#Can You Stop A Divorce Once Its Been

[tonycries]

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing. 

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h. 

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly. 

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air. 

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome. 

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real? 

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique. 

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable. 

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot. 

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks. 

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo? 

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol. 

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-” 

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine. 

And then it’s all black. 

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact. 

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into? 

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment. 

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that. 

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.” 

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-” 

“It’s al-”

 “I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.” 

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about. 

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling. 

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso. 

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye. 

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve. 

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh. 

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again. 

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,” 

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. 

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that- 

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory. 

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit. 

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you. 

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock. 

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.” 

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock? 

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well. 

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins. 

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him. 

All for him. 

It’s too much. 

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.” 

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon. 

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind. 

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand. 

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could. 

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him. 

You. 

And then he’s cumming. 

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him. 

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow. 

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course. 

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved. 

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt. 

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time. 

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R. 

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right? 

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture. 

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success. 

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. 

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing. 

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting. 

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue. 

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that. 

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. 

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously. 

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?” 

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions. 

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples. 

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping. 

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing. 

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips. 

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face. 

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue. 

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water. 

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do. 

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide. 

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need. 

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you. 

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue. 

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. 

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could. 

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life. 

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl. 

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips. 

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same. 

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat. 

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later. 

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face. 

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt. 

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well. 

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him. 

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more. 

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty. 

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass. 

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them. 

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him. 

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason. 

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. 

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more. 

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him,  “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get. 

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you. 

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut. 

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want. 

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully. 

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually. 

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves. 

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed. 

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.” 

Except maybe those. 

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[slaygentford]

Armand's podcast chiarobscuro on obscure art history is just him speaking in a monotone for 1 hour about 1 page of 1 illuminated manuscript nd it's coincidentally number 1 trending on pods because people use it as a sleep aid. but then sometimes in the middle of it he'll say something incredibly disturbing and a cult (haha.) following starts claiming there are hidden subliminals in it which are allegations Armand never acknowledges and which people on twitter roast but reality shifters on tik tok get increasingly into. Daniels podcast by/line is beat out consistently by pod save America which is totally fine and not contributing to his alcoholism or his divorce or his psychosexual obsession with armand. he won't listen to armands podcast as a point of principle except for when he puts it on to fall asleep and then gets weirdly turned on and then pavlovs himself into arousal every time he hears armands voice. one sided psychological torture. Armand's cult (haha.) following continues to grow until lestat's podcast lestat (self-titled) filed in culture & the arts blows up and usurps him even though its an hour and a half one-man monologue about quite genuinely nothing at all, though worryingly often, his mother. and Louis? well Louis isnt privy to any of this because he has a child to raise and zones out whenever lestat starts talking about renting out a bigger recording studio for his podcast so that he can have guests on and invest in sound equipment FOR CLAUDIAS FUTURE, OF COURSE. her college fund Louis! the dividends will go toward her college fund. ahaha. what is the definition of this: dividends. Louis gets curious and listens to lestats podcast but gets distracted by recommended for you: chiarobscuro, finds it interesting enough that he doesn't fall asleep, and mentions it offhandedly to lestat after telling him lestat (self-titled) is cute. lestat is distracted by the high of being told Louis likes his podcast but wakes up in the middle of the night sitting straight up in bed when he remembers Louis said "chiarobscuro" in passing at precisely 7:46am this morning. lestat who has armand in his phone represented by the 🕴🏼emoji from college (Louis doesnt know he knows him, lestat has never once mentioned him) calls him from the bathroom at 4am and demands he immediately end his podcasting career. armand who of course answered at 4am counters that they meet in a neutral location to discuss terms. at 5am lestat and armand meet at a park. lestat rages, scaring off several sunrise joggers and their dogs. armand allows this to happen in silence and then says look across the pond. at which point lestat does and sees a bedraggled 50 year old white man plodding along with bodega coffee. you needn't worry about your Louis, says armand. I have a different project. I have been implanting subliminal messages in my podcasts in order to lure Molloy into my thrall. lestat, grudgingly impressed, concedes and stops to get coffee for the family before going back home. Louis and claudia are delighted by the impromptu breakfast and lestat is offered a special shower time reward. before disrobing, and working quickly, he hacks Louis' phone (passcode claudia's birthday) and in a fit of true selfless sacrifice deletes not just Louis' subscription to chiarobscuro, but his podcast app as a whole--damning his own podcast to never again be heard by Louis but removing armand permanently from their lives forever. he joins Louis in the shower, stunned by his own genius. perhaps he will have that worm molloy on his show in order to thwart armands plans. lestat 2 armand 0. it's almost enough to ease the burn of armand telling lestat in their audio production class in college that he's too dumb to start a podcast

[hansensgirl]

☠️ — 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary. | Steve Rogers and his wife have a precarious arrangement in which she can have as many affairs as she likes, as long as she doesn’t ask for a divorce. But a man like him only has so much patience. And there you are, his child’s babysitter, too sweet to resist.

pairings. | Dark!Steve Rogers x baby-sitter!fem!reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter (brief), Peggy Carter x numerous OMCs (implied/mentioned).

warnings. | NON/DUB-CON (leaning more towards dubious consent), smut, age gap, Halloween celebrations, deceit, manipulation, Steve is mean to his wife, obsession, possessiveness, implied murder (not the reader), mentions of masturbation (m), fingering (f), kissing, nipple play, Sir kink, mild Daddy kink, creampie, dirty talk, power dynamics/imbalance, praise, mild degradation, pet names (sweetheart, sweetie, honey, baby, love), missionary, rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism, mentions of riding, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~4.8k

author’s note. | hello! happy belated halloween! i know i’m a bit late—i’m sorry. here’s the dark!steve fic i was talking about. it’s a Deep Water!AU. please enjoy and heed the warnings! thank you @cuttlefjsh for beta-ing and putting up with me! let me know what you think. thank you for reading! taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

The leaves fall apart underneath the pace of his feet. The hill slopes downwards, and the branches snap and hit the ground. Steve keeps pushing—keeps running even though he’s long devolved from a jog. The burn in his lungs is beautiful. He’s breathless.

For once, he doesn’t have to think about little Sarah and her mother. He doesn’t have to worry like a housewife, even though he was once the man of the house.

Millions in revenue. Two vacation homes. Endless income. But it’s never enough for her.

When Steve reaches the creek, he stops. The Apple watch on his wrist clocks in an unhealthy amount of steps. Unhealthy for everyone else, at least. He’s always been above average, and now he’s just like the rest.

Another greying head in the sea of a crowd. Another typical client his shrink has with the same old problems—a cheating wife, a midlife crisis.

His phone buzzes, and Steve half-expects a reminder he doesn’t need. But it’s better—so much better than he could ever predict.

It’s you—your name with a heart. His spouse doesn’t even have that—she’s just got her entire government name with “wife” in parentheses.

Hi, Mr. Rogers. Hope you enjoyed your weekend! I wanted to confirm that I’m coming tonight. I texted Mrs. Rogers yesterday, but I haven’t received a reply yet. Sorry to be pushy. I just need to know in time. Thanks, and Happy Halloween! 🎃

He sighs. He’s never understood why you always go to Peggy first, even though you’ve seen her incompetency more than you do your own family. He’ll have a talk with you tonight—while Peggy is out on a date with her latest suitor.

Hey, honey. I hope your weekend is as wonderful as you are. Yes, we’re still on for tonight. Don’t worry about my wife. From now on, just come to me, okay? Be here by 7:00, please. Thanks. Happy Halloween! 👻

Steve replies a few minutes later, but you read his message immediately. The timestamp makes him smile. Soon, the ‘typing’ icon pops up and following it is your message.

Great, thank you so much! See you then :)

You even leave a ‘heart’ on his text message; he does the same to yours. A sigh escapes the older man’s chest. His heart has returned to its regular rate, and the sweat on his back has cooled.

The scene before him is gorgeous—but doesn’t even hold a candle to your beauty. The thought of you is more addictive than any illicit substance. It calms him down when he needs to and riles him up at the worst times.

Steve says it’s not fair. Peggy shouldn't have all the fun with her boyfriends—even when her husband gets rid of them quicker than need be. It’s exhausting to deviate from law enforcement for a woman who doesn’t care about her own family.

She gets to devise grand schemes and say mean words to him. She doesn’t bother with her own daughter. She doesn’t lift a finger or pay for a thing with money she earned. Steve has to live in the shadows—and he’s tired of it.

The almost 50-year-old man follows his usual trail back home. Sirens pass behind him, heading toward some emergency that he undoubtedly has nothing to do with. Not this time, at least.

He feels like a dog in the manger. Everyone can have Peggy (to a certain extent), but he can’t have anyone himself.

