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delicatebarness · 3 days

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i think he knows | chapter ten

Summary: THE LIST

Warnings: Underage drinking.

Word Count: 1380

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A/N: This Bucky is my everything.

As you pulled up to the corner of your street, Bucky turned off the engine but made no effort to move off the bike. He turned to you, his expression was earnest and filled with vulnerability. “I know this is a lot to process, Sunshine. I thought it would be best to hear it from me,” he confessed, his voice laced with regret, you couldn’t put your finger on what he regretted. Was it regret for betting on Steve? Was it regret for telling you? Or, was it regret for something else?

Your heart clenched at his words, the fear of being a pawn again gnawed at you. “Bucky,” you sighed as your voice began to tremble, tears threatening to spill. “Is there.. Is there any chance that I’m a part of a bet too?” The question hung in the air, the accusation heavy.

His eyes widened in alarm, getting off the bike, he turned his entire body to face you. You took the helmet off to see him better. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing away stray tears. “No,” he assured you, his voice was firm. “I swear to you, you are not and never were a part of any bet.”

“I want to believe you, I do,” you admitted, your head resting in his hand. “But.. after everything you’ve told me, I can’t help but wonder…”

Bucky’s expression softened, “I know I’ve given you reasons to doubt me, I am truly sorry for that,” he cut you off, his voice filled with sincerity. “But, on everything, I swear, my feelings for you are real, not something I’m going to gamble on.”

Tears began to well in your eyes again, the fear of him hurting you and the genuine connection you felt towards him had you torn. “ I need time, Bucky,” you whispered, “Time to sort through my feelings, I need to know for sure I can trust you.”

Bucky nodded, his gaze never left yours. “Take all the time you need, Sunshine,” he promised. His hand gently enveloped yours before you could get down from the bike. “Before you go, can I take you to show you something first?” he said softly, his eyes pleading with yours.

You hesitated for a moment, but ultimately you nodded.

As Bucky pulled up at Stark’s Motors, you couldn’t help but notice Pierto’s car, Wanda’s brother’s, parked outside. Confusion brought your eyebrows together, wondering what he was doing here. Before you could voice your thoughts, Bucky stopped the engine, getting off the bike he reached for your hand, helping you off and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You followed Bucky into the garage, your eyes widening in surprise as you spotted Wanda and Peter mingling with Bucky’s friends. The most unexpected sight, you couldn’t help but feel anxious yet curious. Is this what Bucky wanted to show you?

Your friends and Bucky’s turned to greet you both, their expressions were all a mix of surprise. Natasha’s eyebrow arched as a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

Bucky sighed as he made his way over to the couches, picking up the litter of empty chip packets and beer bottles and mumbling under his breath to his friends. His jaw tenses with his barely contained anger as he takes in the scene.

Wanda and Peter approached you with their friendly smiles, their presence eased some of your tension. “Hey,” Wanda slurred, “We thought we’d come by and hang with these guys,”

Peter nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we came to talk to them and ended up having a party,” there was a mischievous twinkle in Peter’s eyes that you had never seen before.

“Fuck sake, guys,” Bucky muttered, his voice tight with irritation. He shot glances at his friends. “I brought her here to gain her trust, and you’ve got her friends pissed.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, a smirk still playing on her lips as she took another swig from her bottle. “Relax, Barnes,” she teased. “We’re just having fun,” Bucky’s temper flared at her nonchalant attitude, his fists clenching around an empty bottle.

You watched Bucky’s frustration simmer until you decided to approach him with a sympathetic expression. Sensing your presence, her turned to you, his features instantly softening as he caught sight of you. “Hey,” you whispered to him as you gently touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

Bucky’s tense demeanor melted away at the sound of your voice, a calm washing over him. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he replied, his voice softer. “Just.. this isn’t what I had to show you.” he motioned toward the mess and your drunk friends.

You nodded in understanding, casting a glance around the chaotic scene you walked into. “I can see that,” you said with a small smile as you squeezed his arm gently. “What was it that you wanted to show me, then?”

Bucky reached for your hand as he looked towards the door that had “Office” written over the frosted glass, “Let’s go somewhere more private, and sober.”

He led you toward the door at the back of the garage. Pushing it open he motioned for you to step inside. After closing the door behind him, he reached for a folder labeled “Anthony’s Stuff” and pulled out a piece of paper.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” he explained as he handed you the paper.

Your eyes widened as you scanned the contents of the page, your heart sinking at the words. It was a handwritten list made to look like a spreadsheet. At the top of the page were the words: Off Limits. You felt a lump form in your throat as you traced your finger over the names, stopping when you came across yours.

Bucky watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, he waited for your reaction. “It’s the list of people that we’ve said are off-limits,” he said quietly. “As long as your name is on that list, no one in this garage is allowed to use you as a bet.”

Your eye flickered around the paper, scanning over the dates, and names listed under initialed columns. “What do these dates mean?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper but tinged with curiosity.

Bucky hesitated for a moment before answering, “They’re the dates when each person was added to the list,” he explained. “It’s our way of keeping track, etc.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. The date next to your name was surprising to you, you traced your finger over it again. “My first day of freshman year?” you asked, looking up at him for the first time since reading the list.

“The first thing I did after school that day was come here and put your name on the list,” he admitted, “You are the only person I’ve added to the list,” he continued as he moved to stand behind you, pointing toward information on the list as he talks you through it. “All of our names up here, then the names of who they added and when.”

You listened intently, your complete focus on him as he explained. Every word he spoke you absorbed it all, wanting to know and understand every little detail. As he finished explaining the details, a silence settled between the two of you. The only noise coming from your breathing and the noise of the ‘party’ happening out in the garage.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Why did you add my name?” you asked, searching his eyes for answers.

He took a deep breath, his gaze moving away before returning to meet yours. “Because,” he began, hesitation in his voice. “I, um, I sorta had a crush on you.” You noticed a slight flush creep up onto his cheeks. “I wanted to make sure you were protected,” he glances over to the closed door. The only thing separating the two of you from your friends. “That no one in this garage could ever use you as part of their games.”

His confessions have caught you off guard, you never expected him to reveal something so personal. You were touched by his vulnerability, “Thank you, Bucky,”

Bucky offered a smile, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Sunshine.”

---

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lilacxquartz · 23 hours

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Roommates | One Shot

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto [MMF]

About:

You’re late on rent again and rather than evicting you, your roommates figure out a different way to make you pay.

Tags/themes:

Roommates AU, threesomes, dubious consent, one shot smut, doggy style, blowjobs, sexual coercion (to keep the rent free), kissing, 18+.

Final warning for dubcon, the reader is implied into it but the consent isn’t made clear.

Word count: 2.1k

You were late on rent again.

A couple months ago you had the excuse that you lost your job so you were short on your share, last month you missed it entirely.

This month you still didn’t have anything and your bank account was running dry, finding absolutely zero luck on the search—living frugally as a result.

Satoru always collected rent in the middle of the month as he was the one who owned the unit. His friend Suguru, lived in an adjacent room to his while you took the smaller room opposite.

Living with two men had certainly been an experience, but they both for the most part kept to themselves and would never bother you, but then you lost your job and your presence became more of a nuisance than just being someone in the background of their lives.

”Again?” Satoru asked as he maintained a friendly albeit strained smile, his tone not quite a whine but you could tell he wasn’t pleased either.

“I-I’ve been trying, but it’s so difficult to find work right now.” You replied, even though that excuse was starting to get stale; it was the truth, but the truth didn’t fill your pockets and that much was a problem.

His demeanour tightened as he struggled to remain polite; you knew that money wasn’t an issue for him and he could afford the entire place alone if he had to, but at the same time you could see where he was coming from.

He wasn’t usually so serious, but he did what he had to do when he needed to. The Satoru you would usually see, so carefree and vibrant, stifled down due to your own misfortune.

Suguru in the midst of this ate breakfast in utter silence as he watched the entire thing unfold from the kitchen table. You would meet his gaze every now and then by accident as he would then try to avoid you, staying quiet as he tried to eat through his good friend doing his best not to scold you.

You mustered up the courage and swallowed away the last of your dignity once more, surrendering to asking for one final chance.

“I know that it’s a lot to ask, but can you please… please give me just a little bit more time?”

His icy blue eyes flashed over your body for a moment, his body language thawing as a new idea came to mind. Instead of going back on forth with you on the topic, he took a deep breath and removed himself from your company momentarily.

His smile grew curt, laced with unreadable intent. “One moment.”

You sat yourself down on the arm rest of the sofa, watching as Satoru went off to whisper something off to Suguru. You considered genuinely just moving back home rather than bothering him further, the other prospect of couch surfing seeming daunting.

Every now and then you’d glance back to the kitchenette from the open plan area, watching as Satoru planned something with Suguru. Their expressions were a little too casual for it to have been something serious and your stomach coiled at the possibility of mockery.

Suguru seemed hesitant about something as his dark eyes landed on you every now and then, his gaze meeting with yours and then disconnecting. Satoru continued to dispense his trademark smile, eyeing you up and down from head to toe, settling on some type of resolution.

The two men then approached you, planting an an uncertain sort of feeling in your gut—your instinct begging for you to choose flight as they both closed in.

“It’s your lucky day,” Satoru announced, his voice suddenly playful and teasing, “rent’s on the house.”

There was definitely a catch.

