask him, Is this free of charge too…? Not just his cock... But his smiles. His assistance and support. The looks he grants you when you come out of the shower, ready to be licked to ruin.

He calls you his Princess to tease you just right. To get you in a state where your eyes flash with half-rage, half-lust, just before he slips inside you. He knows exactly which strings to pull – and then calls you love just when you're about to give him a piece of your mind.

You end up on the table, on the counter, on the floor. He takes you while your jaw slowly falls open from his audacity and his cock, splitting you apart with slow love. The first time he takes you in a missionary, you squirt. It's like his cock was made for you. And he dares to tease you about that, too.

"Did ya just squirt all over my cock?"

You have tears in your eyes, shame on your cheeks, and he's wetter than a wet dog down there… then he makes you squirt again, high on the lewd, obscene praise you just gave him with your pussy.

Your cunt can't lie; he knows it by now. So it's futile to keep your lips sealed either.

Kiss me.

That's what you would've usually ordered. But after an exceptionally quiet and passionate and desperate fuck that leaves you both catching your breath, leaves him hovering only inches from your sweaty upper lip, you whisper…

"I want to kiss you."

You expect him to laugh or mock you, at least crack a stupid joke or two. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and he swallows with a heavy roll, then closes the gap between you two. Covers your mouth with his, uses that strong jaw to open you for devouring.

The kiss lasts long enough for you to begin breathing through your nose. Your inner walls grip him, still buried deep inside, and the gusts of exhales passing through his nostrils hit your face with pure bliss. He’s a little breathless when he parts – withdraws just enough to look into your eyes.

“Will that do...?”

There is a drunken vigor in his eyes of crushed amber, but to your shock, you hear your own question laid out before you. The one you asked when you were going to that party.

Will I do…?

Your hands find his jaw and cup his face from both sides, drawing him back to your lips.

“Yes."

You will more than just do.

And then you say…

"I want more.”

He chuckles a soft scoff on your face.

"Greedy little thing."

Then he swallows you again. You kiss for a good few minutes while he grows half-hard inside you. It's the most romantic kiss you have shared with anyone, ever. He tells you how spoiled you are between the breaths you both catch, then spoils you some more with his mouth and tongue and cock.

You start to curl together in the evening. Just to watch a comedy. He massages your feet and smiles more every day. It's kind of domestic, how he wrinkles his nose at your fine white wine and asks what it is in that decanter you have in your study. When you say it's just some old bourbon, he goes and gets himself a glass like he's finally made himself at home.

It makes your heart grow thick from love. You almost forget why he's here in the first place.

When you ask him about the plan, he explains it to you in detail while kissing his way down your ribs and navel. He takes his sweet time while doing it, kissing the inside of your thigh, the hollow place below the knee, the tender skin under the knee. He kisses your calf and the ankle bone while holding your leg up for his lips with just one hand. Then he does the same to your other leg, but this time, kisses his way from ankle to thigh until he reaches…

You.

You've forgotten half the plan by then because you realize Simon hasn't looked at you like you're a steak or garbage in a long, long time.

He looks at you like you're a queen. You could say he worships you, but the thought alone makes your heart flutter with the anxiety of a fragile hummingbird.

Simon gets you your groceries and gets himself only a beer as a reward. You would happily offer him a case if you knew it would make him happy.

But you don't really know what would make him happy. You don't know anything about this man. You know he likes it when you're dolled up and angry. He likes you when you're sleepy, without makeup, wearing only his shirt. He likes to fuck you from behind and hold you close after. He likes to give you a wash, likes it when you wash him. He likes to watch the two tall trees outside the window sway when there's a strong wind.

"What makes you happy?" You ask one night after you've had him in your mouth.

"Blowjobs," he answers with a straight face, and you shove him in the shoulder. Nicely. Softly.

"No, for real."

"I dunno." He sighs and turns to stare at your ceiling with a bothered look. It's a tricky question, perhaps. Or weapons, not willingly gifted.

"Dogs," he shrugs after a while. "A day of silence. Good whiskey."

He doesn't grant you weapons. You get some rope, but not enough to choke him with it. He trusts no one.

"Why don't you like missionary…?" You continue roasting him while curling your fingers around the pale hair on his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it."

"Don't avoid the question, Mr. Doggystyle."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your palm flat over his heart. His stare slowly drifts from the ceiling back to you.

"Simon. Why do you always fuck me from behind?"

He raises his eyebrows like he's innocent of the crime he's being accused of. "Not always."

"Seriously, Simon."

The smug look returns; it gives his eyes a delightful little spark and tugs at the corner of that kissable mouth.

"I like your ass."

"But not my eyes?"

The smile dies, and he gulps down a short surprise, caught between truth and dare. But then his eyes settle like the calming sea under a full moon. Stern, but not remorseless. Bold, but not heartless. If anything, he's naked and bare.

"Darlin'. Love your eyes the most."

Your heart does a backflip. You've been a fool because what else has he done but search for your eyes first thing in the morning? Given you flashes of mischief over breakfast, made love to you with those eyes as you cum around his cock? That liquid fire and smoke hasn't left you since he stepped inside this house.

You breathe together; you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when you thought this man was incapable of love, but now you fear he has never been allowed to love enough.

"We never talked, you know," you whisper. His heart swells underneath your palm like a sail.

"What'ya wanna talk about?"

"Us."

"So talk."

Walls are raised so quickly you feel them knocking the warmth out of your body. It's cold, it's Antarctic, the technique he uses to withdraw. Your room turns into a kingdom of ice from the cruel, emotionless indifference he emits.

You've been a fool, yes... And a child.

"You're making it hard," you say, noticing how the man starts to tense up under your fingertips. This is not the way, but you're not smart enough to stop your rampage.

"What happens when you've done your job?"

He doesn't sigh. He doesn't even think twice before giving his answer.

"I go back to the base."

You know now why he's called a ghost. You wonder if he was ever even here. Simon becomes a reminder for you, a reminder to trust no one.

"...Right." You pull your hand away slowly. As if it somehow helps with the pain to pretend you haven't just touched a hot stove and ended up getting your fingers burned.

He notices how you tense up far more than he. The arm around your waist goes tight, and you wonder if you've always been a bloodied steak to this brute, a stupid little princess with your wines, sighs, and wet eyes. He just doesn't want to let go of the last bites of his fine, delicious meat.

"I never thought you wanted a relationship," he says with a hollow voice, and the red rage nearly blinds your sight. You're too riled up to even yell at him.

"Love…" he tries for the last time.

"Get out of my bed."

…............................

His musk still clings to you as you descend the stairs the next morning.

He's sitting at the end of the steps with hunched shoulders and a tense back, exiled into the man he was the first day you met him. Your heart bleeds from the sight, wondering whether Simon has waited there the whole night after you kicked him out of your bedroom. But the boiling bile in your stomach forces you to lift your chin and draw your shoulders back as you walk down those steps with an audible clatter as your heels clack across the parquet.

He must've heard you before you make a racket fitting for an angered queen, but rises only after you've made it halfway through the staircase. You won't allow yourself to even look his way as he draws a deep breath.

"Love. Sweetheart."

But with that, you flash the man a stare full of despise as you walk past him.

"Don't."

"Let me–"

"Don't say a word," you take a sharp turn and raise a hand to shield you from whatever brutality he would like to stain you with. "You don't talk to me. You just do your job. Ok?"

His chest swells with another deep breath, but otherwise, this man is still as a statue again.

"Ma'am."

It takes you a while to notice he has regressed back to that term again, and you tilt your head. The movement is that of a warrior who swings her sword to a guard before a fight. He crosses his hands over his crotch as if to shield the most vulnerable parts from a low blow, but his eyes are full of hateful hurt as he gives you his most pretentious, mocking tone.

"Miss."

Your heart skips a beat – Simon becomes the thing you miss.

A hit and run.

You have to resist the urge to grimace at the pure venom in his voice - it doesn't matter what he calls you because that tone seeps straight through your skin like lye. It hurts; it burns to see him even more withdrawn to his shell than when you first met. He retreats far beyond the front line, he goes further than the rear, and it's a bitter defeat for both of you.

This man has rubbed your feet while you've laughed at a stupid joke in a sitcom. The same man has been inside you – night after night after night. It rips your heart to see a distant, perfectly blank expression on his face after you've seen him give you a plentitude of relaxed and wicked little smiles.

You share the breakfast in funeral-like silence. You wish you could pay him to stay home so that you can go through your day filled with terror and longing without Simon Riley following you around.

"I've been meaning to update you on new intel about the target," he breaks the silence, and your heart feels like it's being put through a wringer. Simon hasn't even touched his breakfast. "Turns out he received training in a sniper unit."

"So?"

"There's a high chance he might prefer to use long-range weapons."

He's professional, curt, clinical. Even more so than when you first shook hands with him. And all the while, those eyes burn you; they examine you like you're the most challenging puzzle he's ever tried to solve. He's cold as ice with his words and hot as hell with that stare. Those eyes seem to pierce your clothes, they even reach under your skin.

"Right," you say without giving him a single look back.

"We have to update our protocol asap."

Our…

We.

"The protocol…" you whisper and finally look up at him. His lips draw into a thin line as he sees how your walls crumble; they didn't last even half a day.

"Simon, I can't do this," you say, your voice breaking. The tears are only seconds away. They blur your sight, but as he rises from the table slowly and takes a hesitant step towards you, you turn your head back to your toast with a snap.

"I want to change bodyguards."

From the corner of your blurred vision, you see how he raises a hand. If you didn't know any better, you could say that he's at his weakest. But the hand falls straight back and gives a twitch by his side. You wonder why he even bothers to disguise the spasm so lousily as a stretch. It's as if he wants you to see that he's in tumult too.

"I'll stay until–"

"No. Get out."

"Miss. I'll just get my things," he says, and you nod briefly. No exchange of gazes is probably the best policy after informing him you no longer need his services. It's better to rip the band-aid off with one yank than try to pretend that this relationship was something more than sexual.

You know he came to your house with minimal belongings, a duffel bag full of spare clothes and a large case which you supposed was a container for different weapons. That is why you notice he takes a surprisingly long time to get those things and leave your house.

When he finally emerges from his room – no, not his room, but the guest room, you remind yourself – he places the luggage in the hallway and comes back to you, probably to say his polite farewells.

"You won't let me speak to you, so I wrote you a fuckin' letter."

You turn to solid stone as he places an envelope between your water glass and cup of coffee. You sit with your heart thumping in your chest as he picks up his things, walks to the door, walks out of it and out of your life.

It's one of those moments you wish you could freeze and rewind. Do everything differently so that it wouldn't have to come to this. Instead, you listen how the front door clunks shut.

Then you send your trembling fingers up from your lap and onto the pure white thing that holds his secrets. You pry it open and find yourself reading the lines, scribbled with surprisingly sophisticated handwriting, through a round of hot tears.

They cloud your vision, but they don't cloud his words.

You skim through the letter in a frenzied hurry once, then again with more control, and try to remember how to breathe.

He shares shrivels from his past, ugly, horrid things which make your breakfast nearly push up your throat. He tells you he stopped dating eleven years ago for a reason. He writes that he would rather be tortured again than make you suffer from his past and incapacities.

There are certain lines that enter your heart like a thief with the most delicate crowbar. Lines like I'm not good with words and You must know by now that I'm a broken man.

Lines like I'm not a fucking poet but I'll miss your warmth even under the desert sun.

Some lines make you want to tear the letter to pieces. Lines such as Don't throw your diamonds in the dust and I can't give you what you deserve.

He thinks you can't take his darkness, so he shelters you from it. He says he would come back to you if he could. You don't know what the hell he means by that.

If he could?

What the fuck prevents him?

You sit inside your empty, lonely house, confident of the fact that it is not you who prevents it. It was not you who just sent him out that door. Who commanded him to leave because you didn't need his services anymore.

The letter makes you cry, and then it makes you boil.

Such sweet words, and so many empty sentences. If only, if I wasn't, if I could.

You get the feeling that he's mocking you again. If only you weren't a princess and a spoiled brat, then perhaps he could reconsider this relationship.

You leave the letter there; you leave your coffee and your breakfast. You almost wish someone would shoot you and put you out of your misery as you call a taxi and go to the heart of the city.

You're completely numb as your fingertips brush silk and linen and all the newest designs. They curl around tiny bottles of bright nail polish and touch the perfumes made from the last free wildflowers of a burning world, but you feel nothing stir inside.

You're emptier than the echo that rings through the malls and corridors of stone; you feel poorer than all the beggars on the street. Shopping always makes you feel better. But now you want to burn all your money, throw your jewels out the window, torch all the fucking stores like some bloody anarchist. You leave every store without buying a thing and try to remember what it was to have lunch without drowning in tears that can't be cried in public.