Fake cobwebs and pumpkins sit outside houses on each side of the road. It’s the spookiest night of the year, yet you have no plans. No parties to attend with some stupid little boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you the way he would.

When Steve unlocks the front door, he finds his wife’s heels strewn on the floor and his daughter watching cartoons in the living room. He kisses Sarah’s head and ensures she’s eaten the entirety of her breakfast. He tried his best with ghost-shaped pancakes, though they turned out more like blobs than anything. She doesn’t mind at all.

Sarah’s a brainiac, her new hobby being those kits that teach you how to hook wires into potatoes and other vegetables. Steve applauds her creations every time she shows them off, noting the little technological genius in her that he must’ve contributed to.

That is, if he’s her biological father.

The television screen plays her choice of cartoons, with a Halloween theme for the special day. He smiles when she laughs before heading upstairs.

Peggy has the largest room with the nicest furniture. She spends little time there unless she’s getting ready to go out or recovering from a hangover.

Steve knocks on her door. Despite there being no answer, he unlocks it and lets himself in. His wife is wide awake, eye makeup smudged a bit, but she’s wearing her signature jeans with a tank top.

She turns around and smiles at the sight of him. “What do you think?” she asks, gesturing to the costume she has laid out.

It’s a vampire—that’s as much as he gathers. The little voice in his head tells him how fitting it is—Peggy has sucked the life out of him for the last seven years.

“Perfect,” Steve tells her, giving her his most forced smile, and they both know she sees right through it.

“Good. And what are you going as?” she questions, turning her back to him. He genuinely contemplates this for a second.

For the last few years, he’s always worn a cheap cape and said he’s a superhero. But he’s tired of the same thing all the time.

“I’m not sure. I’ll come up with something, though. What time are you leaving?” Steve asks. “Oh, probably around six. Don’t wait up for me. You’ll take Sarah trick-or-treating, right?” Peggy smiles, unwilling to take ‘no” for an answer.

Steve says nothing and simply leaves. He takes his phone out of his pocket—sleek screen and a photo of you and Sarah as one of his wallpapers—and pulls up his conversation with you.

Hey, hon. Do you mind coming a bit earlier? 6:30 will do.

He doesn’t even have to wait for your reply.

Sure! Do you want me to stay the night, too? I don’t mind.

Always diligent. Always a sweetheart.

Please do. The door will be unlocked.

You give his message a thumbs-up, and he sighs.

Tonight will be the night. Tonight, he’ll finally get what he wants, and no one can stop him. Not even you.

You give the door a knock three times, even though you’re more than welcome to simply enter. It feels wrong, though. Too familiar, too casual.

Halloween is one of your favourite holidays. It’s a day full of excitement and creativity, and the month leading up to it is terrific. The turning leaves and the cold weather that lets you wear your coziest sweaters. The candy is the cherry on top of the entire delicacy.

You’ve never been on for extravagant costumes due to your procrastination. Tonight, you’re an angel. You don an all-white get-up; a lace dress, sheer tights, and matching shoes. You have a borrowed halo on your head and floppy wings on your back. It’s the best you can do for now.

Steve opens the door a few moments later, and he’s wearing a black suit. His hair is gelled, and he has a toothy grin—a change from his usual scowl. You smile at the sight of him.

“Happy Halloween!” you cheer, and he laughs. “Happy Halloween, sweetheart. What are you supposed to be? The devil?” he jokes. “Hardy-har-har. I’m an angel. But what are you? A CEO?” you ask, raking your eyes up and down his body.

The older man basks in your attention, his ears burning red.

“Actually, I’m a groom. Something different from the superhero thing, you know? It was the only thing I could come up with,” he sheepishly admits, and you wave his shyness away. “I love that! I never see anyone do something simple yet unique. But no decorations?”

You glance back at his front lawn and see nothing but withered flowers and yellow leaves from the neighbour’s over-arching tree. His porch simply has a bowl of candy with a threatening “TAKE ONE (1)” sign, assumingly written by Sarah.

“Nope. But there’s always next year!” he reassures. You giggle and nod your head. Your cheeks burn from smiling so much. Do you find him amusing? Or is it forced? Steve has numerous questions running through his mind, some exciting the butterflies in the attic that is his stomach, and some boiling his blood.

“C’mon in. No jacket? You must be freezing. You’re better than that, honey,” he chides like the father he is. He locks the door behind you—chain and all. “I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” you admit, removing your shoes. Steve takes them from you and places them on the rack where Peggy’s usual ankle boots would be.

You note the absence of her items and the lack of noise from the television. You don’t pay them much mind.

“Ah, rookie mistake. If you want, you can borrow a jacket from me,” he offers, picking up a stray black feather from the floor. You set your small backpack on the bottom step and follow his lead.

“So… What’s Sarah’s costume? She kept talking about being a minion, and then a cow, so I’m not too sure,” you laugh, and Steve does the same. “Peggy wanted her to be one of those Mario characters, but you know Sarah. Tonight, she’s Albert Einstein. Including the wig, of course.”

When you enter the clean living room, you expect to see her adorable face dressed as the notorious physicist. But she’s not there—and neither are the family photos.

“Um, sir, where is she?” you question, and he gestures to one of the sofas. You take a seat and wait for his return. He comes back with two drinks and hands you one of them. “Sarah is at her grandma’s. Peggy is at one of those parties she always goes to,” Steve coolly explains.

“Oh, are we going there? Or do you want me to stay back and give candy out?” You take a sip of your drink—a cherry limeade you once raved about to him. The sparkling water fizzles on your tongue. “No, she’ll be going trick-or-treating with her cousins.”

There’s a beat. A moment. And it lasts for a while.

“Uh, so what am I doing here?” you query. “Sweetheart. I’m a bit disappointed. You probably think that’s all I want you here for, don’t you? C’mon, you’re more than a babysitter to me.”

Steve places emphasis on his last word. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, but I really don’t understand what you’re implying,” you profess, downing more of your drink out of sheer nervousness. Are you being fired? Are they moving? Did you do something wrong?

“Oh, honey, c’mere,” he says, even though he comes to you. He moves from his position across from you—standing tall in his full, towering height. Steve sits down next to you and places his large, warm hand on your cold left thigh. “Don’t be scared. M’not gonna hurt you. You’re not in trouble,” he says in a low tone.

When he’s this close to you, you can see the details of his face entirely. Whenever you’ve tried to admire him from afar, it’s like he knows when you’re looking.

“You’re so sweet… So pretty. I bet you’re nice and soft, too, hm? And you’ll be a good girl for me?” he asks, and you furrow your brows. You open your mouth to say something to him, but you’re quickly shut up with a searing kiss.

Steve presses his lips against yours, and it’s better than anything he could have ever imagined. The fantasies he’s had during those late nights or showers with his fist wrapped around his cock don’t even compare.

He takes charge, pushing his tongue inside your mouth and exploring within. His strong hands scoop you into his lap, one of them holding the back of your head. You lean back as Steve’s forwardness dominates you. You’re not sure what to do, so you place your palms on his shoulders and use a bit of force to try to push him away.

The married man doesn’t budge. It’s getting hard to breathe, and you feel like he’s sucked the air out of your lungs. You sink your teeth down lightly on what you think is his tongue, and he hisses as he pulls away.

“Sir– We can’t do this. It isn’t right. I– I mean, you’re my boss, and you have a wife—and poor Sarah, she doesn’t deserve this–”

“Fuck Peggy. Do you really think she cares? I don’t love her, never have. I only love you, darling. Now, what you just di–”

“Love me? Mr. Rogers, I think you’re mistaken. Maybe it’s just because we’re alone, or you and Peggy have been distant, but you don’t love me, Sir. I won’t mention this to anyone, I swear. And I’ll find another job if you’d like,” you breathlessly explain, shaking your head.

Steve shushes you with a snarl. “You’re not leaving me.” His voice is stern, and his tone says it all—there’s no arguing. “Please,” you try to get off the older man’s lap, but he holds onto you tightly. “We’re perfect for each other, honey. Don’t you see? Sarah loves you, and you love her. And look! I’m your groom, and you’re my angelic wife,” he exclaims, pulling the halo and ripping the wings off.

You gasp at his strength and audacity. You’d try to fight him, but you know you’d end up more hurt than anything. “Please don’t make this difficult,” he demands, adding your name. The mention makes you flinch, as he rarely says it.

“Look at those eyes… All blown out. I bet you’re soaking, aren't you?” Steve asks, but you don’t reply. His blue irises seem much darker in the dim lighting. His pupils are wide, and it’s like looking at a man who’s been possessed. “You’re probably making a mess of your panties, and we’ve barely even started. Does that always happen when you’re around me? Gosh, I bet you smell so sweet.”

His words make you whimper, and he smiles. “Oh, and look at those perfect tits,” he hums, groping them. Your nipples are stiff as peaks, and the rough touch from Steve has you shuddering. “Pl– Please,” you beg as he pulls at the nubs. The pain teeters on pleasure, and you squeeze your thighs to put an end to the thrumming at your core.