You stood up and took a step back. “Why…?”

He took a step forward, following you in your tracks as he cornered you.

“You’re gonna do something for us, that’s why.” He added, his words doing nothing to settle your quickly building unease.

“Do what?” You dared to ask.

“You’re a smart girl, [name],” Satoru purred, “you can figure it out, can’t you?”

You weren’t an idiot; you could put two and two together to understand exactly what it was that he was implying—rent was on the house and you weren’t a total prude, understanding that he wanted you to pay your dues with a favour instead.

You just didn’t think it would ever come to something like this. How humiliating, almost.

It was the fact that Suguru seemed to be involved too that further worsened your feelings on the issue. You were already barely into the idea of trading sex for a place to stay, but you now had the influence of two slowly approaching guys who had a different sort of idea of what to do with you.

As you pondered all of the possibilities, you found yourself so distracted that you didn’t even have time to react properly—wait.

Satoru already gave into his building curiousity with you; his wandering fingers pinched at the hem of your top, rolling up the fabric to reveal your bare stomach—your arms protested by anchoring down, but his strength relented and he pulled it off of you completely.

His cruising pursuit moved towards your shorts next, revealing the finishing piece for your bra’s matching set—how cruel it was of such fate to align on a day when you’d be wearing such a thing; both of their eyes shining with a delighted glint.

You blushed as you scrambled to cover up, your cheeks burning cherry red as your temperature turned feverish from the events that quickly unfolded.

“You look so cute when you’re all embarrassed like that.” Satoru commented as he flashed you a cheeky grin, his frosted lashes fluttering as he continued to stare at your now exposed skin.

He slipped right behind you, pulling you into his chest—his arms wrapped around your stomach, his cock pitching against his trousers, feeling his hardness pressing against your back; he wanted you so much, so soon. His lips sank as he nibbled against your neck, leaving behind rosy love bites from suckled flesh.

“Can you feel how hard you’re making me, [name]?” Satoru asked as he continued to grind—you didn’t dare reply, your voice caught in the back of your throat whenever you’d try.

Suguru moved closer at this point too, finally giving into his own thoughts within the company of your exposed form. His dark eyes brightened as he glossed his gaze over your frame, reeling his focus back onto your chest—curious hands unable to resist a feel for a second longer.

His fingertips would then trace towards your upper body, finally parking at your jaw as his fingers settled on a pinch against your chin; he wanted to keep your sights pointed towards him and him alone.

Suguru then lowered his lips to meet with yours, his tongue slowly pushing into your mouth as the wet fleshy muscle wrestled with your own to keep you subdued, pulling strands of webbing saliva back as he disconnected the kiss, just as though to take in his sight of you before going any further.

He took a step forward with intentional purpose and drive, you stepped back as he herded you, finding yourself perfectly sandwiched in between both Satoru and Suguru with absolutely zero wiggle room to spare.

It was then that Satoru once again didn’t give you any room to think as his hands brushed around your waist; greedy hands palmed around your hips before retreating to to the base of your shoulders, pushing you down to assume an entirely different position as your body listened.

Before you even had a chance to react even further, you were on your hands and knees before them both. Your knobbly joints tanking the pressure from the wooden floor, a sensation slightly painful as it rubbed you raw.

Through it, you felt some type of deeply rooted shame as you didn’t even protest, instead accepting the pursuit—you liked this, not quite knowing nor understanding why; feeling so wanted, so desired by both of them at the same time.

Satoru’s trousers fell to his knees as he too surrendered to the floor, his sweatpants gathering by your legs as moved closer in. You felt the tip of his length tease you as he prodded against your opening before sliding into you with such welcomed ease; your pussy already soaked and taking him in without a single hint of a struggle.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you, [name]?” Satoru couldn’t help but tease, “—you’re so wet for me already~!”

Your breath hitched as you once again couldn’t reply, instead eliciting a rushed gasp as he rammed the rest of his cock into your gushing heat, filling the otherwise silent room with the sounds of smacking pleasure as his rhythm quickly surrendered to something hurried, rather than taking the time to savour you.

Suguru was next; his face continuing to focus on yours as he looked down, towering himself above you. He slowly lowered himself to his knees too, succumbing to a certain type of idea that he had in mind.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” he spoke, tweezing his fingertips to turn your chin to face him once again, “can you keep looking at me?”

You obeyed as you felt pulled in by his voice, focusing your sights on his eyes as his own hands trailed elsewhere, eager to give you a taste of himself.

Suguru aligned himself with your lips, teasing his tip as he slowly pushed himself in and filled out the rest of your mouth—you took him in so well as he continued to pack his meat inside.

He moved himself further in as he bucked at your skull with his length, delighted by the noises you made as you struggled to take him in. He relented regardless as searched for your throat, his hands weaving through your hair, brushing away stray strands to keep looking at your pretty face.

Satoru at the same time continued to pound into your pussy from behind, his hips slamming against your ass, fingernails sinking into your bruised flesh. Your ass rippled as his pursuit continued, palms hitting your cheeks causing your eyes to water while you gagged on Suguru in the meanwhile.

Struggling to maintain your balance, Suguru lifted you by your arms to keep you right where he wanted you; continuing to slide his meat into your throat, finding an almost sadistic joy in how you reacted.

High pitched whines and breathy moans harmonising with their own grunting pleasure.

His demanding gaze narrowed, his lips trembling as he succumbed to a desperate chant; “eyes on me, eyes on me—“

Satoru seemed to be close to the edge of climax as his thrusting reached relentless pace, his grip against your once blank flesh now canvassed blotched watercolour markings all around your thighs, leaving behind signatures of bloodied etching from such passionate consequence.

He groaned as he half moaned your name; his hold tightening as your own cries meshed with both pleasure and pain—he drilled into you with such anticipated drive before delivering one final pump, milking himself dry into your sopping warmth, before finally pulling out, gasping and entirely spent.

It didn’t take long for Suguru to catch up next as you adhered to his wishes quite well, taking him in like such a good girl—sucking on him as your cheeks clenched, sending him to places he could only dream to go, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat as he continued to fuck your mouth the best that he could.

His release was sudden, emptying thick loads of a hot mess that pooled in your mouth, trailing against your chin as he finally pulled out—his eyes laced with utter affection.

You succumbed to the floor as Satoru pulled you closer, eager to help you recover, Suguru sat close by as he too, surrendered to creeping exhaustion.

Neither one of them could let you go, at least not yet.

“Now, wasn’t that fun, [name]?” Satoru asked as he brushed his hands along your legs, feeling tempted by a second round. “Maybe you should skip next month’s rent too?”

You didn’t reply yet again, but both your expression and flushed complexion along with your relaxed form all pointed to a definite yes—the feeling so wrong, so right, something you wouldn’t quite mind to revisit again and again.

“You should,” Suguru encouraged as he moved closer next to you, “I’d love to see more of those pretty eyes.”

As you settled into an exhausted stupor, wedged between them both, you couldn’t deny that you loved that idea.

So maybe, you shouldn’t rush in finding a job after all.

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vilixxr · 3 days

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pretty bird

king!john x gn!reader. mdni.

tags: infantilization a little, one sided love, misinterpretation, savior complex, smut, implied painful sex, anal, worshipping, mans is genuinely insane sorry

notes: john saves you, a bird of clipped wings, and gives you a world for you to rule. a cage put on display, for the kingdom to worship, with you sat in the middle. is that not what you’ve dreamt of?

wc: 835

Imagine John as a king, and you a ruler placed by his side. Born from gravel, taken in to have you drowned in gold.

His pretty bird, his treasure, his beautiful bird. His beauty that he loved with all his heart. More than you could ever fathom.

He loves you, he saves your soul from the creatures dipped in sin, and you never had the capacity to love him the same way. Your mind could never wrap around it, he realized. You could never try and pretend to reciprocate his type of love, where he believes in "till death do us part", while you'll settle for a simple (unsatisfying) "I love you".

You may try, however. Pathetically, you reach a little further, set your hands upon his chest, kiss him with tenderness that makes him chuckle. You fold your wings in, but not enough, just to make up for the love you can’t form.

Oh, pretty bird. There’s no need for you to try. You have no need to do anything, as he'll hold enough love for the both of you.

In the deepest part of the castle, he twists every limb, makes you a doll that fits his desires. He beams at how lovely you look, and the smile he receives in return is something that he'd hang up on the wall. A masterpiece, lopsided. Much more realistic than your plastic smile. It's so utterly human, and you gave him the privilege to view it himself. Overjoyed, it almost looks like anguish. You have no need to know anguish any longer.

For he keeps you safe, encased in the walls of his palace. Safe from what lurked on the outside. Diseased, riddled with infection, that he could not bear to let drip against your warm skin molded by gods above. Those creatures were of no use to have around, and who has he to leave you tortured by the venom they spit?

“My treasure, my sweet,” he coos, atop the throne he worships you in. His hands cup your face in silent revelation, his fingers gliding against the lobes of your ears. The way you try to look at him, catch his eye with that look that screams of beauty, he knows that you feel so much safer with him. Your home, stocked with the world at your disposal.

Oh, he was ecstatic over your happiness. The genuine grin you had shown, whilst covered in lavish robes that mimic the gold that others would only imagine.