"I can't give you what you deserve."

That's the line that scalds you most. You know what he meant when he wrote those words, seemingly humble. But your bleeding heart twists that sentence until his words are a testimony of pure rejection.

You have money, so you don't deserve love, is that it?

You want to find him and shake him. It's not about what you deserve or what he deserves. It's not about what anyone deserves. And if the bloody man thinks he doesn't deserve love only because he's made his home in suffering, then he's the last person who should be allowed to decide who deserves what.

You walk through the crowds and streets like a small whirlwind, on the verge of yelling your heart and loneliness out in the air until your vocal cords are raw. You're so riled your mind doesn't even register the gunshot.

The only thing you hear is a glass shattering next to you just before an entire boulder hits you.

His scent envelops you like a safe, warm blanket, even if that blanket weighs a ton and causes your jeans to grate and tear as you two hit the asphalt. Simon gives you bruises, scrapes and burns all across your left side as your body grinds through the dirt.

Another shot is fired; this time, a car's glass is shattered above you, and the body surrounding you tenses until you worry your bodyguard has been hit. The bodyguard you fired this morning, who's still doing his job, who never even left you…

People are screaming and running in different directions all around and above you, but time comes to a halt as Simon rises only an inch or two.

"Stay down," he gruffs in your ear. "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, ok?"

The whole world could've gone silent from the way you only hear his voice. His words. His distress. You remain still as a stone and look up at him – your lips part because he's looking at you with impatience that's not just pressing; it's demanding.

"Yes," you stutter, "yes, of course."

Someone's pissed because a third shot sends him right back over you, and only then do you notice you're clinging to him, to his jacket and his shirt, like he's a human shield. Then the human shield speaks again, and the words that come out only make you grip him tighter.

"He has to change the magazine soon. You stay right here, ok? I'm going in."

"No, don't," your fingers curl around his clothes and try to keep him on top of you. "Don't go. I'm afraid."

I'll get you a dog.

A day of silence.

I'll buy you some good whiskey. I promise…

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, more softly now. "I promise."

Then he rips himself off you. Your body misses his heat like the desert sand must miss the sun, and you realize you've ruined everything as you finally get to watch him in his element. He's agile and beautiful as he reaches for his gun, takes it out, and prepares it in a few seconds to fire death upon your faceless enemy. You've ruined everything because if Simon goes in, he might get killed – he's a human, not a shield, he's not even a weapon – and all the things you never said will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Don't leave me," you want to reach for him, but don't dare disobey his orders. It should send you laughing: that you're finally doing precisely as he says. You finally trust your life with him, just before he leaves you, leaves you, leaves you.

"Simon–"

"Sweetheart. I never left you."

He looks straight into your eyes. You gulp the tears now.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, and someone is screaming; everythings a buzz, cars whir by as you tell him all the things you meant to say weeks ago. "I never wanted you to go. I always liked you. I– I think I love–"

"Shh. Don't you do this to me now."

The words are so soft you have to struggle to hear what he's saying under his breath. It's like he's talking to himself, and you realize you're an asshole, saying things like that to him when he's trying to concentrate on his mission and his job. But you just can't help yourself sometimes. No one in your life compares to him. No one has caused such a ruckus, such turmoil, such devastation and such love.

"Do what?" you whimper there, motionless on the ground as he gives you a last, painful look before his stare fixes on the piece of glass still unshattered, the dim, transient mirror of a store window he uses to locate movement in one of the buildings.

Then he takes a peek over the car, and you hold your breath – he's the bait now, and ducks his head immediately as two more shots are fired. You don't even have the strength to scream; your whole body simply shudders from the echoing sound of pure fear – how can he play tag with death like that?

And then he leaves.

He rounds the car and darts for the building and the sniper; he disappears from your vision so quickly you wonder if these past weeks have been but a dream.

A hit and run.

"Do what…" you repeat on the ground and curl into yourself even though he said you shouldn't move. You figure it's not that big of a crime to go into a fetal position when you don't know if he's ever coming back to scold you for breaking the rules.

You want to close your ears from the sounds that follow – you fear you'll jinx something if you listen too closely to what happens in that building. You try to concentrate on your breaths, slowly bringing you back to your body. You haven't even noticed that there's blood running down your arm.

It's funny how you only notice the pain after seeing the flowing crimson that makes small rivers around your fingers. You don't want to look at your burning shoulder because the shock is already here.

The searing pulse gets worse as you hear another shot, then another shot. Those sounds pound inside your shoulder and send more fire down your arm. Minutes or hours pass and you think how strange it is that everything's completely still, how bizarre it is that there are no sirens, no cars, no screaming. They've finally closed off the roads.

You only start to cry when you see that he's alive.

You try to rise from the ground to meet him – a bleeding princess, waking from her beauty sleep and realizing everything's just been a bad dream, greeting her knight in a black pair of fitted tactical pants and a pistol on his waist. Diamonds and darkness…

He rushes to you in what seems like desperation. You find it oddly beautiful that he's not only relieved to see his client is still alive and well, he's also relieved to know you're still there. That his princess has waited for him.

He falls on his knees and prevents you from rising. You're quickly wrapped in his arms, feeling so happy and safe that you don't even bother to tell him you're injured. It's just a scratch anyway. Even if your leg was blown off, you wouldn't complain about being picked up in his lap like this.

"Shh. I got you. I got you."

He's cradling you like a child while tears stream down your face, but there's no audible sounds of crying. You weep a whole river of tears and your nose is clogged, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, but there's no wailing, no screaming, no bawling. The first words that roll off your tongue are a child's moody complaint.

"You left me," you mope as he caresses your head.

"Only for a little while."

"You came back."

"I said I would."

More tears flow, and this time you sniffle and sob. He rocks you gently back and forth as you cry in his embrace. Simon would make a good father.

"Is he…?" You whisper, then look up at him. He just nods and gives you a quick scan, drawing a sharp breath when he notices the wound on your arm.

You're placed back on the ground as he inspects your shoulder and tells you the bullet managed to scrape some skin but has mostly just ruined your jacket. You're almost sorry that the wound is not as severe as it feels. You thought the burning sensation meant shattered bones and scarred flesh, but the scratch is no deeper than if you had accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife.

"No, I don't want… No hospital," you beg as he offers to take you to ER. You're not spending the rest of the day in a frigid treatment room where tired medical personnel only clean the wound and put a big plaster on it.

"Just take me home," you plead like you're his daughter who doesn't want to go to school today. "Please?"

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

He makes a few phone calls, arranges things with the local police or something. You don't want to know anything about it. You don't want to know who got shot in that building and how.

It's not a taxi that drives you back this time. You don't know where he got a car and a driver, but the vehicle is big and black, and your head is in Simon's lap when you lie in the backseat. There's a panel between the driver's seat and the rear, so you don't even know who's driving, but you're only grateful for the privacy after the crazy morning followed by a murder attempt. You look up at Simon, who looks back at you for the first time while you're in a car together.

"Why did you become a soldier?" You ask, not knowing why you're whispering. He's holding your hand – a simple, wholesome thing to do, but his grip on you is solid and warm and feels equally as intimate as the times this man has been inside you.

"I wanted to help people."

"By killing them?"

"By saving those I can."

He keeps a hand on your cheek too. Simon has spoken softly ever since you were fired at, has been humane and caring and tender, and you realize… This man is naked before you; he's stripped bare from all pretenses.

And he's not darkness. He's not a skeleton or a dead man or even a soldier.

He's a beacon in the night.

"You did a good job," you squeeze his hand softly.

The last glass-like veil in his eyes shatters, but far more softly than those windows shot at with a rifle.

"I live to serve, Ma'am...–Miss."

"Don’t… Simon, please don’t call me a–"

He descends. He doesn't need that hand to lift your chin up to meet him in a kiss. It's not a hungry devouring this time, but a soft promise, a lover's seal. You feel the rest of the shock leave your body in his embrace. There's no more coldness, only a fragile burning.

"You never look me in the eyes," you whisper as a tear escapes from the corner of your eye. It's a silly thing to say when he looks at you with all the love in the world.

"Yes I do," he gives you a soft brush of a thumb across your cheek. His lips are right there, an inch away from yours. "How could you have missed that?"

He's right, as always. The dark love almost swallows the brown of his eyes as he looks at you, shining light on you as he has shined for days, for weeks now. How could you have missed that, indeed? You raise a hand to cup his cheek, not caring about the pain, not even mourning that your blood stains his chin. He doesn't seem to mind at all, so why would you?

When you arrive at your house, he drives away the loneliness, sorrow, everything a rich girl can fear by carrying you in his arms, stepping over the threshold with you like you two are married now.

He peels your jacket off with affection and tenderness, tends to your wound and wipes away the blood that has caked dry all over your arm. The gash has bled a lot for such a small wound, and you purse your lips from how accurately it reflects your feelings for him.

He ties the wound, checks at least two times he's not tying it too tight. His care breaks your heart, because you don't know whether he will leave you after this. There's nothing that keeps him here anymore – there's no way you can keep Simon Riley to yourself. So you abandon him first for the second time, ascend the stairs to your lonely domain while he cleans up the small mess in the bathroom.

It's a small miracle that he follows you. He opens the door to your room without knocking – not because he's entitled to your privacy, but because there are no more barriers between you two. You're gathered in a stout embrace for the second time this afternoon, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him closer.

"You'll leave me soon," you speak to the wall before you, to the man behind you, holding you so gently against his chest. "I'll miss you."

"Love," he murmurs behind you, you feel the words against your back as a warm rumble. "I'll come back. If you want me, I'll come back to you."

"You will…?"

"I promise."

You have no more tears to cry, so you settle for examining the stab inside your heart, the wound that will bleed you dry if no one ties it tightly enough.

"I don't believe you."

"It's not a matter of whether you believe me."

He turns you around and lets you bathe in his warmth again, the same golden light that came through the window when he placed his mouth on you in the kitchen. It's almost frightening to know that there's nothing that can keep him from you. Nothing, except you. The only thing that has stood between you was only and ever pride.

"Simon," you breathe, a soft attempt to introduce him to mercy. "It's not a matter of what we deserve."

He blinks a few times, the chest against your side collapses a little. It's a hard reset. The corner of his mouth tugs, a beautiful betrayal of his surrender, a sign of being hit by a boulder – your boulder, finally bringing the rest of those walls down.

"You think so...?"

"Yes. I think so."

He brushes his knuckles across your sternum – a familiar motion that always manages to lift your heart. You used to think it was foreplay when it was in truth, an attempt to touch the organ said to be the house of love.

You think about the times his harsh breaths have hit you just before he cums, the urgent praise he's peppered you with merely seconds before you've cried from pleasure. Can't get enough of you pet, you’re fucking perfect, 'm gonna make you cum, sing for me, just like that...

You always thought it was a catalogue of shallow lust when it was an offering of naked devotion.

He was as vulnerable as you when you drifted through space together, when you drowned in his stunning midnight sea. He was catching fire and burning too, again and again until you were both satisfied and sweaty. He always held you close after, panted desperate love on your skin, planted kisses on your collarbones and neck before resting his head on your heart. Settling there, over your pulse, like he had finally found his way home…

The hand glides between your breasts and molds itself over your waist. It fits there like a second skin. You're relatively sure his hands were made for holding you.

"You asked what makes me happy," he says, completely naked and bare. The heavy love surrounds you with warm safety; your breath flows freely as you await his confession, the last secret revealed. "I think you know, love."

You know. It has finally dawned on you. What you didn't know was that tears of hope could feel like fire too. You've never been more eager to burn.

"Now keep those pretty eyes on me."

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

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notjustjavierpena · 11 months ago

Text

Te Quiero, a Husband!Javier Valentine’s Special

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This is for all my readers who have wanted to get an insight into Hubby and Wife’s dynamic, backstory and family life. I hope you enjoy it because I put my heart into this mess of a fic. Thank you @strang3lov3 for always inspiring me, thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always being a great beta-reader and here’s to @morallyinept who told me to tag her in any V-Day fic I post!l

Summary: Your husband has made big plans for Valentine's Day, beginning with breakfast in bed, but not everything goes as smoothly as expected, and suddenly you are faced with a big surprise.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, hubby!Javier, tooth-rotting domestic bliss, breastfeeding, playful banter, Chucho makes an appearance!!, siblings being siblings, Javi loving you and his kids, negative feelings about your mom-body, insecurity/comfort, spontaneous sex, pussy eating, (Spanish) dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, silly people in love, LOTS of kisses, lots of i love yous, mention of pregnancy and its symptoms

Word count: 11.7k (i am so sorry)

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53757202

Te Quiero

You open your eyes, reaching to rub them as the door to the bedroom opens by Javier using his shoulder and backing into it. There’s a crease on his forehead, between his furrowed brows, from looking extremely concentrated because he is carrying a wooden tray in his hands.