“‘Please,’ what, sweetie? Hm?”

“Please, Sir,” you whisper.

The title makes him groan. “Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting you,” Steve expresses. You don’t want to know. “Ever since we met… D’you remember that floral dress you wore? That you kept pulling up? God, I wanted to take you right there…”

You remember that day all too well. Seeing Mr. Rogers in all his glory was riveting, and the slight crush you developed lives on. Now—you’re not sure. Your brain is a mess, and you can’t think straight.

Your boss lifts you up bridal style, and he doesn’t let this go unnoticed. “See? We were meant for each other, honey. And we don’t even need a wedding.”

He sets you down on the bed in the room on the main floor. You’ve stayed here from time to time when Peggy likes to come out at two in the morning, and Steve is beyond worried for her.

Was it all a farce? You remember those times and how he never called her or insisted on picking her up.

Steve’s hands pull at your cheap dress, and he rips it down the middle. You regret your choice of not wearing a bra, but either way, it would’ve done nothing.

He cups your breasts, and you moan at the touch. He latches his mouth onto one nipple as he plays with the other. His mouth is skilled—his tongue flicking and teeth slightly grazing the sensitive skin.

Mr. Rogers’ fingers are just as talented. They pinch, pull, and twist at your other peak simultaneously. He switches eventually, and you’re a puddle beneath the imposing man.

Your back is arched slightly, and you’re practically pushing your chest into his face, and he chuckles. “So desperate. You need me so badly, don’t you?” he says, nodding his head and smiling when you mimic him for a split second. “Atta girl—so good for me.”

Steve pulls back, and you whine. He soothes you and pulls his jacket off. You can see the ripples of muscle beneath the white collared shirt. He unbuckles his belt with swiftness. You gnaw on your bottom lip despite its swollenness.

Soon, he’s back on you. Your boss hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, and he pulls them down your legs, admiring the strings of slick that break from the distance. He pushes the cloth into his pocket, and you clench when you think of the things he’ll do with it later on.

In your mind is a tiny voice that chides your every wrongdoing—how you haven’t fought back as much as you should. But there’s a louder one that was once lovesick over the married man before you, and it’s far more convincing.

Steve spreads your legs and curses at the sight of your sopping cunt. You involuntarily clench from the exposure. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. One arm keeps him up, and the other bends your knees, giving him better access.

His fingers slide against your folds, collecting wetness as he caresses your lips. You let out a pleasured sigh, secretly wishing he would stop tormenting you and just get it over with. “So sensitive, too. I bet you’ll make such a mess on my cock.”

You never knew Steve could have such a filthy mouth—and God, do his words have your head spinning.

He quickly finds your swollen, throbbing clit and lightly touches it. The sensations on your little pearl are mild, but they’re enough to have you writhing beneath Steve. He draws light circles with the tips of his fingers. Your mouths brush against each other, and he teases you until you’re whispering pleas against his lips.

“Shh… It’s okay, love,” he reassures. Once he knows he has you worked up enough, Steve pushes the first digit into your pussy. The intrusion has you gasping, which turns into a whimper when he shoves another in. “Lookatcha, honey. You’re takin’ my fingers like a champ. This cunt is so tight, though. I’m really gonna have to stretch ya to fit my cock in there.”

The idea of his large cock barely fitting inside you makes your muscles involuntarily constrict against Steve’s fingers.

It takes a moment for you to adjust to the intrusion, though your walls welcome him like a familiar friend. His fingers are longer and thicker than yours, and with ease, he reaches that sweet spot most boys your age miss.

Eventually, Steve begins to fuck you on his hand. His digits slide in and out of you with ease as he picks up the pace. The skin glistens from your slick, and it’s a sight to behold. He creates a scissor motion with his two fingers every now and then, stretching you out while having you at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long for your moans to get louder while your face forms a frown of pleasure. The squelching sound of your cunt and that build-up just above your core are tell-tale signs that you’re about to come. “Oh, sir…!” you wail, and Steve picks up the pace.

“I can feel that cunt clenching on me, honey. God, you’re so beautiful this way. C’mon, make a mess on my hand. Come for me,” he rasps, rubbing his cheek against yours.

Your eyes squeeze shut when you come undone on Mr. Rogers’ hand. Your aching hole squeezes his fingers, and he makes you ride your orgasm out. Your back arches, and you let out a loud moan as pleasure shocks every nerve in your body. The lewd sounds of your cunt are noisy.

You find yourself immediately wanting more, even though you shouldn’t.

“Good girl—such a good girl for me,” Steve coos before slowly sliding his fingers out your channel. Your inner walls already miss the presence of his digits. You struggle to catch your breath, but in the midst of it all, you hear your boss pull the zipper to his pants down.

“I can’t wait to get inside of you, sweetie. I need you so badly it hurts,” he says while pressing kisses against the side of your neck. Steve climbs on top of you as he frees his aching cock from the confines of his boxers.

He grips himself by the base, his entire hand wrapped around his hardness. He gives himself a few strokes as pre-cum leaks from his slit, sliding down his bulbous head. His size is marvellous, a raging purplish-red with a thick base. Steve slaps the tip of his cock against your clit, and you flinch from the unexpected jolt of pleasure. “Fuck…” he curses.

“Are you looking, sweetie? This is such a special moment for us—I hope you remember it well,” he hums in your ear, and out of your natural obedient instinct, you lift your head to where you two are about to be connected. The sight of Steve’s cock makes you whimper. “Shit, what a good little slut.”

He drags the head of his dick through your dripping folds, and then he pushes in. The sudden stretch causes your skull to fall back against the bed. You try to close your legs, but Steve’s presence makes that impossible. He refuses to let you hide what’s his.

The older man completely sheathes himself inside your pussy. The squelching sound has you cringing in shame, but that quickly disappears when the feeling of fullness takes over. Steve’s balls touch your ass when he bottoms out, and your breathing is rapid from the sensuality of it all.

A hand wraps around your throat—though gentle, it scares you at first. Your eyes meet with Mr. Rogers’, and he looks at you with what appears to be adoration.

“You feel just like heaven,” he simply tells you. “I’m never letting you go after this—never was plannin’ on it, anyway.”

Before you can even process his words, Steve starts to fuck you. His pace is slow at first, and he hits your sweet spot with ease—a feat most boys your age are incapable of. Your moans are wanton and loud, teetering on the verge of pathetic for someone who was fighting against him at first.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, and your reaction makes Steve smile. “You love this, don’t you? Yeah, always knew you needed a real man to fuck this cunt.”

His thrusts are a bit quicker now, and he pulls in and out of your wet pussy roughly. The sound of skin on skin is thunderous, nearly covering up the wet noises from your stickiness. His thick cock shines from your juices. Steve ruts into you like a starved man—because he is one.

His pelvic bone hits your clit every now and then, and his swollen, heavy balls are against the curve of your ass. He’s relentless in claiming you as his, sucking, biting, and licking at the skin on your neck.

“Oh my God—Steve–” you mewl, the pleasure blooming inside you almost too much to handle.

“What’s wrong, honey? Are you gonna come again?” Steve questions with faux pity. He punctuates each word with a thrust, fat cock pushing into your tightness. “What a pathetic little slut, making such a big mess on her boss’ cock. And I’m married too. You just can’t help it, can you?” he teases, and his filthy words have you squeezing his length from the filthiness. He lets a groan out from the feeling, and he keeps the fervour going.

That elastic band inside your stomach begins to tighten, and you can feel another orgasm build up quickly. “Go ahead. Make a mess on Daddy’s dick, baby,” he urges, and as if on command, you cream around his thickness.

Your back arches off the bed, but you don’t go anywhere far with Steve’s chest keeping you pressed down. Your hardened nipples rub against the cloth of his shirt, and the added friction makes your climax all the more breathtaking. The older man pounds into your cunt vigorously.

Stars appear in your vision until you come back down. Mr. Rogers doesn’t stop fucking you, forcing you to endure the overstimulation. Even with your legs shaking, he refuses to give up. “Good girl—such a good whore for Daddy,” he praises. The tip of his cock pummels against your G-spot continuously.

Your tits bounce with each push of Steve’s cock. Sometimes, he grazes your cervix, but the mild pain dulls away when he presses chaste kisses to your face and brutalizes your g-spot. “‘S too much,” you mumble, legs involuntarily trying to close. “Nu-uh—It’s enough when I say it’s enough. Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna fill up that pretty pussy real soon,” he says, and as if on cue, there’s a change in the way he pounds into your cunt.

His thrusts become more sloppy, but they keep the same passion and desperation that he started everything with. There’s an intensity you can’t describe because it just feels so fucking good. The hand on your neck moves and begins to caress the rest of your body. Your pulsating walls hug him, practically refusing to let go. Your skin is hot and sticky, just like his—if not more.