It weighs heavy against your body, though he doesn’t mind. All the more reason for you to stay. Weighed down by gifts that he spoils you with, while you whine as if you were drowning. The golden thorns you adorn shimmers against the sunlight streaming through the windows, and he beams as tears, crusted in silver, pool along your eyelids. So happy, you are brought to tears. So, so pretty.

“John,” you sob, while he licks at your skin that glows. He picks at his doll, plucks every stone placed so delicately on your face, and you shiver what he thinks is pleasure. He’ll puncture the skin of your neck, bite and claim, almost as if he were some animal, poised and powerful. He spans a calloused hand down your back, as he yearns to meld with your body, treat you as if you were one.

In the midst of the night, his goals do not stray. The love he makes holds you still, arms tied by his hands, while he treats you as gently as he can. Folds you over as he sinks in, jointed limbs shivering in what he would call pleasure. Beauty, in its rawest form, where he is the only viewer of desire. He kisses you slowly, lips pressed delicately against yours. He wants to swallow you whole.

Love, he gives you. You may whine, and whimper, but it is still love that he gives you. Wraps you both in the prettiest bow that you could not see, while you tug at the hands pulling on your hips.

It's not fucking, the way he his cock forms an outline against your walls, fit just for him, but love in its truest form. He would insist, while he perches you atop him, drown in your whimpers and whines that create such a harmony with the way skin slaps against skin.

And when he finally cleanses you of the leftover sin you carry, you look absolutely gorgeous then, eyes blurry with tears and stomach painted in white. He moves to bring you the comfort you are due, though there's nothing he can do but smile. You let out a cry, another soft complaint of pain, and he smiles in return.

Sweet bird. Don't cry. He vows to fill your enclosure with satin clothes and burnished pearls. Anything for you, so long as you keep your wings folding underneath you. He knows, you wish to fly, yet the sacrifice of love is much more worth it, no?

praying i did king price justice 😭

#john price #price x reader #cod price #captain price #gn reader #tell me king!price wouldn’t have a savior complex #. . . fics

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socialfakes · 1 day

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crossing enemy lines -connor bedard-

part 2: while in colorado

nhl players x platonic hughes sister

connor bedard x hughes sister

series masterlist

Liked by _quinnhughes, calemakar_, jackhughes and 221,583 others

y/nhughes | spending some much needed time at emerald lake ❤

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_quinnhughes hope you're having fun on your vacation 😊 | y/nhughes i am 😊 thanks for the gift. ily ❤

user13 are you in bc or colorado?? | y/nhughes colorado & i love it here 😊

calemakar_ what do you think? | y/nhughes it's so beautiful 😍 thank you for tagging along 😊 | calemakar_ my pleasure

user14 she's at emerald lake with cale? | user12 never knew they were friends but i love it | user14 friends or dating? | user12 who knows

mackinnon29 it's the most beautiful part of colorado, isn't it?

user15 this is such a beautiful view. i'm jealous

user16 quinn is the best brother 😭 | y/nhughes indeed he is 😊

user17 knowing that she's there with cale just unlocked a ship i didn't know i needed 😊❤ | user12 hottest new couple? 🤔 | user16 oh for sure 🔥

jamie.drysdale this is my new favorite picture 😍 | y/nhughes 🥰

user18 the fact that cale and y/n are both single, hot af, and hanging out together is absolutely perfect. need this to be real please | y/nhughes 😏

jackhughes i miss you 😔 | y/nhughes i'll be back soon

_connorbedard lovely view ❤

Liked by calemakar_, _connorbedard, mackinnon29 and 228,917 others

y/nhughes | while i'm here, might as well visit my best friend for a few days ❤😊 i missed him so much honestly 😔 (and yes, he does put maple syrup in his stanley cup) tagged: calemakar_

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calemakar_ i love you so much ❤ | y/nhughes ditto!! 💕

user18 does anybody else believe y/n is extremely lucky? i mean she's got the 3 hottest brothers in the world and her best friend is extremely hot, maybe even hotter. not to mention that she's hot too. like, hand some luck to us too, love ❤

user12 i really didn't know that i needed this friendship to survive but holy cow. 2 beautiful people being friends? i love that shit

bboeser strange strange boy he is | y/nhughes you say boy like he's so much younger than you 😂 | bboeser well he is younger | y/nhughes less than 2 years

nicohischier genuinely great dude

jackhughes love this couple | y/nhughes not a couple 🙄 | mackinnon29 explain the cuddling then 👀 | y/nhughes i hate you

mackinnon29 it was nice to see you in the arena cheering for us 😊 | y/nhughes i was cheering for cale ❤

user17 need you guys to be together. please tell me it's real

lhughes_06 come visit me next time 😭😲 you live closer to me than cale | y/nhughes next time, i promise ❤ | _quinnhughes you promised i was next 🥺 | y/nhughes sorry quinn. you are next ❤ sorry luke (& jack) | jackhughes ❤

elblue6 hope you're having fun, sweetie | y/nhughes always am with cale 😊 | elblue6 just don't be giving me grandbabies yet 😂😉 | y/nhughes mom!! 🙈😅 | _quinnhughes mom, no 😂

trevorzegras the dog is cute

jamie.drysdale cute dog

user11 he's so cute

user8 cale is the best defenseman in the league | _quinnhughes you spelled quinn wrong | user8 i said what i said | y/nhughes i prefer centers over defensemen 🤷🏻‍♀️ but i do agree with you | user12 so you live in chicago and prefer centers? interesting 🤔

taglist: @worldlxvlys @fearfam69691

#connor bedard #chicago blackhawks #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #new jersey devils #fake social media #instagram au #hockey player social media #nhl #hughes brothers

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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 days

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Chapter 4 is up!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:22pm] Why do smoke detector batteries only die in the middle of the night?

T.K. is chowing down on some of Paul’s chili when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His dad is regaling the table with another of his New York exploits, this one about a rather scandalous call at a night club. T.K. had been off that night, but he’s heard the story so many times he could probably tell it word for word.

“An unbelievable amount of glitter,” his dad says as T.K. slips his phone out. As soon as he sees the text he smiles.

T.K.

[6:23pm] Are you speaking from personal experience?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:24pm] Yes. Two o’clock in the morning last night. Even though I change them every six months. Took me fifteen minutes to figure out which one. So tell me firefighter, why?

T.K.

[6:25pm] Bad news. Smoke detectors are sons of bitches. They’re like Santa. They see you when you’re sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they choose to use that information for evil.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:26pm] That seems like a major design flaw for a life saving device.

“Why are you smiling at your crotch?” Marjan asks from across the table.

T.K. slides his phone back into his pocket. “No reason.”

“Nobody smiles at their crotch for no reason,” Judd says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “You talking to a guy?”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody,” T.K. says, scooping up another spoonful of chili. It’s true. He was texting. Not talking. He’s a professional at telling the truth without actually telling it.

“I bet it’s that guy from the other night,” Paul says, a smirk on his face.

“Ooh, the hot guy with the six pack?” Mateo asks.

“Son, if you are engaged in sexting I’m going to ask you not to do it at the dinner table,” Owen says, clearly flirting with the line of dad mode and captain mode.

“I’m not sexting,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“But it is the guy from the other night?” Paul says. “Come on. You can tell us.”

“Is this what it’s like to have siblings?” T.K. asks. “Kind of glad you and Mom never got around to having more kids, Dad.”

“You’re welcome?” his dad says in a slightly bemused voice.

“Listen if you’re gonna text during dinner you’re gonna owe us some answers,” Judd says. ��Least you can do for not paying attention.”

“Fine!” T.K. says. “Yes. It is the guy from the other night. His name is Carlos and he’s APD. Happy?”

“Carlos what?” Marjan asks.

T.K. stares at her. “What do you mean Carlos what?”

“What’s his last name?” she says. When he doesn’t answer she sets down her spoon. “You do know his last name, right?”

“I—“

“Are you sure he’s real?” Mateo asks, adding more cheese to his chili. “Could be a catfish situation.”

“Catfish?” Owen asks, looking confused. “You think T.K. is talking to a fish that lives in muddy water?”

Judd shakes his head. “I’ll explain it later Cap.”

“I am not being catfished,” T.K. says. “He’s a real guy. A nice guy,” he adds.

“Ooooh you’re smitten,” Paul says with a grin.

“I am not smitten!” T.K. cries.

He does not share the part where he poured his heart out the other night through texts to Carlos. Apparently his New York sob story needed to be released and a somewhat faceless, hot ass phone man seemed like an appropriate person to do it with. He’s not sure if his therapist will be thrilled or horrified.

“Just be careful what you send him,” Marjan cautions. “The internet is forever.”

“Thanks Mom,” he shoots back.

“Marjan is right,” his dad says. “I am all for you sowing your oats or Netflix and chilling or whatever you kids are calling it these days. But you should be careful.”

“One time,” Mateo says around a mouthful, “my cousin thought he was going to some girl’s place, but when he got there, it was actually a dude named Knife. He stole my cousin’s wallet and his cell phone.”

“You know sometimes I really worry about you probie,” Paul says, eyes full of genuine concern.

Mateo’s story takes the heat off of T.K. and the team spends the rest of dinner ragging on him instead.

But T.K. is still thinking about Marjan’s words hours later when he’s laying in his bunk staring at the ceiling. Everyone else is asleep; he can hear Judd’s chainsaw snores, Mateo’s sleep mumbles, and Paul’s deep breathing. Crazy how quickly those sounds have become familiar to him.