Most days you are a heavy sleeper. It is a result of having two children without an understanding of the concept of privacy when it comes to their parents. However, what truly wakes you up is the concerning rustle of utensils, plates, and mugs that your husband is balancing as he nears your shared bed.

Because Javier has his back to you, you close your eyes again and pretend to be asleep, not wanting to ruin the surprise. The tray is placed on the foot of the bed, and you fight a smile as you hear his footsteps coming around the end of the bed and closer to your side.

“Buenos días (good morning),” he whispers to you, and you roll onto your back and sit up. Javier stands by the side of the bed and waits.

Like in a movie, you blink awake slowly and lift your arms up over your head to stretch and yawn. Javier looks at you expectantly, and you catch a glimpse of why your son resembles him so much. They both have that boyish charm, the ability to look excited in the exact same way when waiting for a reaction from you.

“What’s all this?” You ask with a grin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, mi vida (my life),” he says and leans down to initiate a kiss.

“I have bad breath,” you point out.

“I have coffee,” he replies and kisses you anyway, “And today’s crossword puzzle.”

“I knew I married you for a reason,” you scoot to sit back against the headboard. Javier moves to get into bed with you, pulling the covers aside to get under them while you reach for the tray. You place it between the two of you as if you are about to have a picnic in bed.

“Did you check on Seb?” You ask as you marvel at the breakfast that Javier has put together for the two of you. There are heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes, an abundance of fresh fruit (including blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and banana), whipped cream, syrup, and coffee the way you both like it; black without anything more which Javier claims - to this day - is still one of the reasons that he fell for you.

“Still asleep for now but I suspect he’ll want one of us soon because he can hear us,” he tells you and reaches for his mug after handing you yours.

“I’ll enjoy this while it lasts then,” you take a sip of coffee, humming at the taste. Then, after putting down your mug, you pop a blueberry into your mouth.

“I think Lucas has a crush,” Javier tells you in a heartbeat later, smirking into his own cup of coffee.

You raise a brow in suspicion and surprise, looking at him without turning your head. You swallow down the blueberry and go for the pancakes next, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, he got shy when I asked him if they were making Valentine cards at school today. So I figured something was up because he usually doesn’t get quiet about all those things, you know, he’s touchy-feely,” Javier explains. As he talks, you pour syrup onto the stack of pancakes on your plate, “Inés nearly fell off her chair as she talked about what the school has planned. So yeah, whatever, he’ll tell us if he wants to.”

“Well, perhaps, and hopefully I might add, he’s inherited his dad’s charm as well as his good looks,” you tease, tapping your chin as if you are trying to remember something, “What was it Connie called you? Think it was serial romancer.”

“Hold on, you’ve never told me this,” he pretends to look offended, “When was this?”

“At the bar… just after I laid eyes on you,” you sprinkle fruit on top of your breakfast and wipe your hand on your tank top, “She told me not even to think about it but I knew that I was done for.”

“That damn woman,” he lets out a genuine laugh, “Better tell Steve to keep his lady under control.”

“Connie’s definitely the one keeping her man under control. Just like me,” you smirk, taking a bite that is way too big because your eyes can’t get enough. You groan at the taste. Everything is delicious, so you stuff your mouth and thus don’t have to reply to your husband’s outrage.

“Hey,” he says but you just grin at him, showing off each piece of pancake between your teeth. He sighs but there’s a hint of adoration in his eyes and you know he is fighting a smile, “Charming.”

When you finally swallow, he has dug into his own meal. You eat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s company as it is undisturbed by children.

“Don’t you have work today?” You ask eventually.

“I told them I was coming in later,” he replies, stabbing a strawberry with his fork, “They can survive without me until 10-ish. They’re gonna have to.”

You glance over at the clock on your nightstand. It is 8:16. There’s still time to enjoy each other’s company, maybe even have a cuddle or something more if you aren’t too full from breakfast.

Javier has opened the paper now but he hasn’t gotten out a pen yet which means that he isn’t starting the puzzle yet. You continue eating, and meanwhile, conversation flows naturally around subjects like work, kids, and sweet memories.

Suddenly, in the midst of reminiscing about your first trip out of town together, the light on the baby monitor comes on and Sebastian’s distraught, unhappy cries sound through the speaker. Javier puts down the paper and gets up before you.

“Do you think he’s hungry?” You ask, already moving to pull your top’s straps down to reveal your breasts.

“I know he is, that’s how he cries when he is,” he moves towards the door, already talking to his son throughout the house, “I’m coming, mijo (my son).”

“You’re so much better at the parent thing than me,” you try to remember which of your breasts you nursed from last night but you cannot, and therefore resort to feeling for the fuller one.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he leans down to kiss your lips before heading down the hall. You listen and wait, hearing Javier coo at his newborn and causing the cries to turn into hiccups instead.

After a moment, he returns with Sebastian in his arms. You hold out your own and he carefully hands him over to you. With a grin, you settle your baby into your arms, “Hi, sweetheart. Hi there, baby boy, ooo, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Look at that big mouth you’ve got — Honey, can you get me a cloth?”

You don’t look up but hear Javier leave the room again but only briefly. He comes back and gives you a muslin cloth which you throw over your shoulder, a thing that always makes Javier joke about you looking like - and kind of being - a bartender if that bartender only served milk.

Sebastian quickly latches on. He closes his eyes as he nurses, and you look longingly at your breakfast as he eats his own. You frown, “It’s getting cold. My coffee too.”

“Just sit back,” your husband reassures, shifting on the bed without making the tray tip over. He cuts a piece of pancake and stabs it with his fork, “Open up.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you smile happily but oblige.

“You’re literally keeping my kid alive, mi amor (my love). The least I can do is keep you alive as well, fuel you up,” he feeds you with his own mouth slightly agape. It makes you laugh.

“What?” Javier chuckles in his confusion.

“You look like a fish,” you tease as you giggle, letting Sebastian grab at your index finger, “I’ve never noticed if you look like this too when feeding the kids.”

“Cállate (shut up),” he laughs, consciously avoiding making himself look foolish again as he feeds you another bite. He purposely pokes your nose with the back of your fork to smear the tip with whipped cream, and you respond by looking shocked while laughing.

“That’s so unfair, I have an actual baby in my arms,” you argue, looking down at Sebastian to give him the run-down on his father’s behavior, “You know, Seb, it’s a good thing I love him so much. Look at this. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“I think you might have deserved that one, baby,” he reasons, “Don’t think I feel bad. Seb agrees.”

“You don’t know that,” you use the muslin cloth to wipe a little milk off of your child’s cheek and then wipe whipped cream off your nose too, “Now, please, feed your starving wife. I feel weaker by the second.”

“Always the dramatic,” he replies but follows through.

The teasing dies down after that. You eat whatever Javier gives you whilst you are breastfeeding and Javier eventually finds the crossword in the paper to do it during your quiet morning.

When Sebastian is done eating, cooing happily, you bend your knees and place him against your thighs. You hold both of his hands, doing a little dance with him whilst your husband reads clues aloud.

“Another word for radiance, four letters and beginning with g,” he says.

“Glow,” you reply instantly.

“You’re so much better at the crossword thing than me,” he winks and writes down the remaining letters.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you smile at him and he smiles back. The morning is perfect.

After a cozy morning, Javier has to leave for work. He kisses you and Sebastian goodbye and takes the breakfast tray down into the kitchen with him so you can sleep more if you want to.

You protest at first - it really hadn’t been your intention - but seeing your baby yawn and coo in your arms makes you sleepy, and you end up on your side with Sebastian on Javier’s side of the bed. He has his arms above his head, face turned towards you and you rest an arm over him whilst you snore lightly. The few hours of sleep you get like this without any interruption are fantastic, boosting your productivity for the rest of the early afternoon.

You dress casually and wrap Sebastian in a sling, so he can sleep against your chest while you clean up from breakfast, fill and start the dishwasher, and do a round of laundry before having to pick up Lucas and Inés from school.

However, when you start to get the car keys from their place in the hallway, you hear the door open and the familiar sound of children’s voices filling the house. You can hear the enthusiasm in their voices as they talk to who you assume is your husband but when you turn the corner, you see that it is, in fact, your father-in-law.

“Hello, mija (my daughter),” Chucho says and takes off his hat. He hangs it by all the coats and scarves, “Javier told me to pick up the kiddos.”

You look a little dumbstruck, having been taken completely by surprise but still, you walk over to give him a hug and receive a kiss on the cheek, “Did he say why?”

Chucho kisses Sebastian’s head too, who only coos quietly against your chest. From below, Inés is trying to get your attention. You run a hand over her hair without looking at her, trying to get her to tone down her enthusiasm as you search for answers. Chucho just smiles.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, sweetie,” he reasons with a gentle smile, “I think he has his reasons. All I know is that I’m not supposed to bring them back here before tomorrow afternoon after school.”

“Abuelo promised that we could get pizza for dinner,” Inés interrupts again. You smile down at her whilst trying to process having a whole twenty-four hours off from being parents.

“Ain’t you lucky,” you say with a grin.

Chucho beckons Lucas over who brings his school bag with him, “But first, I think these two have some things to show you. Lucas, c’mere.”

“We made presents!” Inés says and Lucas glares. He frowns at his little sister, placing his backpack by his feet and throwing daggers in her direction.

“Inés, you’re ruining the surprise,” he grumbles despite still digging into the bag. Inés seems unbothered about his irritation, simply joining him to stick her hands into the bag as well. Lucas continues, “Don’t tell Mom what it is.”

You and Chucho watch them, hiding a chuckle as Inés eventually still states that she wants to show her drawing first and Lucas starts groaning.

“Mom!” He says with exasperation.

“Ay, Inés, por favor (please),” you say, “Let Lucas share his surprise. It’ll be your turn soon.”

“Mine is for Papá,” she states proudly.

“She’s just excited, hijito (little son),” you hear your father-in-law say. He puts a calloused hand on Lucas’ shoulder, whispering quietly, “Show your mom your present. Inés’ll be too busy talking to notice.”

It is true. Inés gets a hold of her drawing and spends her time admiring her work, and Chucho is sweet enough to indulge her to give you and your son a moment alone.

In his very own gentle nature, Lucas finds the card that he has made for you just next to where Chucho had told him to store Inés’ drawing as well. He blushes as he hands it to you, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom.”

You inspect it before opening it; it is a blank card that Lucas has decorated with colorful stickers and glitter, having drawn shapes and patterns along the sides and a big heart in the middle where it says To Mom in his wonky handwriting.

You open it to reveal a little letter addressed to you. It is framed by another border of glitter:

Dear Mom,

Happy Valentine’s Day! I love you a million billion times around the Earth. You take care of me and Inés and Sebastian. And you always make me happy when you give me a hug.

Love, Lucas

You find yourself speechless for a moment and out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar expectant face that Javier sported earlier too. It takes your breath away.

Carefully, you crouch down with Sebastian still in his sling. It gives you the opportunity to embrace Lucas from the side, hugging him close and kissing his hair repeatedly. You whisper endearments to him, tell him you love him and he gets shy as he reciprocates, using the time to caress Sebastian’s fine hair on top of his head.

“I love you so much, my Valentine boy,” you say with a soft voice as you pull away, stretching again and running your hand through his dark hair repeatedly. You can feel a few more tears escape your eyes, your heart pinching in your chest from how much love you feel. Could the day become more perfect? You doubt it.

“Dad asked me about it at breakfast but I was scared of him telling you so it wouldn’t be a surprise because he always does. But then Inés did it anyway…” he grumbles and looks up to see your tears. His eyes widen, “Mom, are you crying?”

“It’s just happy tears, mijo (my son),” you reassure, “Sometimes having babies makes you cry a little more often.”

Lucas seems a little confused by this. You tell him that he’ll understand when he gets older. After all, he only has so many years until hormones will start to rage through his own body.

Suddenly, the front door opens and closes in the next moment, and Inés giggles loudly as she recognizes the sound of her father’s footsteps. When he enters the kitchen doorway - his steps are way bigger even if Inés is running - he crouches down and opens his arms, “There she is! Mi diablilla (my little devil), how are you?”

Inés throws her arms around her father’s neck, drawing still clutched in her grip to the point where the paper crinkles. You feel like it was a waste of time to try and wipe away your happy tears because the sight makes them well up in your eyes once more.