Wandering hands grope your body, going pliant underneath Steve. Guttural groans leave Steve’s mouth while you’re gasping endlessly. “Shit—you were made for taking this dick, sweetie. I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking down your thighs,” he promises, and the threat of it sounds terrific to your fucked-out mind.

“Be a good girl and soak Daddy’s cock one more time,” he orders. The blur between your previous climax and the one that takes you over now has your head spinning. You grasp the bedsheets from the overwhelming pleasure. A silent scream leaves your mouth, which Steve accompanies with a grunt followed by a string of curse words. “Fuck.”

You squeeze Steve’s length tightly, soaking him in your wetness. Electric shocks run down your spine and unto every nerve in your body. You feel like you’re floating for a split second. You’ve never come that hard—ever. It’s difficult to breathe, and Mr. Rogers is mean enough to make you take the euphoria he’s doling out.

Wetness stains the skin that surrounds where you two are filthily connected. Your ass is sticky, and some of your cream stains the trimmed hair at the base of Steve’s shaft. It’s a mess—one he intends on adding to with his semen.

His cock twitches inside your pussy, and with a final shove, he stills with his pelvis pressed against your clit. Steve’s balls clench, and he shudders as he reaches his own high. Ropes of cum spurt from the fat tip of the older man’s cock, painting your insides. The feeling makes you whimper as you’re filled to the brim with his seed.

For a few moments, Steve stays in that position, catching his breath while he recovers from his orgasm. Your eyes dance along his face, taking in the pinched yet relaxed look he dons.

Eventually, your boss resurfaces from the depths of his climax. You’re more than exhausted and have half a mind to fall asleep right then and there.

But the sound of the front door opening and closing shocks you from your stupor. Worry is written all over your features when Steve looks at you. “Aw, don’t worry, honey,” he hums, and though it may seem impossible, you can feel him get harder inside your pussy,

Whether it’s your evident fright or the thrill of getting caught, you’re not sure. Both make you dizzy.

Peggy’s notable accent slurs a call for Steve. “Think we should put on a show for her?” he jokes, grinding his cock further into your pussy.

You’re sure that no matter what you say, he won’t listen. And what will follow will be a nightmare you can’t escape.

But those thoughts ebb away when you hear your other boss curse a storm and abruptly leave, even though she hasn’t walked in on the pornographic scene that’s taking place in the guest room.

“Well, there’s always next time—if she’ll even make it,” Steve grumbles under his breath, but the words are too vague for you to dwell on them. “Think you’re up for round two, love? I wanna play with those tits while you ride my cock.”

For the nth time, your body betrays you and tells him your true desires. Either way, he still would’ve gotten what he wanted. Steve Rogers always gets what he wants.

[civildisorderstream]

2023, The Year of Self-Sabotage

Has anyone noticed the trend businesses have been on in 2023? There's a LOT of self-sabotage going on in the business world. Throughout my life, and everyone else has their own observations too, once in a while you see a company make a boneheaded decision about their product or service. And once in a while you'll see a decision get made that is bad, but maybe it at least has some justification (even to an anti-capitalist goober like myself). But this year has been nonsensical moves of greed or product/service sabotage that make no sense for longevity or harm what's in the best interest of the consumer.

Activision-Blizzard: The Overwatch debacle, and Diablo Immortal's scummy practices.

Netflix: The account sharing debacle.

Twitter: Maximum divorced loser Elon Musk destroying its functionality and branding and we still call it Twitter.

Reddit: Inspired by Musk's stupidity, the API tools debacle. Shame on the Reddit communities for not knowing how to strike btw (you don't put a time limit on it).

Hollywood: Pulling shows and films from streaming services to declare them as failed products and somehow get a tax write-off for it.

Also Hollywood: Willing to take quarterly losses greater than the annual cost to meet the demands of two striking unions put together.

Unity: Announced in the past day that it will charge developers a fee for installations because greed.

Titan Submersible: "Safety is for losers" says billionaire who proceeds to use his shoddy tech to do a murder-suicide.

Starbucks: Breaking ALL of the labor laws to try and stop unionization. Admittedly a reach to be on this list but the situation (like all the others) is ongoing and can compound.

Embracer: A massive corporate company that bought a bunch of smaller companies. Thought a 2 billion dollar deal with the Saudi government was a sure thing, so they spent 2 billion dollars on stuff. Deal falls through, so they start closing companies they acquired.

That's just the ones I can remember off the top of my head. These aren't business decisions done for the sake of consumers. These are all decisions done to spite consumers or the workers who produce the products and services.

People try to remember years as being the "year of" something. And it's a thing I do too. For me, 2023 is the year of corporate self-sabotage.

[oceantornadoo]

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

--

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

[sonarspace]

RAIN, REGRETS, & REDEMPTION. KENTO NANAMI

SYNOPSIS: promises made in the rain often get washed away, leaving echoes of what might have been CONTENT: angst. nsfw. PAIRING: ex-husband! nanami x reader. WC: 2.7k

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

it's been over five months since you filed for divorce from nanami. they say it gets easier with time, but it feels like it just gets harder every day. you miss him so much, it’s like a part of you is just gone.

you still remember that day so clearly—pushing him out the door and yelling “get out!” before collapsing on the floor, tears streaming down your face as it hit you that your marriage was really over.

it’s hard not to feel bitter when you think about how his career seemed to take over your whole life. the rare moments of intimacy—only on birthdays and your anniversary—felt more like a formality than real connection. it’s like your entire relationship was reduced to those fleeting moments, leaving you feeling more alone than ever.

the days after were a blur. you tried to stay busy, but every corner of the apartment was haunted by him. the layout of the living room, your habit of leaving your shoes by the door, his favorite mug next to yours in the cabinet, his second pair of glasses on your bedside table—everything was a painful echo of his absence.

what hurt the most was that he didn’t even fight for you. he didn’t fight for your relationship. it ended so abruptly, like a chapter closing with no chance for a rewrite.

so you did what you could to move on. you packed up everything and decided to move out of the apartment, sending his belongings back through his lawyer since you no longer knew where he lived. yet, selfishly, you kept his sweater. it was the only piece of him you allowed yourself to hold onto.

you decide to spend one last night in the apartment you both once shared, before the divorce would be finalized tomorrow. after tomorrow, you'd be free from everything that connected you to him. the place was empty, with nothing left but your mattress on the floor in the bedroom and the refrigerator in the kitchen.

you pull on his sweater, feeling its familiar warmth, and then catch your reflection in the mirror. you can’t help but think how pathetic it all seems. trying to shake off the feeling, you pour yourself a glass of wine. just as you’re about to head out onto the balcony, the doorbell rings, cutting through the quiet of the empty apartment.

you frown, wondering who could be ringing the doorbell at this late hour. when you open the door, your wine glass nearly slips out of your hand. there he is, standing in front of you—the man who caused you so much pain. whom you still can’t help but long for. his messy blond hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it anxiously. his clothes are crumpled, his shirt hanging out of his pants when it’s usually neatly tucked. he’s breathing heavily, as if he’s just ran up twenty flights of stairs to you.

the sight of him, unexpectedly at your door, floods you with a storm of unresolved feelings, making your heart ache with bittersweet emotion.

“elevator’s out of order, huh?” he says, his voice heavy as he catches his breath. you stare at him, struggling to find your words.

“what are you…” you're about to ask, but he cuts you off.

“can i come in?”

you stand there, your feet rooted to the ground. you’ve replayed this moment countless times during your lonely nights, imagining if he’d ever come back, if he’d ask for your forgiveness. now that he's here, the reality of it is almost too surreal.

you’re about to shut the door, the sight of him too much to handle. but he stops it with his foot. “please, baby,” he says softly, and it almost makes you melt. you quickly remind yourself to stay strong. “you don’t get to call me that,” you snap, sounding like a petulant kid even though the endearment tugs at you.

his eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. “i know you don’t want to see me, but—”

before he can finish, you sigh and step aside. he walks through the door, and the emptiness of the place hits him hard. memories start rushing back—the way you'd run up to him and hug him when he came home from work, the new recipes you’d tried out together in the kitchen, those late nights on the couch where you’d read while he worked on his laptop. his eyes fall on the open bedroom door, spotting the mattress. the nights you spent together, a mess of tangled limbs.

his throat feels tight, and before he knows it, his eyes are filled with tears. you see the look on his face and without thinking, you set the glass down on the kitchen counter and pull him into a hug. he clings to you, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. his knees start to wobble, and he pulls you down with him. you both sink to the wooden floor. his body trembles as he takes in shaky breaths, trying to hold back his sobs.

you press a kiss to his hair like you have countless times before when he sought comfort in your arms. “kento,” you whisper softly, the name feeling heavy on your tongue. “please,” he whispers back, his voice broken and desperate. you know what he's asking for, but it's too late. “you’re too late,” you say, struggling to keep your voice from wavering.

he pulls back from your shoulder. you both gaze into each other's eyes. the unspoken words hang heavy between the two of you. “i’m sorry,” he says in a broken whisper. the words you've been longing to hear for the past five months. the apology should be bringing you some sort of relief, right? but all you feel is guilt. overwhelming guilt which threatens to spill from your eyes. why didn’t you fight harder for both of you? why did you just pin the blame on him and give up after only one attempt?

as if sensing your turmoil, he cups your cheeks and leans his head against yours. “don't even think about blaming yourself,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring. his hands are warm on your cheeks. his warmth seeps into you, pumping your heart. it's too much in the best way. god, you've missed him so much.