He rolls over and grabs his phone off the nightstand, turning down the brightness so it doesn’t wake anyone else up. He gnaws at his lip for a second before sending another text off to Carlos.

T.K.

[10:41pm] You’re real, right?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:43pm] As opposed to…?

T.K.

[10:44pm] This isn’t a Catfish situation? You’re not really a woman living in Boise who’s going to steal my credit card information?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:45pm] You got me. You’re my third mark this year. What gave it away?

T.K. snorts then looks around quickly to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone up. His fingers fly as he types back.

T.K.

[10:46pm] Prove it.

Office Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] Prove what? That I’m real? How?

T.K.

[10:47pm] Idk. Send a picture of you holding a fork.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] …a fork?

T.K.

[10:48pm] Four tines? Used for food? Popular with mermaids?

There’s no response and T.K. sets the phone down on his chest. He’s stupid. This is stupid. What kind of stupid person asks someone who’s basically a stranger to send a picture of themselves with a fork at this time of night?

T.K. winces. Weirdest booty call ever.

His phone vibrates and when he lifts it up he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Carlos has sent a selfie of him holding a fork. His eyes are squinty, like he’s barely awake, and there’s a hint of scruff on his face. His hair is all mussed and he looks so adorable that T.K. feels a very strong urge to kiss him.

He’s also shirtless. Which makes T.K. feel a very strong urge to put his mouth other places.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Do you ever wear a shirt?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:55pm] I was in bed. This is how I sleep. And you’re welcome that I got up to prove my legitimacy to you.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Thanks. Do you want me to prove mine?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:56pm] No need.

T.K.

[10:57pm] No need? What does that mean?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:57pm] I know you’re real.

T.K. thinks for a minute and then his mouth falls open.

T.K.

[10:58pm] Did you background check me officer?!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:58pm] …I plead the fifth….

T.K.

[10:59pm] You did!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:00pm] Okay fine, I did. I wanted to know more about you.

Warmth blooms in his chest, but then is immediately doused like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on it. If Carlos ran a background check…

T.K.

[11:01pm] So…you know about the shooting then?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:01pm] Yeah. And the incident at the bar.

Shit. He’d really rather Carlos not know about the bar. He wishes nobody knew about the bar. Having his dad pick him up from jail had been a low point in their first few months in Austin. It had taken weeks for his split lip to heal. At least he hadn’t been charged. He hadn’t realized there was still a record of some kind though.

T.K.

[11:02pm] Great. So you’ve seen the highlight reel of all my finest Austin moments.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:02pm] I actually already knew about the shooting. It was kind of big news. I just didn’t realize it was you.

T.K.

[11:03pm] Yep. That’s me. Remembered for my near death experience and getting my ass kicked.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.

T.K.

[11:03pm] It’s okay. Like you said, you already knew about the shooting. And it’s my fault the bar thing is on record anyway. It was really stupid.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] Everybody makes mistakes T.K.

T.K.

[11:04pm] Well I already spilled my guts to you about New York. So you know I’ve made more than a few.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:04pm] So have I. You just don’t know them yet.

Why does that small bit of empathetic understanding make his heart ache? His therapist would probably say something about how he always feels like he’s too much for people to handle and Carlos choosing kindness instead of running away at the first signs of T.K.’s baggage.

T.K.

[11:05pm] Do you think it’s weird that we never met before the other day? Since we’re both first responders?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:05pm] Not really. Austin’s a big city.

T.K. rotates his phone in his hand a few times, getting his nerve up.

T.K.

[11:06pm] Would you want to hang out? Sometime?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:09pm] Like a date?

The alarm blares and T.K. immediately shoots upward, pulling on his boots and turnout pants as everyone else does the same. The fire is a big one and they don’t get back to the station until four am. By then it’s way too late to text Carlos back and honestly, he’s too exhausted to even form words. He drops into his bunk and falls immediately asleep.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #911lsfic #Tarlos Fic #Thirst Trap Thursday

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fulcrvm · 5 months

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I am thinking thoughts about airports and flying again. And Dreamling, of course.

So. Human AU. History professor Hob has to fly around a lot for work, perhaps for conferences or smth of the sort so it's always to a small handful of the same nearby cities. He's pretty neutral on the idea of flying in general, though he wishes it was a bit more environmentally friendly, but Hob is a sucker for a nice airport and especially a nice airport lounge during layovers or before boarding.

Hob has begun to frequent a small local airline (White Horse Air, the logo is a coat of arms with a little pegasus, wyvern, and hippogriff on it, haha) when traveling because he likes their service (they've never lost his bags, not even once!) and their flights are never fully booked, which makes them quieter and easier for hob's chronic pains. He always picks seats with no one next to him so he can sprawl out and so it's easier on his knees.

Until, one day, he boards the little plane and there's someone in the seat next to his. Hob's sure that when he booked his seat, the other one was empty. Oh well, whatever, Hob's not going to bother the other man already sitting there for one flight— he'll just have to be a little more mindful booking next time. Hob shuffles into the seat, and notices that the stranger sat beside him is reading Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur! Hob gets excited because! That's a William Caxton publication! And Hob has so much to say about Caxton! He turns to the stranger to strike up conversation about it and... is immediately lost at how pretty the stranger is. Handsome, gorgeous, yes of course, but pretty, with the shell pink lips and focused blue eyes and slight frown at the book in his hands. Hob picks up his metaphorical jaw off the metaphorical ground and strikes up conversation with the stranger. Though the other man starts off apprehensive, somehow the two hours of flying fly by and the two of them end up talking about all sorts of art, history, and everything in between. Hob learns that the stranger works in publishing, thus his interest in Caxton.

Their flight lands, and the two of them disembark at the gate, still attempting to continue their conversation while Hob tries to wrangle his carry-on bags. (The Stranger only has a small laptop bag on one shoulder and a suit jacket folded over his other arm with him.) Then Hob has to check the time and begrudgingly says that he should probably head towards his next gate soon— this is just a layover after all. The Stranger looks ever so slightly disappointed and admits that this is his actual destination and he needs to meet his sister soon. They part ways, and Hob tries to dwell on the strange warmth in his chest. He thinks about the Stranger for his entire work trip afterwards.

This, somehow, happens a couple times. Turns out they both frequent White Horse Air, and though they're never in booked seats next to each other again, the flights are always empty enough that they can shift to sit next to each other once the plane's in the air. They chat the flight away, and then part ways once they disembark, with the Stranger headed to the baggage claim and Hob to his next flight. One time, the Stranger even requests the hostess to bring out a special bottle of Chateau Lafitte 1828 just for the two of them to share. Hob's in awe. He really enjoys their conversations, it's nice to be able to talk about his interests in a non-academia environment. The Stranger always has the most intriguing and eye-opening perspectives on everything, too. It doesn't really help that Hob thinks... maybe he's developing a tiny, teeny, really inconsequential really crush on his Stranger. He's not in grade school anymore, how does he feel like this about someone he doesn't even know the name of yet!

This all comes to a head when Hob mentions to the Stranger that his layover is a bit longer than it usually is, and if the Stranger is in no rush, they can continue their conversation in one of the airport's lounges. White Horse Air is a bit too small an airline to have their own lounge, but Hob's collected enough miles to get into one of the other airline lounges and is fully willing to pay to get in one if it means more time with his Stranger.

The Stranger is extremely enthusiastic about the idea— which shows up physically as a subtle, coy upturning at the corner of his mouth and a little sparkle in his eye. (Hob feels proud that he can read this reaction so well.) He's so enthusiastic, in fact, that the Stranger offers to get them both into a first-class lounge. Hob doesn't even pretend to hesitate to say yes.

Let's just say they get to the lounge, split some cheese and wine, and the proceed to get even more enthusiastic with each other in a private room. Hob's lucky he brought a change of clothes in his carry-on. (Maybe Hob's not so lucky and can't sit comfortably during his next three-hour flight.)

Hob gets a bit emotional when he has to leave for his next flight (already missing being able to hold his Stranger's face so gently, being able to card his fingers through his soft, smokey hair) and gets his guts together to ask if the Stranger wants to exchange phone numbers or something, so they can be in contact more regularly. Perhaps even, meet on purpose maybe? The Stranger smiles and kisses him lightly on the cheek when he slips a business card into Hob's hand.

Hob's so caught up in it all that he doesn't check the business card until he's fully boarded and sat on his next flight. And he gawks.

Morpheus Aion The Dreaming Publishing House

As in, one of White Horse Air's biggest shareholders? Aion, as in, probably the sibling of Teleute Aion? As in, Teleute Aion, the CEO of White Horse Air?! Hob almost passes out.

In the end, Morpheus and Hob laugh it out. Morpheus promises he never abused his sibling privileges to invade Hob's privacy, but used the sibling perks to frequent White Horse Air flights a little more than he even needed to just for the chance to see Hob again. They're both happy to not need to keep flying just for that chance anymore, haha. Idiots in love! Turns out, while Teleute lives where Hob keeps having his layovers, Morpheus and Hob actually live just a few hours driving from each other from their shared initial departure location. It all works out perfectly, and Morpheus self-restraint from inviting Hob to move in (so they don't have to keep travelling to see each other, no matter how small) lasts not even a year after they officially start dating. Hob doesn't even pretend to hesitate to say yes :)

(Years down the line, much after they're married, Hob finally has enough miles to get them back into those first-class lounges to have more fun. It's all very lovely.)