“I made you a drawing. Abuelo told me I could give it to you before we go to his house. Did you know we are having pizza tonight? I can have a whole pizza to myself and I want the pizza to have pepperoni,” Inés announces, squealing with delight as Javier wraps his arms around her before stretching to his full height again and picking her up with a dad-groan. He places her on his hip, bumping his nose into her cheek.

“Christ, you get bigger by the second. Pizza? I don’t remember you liking pizza,” Javier teases, walking across the room to the rest of his family. He smiles at his son, reaching out to rub his shoulder with his free hand and winking at him before talking further with babbling Inés, “Hold on, I thought you liked broccoli and spinach the most. Do you really want pepperoni? I think you should get broccoli on your pizza.”

Inés loves it when her father teases her. He’ll act dumb and silly on purpose - her favorite thing a year ago had been whenever he made himself purposely bad at puzzles, and he’d try to piece two corners together - much to his daughter’s delight.

“Nooo, ew!” She says with a grin, clinging onto him.

“She only wants it because I want it,” Lucas says matter-of-factly, still a little frustrated with his little sister. He bounces back and forth on his heels.

“Then you can have her leftovers, mijo (my son), she never eats a whole pizza anyway” Javier reasons and mouths the last bit of the sentence, moving the hand on his son’s shoulder to put it on the back of his neck. He gently tugs him into his side. Eventually, your son gives in and hugs him around his middle.

“Hi Dad,” he says softly, hugging him tightly even if it’s briefly.

“Hola,” he smiles.

“We should get going,” Chucho interrupts gently and reaches for his hat again, “We’ve got a lot of things planned this afternoon. The animals won’t take care of themselves.”

“My drawing!” Inés yells, squirming in her father’s arms from eagerness and rushing, so much that she nearly smacks the picture into his face. She holds it too close to his eyes so that he has to take it and hold it for her.

You find yourself tiptoeing up behind them to look at the picture yourself, trying not to distract anyone from what they’re doing.

It’s a picture of your house. There’s a fire in the chimney but its smoke blows the opposite way of the way that a cloud is raining. She has just started drawing butterflies but they’re as big as the trees in the garden and with multicolored wings.

In the bottom right corner, she has written I love Daddy but replaced the word love with a heart instead. Underneath is her signature. The S in her name is turning the wrong way but it’s her name nevertheless.

“This is so good,” Javier says enthusiastically, “Tell me about it. What is it?”

“It’s my house! I drew a lot of butterflies in the garden,” she explains proudly. In the background, you notice that Chucho is carrying bags, which you had no idea were packed, out of the front door.

“I can see that. You really know how to color. The green one is my favorite,” Javier continues, “Do you want me to put it on the fridge for when you come home tomorrow?”

Inés nods eagerly. She beams and then turns serious, “Yes! If— if you want to take the rabbit one down that’s okay.”

“Oh, I am gonna miss you, mi vida (my life),” Javier pecks her cheek and she giggles, “So much.”

“It’s only till tomorrow,” you point out with a giggle.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss these rascals,” Javier puts Inés down on the floor again, still holding her drawing and making sure not to crumple it. He ruffles Lucas’ hair, “You too, hijo (son).”

“I love you, Dad,” he says with a shy smile.

“I love you too, Daddy!” Inés joins in.

You mimic a wave with Sebastian’s little hand, “I love you too, Papá.”

“Now, now. As much as I love you, say bye to Mom,” he protests, nodding towards his infant son, “Want me to take him?”

“Yes, please,” you say and carefully unwrap Sebastian from his sling. It’s not a difficult transfer, something you have done a million times in the past many years. Sebastian only complains a little, Javier tuts and bounces him and the paper in his hand flaps.

You hug both of your kids at the same time, kissing them repeatedly on their heads, “I love you very much, my babies. I hope you have a fun time.”

“That’s the car packed,” Chucho announces as he comes back inside, “Come on, kids.”

“Right, I’ll put Seb in his car seat,” Javier replies as Inés and Lucas run to their grandfather’s car. Chucho goes with them to put on their seatbelts.

“Sebastian is going too?” You tense up. This hasn’t even crossed your mind.

“It’s just supposed to be us tonight,” Javier says, having put Inés’ drawing on the kitchen counter and already moving towards the front door where the car seat is on top of a cabinet. You hear shuffling around as your husband clicks the safety belt on, and you instinctively follow.

“We haven’t done that since the summer,” you argue.

“All the more reason to do it again if it’s been that long,” he responds with a little smile.

“Well, does he have enough milk?” You ask, moving your weight from side to side.

“More than enough, I packed extra.”

“O-okay.”

Javier leaves the car seat on the floor, steps close to you and cups your face, “He’ll be fine. Just like Inés and Lucas have been in the past. Relax, mi amor, no pasa nada (my love, it’s okay).”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath and nod, holding onto one of Javier’s wrists for a moment as you steady yourself. He looks like someone ready to catch you, “Está todo bien (it’s okay).”

“Now, let’s say goodbye so I can have you to myself, vale?” He smirks, leaning in to kiss you just barely.

“You have to tell me what you have planned tonight too,” you say and he nods.

“Claro (of course).”

It takes five minutes to get Sebastian in the car, secure him properly, and wave goodbye to your kids from the driveway. When you cannot see the car anymore, you walk inside and the house gets incredibly quiet after you close the door. The both of you let out a sigh.

“What now?” You look at Javier questioningly. After all, he is the one who has planned the next 24 hours.

“Honestly? I just want to take a nap,” he finds your hips and steers you closer, linking his arms around your waist. You reach up to rest your palms on his chest, scratching slightly against his shirt. He chuckles, “Do you want to take a nap with me?”

“Just a nap?” You raise a brow.

“Yes, just a nap,” he confirms with a boyish twinkle in his eyes.

“I’d kill for a nap but only if you tell me what’s happening later. I don’t like surprises,” you remind him when he already starts dragging you by your hand toward the stairs.

Javier waits until the both of you have ascended the stairs before telling you. You don’t say it but there’s a bit of relief following as you thought that he had forgotten what today was, especially because you usually at least get a present from him. He smiles brightly as he speaks, seeming proud that he has managed to keep it a secret from you, “Well, first you are going to wear something nice, a dress, and get all gorgeous for me.”

He continues as you reach the bedroom, toeing off his shoes, “Then at eight, I’m taking you out to dinner at that new place downtown where the portions are fucking tiny and ridiculous.”

“Wait, the gourmet restaurant?” You have let go of his hand to undo the baby wrap, folding it afterward and placing it on your shared dresser, “They’ve been fully booked for months.”

“Well yeah, and guess whose name is on one of the bookings,” he smirks, crawling onto the bed and waiting for you to follow.

“You spoil me,” you lay down on your respective sides and turn to face each other. You rest both hands underneath your cheek, grinning at the way that Javier looks so mischievous but suddenly, something in his eyes darkens.

“What?” You ask.

He reaches out for your waist, “And then when we get home, when you are all giggly from champagne, I am putting a baby in you.”

Your heart skips a beat. All blood in your body goes south. Without thinking, you sling a leg over his body and move closer, “Is that so?”

“Indeed, mi vida (my life),” the hand on your waist goes to rest on top of your thigh. He rubs it once and then twice but doesn’t do anything further, “But not now. Have a nap, wake up, and get pretty for me. You won’t get dick before tonight, lo siento (I’m sorry).”

“Unfair,” you mumble with already closed eyes.

It turns out to be just a nap. You wake a good while longer before Javier, knowing that you need more time than he does to get ready if you want to feel good about going to a fancy restaurant.

Besides you, your husband continues sleeping soundly. He doesn’t even sense it when the mattress shifts, bed springs creaking a little, as you leave the bed, and you make a mental note to ask him about his day to figure out what on Earth has made him this tired.

You have a checklist in your head with steps for getting ready to go out. It changes with the details of the event, so you pull out the one that includes what you like to do to look pretty for your husband. However, all the lists always start with a shower.

The spray is hot and soothing against your skin. You wash your hair and leave in your conditioner while you scrub your body, giving it extra time to work as you top your normal shower routine by shaving your legs. After struggling with balancing your leg against the wall for what has seemed like forever, the last five minutes of your shower are just spent standing underneath the shower head to feel the water cascading down your clean, smooth, and soft skin.

It takes you twenty-five minutes more to put on lotion, brush your teeth, blow dry your hair, and choose an outfit. When you leave the bathroom to put on your dress, Javier kisses you in the doorway before popping into the shower himself.

Now the hard part, you think to yourself. The dress you have chosen is from your anniversary a few years ago, consisting of tight red fabric. A part of you knows that it’s a bad idea as soon as you take it off its hanger and start putting it on, stepping into it, and pulling it up over your hips.

When it hugs your body in a way that feels unfamiliar to you, you step towards the full-body mirror on the bedroom wall with the intention of seeing if it needs any adjustments around your chest and waist. What greets you is not something that you wish to continue looking at but staring into the mirror, you find yourself unable to look away.

A reflection of your post-baby body stares back. You aren’t anymore who you were when you had Lucas, and thus getting back into your usual shape after giving birth to Sebastian has not become a reality despite the pressure from people around you being there.

There’s not much to say about it except your hips are wider and your stomach protrudes more than it did before. Usually, you haven’t worn a dress before getting down to your pre-pregnancy weight but Javier had made it sound so easy and now, it is so difficult; insecurities whisper in your ear as you try to flatten the fabric in hopes of looking prettier.

However, the scrutiny you put yourself under only intensifies and self-doubt becomes the uninvited guest that insecurity brings to the party. Should you ditch the idea of a dress altogether? You think yes and start to undress again because it’s way too tight around your middle and torso.

When Javier comes back into the bedroom, his hair is still damp and he has put on black underwear. You cannot help feeling the tiniest bit bitter at how well his extra pounds suit him and simply leaves him with a so-called dad-bod. He finds you stepping out of the dress as it has pooled around your feet. You look on the verge of tears at this point, knowing that you are not the woman that he chose to marry ten years ago.

“¿Que pasó (What happened)?” He is just about to head for the dresser when he stops in his tracks and turns on his heel to face you, noticing immediately the way your shoulders slump when you feel defeated.

You smile at him in the mirror, slightly unsure, when he catches your eyes, and you shift a little on the spot when he goes to stand right behind you.

“What?” You ask.

“What’s wrong?” He inquires once again.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and Javier raises a brow.

“Is this a trick question?” He continues with a smile, “Baby, you are pretty, so pretty. You look incredible. As in, it is actually illegal or should be.”

Your attempt at a smile falters and Javier seems to realize that he has overdone it. You don’t believe him when he goes too head-on with the compliments.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you say in frustration and reach up to rub your face, finally turning around to avoid the mirror completely, “My boobs are too big, my thighs and waist too. Nothing looks good on me, especially not a dress.”

“Ay, slow down,” he looks down at your half-naked body and smirks a little. It mostly just makes you want to cover up again, “First of all, your boobs are great.”

You try to laugh but it just sounds painful. Then he finds your eyes again, watches the pout on your face, and tuts when a tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek.

“I’m not beautiful anymore,” you say as if it’s a fact, “I look so different from when you met me.”.

He wipes the tear away with his thumb, saying your name gently and you find your eyes prickling with more frustrated tears.

He lets out a soft aww, baby, and steps closer to pull you into his arms, holding you as he lets you whimper quietly and then cry softly into his shoulder. His hands rub up and down your back. He is so warm.

“How about I choose something?” He suggests after a long silence filled with a bunch of silent tears. He pulls back to look you in the face, “You know I have a favorite, and then it won’t be as much pressure if you worry that I won’t like it. Even if that’s bullshit.”

“O-okay,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Okay, baby,” he smiles genuinely and pecks your hair.

He goes to browse through your clothes and you stay by the mirror, still not turning around to look at yourself but instead looking at your feet like a child feeling guilty. It takes a moment for him to find the dress that he refers to as his favorite but when he returns to you, you look up again and are surprised by the one he apparently likes more than all the others.

It’s a navy blue satin dress that you bought last year when you were pregnant with Sebastian, and it quickly became your favorite dress for the summer because it had to be tied just below your breasts and therefore didn’t sit tight around your belly. It has butterfly sleeves and a flowy skirt that is slightly longer in the back and stops right at your knees in the front. It’s a wrap-around too, which means that it shows enough cleavage to make you feel sexy for him and to top it off, holds your breasts in place so you can avoid the annoyance of a bra.

You don’t know why it didn’t come to mind but you suspect that given how much you wore it last summer, it didn’t feel special enough. However, the fact that Javier likes it so much seems to transform it into the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen.