“kento,” your voice chokes. he kisses the tears streaming down your cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin with a featherlight touch.

“no more tears,” he says, giving you a sad smile. his thumb gently brushes away the last of your tears. he stands up and offers you his hand. you take your glass of wine as he grabs the bottle and leads you out to the balcony. you both stand under the night sky, covered with heavy clouds with the promise of rain.

you sip your wine silently while he takes a swig directly from the bottle. after a moment, you place your glass on the floor and, without a word, he hands you the bottle. your fingers brush against each other as you pass the bottle back and forth. you somehow find yourselves moving closer.

he turns his head to look at you as your head rests on his shoulder. you’re unsure who makes the first move and you couldn’t care less. your lips brush against each other, both of you hesitant, unsure if you should cross the line or not. you don’t know if it’s the emotions of the night or the alcohol in your system, but before you can think too much about it, you close the gap and press your lips against his.

the bottle slips from his hand and shatters on the floor as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. his thumb moves under your jaw, tilting it higher to deepen the kiss. he groans into your mouth, and just then, the rain starts. fat, heavy drops fall over both of you as you lose yourself completely in the kiss.

the kiss starts slow and gentle but quickly turns needy and desperate as you both give in to each other. he walks you back into the apartment, blindly shutting the balcony door behind him with the rain muffled outside. he pulls away, breathing heavily, and his hand moves to the hem of your drenched sweater (his). “looks better on you than it did on me,” he smiles tenderly as he notices.

he waits for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission to remove it. you nod and the sweater is off before you can blink. your pants follow next. you start unbuttoning his shirt as he kisses you again. both of you blindly make your way back to the bedroom. your hands find the waistband of his pants, and as the back of your feet meets the mattress on the floor, you yelp, falling backward and pulling him down with you. the sounds of your chuckles fill the empty apartment.

the room fills with tension as you both quiet down. kento’s finger gently tucks back a strand of hair behind your ear. "i missed hearing that," he murmurs sincerely. before you can respond, he captures your lips. his tongue presses against your lips and you part them, letting him in as the kiss deepens and becomes urgent.

his hands roam over your body with confidence, each caress of his fingers making you gasp against his lips. he cups your breasts, making you arch into him. he pulls back from your lips and trails teasing kisses down your neck and jaw.

he takes a moment to slip off your bra, leaving you just in your panties. seeing the blush spread across your cheeks, he grins. "you're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his voice hoarse with need.

his hands continue their exploration, setting your skin ablaze. he parts your legs and positions himself between them, his fingers grazing over your thighs, savoring every inch. he takes in a shaky breath as he gazes down at you, reminding him of the first time you were together.

“ken, please,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he chuckles at your desperation. “patience, my sweet love.” he spreads your legs wider, making you gasp as his tongue presses against your drenched panties. “haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already so wet?” he asks with a cocky grin.

his eyes flutter closed as the taste of you seeps through the fabric, his nose pressed against you, sending shivers through your body. your hands instinctively find his hair, tugging him closer. his breath is hot, teasing, as his tongue traces the outline of your folds, every lick driving you closer to the edge. unintelligible sounds spill from your lips as your breaths grow heavier.

his fingers slip beneath your panties, grazing where you need him most. he teases you, taking his time, relearning your body, savoring every reaction. when he pushes two fingers inside, he growls low, “so warm, so eager.” your hips buck up, seeking more.

he withdraws his fingers and slides your panties off, his eyes never leaving you as he pumps himself slowly. he watches the way your lips part, how your eyes darken with desire. without breaking his gaze, he slides into you, and you both moan in unison. the stretch is overwhelming, your hands instinctively grip his shoulders as your body arches, shuddering under the intensity.

his lips trail kisses across your collarbones, his breath ragged against your neck. “tell me you missed me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need and vulnerability.

“i missed you so much,” you breathe out. he groans softly at your confession. his lips crash into yours, a messy attempt to kiss as his movements grow more desperate, deeper.

for a moment, the past five months of pain, regret, and loneliness seem to melt away. it’s just the two of you, tangled up and breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

outside, the rain pounds against the windows, a loud backdrop to the soft, urgent sounds of your carnal needs. the heavy rain against the windows blends with the symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered names.

your moans grow louder as he picks up the pace, your walls clenching and holding onto him he moves in out of you. your senses blur together, the pressure inside you builds fast. that tight coil in your stomach winding impossibly close to snapping. your muscles tense as you edge towards your release.

your nails dig into his back, your body trembling as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid to let go, afraid of losing this moment—or you—all over again.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he presses his forehead against yours. his thrusts slow but grow deeper, each one filled with a desperation that cuts through the haze of pleasure. “i’m so sorry.”

the words hit you like a wave, and your chest tightens. it’s hard to breathe, your heart torn between the intensity of your orgasm and the pain of remembering everything that brought you here.

but for just this moment, you let yourself drown in both. the pleasure and the ache intertwine, your moans mixed with soft sobs as you finally come undone in his arms.

your body trembles beneath him as you try to catch your breath, still reeling from the intensity of it all. he stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, holding you like he never wants to let go. his fingers trace your cheek, catching a stray tear, and his lips press against your skin—soft, desperate.

“don’t leave me,” he whispers, voice breaking as he buries his face into your shoulder. his chest heaves, and he pulls back to meet your eyes, pleading.

you can barely breathe, the weight of it all crashing over you. he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, trembling, like he’s holding on for dear life.

“i should’ve fought for us,” he says, voice cracking under the strain. “i messed up, but it’s not too late. i’ll talk to the lawyers tomorrow—i’ll fix everything.”

his words hang heavy in the air as he kisses you again, slow and tender, like he’s sealing a vow. and despite the conflicting emotions inside you, you let yourself lean into it, into him, just for tonight.

when you wake the next morning, the light filtering in through the curtains, you feel his warmth still pressed against you. for a brief moment, you think it’s a dream—one of those bittersweet fantasies you’d had over the last few months.

but then you feel his arms tighten, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “good morning,” his voice gruff.

“i’ll talk to the lawyers today,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing. “i’ll make it right.” you give him a sleepy smile and he chuckles fondly. you hear him moving around quietly—getting dressed, gathering his things. “i’ll be back soon,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “we’ll figure it out.”

the morning is gray, the skies still heavy from last night’s rain. you hear the sound of his car pulling away, hoping when you wake up next, this will all be over. but when you do, it’s not the sound of him coming back that wakes you—it’s the phone ringing.

the roads were slick, the rain turning everything into a slippery danger. they say he didn’t see the other car coming, didn’t have time to react. your heart sinks as you hear the fragments of the message: “accident,” “wet roads,” “collision.”

the phone drops from your trembling hand. the world around you blurs as you fall to the floor.

you rush to the hospital, your mind racing. when you finally get to the icu, you find him there, motionless but breathing. a rush of relief floods through you as you see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

you sit by his side, gripping his hand tightly. the steady beeping of the monitors fills the silence in the room. you don’t know when he’ll wake up, or if he’ll wake up at all. tears slip silently down your cheeks as you whisper, “i’m here, kento. i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

A/N: product of me listening to pink in the night on repeat for the past two days. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© SONARSPACE 2024 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[bloom-into-blue]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕃𝕒𝕫𝕪 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣

summary: you're a single mother who verymuch wants a partner once more, and by a stroke of luck, your daughter leads you to a very special someone...

contents: fem!reader x angell, no mania au, reader had a husband before meeting angell, age gap (reader is in her early thirties, angell in her early twenties), reader is very obviously thirsty, some fluff, finge.ring, cunn.ilingus, transfem!angell

word count: 4.1k

author's note: this got so out of hand. i wanted just 1k, maybe 2k. this is my first fic in this blog and it's just showing how whipped i am for angell. good god. i am currently in my era where i wanna be a milf, so you get that this time, but maybe one day, the reader will fuck milf!garofano. maybe. also this is my first smut ever ever sooo feedback? feedback tonite queen?

things hadn't been going so well after your divorce, to say the least.

you have full custody of your daughter, yes, something you're eternally grateful for. a steady job, a nice place to call home, your beloved daughter, for all intents and purposes your life is as perfect as it gets!

but after 5 long years of marriage with an uncaring husband, one who you weren't sure you were attracted to to begin with, you find yourself feeling remarkably lonely. the touch of another, something that's been so scarce for so long, and simply knowing someone treasures you… your heart desperately longs for that. specifically, you find yourself craving a woman before a man, but as no one comes along, it's a somewhat fruitless thought.

alas, while you're a single mother, you enjoy the parenting side quite dearly.

after an uneventful shift at work and a stop by your daughter's school, you're heading back home with her holding your hand, the usual commute for the two of you for the past year or so once the divorce was finalized, though today you've taken a bit of a detour due to some construction work in your usual route. from the corner of your eye, you spot an ice cream vendor and smile to yourself; your daughter's been behaving rather well, it'd be nice to give her a treat today as a reward. “wait for me right here, alright?” you tell the little girl with a smile, then walk over to buy a popsicle for her.

barely a minute passes between leaving and coming back to your daughter, yet when you turn to face her, she's already walked away from where you left her. alarms blare in your head in less than a second, though as quickly as terror arrives, it leaves the second you spot her a few ways away, from where she calls out for you.