#my thought process was “can i get them to fuck in an airport lounge room” and then i never even wrote that part #guess what i am also a sucker for a nice airport and an even nicer airport lounge. i am yearning for a nice flight rn #i genuinely love flying so much. not domestic travel but international travel is what my entire life revolves around and i am allowed to #romanticise it a little bit haha #anyway #(me describing morpheus' lips with a guitar color) ah yes literature #how the hell do i tag this #i dont usually post idea dumps like this but i have no where else to put it haha #i'd love to write it but i dont think i'd know how to approach this lol #if anyone wants to take this as a prompt go ahead!!#the sandman #dreamling #dc #rex speaks #rex writes #(?)#long post

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ndostairlyrium · 1 year

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-Are you sure it’ll wash off before the meeting? -Trust me, vhenas, I know what I’m doing.

Forgive me for the siren screaming you’re hearing in the distance, it’s not an ambulance, it’s me fangirling like mad over THIS 💛😭

I think everybody and their grandma would recognize such gorgeous lines, and yes, I can confirm they’re indeed @demandthedoodles’ who was extremely lovely for accepting to collab with me ;; thank you again stea 💛 We drew each other bab-- blorbos and their beloved fereldans (what’s with fereldans tho, what do they eat to be like *gestures eloquently*?? if I knew cabbage would do *that* to a person I would have eaten kilos of it per meal o-o) 💛 and seriously, you have to take a look at his part because the coloring is breathtaking ;;

but first let’s take a moment to enjoy Bonbon in all his glory (them pawssss aaaaaa)

#collab #demandthedoodles #dragon age #inquisitor lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #primula #ser byron de val royeaux #ndo sta l'art tag #STRUDEL RUN SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING #he's too in love to protest and she's too in love to avoid messing up with him #it's just rhubarb or saffron it'll wash off #(in a week)#I really can't stop looking at both parts and bask in this very happy sensation ;; aaa #all is good in the world <3 #it was genuinely a good experience and I'll miss working on this << seriously it was over too soon

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aingeal98 · 1 month

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You would think that since Bruce and Cass's morals are so aligned I'd be rooting for Bruce in his confrontations against Jason but you'd be wrong. If it's Cass vs Jason I'm team Cass she has the moral high ground and I like her more. If it's Bruce vs Jason neither of them fully have the moral high ground even though technically Bruce and Cass's codes are quite similar. Because unlike Cass Bruce has been used as a mouthpiece by multiple right wing writers and also just plain bad writers to the point that you have to ignore a LOT to simplify his morals down to "Killing bad." Like yeah if Jason's going around murdering people I'm rooting for say, Cass or Dick to take him down. With lots of angst and challenging their codes and making sure everyone has a bad time. But Bruce is just such an asshole and yeah, bad person, in so many other ways. (You can ignore the comics where he's horrible if you want but they exist and there have been so, so many of them it's a consistent character trait post Jason's death. And it's never character assassinating him for anyone else, he's always presented as the Protagonist even when he's going through his edgy punch the kids moments. Which sucks but that's what DC chose.)

And also Jason was sacrificed for Bruce's pain and meant to just stay dead and smeared to let Bruce get the angst without the bad dad allegations so hell yeah son. Come back to life and torment your father. Be more than just a costume in a cave. Just get better comics and better fans because when you're not fighting Bruce you've been Lobdell's pet for so long that most casual readers associate you with his godawful writing right after the UTRH movie.

#after alfred I think bruce is my least favourite batfam member even though I enjoy so much of his interactions with my faves #But the way he treats Babs Steph Helena Dick Jason... Tim Damian and Cass too in a slightly different way #i like good batdad content but I was also rooting for gotham war to end with them jumping him and breaking his legs. u know.#dc #dc rambles #scared to tag this with any character tags because it's not coherent it's just something that's been brewing in my brain #like one part of it is that even when cass is wrong i care about her more than the people she's wronging.#and one part of it I do genuinely think despite their codes being so similar at this point Cass is the pure essence of what batman should b #whereas bruce is just. head stuffed up his own ass by so many different writers it gets boring.

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doctorsiren · 2 months

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I can’t imagine the number of weird asks you get as a artist. As someone whos learning to draw i both admire and feel sorry for the sheer amount of drawing stuff you do/probably are asked to do. Your art is great, but i hope ur not burning out with all the good stuff you’ve been posting lately from asks n stuff

I have over 1000 asks in my inbox, and there are some weird ones for sure

When it comes to asks for me to draw things, it’s actually pretty nice because hey uh yeah free ideas! But also sometimes there is that pressure, but i’ve learned that hey I don’t need to answer every ask I get and I also don’t need to draw something for every ask y’know?

When I need something to draw to keep me busy for whatever reason, I can just look in my askbox and usually find something, so I’m always grateful for any asks that I get!

#doctorsiren #not art #siren speaks #I hope your art journey is going well!#and also tysm!#I don’t think I’ve experienced art burnout in a long time #sure I’ll get burnout for certain things like AUs or whatever #but with art itself I can’t #im always always always drawing #even when I got carpal tunnel near the end of the summer #I pushed through and got a brace so I could keep drawing #…even though drawing so much is what caused my carpal tunnel #I genuinely don’t know what people who aren’t artists do with their time #as in i can’t imagine what I would be doing if I wasn’t drawing or creating or making stuff #it’s just such a core part of my life and of who I am #lmao sorry I didn’t mean to get all deep in the tags there haah #anywaaaays

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smokestarrules · 6 months

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guess what I finished watching

#genuinely I am bamboozled #I heard it was bad and I knew it was bad but I didnt realize the scene ITSELF was as horrible as that #its just. genuinely how fucking dare you for doing that #I understand the concept okay #the entire season and show has been foreshadowing eve's own death and I Get the concept of twisting that around #in the sense that her death comes from another's undoing and that her death comes from villanelle's protection #but the execution ????? even putting aside that the ending itself is shit and disingenuous for the characters. the EXECUTION OF IT #thats the part that has Genuinely stumped me #even the reveal at the very end with carolyn- at this point that means nothing #there's no leadup to it happening like I thought there would be it just Happens while theyre being happy and it's all over within 30 second #and then the show Ends #what the fuck #knowing it was coming didnt even help it just makes me more angry than sad #in the last two minutes???????????#goddamn #I am so fucking sorry to u all who watched this season as it aired #that is sick #after all the character development????#okay. I promise I'm done now. what the fuck. I went to bed immediately after watching and woke up ANGRY #sorry for the abundance of tags mygod #killing eve #killing eve spoilers #smokey speaks

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pennyserenade · 3 months

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all we ever wanted was everything

interlude i: henry & mariella - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella), male oc x female oc rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: angst, smut, talk of children and pregnancy, marriage, depression, infidelity. word count: 6.7k summary: theirs is a story as old time: married much too young, certain they were pioneers on those unbeaten paths of love. all they ever wanted was everything & all they ever discovered was how none of it was really as original as they had hoped. it is a love story & it is not. a/n: you don’t technically have to read this but i think for the sake of the story & all understanding of mariella as a character, it is recommend. also it does play an important part in the next chapter, but i do think could get by without it.

The clock ticks past midnight at the college library and no one notices. Mariella Tawes and Henry Rath are both little more than lowered heads at the opposite ends of the same room, drawing in the same tedious, steady breaths.

She is studious at the wrong hours, insomniac and homesick, and he is making up for another weekend of fun. His head swarms, full of numbers and equations, and hers tilts, rested on the palm of a tired hand. Mariella’s mouth follows along silently with the words on the page and Henry’s eyes are prone to wandering in her direction. He chances a glance at her now and then, and finds she never looks back, so he grows braver still with the length at which he inspects her each time.

He remembers her name. They had health together last year in that cold, creaky classroom with old Mrs. Severson (who remembered, ironically, as being pretty severe with the deadlines). Her name is Mariella, pronounced Mari-ella. He wonders if she remembers him. She doesn’t seem to notice him from her corner of the world – and didn’t then, either – so he guesses probably not.

Henry is good-looking: hazel eyes, more green than blue, generous nose, boyish smile with a heavy bottom lip, and a head full of thick brown hair that falls shaggily over his ears and cascades just above his eyebrows–just how the girls like it. If you think of an All-American boy–try to conjure up an image–he might be the product you receive. Someone, in the spring of his Freshman year, told him he was the Pacific Northwest’s answer to JFK Jr, so of course he is not alien to the attention of women. He doesn’t really need more of it, but for some reason he’d really like Mariella to look at him just once.

Maybe that’s why he’s staring so hard. It’s not just a glance anymore. He’s inspecting her the way she’s looking at the book in her hands, careful and captivated.

She looks up at him, notices, like she can hear his thoughts. He smiles at her, not as nervous as he ought to be for having been caught. He wanted to be caught. It's the truth. She smiles too, before she ducks her head and finds her book page again. Her cheeks tint red and he feels poorly, but nicely too—liking the idea that he might be something that could make her nervous in a warm way. They go back to their quiet, to their own work, until his hungry stomach upsets the balance in the room thirty minutes later. It grumbles for seconds that feel like hours.

He laughs nervously, embarrassed. She smiles, reserved. “I haven’t eaten in a while,” he says.

“I think the pizza place is open down the street,” she provides kindly. He nods; it is. During the week, he works there. It is odd that he has never seen her there.