Javier pulls the dress off its hanger and walks around you. He puts it on you like a coat and then stands in front of you to tie a knot on the front, undoing it and redoing it when he isn’t satisfied with his creation the first time. None of you say anything. None of you feel the need to.

His hands smooth out the fabric in a careful manner, and you suddenly find that Javier making you feel loved is so interchangeable with you feeling beautiful that you don’t have a clue why you had been in tears five minutes earlier.

He helps you into your heels too, lifting your feet one at a time by holding your ankle. The action is so gentle that you forget to breathe, even more so when he stretches to his full height once more and cups your face.

“Listen to me,” he says and there’s a certain sternness in his voice. Despite this, he doesn’t sound mean or angry, “I don’t ever want you saying these things about yourself again, okay?”

You nod your head as much as you are able to. A whimper wants to escape your lips but you hold it back.

“You are my wife, mi vida (my life),” he begins, letting his hands smooth over your shoulders and then down your arms until he can hold both of your hands, “I don’t give a shit about what you used to look like, it’s past, it’s not important. Eres tan hermosa (you are so beautiful). Look at the love you pour into our family. You’re the best Momma in the world, patient and kind, and I am in awe of you every day to the point where I can’t stop falling for you in new ways. You make me happy, make it worthwhile to power through at work so I can come home to you and the kids.”

“And you have never looked sexier,” he continues, eyes going down your body to see for himself that he is undoubtedly right. He grabs your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs, “Your hips, your thighs… You’ve carried my children, for fuck’s sake. Without you, I’m nothing.”

“I mean look at you…” He trails off for a moment, looking down at where his hand is resting on your hip. You cannot help thinking about how warm his strong hand is, radiating comfort throughout your body. He looks lost in his thoughts and licks his lips without thinking.

“Javi,” you say quietly.

“Do you understand?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say almost nervously.

But then suddenly, his arms are around your waist and he is pulling you in for a kiss that makes you forget about the dinner reservation, the insecurities, and the time management altogether. You sling your arms around his neck and give in to his lips on yours, following him wherever he goes as he tugs you away from the mirror and towards the bed.

Before he instructs you to lie down, his hands find the knot on the front of your dress. He undoes it slowly, letting the dress fall open like a satin robe and groaning at the sight of your lack of a bra. He lets his hands go inside the dress, skimming his palms around your waist to pull you close and your head swims from the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Hermosa (beautiful),” he says, hands going up and cupping the underside of your breasts, You smile shyly, looking down to where he is touching you. Warmth has started to burn low in your belly just like before you fell asleep.

With newfound bravery, you reach up to peel the dress off of your shoulders. It falls down to your elbows, exposing your chest and tickling your back, until you let it slip off onto the ground in a pool around your feet. Javier looks like he might need someone to tell him to breathe.

He wraps one arm around your body and reaches behind your thigh with the other to pull your leg up slightly. Allowing him to slip you off your feet, he moves you onto the bed in a swift motion.

You kick off your heels as soon as you can, crawling back towards the headboard and Javier follows you without having to get undressed. After all, he never got any further because he saw you. You feel like you want to giggle with glee at the fact that you still have this effect on him years later.

Instinctively, you bend your legs and plant your feet flat on the mattress and without hesitation, Javier crawls between them to look down at you and marvel at the sight. He looks like a child on Christmas Day, hands reaching out to run up your shins, over your knees, and to grope at your thighs.

“Qué fuerte (unbelievable), are you really my wife?” He muses while rubbing your thighs absentmindedly. You reach for his hands and tug him down to you.

“Sí, mi amor (yes, my love),” you sound drunk on him already, using his own words against him. He is so close to you as he lies on top of you, crushing you so heavenly with his weight.

He kisses you longingly and gently scoops you into his strong arms whilst he does it, holding you flush against himself so you can feel your nipples harden against his chest. When you inhale through your nose to keep the kiss going, his scent fills your nostrils and God, he smells like soap and home.

It takes a minute to move on. You can see how he wants to descend on your body but each time he tries, you want another kiss and he happily indulges you. Like a couple of teenagers, you only stop when both of you have slightly swollen lips and he has a hard-on poking into your thigh.

“Let’s get these off,” Javier crawls back on the bed with elevated breath, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down your thighs and you help by lifting your ass off the mattress for a moment. His eyes are glued to your soft, fresh-out-of-the-shower and glowing skin, kissing your ankle as he slips your underwear off your feet and throws it to the side.

“You are so fucking hot,” he sounds in awe, “Look at you.”

You cannot stop grinning. Even when he lowers himself down on the bed again and gets comfortable between your thighs.

When he settles, he takes the sight of you in. You can feel your heartbeat in your untouched clit, and it only gets more powerful when Javier looks between your legs as if he is starved. He noses along your knee and then bites your inner thigh, growling under his breath. He moves inwards towards your quivering cunt then finds your eyes just before he dives in, indulges, “Do you know how fucking wet you are for me?”

You do know. It has steadily gotten to the point where you know that when you are going out later, you need to wear a new pair of underwear since the white cotton has probably become see-through and shiny.

And then his mouth is on you and you throw your head back, nearly breaking your neck and letting out a hah-sound as you stare up at the ceiling.

“You’re so good at that,” you moan, letting your eyes fall shut so nothing can distract you from the way his velvety tongue feels between your legs. It is intense to focus on nothing but the way he can guide it over your clit until your toes start to curl, “Oh my God, baby!”

When he kisses your clit and then sucks on it afterward, you lose your mind. Both of your hands come down to rest on the top of his head and when you feel the first flutters of pleasure that tell you that you are getting closer, you cannot keep your hips still. You move underneath his mouth, pushing your pelvis upward occasionally to let him devour you even further.

He eats you until you are seeping arousal into the bedsheets, pussy aching to be filled and stretched in only the way that his cock can. You twitch, clit pulsing, when his mouth leaves you briefly but you know what is to come - other than you, obviously - so you don’t complain. He does it to concentrate on slipping two fingers inside of you, pressing them upwards toward your g-spot before curling them over and over again.

His mouth finds your clit again and he is beyond his usual enthusiasm. The hands on his head stop simply resting there. Instead, you thread your fingers through his hair to channel the way you want to scream into something else because oh, mmhm, oh… oh!

You come on his tongue, shaking like a leaf and with a high-pitched moan that bounces off the walls. Your whole lower body spasms, walls clamping down on Javier’s fingers which still press towards your front wall and make you delirious with pleasure.

“Fuck!” You cry, “Fuckfuckfuck!”

Javier has pushed himself to his knees to watch you. He replaces his tongue on your clit with his thumb, teasing out the very last twitches of your high by going in circles until you need to yank his wrist away from the overstimulation.

After a moment, you begin to giggle. Your hand skims over your forehead, holding it there afterward in an almost soothing manner. Javier is looking at you, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and is now trying to decipher whether he can move on to something more or if you need a break.

At no point do either of you think about checking the time.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” you say when you finally get your breath under control. You still feel giggly but instead, it comes out as a soft chuckle as you speak.

“You make it sound like I don’t do this often,” he crawls closer to you again, and you tell him to come here as he enters your arms. He kisses your neck a few times and then looks up at you, “I go down there quite a lot and often, you know.”

“Yes, yes, like a good boy, I know,” you tease him, reaching for his chin to pull him into a soft and lazy kiss. He tastes like you, and you lose yourselves in each other once more until Javier pulls off his briefs with one hand. He discards them without leaving you for too long, throwing them to whatever spot he had aimed your own underwear at.

“Need to have you close,” you voice what you long for, having grown needy from seeing him undress completely. The sight of his beautiful cock is enough to get you fired up again, clenching around nothing, “Please.”

You spread your legs even further and Javier lies between them, reaching down to ease his cock inside of you. He enters you slowly and with a shaky breath, the both of you staring down to watch as he disappears inside of your cunt.

You hold onto his arms, breathing hard and trying to relax as it stings slightly due to his generous girth. The second he bottoms out, you whine feebly as if you have been holding it back and it’s now safe to do so.

“Lo sé (I know),” he soothes.

“You feel so good,” you babble, “I love you.”

“Y yo a ti (I love you too),” he bumps your noses together, looking into your eyes as he moves once and then twice. Your mouth falls open in a gasp and he uses the opportunity to lick into your mouth and kiss you deeply.

You slide your hands underneath his arms to hug him close, letting them go up along his broad back and each ripple of muscle that flexes as he fucks you until you can clutch onto his shoulders. You rock with him, relishing in the smooth motion of his hips moving back and forth to stretch your cunt open again and again.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders until your knuckles start to ache. No matter how many times he is with you like this, it will never be enough. It will never be enough because you need him to be this close and connected to you every goddamn day. It’s like a hardcore drug that clouds your brain, like the oxygen that you breathe in daily, like the food and drink necessary to survive.

Without interrupting him, you move to dig your heels into the back of his legs. With each stroke of his cock inside of you, each roll of his gorgeous hips and pelvis, you can feel the muscles of his calves tightening and relaxing. Your limbs tangling around him allows you to angle him how you want it most, so you mumble something and dig your heels in further.

Suddenly, his pelvic bone crashes against your clit, and it continues doing so until you know that this is how you are going to come a second time.

“Oh, just like that,” you let your head fall back into the mattress, “You’re gonna make me— Javi! You’re gonna make me come, baby.”

“Is this pussy mine? Esta cosita linda (This pretty little thing)?” He asks with a growl, sounding so sexy that you know he is determined to make your orgasm approach even faster because his thrusts speed up.

“Para toda la vida (for life),” you say breathlessly, panting as you near your crescendo. It only takes a few more strokes against your clit and then you are done for, coming a second time with a sharp intake of breath and then a cry that could disturb the neighbors from whatever they are doing.

He kisses each whimper from your mouth and slows down a little to give you space for you to return to him. However, you know that this isn’t the end. His stamina today is mind-boggling but you don’t complain, instead take what he can give you even if it leaves you sore until the next day.

“You okay?” He asks when you have calmed down.

You let your arms and legs fall down to your sides with a blissful expression on your face. You nod, reaching up to rub your eyes as you feel deeply sated, “Just give me a moment.”

“Think you can take anymore?” He pulls out of you to get back onto his knees. You make a noise. On his shoulders, you spot the little crescent marks that your nails have left.

“We’re making babies, right?” You note.

“Claro (of course),” he snorts.

“Then you better screw me silly, Mr. Peña,” you shift slightly on the bed to present your spent cunt for him once more but more obscenely this time by reaching down and spreading your lips open. He groans at the sight, especially when you visibly clench around nothing and silently promise him what’s to come.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Peña,” he almost sounds in pain from the desperation to get back inside of you.

The sweet tenderness and romance are put on hold for something dirtier to take their place, Javier moving forward until the front of his thighs touches the back of yours. He pushes inside of you again with a gasp of your name and places his hands on your hips, holding on tightly so he can pound you into the mattress.

The sound of his skin slamming against yours fills the room along with your moans, and each thrust sends ripples of intense pleasure through your body now that you are so sensitive. You allow yourself the relief of crying out towards the ceiling because, for the next twenty-four hours, you are completely child-free so who cares?

Javier’s eyes burn with desire at your noises. He is so beautiful, mouth hanging slightly open as he pants and his shoulders looking even broader when he hovers above you. And his noises, he is louder than normal too, you realize, with no intention of quieting his moans down either.

A particular snap of his hips sends you reeling as he nudges your g-spot just right and makes you grip at the sheets. Javier is on you like a hawk and notices immediately the way that his cock has severed connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that? You like my cock?” He digs his thumbs into your hip bones, indulging himself by staring down at where his cock pistons in and out of you. His length is sticky with your arousal, “I can tell you like my cock, God, your come is all over me, baby.”

You bite your lower lip, furrow your brows, and nod repeatedly, “Yes… yesyesyes!”

“You’re on fire today, mi amor (my love), makes me wanna come inside of you like I’m meant to,” he spits filthy words as he goes harder, “Think you can give me one more? Make those gorgeous legs shake?”

The comment about your legs makes you bend them to your chest so you can link your arms under your knees. The position makes Javier swear under his breath, and when you squeeze around your calves, he becomes a tighter fit inside of you and a sob escapes you.

He is the one to look drunk now, fighting the urge to let his eyes roll back into his skull in case he misses anything you do while he drives into your pussy in this new position. He moves his hands to place them on the back of your thighs and contort your body slightly. He digs his fingers into the extra pounds there and then fucks you with your shared pleasure in mind.