“mama, look! the nice lady has a kitty!”

still on edge, you approach your daughter and the woman who's crouching beside her while holding a cat. “hon, i’ve told you to not approach strangers-” you begin with a frown, though your eyes focus properly on the woman besides your daughter. her black hair with its white highlights, the leather jacket and her tank top, though it's not long enough to cover just a bit of navel that peeks out above her jeans, you can see her toned abs even as she crouches… quickly, you force your eyes to meet her golden ones, lest this stranger realize you're absolutely ogling her in broad daylight.

thankfully she doesn't notice, and if she does, she doesn't say it. instead, this stranger stands up to face you properly, making you realize just how much taller she is than you…

your daughter calling out to you curiously is what truly snaps you out of your stupor, and you nervously chuckle to yourself while handing her the popsicle you bought for her.

“s-sorry, i hope my daughter didn't inconvenience you,” you say to the unnaturally handsome woman.

she shakes her head lightly, then glances down at the cat by her feet. “don't worry, it's no trouble.”

while your daughter is delighted to be eating her ice cream, she still looks at the taller woman with a glint in her eye. “mama, can i keep playing with the lady and her kitty? pretty please?” your child begs between licks of her ice cream, and it's hard to say no to that sweet face and those puppy dog eyes. (part of you is glad she took after your side of the family entirely in the looks department)

“you can play with the kitty hon, but make sure to not bother the lady,” you warn with just a hint of firmness in your voice. with a happy cheer, your daughter goes on to pet the black cat, who doesn't seem to mind if his loud purring is any indication. the stranger before you smiles at the sight, a tiny grin at best, and you feel something in your heart throb at the sight.

…you realize you're acting like a lovesick schoolgirl as a grown woman, but you push the thought as far away as possible.

“seems he likes your kid. he's not this nice to most people,” you hear her say, which brings your attention back to the situation at hand. your gaze follows hers and you see your daughter, her popsicle partially melting in one hand while the other continues to pet the cat like he's the world's greatest treasure, and your quickly-developing crush is pushed briefly to the side, instead letting your heart focus on the adorable sight.

smiling, you nod your head. “she likes cats, though we don't have one right now.”

“hm. this one's clingy when he wants to be. usually he waits around this spot for me to come home from work.”

“oh, is that so?” mentally, you think it might be nice to take this route more often.

and that's how you first meet angell.

the more you get to know her, the more of a mess you realize she is.

the two of you chat for a few minutes at the end of each work day while your daughter plays with angell’s cat, a new addition to your peaceful routine. while you talk about your hobbies and your work sometimes, angell tells you she's a delivery worker for a well known restaurant here… but when you learn about her dietary habits, you don't know whether to pity her or be flabbergasted. it's a wonder she's a healthy and fit woman if she's always eating foods that may very well be expired by at least a month. it's quite the juxtaposition between her workplace and her actual food, which baffles you even more when you realize she's paid really well for a delivery worker.

it gets to the point where you start making lunches for all three of you, though you give angell hers at the end of each day. the first time you gave her that container with something as simple as pasta with some fried chicken on the side, yet the way she looks at you when she sees it… “for me?” she whispers with wide eyes, and you forever commit to memory the way her expression turns tender and fond and her cheeks flush. it's a herculean effort to not kiss her.

something else that's made you weak in the knees for this woman is that, much to your surprise, she starts playing with your daughter by letting her hang from her biceps and even spinning around with the child holding onto her, to your daughter's delight. it's become something that your daughter adores, and when she's laughing brightly and angell thinks you're not looking, you see the way the taller woman smiles softly at your child, only to become pink at the cheeks when she realizes you're watching her. angell is usually a rather stoic woman, so the rare sight of her being so bashful is one you realize you want to see more often.

at one point, you decide to invite her for dinner, something your daughter instantly cheers for. angell looks shocked at first, but she smiles and agrees with ease.

the three of you then walk back to your home, all while your daughter chants happily. “miss angell’s stayin’ with us! miss angell's stayin' with us!”

it's… nice. you didn't expect angell to be good with children when you first met, but this almost feels perfect.

when you arrive to your home, your daughter is quick to head back to her room to change from her school uniform, so with a fond sigh, you set your coat in the nearby rack and turn to angell with a little smile. “would you like to help me cook dinner?”

“i… i would like that,” angell replies in a low voice. this is the first time the two of you are alone together. hearing her voice like this, so smooth and deep… part of you wonders if you'll live past tonight.

angell takes off her leather jacket and puts it beside your coat, which prompts you to stare at the ground intensely in order to avoid gluing your eyes to the newly uncovered skin of her arms and shoulders, and the way her muscles move… focus, focus!

the two of you settle on making red bean soup at your suggestion, and it's a relatively easy affair with two pairs of hands working, even if angell's movements are clumsy and you gently have to guide her.

your daughter comes out of her room a few minutes later, and she's all smiles as she watches you and angell cook, though she quickly distracts herself by watching cartoons in the living room.

once more, you focus on the meal you're trying to prepare and the quiet woman you're trying not to kiss silly.

when you two are done preparing the soup, you move to grab three bowls so you all can eat while angell stirs it a bit to check its consistency. “it smells nice,” she murmurs.

“that's good to know,” you reply with a little smile, so focused on the bowls you're holding that, when you turn around, your front accidentally bumps into angell’s, and you remain close to her due to the kitchen's somewhat reduced space.

from this distance, you can see angell's golden eyes widen a fraction and her cheeks flush slightly, though your focus is more on the way her toned abs and her chest are flush against your own body, which makes your own cheeks redder than a tomato. your noses are almost brushing, and your eyes wander down to her soft lips.

“you're warm,” you hear angell muse quietly, and with a little squeak, you step back and turn away before even allowing yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss her. faintly, you can almost hear her chuckling.

dinner is served a moment later, and soon, angell, your daughter and you sit together for a nice dinner, though the little glances you and angell exchange feel too charged to focus on anything but the taller woman.

midway through your dinner though, the sound of rumbling thunder crashes above your house, prompting your daughter to shriek fearfully and you to jump as well, while angell simply frowns. the sky had been clear during the trek to your home, but to think a storm was coming? just a few seconds later there's the sound of rain as well, slowly growing from a light drizzle into a heavy downpour. it's some hell of a background noise, something that puts your daughter on edge and makes you frown at her reaction.

angell, as always, surprises you though. “hey, it's okay. your mom and i will keep you safe from thunder,” she says with a totally straight face.

“r-really?” your daughter asks, clearly doubtful.

“yeah, really.” angell smiles at the girl and adds, “i'm strong enough to keep the two of you safe. that thunder won't come close to you, ever.”

your daughter's eyes widen at angell's confidence, and with that reassurance, she resumes eating her dinner happily. the sight, coupled with the gentle way angell reassured her, makes your heart feel light; you love seeing the two of them bond like this.

dinner happens uneventfully after that, though the rain remains as heavy as before, even when it's your daughter's bedtime. you reluctantly tell angell to wait for you in the living room while you tuck the little girl in for the night, worried about what the two of you should do now.

you refuse to let angell walk back home under the rain though.

“the storm doesn't seem to be letting up,” angell comments when you come back, her expression annoyed at the sight of the rain hitting the windows of your home.

it's then that an idea pops up in your mind, and before you can stop yourself, you open your mouth and say, “you could sleep here for the night.” hastily, you add, “i-if that's fine with you, of course.”

angells seems caught off guard at first, though her expression shifts into the smallest smile as if she were… shy? “i’d like that. better than walking under the rain.”

smiling to yourself in both relief and delight, you take angell's hand and guide her to your bedroom, realizing that her cheeks turn a slight pink when she notices where you're headed. the sight is beyond adorable and makes your smile wider.

in the bedroom, you rummage through your clothes trying to find something that angell can use as sleep wear, eventually finding an oversized sweater and a pair of loose shorts, though the sweater seems to fit angell's form just fine once she comes out of the bathroom wearing your clothes. she smiles when she notices you staring, though you quickly tear your gaze away from her form.

you take your own combination of a long-sleeved shirt and shorts before heading to the bathroom to change as well, then come back out to find angell sitting on your bed, as if waiting for you like an obedient pup.