“Are you hungry? Would you like to go with me?” He is personable. Mariella is less so, it seems, but not in an unwelcoming way. He can tell she’s shy. He remembers that she rarely ever raised her hand in class.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got to study.” The book in her hand is lifted, as if to say: see.

He smiles. “That’s fine. I’ll bring one back for us.”

He doesn’t give her the time to protest. When he comes back, cheeks red from the winter bite, he’s got half cheese, half pepperoni. She’s still in the corner, softly whispering a passage to herself. “Which kind?” he asks, opening the box in front of her.

“It’s okay, really,” she tells him. She smiles. “Eat your pizza. I don’t need any.”

“Are you sure?” he frowns.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t want to take your pizza. I’m okay, really,” she insists, still smiling. A polite smile, cushioning a rejection.

He gives up, trying not to act too defeated. He probably wouldn’t take his pizza either, now that he thinks about it. “Okay,” he tells her. He goes back to his side of the room, opens the math textbook that has been making his head feel heavy, and gets back to work. Grease stains the college-lined paper as he begins yet another problem.

“You’re Henry, aren’t you?” she asks out of nowhere.

When he lifts his head, he sees her looking at him from all the way over there. Her finger is tucked in between the pages of her book and she is beautiful in a way he can’t necessarily pinpoint, and wouldn’t want to. He nods sheepishly. Rejection does wonderful things to the ego, especially at hours like this. Even JFk Jr. would blush. “Yeah,” his voice says for him.

“I’m Mariella. I think we had a class together.”

“Yeah, health last term. I didn’t know if you remembered.”

“I did.”

She did. He blooms with his newfound boyish crush.

They are going to fall in love. It’s written between the lines of the grease stained paper his number is sketched on—the one he gives to her just shy of one am, and she keeps for decades after.

—

Leafs fall on campus the day Henry walks Mariella to class for the first time. They meet in the middle of the large university, at the edge of the empty soccer field. She wears a maroon cable knit sweater and her smile grows incrementally as he approaches her. His hair is wet, curling around his ears already, and the wind is biting as it blows in his direction. He wouldn’t have put this off for the world; he’d jog halfway here from the gym, wet droplets falling onto his heather-gray sweater the whole way. Even with the shower, he smells somewhat like chlorine and clean sweat, but he’d made it. His chest burns from the effort, but he beams at the sight of her–a beautiful square toothed smile.

They’ve been seeing each other in that tentative way young people do when they’re not sure what the other one wants; casual non-dates at the cafeterias peppered across campus, kissing in the back of his car with the radio turned down low on weekends; promises to see each other throughout the week. But no one dares to say the word date or boyfriend and girlfriend. They exist in the liminal space of the pre-relationship, and it’s beginning to worry him.

“Want me to carry those?” he asks her, nodding to the books in her hand. They don’t seem to be weighing her down, but the act seems chivalrous and he wants to be helpful, giving. Last night he’d explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue, tasted the salty column of her neck and felt her over her white lace bra. The car had gotten so stuffy, and she’d been grateful to let him draw up her blouse — it had proved rather tantalizing for them both. But as nice as that was, he doesn’t want her to think that’s all he wants.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. He looks so handsome like this: dripping wet, his chest rising and falling, so earnest. He’s got such an intense stare–so imploring.

Henry likes her–really– and she knows it, which scares her most of all. Something about him makes her feel helpless. He is like a cosmic wonder, some shooting star that tails its way across the night sky and fills you with hope – all while making you feel the precariousness of human life.

“You didn’t have to walk me to class, you know? I’ve been doing it by myself for a long time,” she says, though not unkindly. Her voice is always warm with him, even without her trying.

His bottom lip protrudes and his eyes go droopy, as if he is a puppy dog that’s just been kicked. “You don’t mind it, do you?”

“No. No, of course I don’t,” she's quick to clarify. “I just don’t want you to think you’ve got to do it.”

A cloud of relief flushes into the ecosystem of his body. He wears a contented grin as he breathes out: “I do want to. I like being around you, Mariella”

If he only knew how much she wanted him. She can’t shake this feeling of impending failure, can’t shake how it looms ominously over each interaction they have together. At the dining halls she worries her food choice is wrong. In his car she worries he might have more experience than she does. On walks such as this one, she worries his inspecting gaze will catch an errant behavior, an ugly mark, too much smile or too little—anything—and find her no longer attractive. The fact that he seems so pleasantly happy to be here with her, walking, stuns her more than it ought to. It isn’t that she isn’t pretty. It’s not even that being pretty is what matters most to her. What Henry has brought into her life, along with a pocketful of joy she’s trying her best to ignore, is the realization that she’s afraid she’s not lovable. That something is wrong, always has been wrong, and that when she opens herself to him, he will find it.

“I’d like to take you as my date to this party I’ve been invited to next week.” He broaches the topic gingerly as they round the corner. They branch off into a more secluded pathway that she takes every day to this class. The stony decade old buildings provide an echoey background as he says,“It’s a low stakes affair, just something a friend of mine’s putting together.”

She stares ahead, feeling the lump of fear form in her throat. Now is the time to back out, she thinks. But for some reason she can’t. His body bumps into hers and he apologizes weakly for the misstep. In his voice she can hear nerves. She looks at him. His face is open, nothing to hide on its handsome expanse; he is nervous. “You don’t have to,” he adds quickly, “I just thought maybe since…”

“I’d love to go,” she tells him. Okay, she thinks. This is it. You are going to do this. This being: pursuing him, allowing herself to be pursued, falling in love with him. Getting serious. This is more than she’s ever given to any person in her life and it makes her flush. A grin breaks out across her lips and she feels like laughing. He looks like he feels that way, too.

“Great,” he says. “I…Would you like to have lunch with me? After your class?”

“Yes.”

“Two yeses in a row. I feel like I’ve got a good streak going here.”

“You do,” she laughs. They turn another corner. When they bump into each other again, no one apologizes.

“Mariella?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“Would you be my girlfriend?”

Her eyebrows draw up to her hairline. She looks to see if he’s joking. He is not.

“Okay.” It doesn't take her long to decide. This is a part of the plan, after all, just served up sooner than she imagined. “Yes.” —

In Harvey, James Stewart talks to his imaginary bunny and loses his mind in the most endearing manner. He’s set to the soft volume of six tonight, heard but not always seen. The hues of the movie throw shadows on Henry’s face and Mariella admits to herself that this boy is devastatingly good looking. Her heart thrums nervously in her chest as his warm hand skirts up her leg. They’re going to do it. He’s got condoms in his bedside table and a bottle of lube in the bathroom, if needed.

It isn't Mariella’s first time, nor his, but there’s an exciting freshness to it anyway. He gathers her up in his lap, asks her once, twice, ten times whether or not this is okay. His hand fondles her breasts, grips at the flesh of her ass, and drags a slow path to the waistband of her underwear. She nods against his forehead, warm with desire and flush with excitement. Last week he had fingered her in his car, in a position much like this one. She’s been thinking of it since, let’s it cross her mind at odd and obscure hours of the day. To be wanted by Henry makes her feel good, seen, human. When she thinks of his fingers inside of her, the way he kissed her hotly as his fingers ran over clit…

She moans wantonly and he nods, encouraging her. “Please,” she tells him softly, “Now.”

Suddenly Henry is above her, in her, forearms pitched at either side of her head, tongue in her mouth. Her hands guide his ass and her legs embrace him, the entirety of her body opening for him. He groans softly as he sheaths himself inside of her. Beneath them, the mattress groans from the pressure of their sway. It is nothing. It is everything. People have been doing it for centuries and yet nothing like this, not the way Henry and Mari do it now. It is flesh meeting flesh, the undoing of neatness and propriety that has guarded her for too long. Mariella gasps earnestly when he comes inside of the condom and he kisses her until her lips are red and plump and ache a little. Then he does something no man has done before and he makes her cum too, his lips glossy with her want at the end. She likes him.

In the post-coital aftermath, they finish the movie. He holds her loosely against his naked frame and touches her appreciatively, a thumb stroking a nipple, or her stomach, or some place as innocuous as her cheek. When he tells her that the movie is a favorite of his father’s, a man who calls him once every five years and who he scarcely knows past that single fact, Mariella falls a little in love with him.

Henry Rath understands her before he knows he does.

—-

They move in together, in an apartment close to campus. During the summer they had searched relentlessly for a place, calling long distance from Laredo to Washington, racking up unimaginable phone bills as they circled their newspaper entries with red pens. They hummed and hawed over the possibility of their future and now they stand in it: A plain two bedroom that costs three hundred a month.

The manager had been so adamant that they take the apartment as soon as possible — “These things go fast because we’re so close to campus” — so they did. Because why not? It's been two years and Henry’s finally got a diploma. He wants to hang it somewhere that’s all his.

Mariella wraps her arms around his torso and lays her head against his back. She moves with his muscle, listens to him speak through the sinew of his body. “It’s so hot,” he groans, but he doesn’t tell her to get off of him. He bangs a nail into the wall and laughs with boyish pride when it turns out alright. She had told him she worried that his craftsmen skills weren’t up to boot.

“You did it,” she says, poking her head out from behind him. He lifts an arm and she pulls herself through, hanging off his side. It is hot; she can feel the sweat on the small of his back. They inspect his work with grins only people in love can wear; soft and pleasant, like life is a cloud and they’re ready to sleep on it. “I probably shouldn’t have,” he responds. But he’s happy he did.