The squelch of your cunt is obscene and you almost sound like you’re crying from how he pounds your g-spot. A third high, which started building slowly, approaches so quickly that you squeeze your eyes shut and nearly choke as you scream for him, “Yes, oh my God, yes! I’m—“

“That’s my girl,” he sounds close too, “Get it all over my cock, baby.”

The bliss you feel as you come a third time turns your demeanor from pathetic and whimpering into smiling and giggling instead. You look up at him with hazy eyes while you are grinning, moaning, and coming so hard that Javier cannot stop himself from laughing slightly even if it’s interrupted by his own moans.

“Fuck, you are gorgeous coming for me,” he praises with a shit-eating grin, gasping sharply at reaching his own peak a second later because he just cannot hold back any longer. He pulses inside of you, breeds you until you are filled to the brim, and you can feel some of it spilling out onto the bed sheets.

Exhausted is not the right word. Your whole body slumps when post-orgasmic bliss hits you and you groan as Javier topples down on top of you as well. You melt together and breathe hard, one big tangle of limbs turning you into an octopus.

“Definitely didn’t have time for that,” you say eventually.

“Stop being so hot then,” he jokes. He lifts his head to kiss you longingly and you allow yourself to lose yourself in it, again forgetting about the time that’s ticking by.

As Javier reluctantly tears himself away from you, he casually looks at the clock on the nightstand and gets up so quickly that he needs to find his balance. He seems to realize that you are not just fashionably late but actually really late, “Mierda (shit).”

You check the time too and swear as well. It is twenty minutes to eight, and it takes at least fifteen minutes to drive to the inner city. There’s no way that the two of you are going to make the reservation, and you will just have to hope that they are kind enough to hold onto your table the minutes you are going to be late.

It seems like you turn into the stars of your own romantic comedy, the only thing missing being the laughing track in the background because you move through the house so quickly that you almost forget to put on underwear after getting cleaned up in the bathroom. The rush doesn’t even give you time to ponder your shape in the mirror again.

By the time you actually leave the house, you are laughing at the ridiculousness of it all and looking disheveled. In fact, you have to stop Javier from getting into your car because his buttons are buttoned unevenly and his collar looks like he’s been out in a storm.

“Right, fuck, what’s the time?” Javier asks when he slams the car door on his side.

You look at the car radio’s clock, making a concerned noise, “Hmm… Ten to eight. If you speed a little?”

“I’m law enforcement,” he deadpans.

“You’re also late for a booking you have had for months,” you argue.

Javier pulls out of the driveway but despite it all, he still doesn’t speed with the mother of his children in the car.

However, he does use his badge in the window to get a parking spot close to the restaurant. He pulls it from the glove box and you raise an eyebrow at him, to which he simply tells you to shut up with a tiny glint in his eye.

Your heels click on the sidewalk as you speedwalk towards the restaurant’s main entrance. Javier holds the door open for you, and for a moment, you actually look like a couple who has it all together and is on a date.

Despite this, it seems that impromptu sex is apparently not good for new restaurant businesses, even if it starts out innocently with an intention of comforting one’s partner, because your table has already been given to someone else. You can see Javier’s fist tightening into a ball at his side as he is told this.

The man at the front desk looks unimpressed with your husband’s attempt to make him show you to a table anyway, and you even hear Javier saying that he cannot, in good conscience, let you starve.

You stand a little behind your husband who quietly fumes because nothing seems to work, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’re fully booked tonight and many nights ahead. It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he replies with gritted teeth.

“Honey,” you reach out to put a hand on his arm and he whirls around, only to look a lot more calm the second he finds your gaze, “It’s fine. Come on, we’ll find someplace else.”

“But you’re starving,” he says helplessly.

“Then let’s not keep this up. I know a place around the corner,” you smile at him, holding out your hand until he gives in and takes it, “Besides, they can keep their tiny portions to themselves.”

It may just be the last remains of what you did half an hour ago but Javier starts snickering while you guide him through the door and out into the evening air. He only manages to walk down the street with you for a few yards before he presses you against a brick wall and kisses you.

“No,” you scold him playfully and place your palms on his chest, “I don’t care if you’re Laredo’s local hero. You couldn’t get a table so we’re not wasting time by making out in public. Like you said, I am starving.”

“Descarada (cheeky devil),” he pecks your lips but lets go of you, “Fine, lead the way.”

The two of you start walking. The place you have in mind is only a short walk away and it’s a nice night, so you don’t mind. Especially not when you can walk hand-in-hand with Javier the whole way and not have to say a thing.

You end up in front of a food truck that sells tacos. It is the perfect spot for something low-key which makes your whole night seem even funnier now that you are so overdressed. The two of you snicker together as you wait in line, mostly resembling a couple who have escaped a tedious wedding to get junk food.

“My treat,” he says.

“You better. It’s your fault we’re here,” you tease.

“I think we have different versions of what happened back home,” he winks, “But fine, order whatever you want. Like always.”

You order your food, telling the owner of the food truck to go heavy on the pico de gallo and Javier follows behind with his own order. After paying, you take a step back to let other people buy their food.

“This is where we had our first date,” he notices, an arm around your waist as you wait for your food. He tightens his grip around you as he speaks, “Where I knew I wanted to marry you, have kids with you.”

“This is not where we had our first date,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, looking at him long enough for him to give you a kiss.

“Yes it was,” he replies.

“No, you were drunk and we were heading home from the bar a few blocks from here,” you remind him, “We’d only just met. Connie told me not to follow you.”

“Fuckin’ Connie,” he shakes his head, “No, that was definitely our first date. I don’t care what you say. I just don’t wanna think about the disaster that followed even if you want to call that the first date.”

“You were late and we missed our reservation,” you reminisce, “Just like today.”

“Which is why I am not calling it the first,” he lets go of you as the woman in the truck places your orders on the counter. He hands you yours and then takes his own, “We had food, talked for hours and you were wearing that dress with the bows.”

“No more talk about dresses,” you groan as you walk to find a spot, “You’re making me depressed.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs with a grin, “I knew then.”

“Well, I knew when Connie told me you were forbidden fruit,” you smile back at him, and there’s something strangely comforting about knowing that he follows right behind.

The food truck's sitting area is right behind it in a cozy nook between two buildings. As disappointed as you were at not getting to try out the new restaurant in town, the picnic tables, and colorful plastic chairs more than make up for it. It is a lot more romantic than what you assume the gourmet restaurant would have been, and you choose a spot right underneath a blanket of string lights that seem to imitate stars.

There are a few guests aside from you, and you feel warm at hearing their voices filled with laughter and joy.

You sit down on the bench and tuck your skirt between your knees, getting comfortable and looking excitedly down at your soon-to-be-devoured food. There’s something uniquely satisfying about a greasy meal after sex, and even more so when your husband indulges you to have whatever you want.

You pick up your taco and bite into it, doing a happy dance as you chew whilst Javier watches you with a grin on his face. However, the happiness is short-lived because something in the taco triggers a wave of nausea and you soon realize that it is the pico de gallo.

“What is it?” Javier has caught on because you cannot help but grimace.

“This tastes funny,” you say. Puzzled, you take another bite but quickly stop yourself before you are stupid enough to go for a third. Your stomach growls but there’s no way you are eating the rest without at least scraping it off.

Carefully, you place the taco back down on its paper tray and take a few napkins from the dispenser on the end of the picnic table. You spit your latest bite out into one of them because your body does not agree with the idea of swallowing the acidity again. Then you take a long sip of your water and wish you had something to neutralize the taste in your mouth.

Without thinking much of it, you start to rid your food of the salsa fresca. You use your index finger to scrape it out onto the napkin and pick any remaining pieces off too, avoiding the natural instinct to suck your finger clean and wipe it on a new napkin instead. In front of you, Javier has stopped eating and simply watches you.

You feel slightly judged by him, narrowing your eyes from annoyance, “What?”

“Are you pregnant?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

“What? No way,” you let out a chuckle of disbelief, “That’s not funny.”

“Honey,” he continues, nodding down at the napkin, “You love pico de gallo.”

“So? The only times I haven’t eaten it has been when I’m pregna—“ your eyes widen, looking down at your taco for a moment before staring at Javier again. He looks just as alarmed by your food which is only two bites down, “There’s no way.”

Around you, people have started to notice a shift in your voice. It probably sounds like you are upset, like Javier is using Valentine’s Day to break up with you.

“Baby, there’s no way,” you say again and your voice has become a little higher pitched, “I’d only be five weeks along.”

To the opposite of you, Javier is speechless. He has stopped eating his own dinner, sitting with his own taco but is unable to figure out how to react.

“We can’t have been lucky the first time around. My period is due in a few days. This is ridiculous. Sebastian is only just about five months old,” you are starting to sound frantic, “Javi. Baby, I am freaking out.”

Javier blinks a few times almost as if he is mentally shaking himself out of his trance. He reaches across the table and takes hold of your wrist, “Calm down. Let’s just finish eating and then we can go get one of those early detection tests, yeah? Te prometo que todo va a salir bien (I promise you that everything is going to be okay).”

“Yes, alright, you’re right,” you feel instantly calmed by his touch, turning your palm upward so he can hold your hand instead. Then you frown, “But I can’t eat this. It’s probably still going to taste like it.”

“Hold on,” he says, letting go of you to switch plates with you without hesitation, “There, now you can eat.”

“Te quiero (I love you),” you sigh happily, smiling at him from across the table.

“Love you too, now eat, so you can feed my kid,” he starts to load the taco with pico de gallo again.

The late-night pharmacy, just opening, exudes a subtle but steady hum of activity, bathing in the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. Shelves are neatly lined with pharmaceuticals, and you scrunch up your nose at the faint scent of antiseptic. Javier keeps a hand on the small of your back the whole time, steering you gently toward the counter as if this new piece of information has made him instantly more protective.

There’s only a single pharmacist behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with her glasses around her neck in a chain, but she doesn’t blink when you explain your sudden emergency. She beckons you down along the aisles and grabs a few different pregnancy tests for you to choose from.

“This one is more certain but it does cost a little extra,” she explains and holds up a Clearblue digital test. Javier quickly exchanges a look with you.

“We’ll take that one, actually make it two,” you say, tapping your feet nervously on the floor, “Can I use the bathroom here?”

“We’re that eager?” She smiles, “Sure, dear. Let me just get the key.”

Javier pays at the counter, a twinkle in his eyes as he makes a joke, “My treat again.”

“You better; you’re the one who got us into this mess - again,” you giggle and it even earns you a chuckle from the pharmacist.

“I hope you get the result you are hoping for,” she says when unlocking the door to the staff toilet. She ushers you both inside the door and then closes it behind you.

Silence at last, you think to yourself and even find that the water you drank with your meal earlier has run right through you. You pull up your skirt, twisting it and tying a knot to keep it from falling down again. You go for your underwear next, bending over to pull them down your legs to your ankles. You feel Javier’s palm steadying you without thinking.

Besides you, Javier starts tearing open the Clearblue boxes. He hands them to you one by one, and you finally sit down to pee, angling your wrist awkwardly to make sure you use the sticks correctly. The both of you stay silent through the whole ordeal.

You wrap both pregnancy tests in toilet paper and hand them to Javier who places them on the edge of the sink so you can finish up and get dressed again. He takes a step to the side to let you wash your hands, having crossed his arms over his chest and started tapping his fingers nervously.

While you listen to the sound of the water running, the air in the tiny, poorly lit bathroom seems to hang thick with anticipation. You want to say something but there is nothing you can say that’ll ease your shared, anxious heartbeat. Eventually, Javier beats you to it.

“Don’t be disappointed if it’s negative,” he gives you an uncertain smile. Mostly, it sounds as if he is talking to himself.

“You know I will be,” you sigh, stepping close to link your arms around his neck. He nods in understanding, cupping your waist and rubbing soothingly with his thumbs.

“Me too,” he lets out a shaky breath.

“I know,” you automatically tighten your grip on him as the minutes go by, knowing that he needs it as much as you. On the sink, the white plastic sticks seem to mock you with their silence.

Come on…

A few minutes more and suddenly, you know there is no way back. It seems ridiculous that a stick with your pee on it has the ability to predict your future but here you are. You shake your head after untangling yourself from your husband, “I can’t look.”

Javier bravely takes them from their place on the sink. Your stomach does somersaults as he unwraps them, twisting them so their displays face upward. A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face and he looks up immediately, “You’re four to five weeks pregnant.”

“What?” You grab his wrist to take a look for yourself, “There’s no way!”

Sure enough, both displays show a positive result and an approximate number of weeks. Calculating in your head, you know it has to be that one time in the middle of the night in January. The thought of getting it right without even really having begun is crazy because it’s so unbelievable.