“should i sleep in the living room sofa?” she asks before standing up to face you.

“oh, no no, we can just share my bed!” you say cheerfully without thinking. a mere millisecond later you realize what you just said, and your cheeks go red at your own suggestion.

angell, bless her, simply smiles. “alright. it is kinda cold tonight,” she remarks.

while you still feel bashful about your faux pas, this response is one that makes your heart skip a beat.

when the two of you get under the covers together, there's a bit of a distance that separates you from angell, though she sighs softly before inching closer and wrapping her arms around you like it's nothing, somehow. your eyes go wide and you feel your cheeks grow warm, and from this distance her golden eyes draw you in, just as they did when you first met.

“is this alright?” she asks almost nonchalantly, but you've grown used to her, you think. the underlying nervousness and shyness in her tone are not some product of misplaced illusion.

“it’s… more than alright.”

“…good.”

she holds you close, the rain still falling as little more than background noise, and the two of you simply… lay together. you allow your eyes to scan her face, even though you're both supposedly going to sleep now, and manage to catch her eyes traveling down to your lips, then flickering back up as if she didn't want to get caught.

so it's mutual, you think as a little smile rises to your face. “how about we stop this little game, why don't we.”

it's adorable how her lips form a little pout, clearly showing her puzzlement at those words, though all confusion flees when she feels your lips against hers, and instead you're rewarded with a quiet, soft grunt before her lips move in tandem with yours. your hands go down to hold her waist as she kisses you, and in return angell's hands rise to tangle her fingers through your hair.

she's inexperienced, you can tell by the way her teeth clash against yours sometimes, but that doesn't change how heavenly angell feels, how gentle she is despite clearly wanting to do even more.

at this point though? you're both equally desperate.

you pull away, just a few inches, and she's already whispering against your lips, “can we do more?”

you want to feel scandalized, almost. she's barely started kissing you and she already wants to do more, and yet… “i… so long as we're quiet,” you reply in a hushed whisper, but that's all it takes for angell to kiss you once more, though there's a hunger to her motions that goes entirely unrestrained now.

“you make my heart all… crazy,” angell murmurs against your lips, then pulls away to start leaving open mouthed kisses across your jaw, then neck, and soon she's silently asking for permission to lift your shirt by playing with the hem of it. you nod almost too eagerly.

angell takes in the sight of your bare front as she lifts your shirt up, and while you feel self-conscious for a second as you think of your stretch marks and extra weight, she's quick to reassure your insecurities in the way her lips continue their sloppy journey down the expanse of your skin, stopping at the valley of your breasts to nip and kiss at each tit.

“you're beautiful.”

“so… stunning.”

“you taste so good.”

if her mouth weren't working wonders across your body, you'd pull angell up to kiss her silly once more.

your hand tangles itself in her hair as she keeps going, and you bite your lip to avoid gasping loudly, for her mouth has wrapped itself around your nipple and god, she's driving you crazy.

the very tip of her tongue circles your areola, the sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time, before your grip on her hair tightens the second angell starts flicking the bud of your nipple properly, then she presses her tongue flat against the sensitive skin. she's not inexperienced, you realize, simply needy, hungry, eager.

angell lets go of your nipple with a quiet pop, and it's then that you realize she's pulled your shorts and underwear down while you weren't paying attention. “a-angell?” you call, though you want this as much as she does.

she hums curiously in response, and her lips kiss down your navel, until she's right next to the place where you need her most, where she plants a soft kiss to your inner thigh and makes direct eye contact.

“n-nevermind. carry on.”

she chuckles, the little devil. “thanks, babe.”

oh, you're going to lose your mind.

angell then dives right in, delivering almost teasing licks to your lower lips like she suddenly wants to take her time with you, uncomfortably akin to a cat playing with its prey. while she teases you with barely any pressure, you throw your head back, because this is still the first time someone has touched you like this in a long time.

and yet, it's everything you need. she's everything you need.

it takes her a few minutes, but suddenly, angell's already pushing two fingers inside your aching cunt, and this time you actually have to cover your mouth to avoid letting out a loud cry. angell takes it as a sign to be even more bold, and soon she's wrapping her lips around your clit and sucking while her fingers move in and out, then press down and curl right up against that gummy spot that has your toes curling in an instant. you realize she's started to grind her hips against the bed, but by god, you cannot focus on anything that isn't her mouth and fingers.

“god, angell, please-” you whimper quietly, only to muffle another moan when she increases the pace of her fingers, pumping in and out with a squelching noise. you can feel angell smiling as she lets go of your clit, as if she were savoring each reaction she gets out of you.

“don't worry, babe. i’ve got you,” she rasps against your drenched folds, the vibrations absolutely adding to the stimulation that's already making you bite your hand just so you can remain quiet. between that and the way her fingers fill your pussy, she's making you see stars.

your back arches while angell eats you out, but the second you let out another quiet gasp, she pulls away her mouth and fingers as if she could feel you were close to cumming.

angell chuckles at the way you whine, feeling empty now that her fingers don't fill you up anymore. “sorry, i just can't hold back anymore. really feels like i’m going crazy,” she whispers as she rises up from between your thighs.

you curiously raise an eyebrow, but before you can ask about what she means, angell pulls the shorts you lent her down. her dick is hard, tip red and coated in precum, clearly showing just how riled up eating you out has left her.

your eyes widen at her size, though you quickly realize angell almost looks nervous now, and that's enough for your expression to soften instantly.

“c'mere, honey,” you prompt gently, and the second angell leans down with her torso hovering over yours, you pull the sweater she's wearing off of her, leaving her bare for you to see in all her glory.

while she seems genuinely embarrassed at first, all it takes for her to relax is you gently cupping her cheek. just like that, those golden eyes you love so much gaze at you with lust and affection once more.

her chest, soft and pliant, presses against yours while the tip of her cock brushes against your cunt in a way that leaves you both eager for more.

“i'm going in now. last chance to back out,” she whispers against your ear.

“sweetheart, please just hurry,” you beg a moment later. angell holds back a soft laugh at just how eager you sound, and she decides she's done teasing you for tonight, just because she finds you cute.

you let out a soft sigh before gasping against her neck. angell grunts at the same time, slowly and gently pushing her cock inside you and filling you up in a way that feels wonderful. she shivers above you, breathing ragged and warm against your skin, and you wrap your arms around her back.

she lets you adjust, because this woman is as sweet as she's quiet, whispering about how good it feels, how you take her so well, how warm and tight you are around her cock.

soon the feeling isn't enough, and you whisper with utter need, “please… take me, angell.”

“i'd love nothing m-more,” she replies in a breathless murmur.

she pulls her hips away until the tip of her weeping length is the only thing that remains inside, then slams herself right in like it's natural for her, dragging a startled gasp from you due to how intense it is, how intense the pleasure is. you're quick to bury your face into your pillow, biting it to avoid letting out too loud a noise while angell does her best to keep her groans and whimpers quiet.

“god, you feel s-so tight,” she says while thrusting her hips into yours again, her pace slow yet hard. it's like she wants to focus on your pleasure, yet her own hunger drives her into increasing the pace of her hips.

soon she's relentless and almost growling against the skin of your neck, her hands gripping your hips almost possessively while she thrusts her cock in and out of you. all you can think about is her, her hands on your body, her lips on your neck, angell, angell, angell.

at one point, angell grips the back of your knees and pushes them back against your chest, all while thrusting relentlessly against your body, and the pleasure is already coiling in ways you hadn't even felt before in your life.

“i'm close, ‘m close,” you gasp while trying to stay silent, yet angell makes it so damn hard as she grunts against you.

“go ahead. let go, please, cum ‘round my, please,” she begs, and it's obvious that this song and dance of yours was going to end like this from the start.

with a strangled gasp, your mouth falls open and you cum around angell like she so eagerly pleaded for, leaving a white, frothy ring around the base of her length in just a few thrusts. the sight makes angell let out a sound between a grunt and a whine, and she bites down onto your shoulder before pulling out and stroking herself to completion, cumming all over your tummy while quietly gasping against your skin. the bite only adds to your pleasure, even with the slight pain that follows.

once she's done milking her own cock, angell flops down on top of you and lets go of your shoulder, her breath coming out in tired pants that match your own uneven breathing.

you let her lay there gladly, going as far as to stroke her hair before pressing a kiss to her forehead. angell hums at the sensation, then pays you right back with a kiss right on the center of her bite mark.

“be my girlfriend?” she asks, sounding satisfied yet drowsy.

with a tired little giggle, you continue to run your fingers against her scalp. nuzzled against you like this, she once again reminds you of a cat.