She nods; she told him so. But this is so new. He is a college graduate and she’s a year out from her own degree. For the first time in her life she will never return home after the year finishes. This fact alone is enough to make Henry warm with excitement. Two summers without her had been long–even with internships to keep him busy. He visited her once, midsummer this past year. Laredo had welcomed him as most places did: with open arms. Mari’s father thought he had a good head on his shoulders, and told her so. And secretly, without her knowledge, Henry had asked the man—who could be intimidating when he wasn’t actively being warm—if asking Mariella to marry him would be alright.

“At twenty-three it is easy to think you know what the world wants for you,” James told him. But he’d said yes after Henry added on the fact that he wouldn’t do it until Mariella was finished with school. So there’s this apartment and the promise of more to come. It’s pleasant to have so much future, an endless expanse of more stretched out before them.

They will even thrill at the insanity of shared holidays, divvying themselves up between Laredo (her father’s) and Washington (his mother’s) with a bewildering delight. Their marriage is inevitable, but time is no race. Unlike their parents, they vow to do it right. -

She wears an inexpensive pink gown that her father had bought her for a different occasion–her college graduation–and admires the way her simple gold band looks against the tan of Henry’s suit. It’s fitted, the first he’s ever had. He’s so handsome that she feels a deep and incessant need to just touch him. Her husband. The word feels ethereal and interminable, sweet on the tongue as she nuzzles her head into his neck and whispers it. As they sway along to the soft sound of wedding acoustics, he lays his hand on the small of her back. Married in a church earlier today and celebrating in the back of her grandparents’ sizable home, Mariella feels like she’s beat some magnificent curse. After the reception, they travel into the thick of the Washington woods. He’s gotten them a honeymoon cabin, equipped with a hearth. There is no reception, just trees and the eerie quiet of vast woodlands. What is usually the makings of a horror movie seems a respite with him.

She wraps herself around him in an armchair, moves into his lap, lets herself gasp with pleasure. There is no one around to hear. He tastes like forever, his tongue finding her own, his cock deep inside of her. They move like they did when they were dancing, a sway, his hips meeting her hips, a rhythm so comfortable and easy as to allow for conversation.

“Two children,” he rattles off, tucking her hair behind her ear. He looks down between them, his voice heavy with his own desire as he watches them connect. Henry. He’s got a mole on his cheek and he wants to fill her with children. His wedding ring rests against the softness of her curves and hers presses into the firmness of his bicep. Two children, he says, because he and Mariella are the only children to two sets of parents who didn’t work out. It’s lonely being the only creation. She nods against his forehead and presses her lips to his. They gasp into each other as he fills her deeper.

She’s on birth control so the sentence is little more than a fairy tale, but they like it. Maybe it’s sweet naïveté or honeymoon foolishness. Perhaps it’s the fact that they’re tucked away in the trees, no one coming to disturb them for a week, not even in the form of a phone call. Whatever it is, they enjoy it. They form these stories between them, hips moving together in wedded sync. She feels him deep inside of her and her cheeks tint red as he tells her, against the cusp of her ear, “Let’s make them now, Mariella.”

It’s so easy to agree knowing it can’t happen. Playing pretend like children, except now the concepts are grander and the playing is different, a shade more intimate. She closes her eyes and imagines hazel-eyed children in a beautifully lit house, their little feet in the palm of her hand. Their toes will look like his; their smile will look like hers. Maybe they will inherit something from his mother. Maybe something of her father’s. It doesn’t matter. There will be two and they will not be lonely, and they will be half of him and she will love them just as much, if not more.

Her and Henry are going to grow old together. They’ve discovered love, really discovered it, a groundbreaking newness to the oldest thing in the world. It's never been like this, not between anyone else. Mariella is so sure.

- During the first summer of their new marriage, Henry makes friends with the principal of a private Catholic school. They stand cart to cart in a long checkout line and find common ground on a topic as simple as Sunday night football. By the time they reach the end of the line, Henry’s got himself an interview. They need an accountant as badly as he needs a job. In the parking lot, holding a package of hot dogs in one hand, he leans forward and shakes the man’s hand with the other. He is so pleased with himself that he calls Mariella as soon as he gets to the car.

He gets the job because he’s Henry: lovely, affable, and qualified. He does a good job. Such a good job, in fact, that they take Mariella on too.

At first she is a helper for a large second grade class, but then she matures quickly into a full fledged teacher herself. Mrs. Miller has a baby in December and decides the baby needs her more than her little classroom does. There is talk of Mariella being set to take on kindergarten next year, too because Ms. Neely, a seasoned kindergarten teacher, is ready to move up with her class.

The air is full of promise. Their future feels nearer and nearer every day. They buy a moss green ranch house with a downstairs and an upstairs, and two extra rooms for anything they want. They get the approval to paint it tan by the Homeowners association and they laugh together about the fact that they have to ask for things like that.

Henry falls asleep on the couch sometimes, too tired to drag himself to bed but they are happy. They married young and people told them it would be hard. And it’s not terribly hard, not as bad as they made it seem. He is still adoring. He brings her flowers for no reason, and he still loves her enough to take her on dates every Saturday night, no matter what. She can’t ask for much more.

——

Henry’s wearing a red baseball cap. His cotton white t-shirt is paired with blue-wash Levi jeans and he looks devastatingly good–like a baseball player on a day off. It is the school’s annual end of summer picnic. Mariella wears a pink summer dress that falls to her ankles, and a delicate gold cross on her neck to make up for the indency of bare shoulders. Children and parents alike call her “Mrs. Rath” as she helps pass out food.

One of the mothers is flirting with Henry, the way mothers tend to do because school accountants don’t usually look like this. It makes Mariella ache with pleasure. His muscle is flexing beneath the cotton of his shirt as he plays idly with a baseball in his hand and listens to the woman. It’s like he’s James Dean or Marlon Brandon: an American dream lover in the flesh. He is all hers.

The mother looks at him like he’s the greatest thing on God green’s earth and he’s so polite, so kind, nodding along to her like he doesn’t notice. Perhaps he doesn’t. She wouldn’t put it past Henry.

He turns his head and sees her. He begins waving like crazy and the mother turns her head to look too. When she sees Mariella she smiles like a woman who understands, or one who’s been caught, and nods her head respectfully. I see, the move says. And Mariella beams. Yes, she thinks warmly, he is all mine.

She finds she wants to bury herself in the love he has for her. She’ll give him children, of this she is certain. Not now, but one day. They both intrinsically understand this, so he doesn’t ask and she never says. Their condoms and their concepts stretch on, because they are so young and life is so sweet with ripe possibilities, but she knows, looking at him, that she must do this for him. She loves him more than anything. If she is going to give anyone children, it has to be him.

Her mother was older than this by the time she had her.

Henry and Mariella experience a shift, eat separate dinners on Wednesdays and Fridays, and make friends with people at work. He goes golfing sometimes, talks about country clubs and moving away. This is ennui. She shrugs, content with life but open to the possibilities. Or is she content? Is this just boredom she’s grown used to? She finds it’s better not to think about that. It is contentment.

One night Henry asks her about babies. It is not a forbidden topic but they’ve begun to treat it like it is. He has come home late, a little buzzed, and he is groping her. She doesn’t mind. It has been two weeks. “When?” he asks softly into her ear. She leans back into him, hums. He humps against her backside and seems to forget she doesn’t answer.

She has children. Fourteen, all small and bright and lovely. There’s a precocious little girl who she favors, and almost makes her consider the possibility of it. It just doesn’t seem like the right time now.

Some day, she will give him his children.

They are still young. There is so much time. –

Over a cup of coffee, Mr. Seton confesses to Mariella that he loves her. His classroom is across the hall from hers and he seems to be her only friend these days. They’ve bonded over many things: music, old movies, the fact that they’ve both got busy, active partners and that they are the youngest on the roster this school year. Henry has so many friends, and seems to make a new one every week, despite the fact that his job is rather isolated. It makes Mari nervous, like there’s something wrong with her. When Mr. Seton – whom she calls Adam when there are no children around – tells her he loves her, she feels betrayed. You were my friend, she wants to tell him, in the same tone she uses to tell a student she is disappointed in them.

When she gets home, she tells Henry. He is upset—not at her, he makes sure to clarify—but at Adam. He asks her all kinds of questions about him, and though they are spoken in a gentle tone, she knows: Henry is upset at her, even if he says he’s not. It’s an undercurrent, his anger, his frustration.

“He knows I’m married,” she adds hopefully, as if it will help. But she has wondered all day if maybe she hasn’t been doing a good job at showing how married she is–wondering if maybe somewhere along the way Adam had figured out something she hadn’t. When Henry asks, “And Adam’s wife? Does he not think of her?” she knows the questions are meant for her, at least in part. And Mariella’s husband? Does she not think of him?

Henry loves Mariella more than he has ever loved anyone. If this divide they’re experiencing is because of children then he won’t ever ask about them again. He hadn’t even meant to. He’d gotten a little tipsy that night and it had slipped out, but it doesn’t matter to him. Not this much. He’ll do anything if it means that goddamn teacher won’t tell Mariella things like that again. Next time he sees her–tomorrow–Mr. Seton will know Mariella is too goddamn in love–that it will be pointless and embarrassing to confess something like that. Their love is invincible and this is just a kink because they married young. Everyone said they’d go through rough patches and this is one of them. How dare that man think his confession could come to anything?