“That’s so surreal,” you walk straight into his arms. He hugs you tightly, resting his lips on your forehead and you can feel his elevated breathing because you are so close to him.

“Pop is going to have a heart attack,” he mumbles with slight amusement, although you can hear the tremor in his voice. You look into his eyes, reaching up to cup his cheek and smiling softly.

“We can’t tell anyone yet, it’s not been three months,” you say, lost in just staring at him. He is so beautiful when he is happy.

“God, I know, I'm just so excited,” he chuckles, a little embarrassed.

“I’m sure you’ve already figured out that it’s going to be a Halloween baby,” you grin.

“Oh fuck, forget about Pop; Inés is gonna get so pissed if she has to share Halloween with a birthday child,” he starts to laugh after he has said it. You join in, high on the happiness you feel.

“I love you so much,” you say when the laughter dies down.

“I love you too,” he kisses you after saying it.

“And happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you continue, letting Javier pull away to throw the pregnancy tests out and wash his hands.

“See? Now you’re using it right,” he teases after drying his hands.

Then he opens the door and waits for you to step outside. Everything seems possible tonight.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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totallynotcoffeeturtle · 11 months ago

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Cuddle Trouble(s)!

Masterlist

(From the 6th to 30th April, I am having a mini 100 follower milestone event!)

Tags: Scaramouche x gn!reader, fluff, modern au Summary: Scaramouche loves both you and your plushies but a man has his needs and that includes abundant cuddle time.

When Scaramouche was invited to your room, he was quite honestly unsure of what to expect. You were the shining light of his life and he would accept anything you throw at him anyways (not that he’d tell you that). He was expecting the worst and was pleasantly surprised by the best possible outcome. Your room was befitting of your personality, especially the numerous stuffed animals lying around. Scaramouche was even impressed by the sheer variety in your room, both in types of animals and sizes. From dogs and cats to bears and even dragons and small, palm sized plushies to ones that were even his height.

Scaramouche would make fun of you upon finding out, yes, but inside he is already plotting to do two things. One, which kind of plushy he should buy for you to decorate your room with, and two, how to push the bigger ones out of the picture when you two cuddle. Ever since you showed him your little secret, you had been a lot more open with cuddling your little friends, even during the time you were supposed to be doing that with him! Gears turned in his mind. He had to solve this problem as soon as possible.

Scaramouche, despite all of his brain and intelligence, could not come up with anything for the life of him. Hell, out of desperation, he even tried to send his thoughts over telepathically! It obviously did not work. In the end, he resolved to just push you into his chest and essentially prevented any space for the stuffed toys between you and him. It did work for the first few times until you started to question him and he relented to you and your adorable annoying puppy dog eyes. You laughed until he turned bright red and refused to communicate in any way shape or form. You two eventually reached a compromise, the plushies got one hour with you everyday, and he got at least two hours.

Bonus: You had to tell scara to stop getting you more stuffed animals after a while because your shared home was running out of space to put them. In response to that, he got a new shelf.

A/N: i should've touched grass more... Taglist: @amyminhminh (comment if you want to be tagged in future scara x reader posts~)

#genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact #fluff #x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #gender neutral reader #drabble #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #i swear i'm not a scara simp i just write for my bestie

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elvensorceress · 23 days ago

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wip wednesday

tagging anyone who wants to share something 💕 @tizniz @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @lemmeaskthedevil @exhuastedpigeon @chaosandwolves @smilingbuckley @belasmalhotra @rainbow-nerdss @bekkachaos @blutterlie @livinginsunnyhell @singitforthegirls @sazanahashi @epicbuddieficrecs @jesuisici33 @inell some snickerdoodles of longing (part 2) for beloveds

Buck hasn’t made any move to finish his drink or get up from the table, so Eddie goes to him and rests a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

It would be so easy for Eddie to run a hand through his soft dark gold curls. It would be so easy to lean over him to wrap him in a hug, protect him as much as possible. He doesn’t, but. Maybe he will later. For now, he gently touches Buck’s hand that’s still mindlessly hovering in front of him, holding his bottle.

Whatever trance Buck was in disappears. He blinks and a couple drops of tears spill down his cheeks. His arm lowers and he sets his almost empty bottle on the table. “Sorry,” he says, not looking at Eddie even as Eddie stands beside him. “I— Sorry.” He blinks deliberately and wipes at his face, and sniffs like he’s holding himself together.

Eddie shakes his head and gently rubs Buck’s shoulder, over the back of his neck, and what the hell. Why not stroke Buck’s hair, too. Why not. He needs love and comfort and Eddie has an abundance of it.

“It’s okay,” Eddie tells him. It’s not okay. Whatever it is, it’s not okay, and he knows that. But it’s okay for Buck to cry if he needs to. It’s okay for him to feel and hurt and whatever else is going on with him. Not that Eddie wants him to hurt. But sometimes it’s unavoidable.

Sometimes? Or all the fucking time.

Either way. He lets his hand coast over Buck’s head. Just once. Just lightly over his soft, pretty hair. He steps in closer afterward so Buck can lean on him as Eddie rubs his shoulders, purposefully massaging soothing lines into his tense muscles. What else can he do?

They’re not saying goodbye. He is not doing that. He can’t— this can’t be all there is. This can’t be the last time they’ll eat together and talk and touch and see each other. Not that they’re actually talking. But they could.

This can’t be all they get.

“We’ll still talk. Right?” Buck asks quietly, voice stilted and just as ripped apart as Eddie feels, somehow so in sync that they’re sharing the same thought. “We’ll st-still be. Talking? We— we won’t— you won’t— We’ll still talk? We’re still— E-Ed-Eddie.”

Eddie grips him harder, clutches enough to bruise. “Yes,” he says and takes hold of both Buck’s shoulders so he can keep him close. He might not believe his absence will matter for long— Buck doesn’t need him, he has other people, Buck will forget him and all of this— but as long as Buck wants it, as long as Eddie is breathing, he’ll belong to Buck. “Yes. Always. If you want me to, I will. I swear.”

Buck sighs. It’s long, deep, slowly letting out all his air. “Okay.” He sounds so defeated. But he goes still the next second and then looks up at Eddie. “If I want you to? If? If I want you to?”

Well. Eddie doesn’t know how Buck will feel tomorrow or a week from now or if he’ll be angry and want to put it behind him. Why would he want to remember how Eddie is leaving? Eddie doesn’t want to remember that. Why would he want to think about Eddie anymore at all?

Is he the reason Buck is hurting?

Is Eddie ever not the reason someone hurts?

“I will,” Eddie says instead. “Of course I will.”

Buck notably shifts away and gets up from the table. He steps back. Away. He steps away and puts distance between them. Distance. Steps backward. Eddie isn’t touching him. Can’t comfort him. Can’t hold onto him.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t want you to?” Buck asks, and it sounds angry. Why wouldn’t he be angry. “Do you think I am just okay with never talking to you? Or never seeing you? Ever again? Do you really think that?”

Or maybe it’s less angry and more heartbroken. That would be more accurate. Broken. “No. That’s not— I didn’t mean that. I meant— ” What the hell did he mean.

He means he doesn’t matter. He means Buck has people. Family. The good kind of family not the parental kind of family. The family they chose. He means it’s easier to think that Eddie means nothing to people because why would he be worth anything to anyone? It doesn’t make sense. It’s not even logical. There’s no proof. All the evidence says otherwise. Even his own son left and shut him out. And Eddie doesn’t blame him. Eddie fucked up. What else do you do with your traumas? Run away and shut it down. Run away and ignore. That’s all Chris knows. Like father, like son. Like mother, like son.

Eddie tried to be a good father, he gave everything of himself to be what he thought was good and respectful and nurturing, and he still fucked up. “I meant— I— Buck.”

“You don’t want to be in the way,” Buck says. Heartbroken. Definitely. Unmistakably heartbroken. “Is that it?”

More or less. Eddie doesn’t want Buck to hurt with reminders. Doesn’t want Buck to not live his life. Even if it means forgetting Eddie. Eddie’s tired of being the thing that hurts people and makes them have to leave. That’s how he loses all the people he loves.

“Eddie—”

“Yes! All right? Yes. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to prolong this and make it worse and I don’t want you to worry or blame yourself for not being able to fix it because I know you want to fix it. But you can’t fix me. And I don’t want to be the thing that does this,” he gestures at Buck. His sad, broken voice and his haunted, bloodshot eyes and his unshaved, deflated, distant, forlorn everything. “To you. I—” Breathe. He has to breathe. He sounds as wrecked as Buck does. And one of them has to hold it together.

He hates this. Hates this. Hates himself most for ruining everything but also for hurting his beloved, irreplaceable friend. Eddie tries again, but still sounds rough and hollowed out. “I don’t want to drag you down. Okay? You should move on and forget me and— and it’ll be better.”

Not so much for Eddie. He’s never let go of anything in his life. But Buck should. Buck should survive him.

#buddie #buddie wip #jenwyn wip #fic: snickerdoodles of longing #wip wednesday

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lorelaiblair · 1 year ago

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i love the “addamsification of enid sinclair” and “gomezification of wednesday addams” tags on ao3 so much and im here to explain why

being with wednesday doesn’t completely change enid’s personality, she was always capable of being violent and abhorrent, we see a prime example of that when she slashes the school bus when ajax stands her up. she just hides it, an abundant need to be loved and appreciated so she puts on a show of being the kind girl who is a friend to everyone. not that she isn’t also kind and wonderful, just that she forces it sometimes and hides the real rage that she feels.

then wednesday comes along.

she doesn’t care what people think about her and it’s an inspiration to enid, wednesday is mean and cruel yet people love her anyway, enid loves her anyway. enid stops hiding herself, she gets angry and she ruins things and threatens people and being able to stop holding everything in is therapeutic, being able to finally be herself is amazing. she’s happier than she can ever remember being before.

her friends, yoko mostly, make jokes about how wednesday is a bad influence. enid couldn’t disagree more, wednesday gave enid herself. wednesday gave enid the courage and support to be who she really always has been. wednesday is the best thing that has ever happened to her, maybe that means she’s outwardly more violent or rude, it’s better than letting people walk all over her like she had been doing.

and on the plus side,wednesday couldn’t love enid more, yet she finds herself falling in love over and over again.

which brings me to my next point

wednesday has spent her entire life trying not to be like her parents, they’re sentimental and sappy and obsessed with each other. wednesday has been forced to watch it her entire life and it’s always made her want to peel the skin from her own bones. the idea of being dependent on someone like that, being reliant upon someone else who she has no control over is terrifying.

then there is enid.

right away enid respects wednesday’s boundaries, she pushes them just enough so that wednesday is still comfortable, never crossing that line without permission. she sees wednesday for everything that she is, it’s horrible, but she loves wednesday nonetheless. she sees wednesday for her obsessiveness and violence and cruelties and loves her. they fight but enid comes back to make sure wednesday is okay, enid decides that they work together even if wednesday is all of those things, enid loves wednesday despite knowing her better than anyone.

it’s worth it then, isn’t it? for enid. she knows that the colorful girl would never betray her, never hurt her. she knows that her heart will be safe in those clawed hands. she devotes herself, absolutely, to loving enid. wednesday addams loves enid sinclair more than she thought she was capable of loving at all.

enid saved her, literally and figuratively. wednesday is alive because enid has loved her, she will spend the rest of that life making sure enid knows just how much that love is reciprocated.

#wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #enid sinclair #wenclair #wednesday #wednesday x enid #wednesday is soft for enid #enid x wednesday #wednesday and enid #wednesday netflix #netflix wednesday #enid and wednesday #eniday #wednesday series

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genshin-impact-unofficial · 1 year ago

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Naughty Little Secret Pt.2

Reactions of Genshin men finding your spicy literature.

Ft. Childe, Albedo, and Alhaitham (Aka blue eyed boy edition)

(PART 1) Ft. Diluc, Cyno, and Thoma (PART 3) Ft. Scaramouche, Itto, and Xiao

Tags: PG-13, Sexual Themes, GN!Reader, Technically SFW, Crushes, TW!Blood (Albedo) but it’s very mild, LOTS OF TEASING Notes: I swear my first time writing a character always turns out so long. I so appreciate everyone cheering me on tho! Feel free to send suggestions to my inbox! 💘(Repost!)

Childe

Spicy romance novels were your guilty pleasure. After a rough week at work, you deserved to sit back at Yanshang Teahouse and let the flow of words on the pages guide your imagination. You held your newest purchase in your hand and pondered if the cover art was a coincidence. Perhaps deep down, you subconsciously picked the book with a pretty ginger boy on the cover.