“Mr. Seton, love your own wife,” Henry can imagine himself saying to the be-speckled, wannabe home-wrecker. He is nothing if not equable, even to those who threaten his domain, his life. “You’re going through a rough patch, and my wife will not be your garden of Eden. She loves me. She tells me what you said. Your secrets are her stories to me, because she loves me.”

Maybe not so equable, then, not in his own mind. Not to Mr. Seton. Not to fucking Adam.

Later Henry fingers Mariella on the staircase. They don’t make it to the bedroom because they can’t; it's needy and desperate. It feels like before, like she is twenty and he is twenty-two and this is that shitty apartment they rented together their second summer as a couple. It feels like that until he asks her to say she loves him. She does, and he asks again, over and over and over, and he swallows the words in his mouth along with her moans. They go down like stones, hard and sharp. They are true–she does love him–but they are also just words, yet to be eroded by the pleasures of deep meaning.

Mr. Seton loves her, but Henry loves her more.

She loves me, she loves me not.

God, they married so young.

- A third anniversary. They don’t think of children, at least not together. Henry does, but it makes him ache so he tries not to. They’ve got a lifetime ahead of them and Mariella is not yet even thirty. They will have her eyes, her mouth. They will have his eyes, his nose. They will be perfect and loving and worth the trouble and the time and this desperation he can’t seem to fix.

Mariella forgets to say she loves him in the morning before work but remembers many more times throughout the day. This is just life.

- They argue. It is so rare that they do. They are not like this.

It is angry. His anger is large, not violent, but it makes her lip trimble anyways. For the first time in her life, she thinks she could hate him. She does. But then she doesn’t. She loves Henry so much and this is her fault. She works so late, comes home too tired to do anything but sleep.

“What does a teacher even have to do that late, Mariella?” he bellows and it is an ugly accustation. She counters: “Are you saying my job is somehow less important than yours? You don’t think I need to stay out as late as you because what–you make more?”

The argument becomes about so much of nothing in the end. Henry wanted to go on vacation—and it was only a suggestion. She was unrelenting and mean and they end the night by fucking. Fucking, unlike anything they’ve done before. It is ugly and they don’t use a condom. He cums on her thigh, mostly, and she is afraid two weeks later when her consistent period isn’t consistent anymore.

She doesn’t buy a pregnancy test to assuage her fears, not that first week, and she doesn’t tell him. The thought of it makes her sick. She can’t bring a child into this. It is so boring and ugly, and they are so young. She has fourteen kids in her class and she doesn’t want to take time away to be a mother. Not yet. She knows she will not be like Ms. Miller and he will not understand. Henry aches to be a parent. She can’t barely handle it, the way he aches. When her period comes she wants to be happy, but she is so notably unhappy now. Henry worries more about the teacher who confessed she loved her, to the point of quiet paranoia. He asks her so many questions about him. He finds the pregnancy test in the trash. They don’t talk about any of it. - Henry doesn’t want to divorce Mariella, but he realizes that he has to. He’s watching a movie late at night and she’s gone, at a conference for teachers and he is so excited for her to get home, wants her more than ever. But he knows what will come is not the Mariella he needs. It’s this idea he’s in love with, and maybe he’s that to her too. Ideas don’t stretch very far.

She doesn’t love him anymore. Not really. Not the way he needs her to.

They discuss it in the shower when she returns. He can’t tell if she’s crying as she leans her head back into the water spray. “It’ll cost money,” she tells him, so matter-of-fact he wonders whether or not it's a badly timed joke. It is and it isn’t. She loves Henry. She only said it so she wouldn’t promise babies to make him stop talking about it. Because she can’t do that. Not yet. Not now. Probably not ever. She is only twenty-six.

She read once that babies inherit fears and anxieties of the mother when they are in her womb. Her mother had been twenty years old and scared to death of her, of the idea of having to care for her alone. Maybe that’s where she got this: a fear of motherhood. Or maybe she’s just wrong, born out of sorts. She’s got a maternal instinct but an emotionally barren womb. It's no man’s land, working but unavailable. Everything will come out wrong somehow, she knows. If God was that cruel to Eve, what’s stopping him from doing something as twisted as that to her? Nothing.

Henry will never understand that. She is only twenty-six today and next time she will be only twenty-seven. Or maybe she will just be twenty-six and divorced. Who knows?

—

It's raining so hard outside that they’re wet from the downpour. He’s kissing her like he’s never kissed her before. Her lips are cool against his own. She shivers, drenched. They are going to be fine. She is an April baby and it always rains on her birthday. He gives her a necklace that’s too expensive but just her taste. They discuss a child quietly in bed that night and he is so excited. She is twenty-seven and terrified. They are going to be alright.

Aren’t they? - Henry asks Mariella for a divorce in the summer. By Christmas they are. She goes back to Laredo, tail between her legs. She doesn’t eat properly for months, but life moves on. - He invites her to the wedding. They promised to remain friends and this is how he is a friend. She knows it’s not mean, that Henry really wants her there. The wife looks so different from her. She wonders how badly she must’ve fucked him up. Mariella declines. She is meant to be a good friend the way she was meant to be a good friend: hardly. - He is a father to a baby girl. Her name is Emily and she is their concept, an idea they formed together as a married couple, come to life with some other woman. She doesn’t have anything of Mariella’s, not the eyes or the mouth or the nose. Mariella tells him congratulations so earnestly she hates herself for it later. She is in Washington to visit her grandparents. Her grandpa is dying, which is something she might’ve told him before, but can’t now. He has a child! The grocery store is so overwhelming, all that bad fluorescent lighting and passing carts. She just needs soup. He tells her to keep in touch, really means it because he’s so goddamn happy and full of life. A beaming new father. She doesn’t keep in touch. Of course she doesn’t. - Randomly, he writes to her. Asks how she is, says that he wonders about her. His daughter is yay high and his wife is happy. Mariella writes back. She’s got a new job as a teacher. It’s been a good week so she sends the letter and forgets about it until he sends one back. They talk and talk and talk, safety in the miles between them.

She is happy to be his friend. - She visits her aunt and her grandmother at the beginning of summer. Henry isn’t on her mind until he’s in her line of vision. Another grocery store. She’s wearing a summer dress and her hair is shorter than it’s been in ever. His daughter tugs at his shirt and they stare at each other forever, remembering the life they had once lived. He asks about dinner. She says yes. Of course. They’re good friends.

They spend the night having sex, and it’s familiar. It isn’t supposed to be like this. He is home. She was so young when she fucked it up. They are in love or maybe not. Maybe this is just the past mistaking itself for the present. That happens when you get lonely enough.

“You’re so…” Henry stutters off. His fingers dig into her hips, his groan deep as she fits herself over him again. “Tight,” he finishes. “God, Mariella. It..” His pace quickens, the sound of bare skin hitting bare skin evading the sex scented air. “It’s never been like this.”

Her skin tints red. A furrow settles between her eyebrows and he wrongfully mistakes it for mounting pleasure. She feels his satisfaction between her legs, his moan low and guttural as he takes in the sight of her above him. When he opens his mouth to speak again, she raises her hand, covering his wet lips with her fingers. The unashamed obscenity of his words is so unlike him. She never thought about the ways he’d be attuned to his other wife, about the ways doing this with him would make her think of the fact that he’s no longer hers. He takes her finger in his mouth, his hot tongue eagerly swirling around it.

His eyes connect with hers for the longest second in the world. They are the most promising thing she’s ever seen, wet with silent apology and the pain of their enduring love. Maybe even a little bit of remorse. He’s a cheater, after all, and she is his willing accomplice.

Beneath the soft orange hue of the bedside lamp, his eyes are green, freckled with familiar browns and blues. She replaces her finger with her tongue in his mouth. He tastes achingly of home, of their abandoned Washington ranch house someone else probably owns now. It’s so ironic she could cry. He does, a little; their kiss becomes salt drenched and tragic, but real, honest, like it should’ve been at the beginning and not now, some place even further beyond the end.

He twitches inside of her. He pushes her downward, so close to his chest that her nipples scrap over his chest.

Her cheek rests against the warmth of his lips.

She is gone by morning and he frowns, touching her side of the motel bed like he’s not quite sure she is really occupied by it. But she did. He remembers. Hip to hip, mouth to mouth, married in memory. When he gets home, his little girl opens her arms and giggles into his embrace. His wife is in the office, the one they share. She is also an accountant and she doesn’t ask where he’s been, but he tells her anyway. “Was at work,” he lies.

She believes him, because why shouldn’t she? He is always at work.

—

It has been three months. He leaves her a voicemail once, twice, three times and she deletes them all. His wife does not know. His daughter asks him why he’s gone so much. He cries in the shower and wonders why the hell he lets Mariella ruin his life.

And the answer is as simple as anything, but no less painful: because he loved her first and he might love her always. He is envious of the men he cannot know exist--the ones he imagines might be entertaining her. He wants to fly to Laredo, to ruin her life, but does not. Life moves on.

All they ever wanted was everything. He realizes that was too much. He will settle for half of it.

#original work #i genuinely do not know what to tag this but it is a part of the fade into you universe #but it does not have javi in it so

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