Tartagalia hadn’t visited Liyue in a while... and maybe there was a part of you that missed the tall handsome Snezhnayan boy just a tiny bit. You were a tad totally heartbroken when your friend departed from the harbor. He would come by your work quite often just to chat and whenever he had time to kill. Eventually, his company and charming words just became a part of your routine. It was impossible not to be dazzled by the boy’s abundant attention. But as time passed and you felt confident that you were completely over your little crush. You shook your head of those thoughts, it wasn’t important why you chose the book you did. You were here to enjoy yourself and you were hell bound to do just that.

The orange haired protagonist finds himself swept up in trouble much bigger than himself. To protect what’s dearest to him, he becomes a spy to an organization he holds no loyalty to. While behind enemy lines, he meets a girl who sees right through the mask he puts on. She not only figures out he’s a spy, but also sees his bleeding heart that has the ability to turn for the better. Your heart ached for the boy. The way he was stuck between his duties and who he loved made you feel endless sympathy for the protag. He had to betray one in the end to accomplish the other.

His mission was going to be completed in the morning. After that, he would never see the girl again. The handsome ginger spilled his feeling, laying himself out bare to the girl he loved. She knows, she always did, and she wanted to show him now on their last night. Emotions flood forward as their bodies tangle with one another. He wants her to feel his earnest passion. He wants to bring her joy, to bring her the happiness she deserved, to bring her pleasure... A low familiar whistle pulled your mind from the scene. No way...

“Huh, so this is what you do while I’m away...” A cheeky voice teased. You whipped your head to look at the widest shit eating grin that you’ve ever seen since.... well since he left.

“Tartagalia? What- When did you?” You were reeling and sputtered in surprise and embarrassment. You attempted redirect his attention and tuck the novel behind you as a last ditch effort to save your pride. But alas, Ajax was not known to be a merciful guy.

“Ah ah ah Y/N, I hadn’t got a good look at that last page. I just have to know about those ‘rippling abs’ mentioned.” Childe playfully reached behind you and snagged the book from your grip. You tried to swipe it back but his reflexes were too fast. “You don’t mind sharing right?”

“I’m serious give it back Childe!” You threatened, but it only spurred him further. He had a whole head up on you, and was talking full advantage of it. Childe held the book open above you and dramatically cleared his throat before reciting naughty lines from the passages. Your felt your face burn red in both embarrassment and now absolute fury.

This kid was so dead!

Albedo

There was urgency in your steps while you trekked through the snowy path. You visited Dragonspine enough times to know the beaten trail even when covered in fresh snow, but it was still your least favorite part of coming to the lab. If you had to list your favorite part, well...... your friend Albedo wasn’t exactly terrible to look at. You were glad to see him again so soon. Typically, you purposely spaced out your visits up the mountain, but when you received a letter asking for your assistance in a research matter you really couldn’t say no.

As junior librarian of the knights, you were tasked with dropping off books and other study material to Albedo’s lab. It’s a grueling task but the two of you got along very well so you were always happy to do it. That being said, you weren’t exactly a person of science and opted reading into history and arts most times. Through years of knowing Albedo, you had to set a clear cut boundary on being a test rat for the alchemist. So far he has respected your wishes, so you didn’t assume it was why he’d call you out here. The curiosity was almost as bad as the blistering cold hitting your nose. As soon as the light illuminating from the lab was in view, you rushed forward desperate for warmth.

“Y/N, I’ve been awaiting you.” Albedo greeted you kindly.

“Hey Albe-” The words died in your throat when you caught sight of your friend. The blond’s hair was free from its usual up-do, messy locks framed the boys handsome features and flowed over his shoulders. Albedo’s neat attire was now lax, his knightly accessories nowhere to be seen. What could be seen was the expanse of the alchemist’s collarbone since two additional buttons were undone on his dress shirt. Somehow even while fully clothed, it felt indecent to witness him like this. “Is... everything alright Albedo?” You asked, averting your eyes to keep from ogling your friend.

“Of course.” Albedo answered easily, his voice was low and sultry. “Please take a seat Y/N. I have something urgent that needs your eyes.” He directed you, cocking his head towards the small table. Your brain was short circuiting and all you could think to do was obediently sit. You had never seen the serious and calculated man like this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. Albedo served you a cup of hot tea and opted to lean against the table instead of sitting.

“So... um what did you need me to look at.” You asked awkwardly, unsure what to do with yourself.

“Well obviously I want you to look at me Y/N” A light smirk formed across Albedo’s lips and he smoothly leaned over your chair. Your eyes followed every single movement while your face quickly began to heat up. Where was all of this coming from? Should you be concerned?

“W- what do you mean by that?” You blurted out, mind racing a mile a minute.

“I want you to-” Everything came to a screeching halt when your chair, that Albedo had been leaning on, began to tilt backwards. Both you and blond were sent crashing to the ground, ruining any kind of mood that was building. Your head ached from where you bumped it but Albedo intentionally took the brunt of it, completely face-planting into the hard floor.

“Albedo are you alright??” You hovered over him. The boy simply turned to you and blinked. His stoic expression was more akin to what you typically were used to.

“I apologize Y/N. It seems I didn’t fully grasp the concepts in the experiment before executing it. Are you hurt?” He stood up and carefully helped you to your feet. He examined you for any signs of injury, regardless of his obviously bleeding nose.

“Im good, the chair broke most of my fall. You on the other hand...” You grabbed a handkerchief and try to assist him. “Wait... experiment? Is that what this is all about?” You accused, slightly irked.

“Yes, I saw a fascinating book among the study material you left behind recently. I assumed that it was a new subject you had recommended for me.” Albedo stated simply. “Its contents was um... quite intimate at times, but I thought it was a interesting perspective on forming human connections.” You felt froze, but this time not from the blistering cold.

“Did the book have um.... did it have a pair of cuffs on the front?” You asked, praying to the archons that you were mistaken.

“Yes, I studied it extensively.” Albedo replied without a hint of shame on his features. You replayed his interactions and what had just transpired in your head and looked back over to your friend.

“Okay two things. One, don’t you dare breathe a word to anyone about that book or else I’ll be very upset with you. And two, that was fucking hilarious.” You bursted out in laughter at the absurdity of the whole happenstance. Albedo gazed back at you confused, but your amusement was undeniably infectious. He smiled fondly back at you. Although the experiment couldn’t be labeled a success, the outcome was still one he found pleasing.

Alhaitham

It was grueling working in the Akademiya recently. The overthrow of power left everyone with plenty to do. You would go mad from attending meeting after meeting if you didn’t have some sort of stress outlet. Writing was a way you liked to ease your mind, like an escape of sorts. You loved writing loose plots for light novels and dreamed to one day send an entry to the “Wow This Novel is Amazing!” contest in Inazuma. You were far from a finished manuscript, but it’s days like these that gave you inspiration. After working through piles of paperwork, you earned yourself a moment of indulgence. Especially when stress was eating you alive, your scenes tended to take a turn for the... suggestive.

The scene opened to the main character pondering why their mentor kept themselves at arms length. She respected him immensely and strives to uphold his reputation by improving her skill. He was young and handsome, skilled far beyond his years. They held a close bond, closer than either of them have ever experienced. Now it was unclear why he was giving her such a cold shoulder. She confronts her mentor about the reasons behind his actions. He expresses his pride in her, how she has come far in the their time together. But for her to achieve new highs, she must leave him behind. His feelings for her would only be a hindrance now.

She felt the tension between them for some time now. It was lingered in soft bushes between fingers, meaningful glances over meals, and caring gestures done without thinking. She’s fallen for the beautiful man, to a point that it wasn’t logical. No words need to be exchanged, only body heat. Arms hold onto the other in yearning desperation. Lips hungrily meet, as if they’ll never to be sated. Her want clouds all her senses and she could feel his willingness to give her everything, all of him. Hot needy breaths trail down her body, discarding any clothes that stood barrier, until he finally put his mouth directly on-

“Busy Y/N?” The amused man asked from the doorway. You jump in response, quickly pushing aside the parchment that you were writing on.

“Alhaitham! What are you doing here?” You pipe up, surprised to see your friend for more than one reason. Alhaitham had been promoted to acting grand sage while the rest was still settling, he had to be incredibly busy.

“I see you’re not very excited to see me,” Alhaitham teased, strolling casually into your office anyway. “Even after I went through the trouble of coming to grab the data reports myself and pay you a visit.” He tsked.

“You came to see me? Ah, so you need a favor.” You playfully jabbed back, easily finding comfort in the other’s company. It really had been quite a while. If it weren’t for the man’s inflated ego, you might have told him that you’ve missed him.

“You wound me. It’s not an oddity for colleagues reconnect reminisce while also carrying out an errand for the acting great sage.” Alhaitham replied smoothly, not bothering to go through the motions and pretend to act hurt.

“Yikes, already pulling the ‘acting great sage’ card.” You chuckle. Alhaitham and you have worked closely together for years, so you didn’t mind going out of your way to do him a favor. But maybe one day he would learn that all he had to do was ask nicely.

“It would be foolish to not use the assets as they are presented to me.” The former scribe shrugged. He opened his mouth as if to continue the witty banter, but a beep from on his person alerted him of something. “I’ll have to brief you later. I’ll just take the data reports and be on my way.”

“Right, here it goes.” You handed him the prepared stack of papers on your desk and just like that Alhaitham was gone, off to his next endeavor. Wow he really is swamped now a days. You thought, ready to get back into your writing. Ideas kept flowing through you as you looked for the parchment you just had.... Wait it was just right here. Oh no.

“ALHAITHAM! I NEED THE DATA REPOR-” You barged into acting grand sage’s office, which was no easy feat. You were stopped again and again by all the matra crawling about. Your mouth ran dry when spotted the parchment in the smirking man’s hands. You wished the floor would just open up and swallow you whole so that you wouldn’t have to look at that cocky handsome face.

“The data report? Certainly, it’s right over there on the desk.” Alhaitham stated, not bothering to take his eyes off your handwriting. “I’m still going over some of it now and I have to say, it’s quite in depth.” He went on.

“You are such a jerk! Give it!” You resorted to trying to snatch it, but the former scribe easily turned away without sparing you even a single glance. You knew what he wanted and damn did it feel like making a deal with the devil. “I’ll owe you a favor, no questions asked. Just hand it over and keep your mouth shut.”

“Two favors.” He bargained without batting an eye.

“You’re pushing it-”

“One is for my silence and the other for the safe return of your... passion project.” Alhaitham interjected, finally tearing his eyes from your writing to shoot you a glance above the paper. You willed a stern expression onto your face, even while a furious blush bloomed cross your cheeks. A curt nod sealed the agreement and the man casually returned the parchment to you as promised. You snatched the paper from him and averted your gaze.

“Y/N you have quite the knack for imagery.” Alhaitham added slyly. You expected he would tease you a little longer, so you braced yourself for the worst. What you did’t expect was the tall man to lean over you with his hand braced on the desk. Your eyes shot up to his in surprise. “If you’re ever in need for another peer review, I’d be happy to offer my services.” He winked.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #alhaitham #genshin imagines #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin tartagalia #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #suggestive

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omegalerc · 2 months ago

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Hi, love all your recommendations for the omega Charles fics so much, can you give some more?

hiiii ofc!! this is a dead bush that i am beyond happy to keep beating. i joined this fandom 6 days ago and the abundance we have of food has satiated a true starvation in my soul. all i have focused on in my life is educating myself of the ao3olgy that is omega Charles Leclerc fics .. here are some more

vegas 2023 fic. when i found out the Vegas Grand Prix was a tag on ao3. well good luck Charlie.

soulmate fic !!! super classy and cutesy with a little bit of chussy sprinkled on top into a beautiful gorgeous gift to this earth 🩷 also charles praise kink. which is so important to me. bc that’s our reality and it’s stunning when this translates to the page.

this series. for my charlos people. it’s indescribable … can not even put into words. charles trying to fight against his own nature . Carlos just happy to be there along for the ride. OMEGALERC WE LOVE YOU

CHARLES LECLERC THERAPY OMEGA FOR HIRE. this concept was soooooo insane. in the most positive way i could ever express . Truly dove into the omegaverseolgy of it all and tbh i believe max verstappen would benefit from this trope irl!!!

#omegalerc #authors i love you so so so dearly #pls give them some love #and love for omegalerc ofc #i wonder if the reason why so many people understand and get the vision completely #is because we are just dealing with an irl omega on our hands #*begging for chussy voice* Pls charles don’t take your heat suppressants this weekend!!!

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

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Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

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#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #established relationship #fanfic

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staycalmandhugaclone · 6 days ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep crackers spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Cross flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I finally managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” Knowing they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor, to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

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