“you did it a bit out of order, love.”

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface

WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)

NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!

Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock

Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year. 

Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make. 

A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks. 

“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath. 

“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?” 

“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?” 

“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.” 

There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.

“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest. 

“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son. 

“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed. 

Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.

“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do. 

Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy. 

When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood. 

You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more. 

“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you. 

Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him. 

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down. 

“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.” 

Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him. 

“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.” 

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might. 

So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House. 

“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?” 

“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James. 

“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you. 

“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you. 

“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily. 

“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly. 

You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head. 

“Who’s blood is on your shirt?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.” 

“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son. 

“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.” 

“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?” 

“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?” 

“That’s not what I-,” 

“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.” 

James sighed and chose to ignore your comment, 

“Where is he?” he asked. 

“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.” 

James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son. 

When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest. 

You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU. 

You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son. 

James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold. 

You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most. 

Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.

It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally. 

“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head. 

“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.” 

“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area. 

“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.” 

“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.” 

“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?” 

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.” 

“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked. 

“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor. 

“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,” 

“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated. 

The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.” 

James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented. 

“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked. 

“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.

“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James. 

“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?” 

Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together. 

“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.” 

Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.

“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.” 

You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs. 

James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands. 

“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.” 

“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said. 

“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed. 

“No, no it’s not.” 

You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you. 

You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest. 

While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself. 

“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away. 

“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted. 

You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck. 

“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier. 

“No, why?” 

“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?” 

“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked. 

“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?” 

“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.” 

“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.

You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him. 

James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news. 

Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle. 

You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to. 

A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own. 

“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed. 

“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian. 

With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes. 

You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe. 

“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand. 

“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.” 

You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours. 

You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings. 

“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.” 

“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled. 

“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process. 

“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off. 

“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.” 

“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him. 

“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.” 

Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up. 

He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period. 

“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.” 

James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face. 

“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.” 

“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station. 

Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators. 

The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food. 

“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.” 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.

“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.” 

James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head. 

“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.” 

You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.

When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party. 

You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done. 

As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital. 

You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital. 

When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh. 

“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.” 

“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork. 

You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it. 

James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand. 

Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths. 

“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked. 

“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.” 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.” 

“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”

“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted. 

—

You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late. 

“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”

“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time. 

“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.” 

Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private. 

“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!” 

“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.” 

“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?” 

“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?” 

“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.” 

James placed his hands on his hips and said, 

“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,” 

“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.” 

When he said nothing you continued. 

“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.” 

James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head, 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents. 

“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital. 

“No, not this time,” you shook your head. 

“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together. 

“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?” 

Julian was content with your answer and left it at that. 

Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up. 

One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end. 

“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?” 

“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.” 

“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked. 

“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.” 

You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying. 

“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,” 

You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside. 

“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.” 

James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen. 

“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea. 

“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.” 

“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass. 

“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.” 

“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded. 

“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.” 

You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding. 

“These are all good ideas,” you started. 

“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?” 

“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.” 

James shook his head. 

“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.” 

“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly. 

“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.” 

“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.” 

You took a sip of your tea and said,

“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.” 

James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.” 

“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light. 

“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?” 

“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.” 

You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him. 

“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?” 

Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen. 

You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing. 

When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him. 

“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.” 

“She does, does she,” James looked over at you. 

“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.” 

James pressed his lips together and sighed, 

“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.” 

“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room. 

“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses. 

“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.” 

“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.” 

“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress. 

You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room. 

James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”

You nodded your head, 

“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…” 

“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled. 

“James I’m begging you-,” 

“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head. 

“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out. 

You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch. 

—

Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married. 

Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food. 

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island. 

“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad. 

“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you. 

“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.” 

Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example. 

“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.” 

That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked. 

“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.

“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.” 

“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled. 

James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.

“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.” 

You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing. 

“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.” 

“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded. 

“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.” 

“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh. 

“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!” 

“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.” 

“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug. 

“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.” 

“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable. 

When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad. 

“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked. 

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.” 

“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.” 

“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded. 

“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.” 

“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James. 

After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit. 

“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.” 

“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?” 

You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.” 

“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked. 

“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.” 

“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.” 

You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.” 

Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room. 

Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep. 

Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed. 

“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked. 

“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed. 

“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.” 

“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright. 

“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?” 

Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James. 

It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up. 

“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice. 

“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.” 

“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.

“It’s possible, was there anything else?” 

“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks. 

“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.” 

“James-,” 

“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.” 

“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive. 

James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him. 

When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in. 

“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!” 

“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.” 

You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay. 

You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back. 

“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband. 

“No,” he stated just as firmly. 

“James-,” 

“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away. 

“James, let me go.”

“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter. 

“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.” 

“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.” 

James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.

Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?” 

Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake. 

“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?” 

“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.” 

“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.” 

You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian. 

“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward. 

When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together. 

“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible. 

“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted. 

“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs. 

You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.

—

“Mom…Mom, Dad?” 

Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face. 

“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.

“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.” 

“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you. 

“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders. 

“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh. 

“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed. 

“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?” 

“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.” 

“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?” 

“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.” 

“Is it dangerous?” he asked. 

You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details. 

“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.” 

“Promise?” Julian whispered. 

“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.” 

“I love you guys too.” 

Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out. 

It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said. 

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.” 

“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested. 

You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together. 

“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?” 

House was silent so James explained, 

“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.” 

“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.” 

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted. 

He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office. 

“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked. 

“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside. 

He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label. 

“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back. 

“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?” 

“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand. 

“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you. 

“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach. 

“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one. 

“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head. 

“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.” 

“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned. 

“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.” 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.” 

“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.” 

You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago. 

“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.” 

You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking. 

Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well. 

As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic. 

“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian. 

“He does?” 

“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,” 

“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively. 

“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours. 

“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.” 

“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.” 

“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.” 

James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.” 

“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply. 

“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…” 

You shook your head. 

“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.” 

James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son. 

“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.” 

“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect. 

—

“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job. 

“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing. 

“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle. 

“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.” 

He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins. 

“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.” 

“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked. 

“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.” 

“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.” 

You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself. 

You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine. 

In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other. 

“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.” 

You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page. 

Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look. 

You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes. 

“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo. 

“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.” 

“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added. 

You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant. 

That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy. 

You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous. 

At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant  reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach. 

You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again. 

You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel. 

All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look. 

You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you. 

Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.

James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you. 

“Can I keep this one?” he asked. 

You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph. 

It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. 

Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head. 

“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”

“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face. 

Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications. 

Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies. 

You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red. 

3:07

You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower. 

When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head. 

You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening. 

“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.” 

“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son. 

“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless. 

“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained. 

“And what were you doing up?” you asked. 

“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”

You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands. 

“So, is everything okay?” 

“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower. 

“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water. 

“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you. 

“A bad dream?” he asked. 

“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”

James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs. 

“Was it about us?” 

He took your silence as a yes. 

James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned  forward sitting on the bathroom counter. 

“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest. 

“Would you tell me?” 

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled. 

There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again, 

“What was it about?” 

You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak. 

“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.” 

“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.” 

“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.

“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”

“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.” 

You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.

James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure. 

“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt. 

When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently. 

You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter. 

“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered. 

“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head. 

He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say. 

“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.” 

James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?” 

“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted. 

“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused. 

“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.” 

James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you. 

“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.” 

“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer. 

James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you. 

You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian. 

“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face. 

“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. 

You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him. 

“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.” 

Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James. 

“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Just this once.” 

James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed. 

When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep. 

You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair. 

One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad. 

“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?” 

Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own. 

—

“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.” 

“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.” 

“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked. 

“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you. 

“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said. 

James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this. 

“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him. 

“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?” 

“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled. 

You looked up at James and he shrugged. 

“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

“I could eat,” you nodded your head. 

“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested. 

You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?” 

You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go. 

James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings. 

Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married. 

“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch. 

“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.

“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow. 

“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you. 

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink. 

“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?” 

“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized. 

James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you. 

“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.” 

You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired. 

“Do I have to?” you asked. 

“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled. 

“What do you want me to say?” you asked. 

“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly. 

You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.” 

“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.” 

“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.” 

James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak, 

“Can I ask you something?” he settled on. 

“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island. 

“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?” 

Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question. 

“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough. 

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again. 

“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.” 

James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern. 

“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.

“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.” 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent. 

“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.” 

“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.” 

“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer. 

“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted. 

“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls. 

He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.” 

“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?” 

“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”

“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?” 

You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him. 

“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.” 

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.” 

“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.” 

“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again. 

You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear. 

“James,” you breathed. 

“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.” 

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart. 

You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks. 

“Jamie?” 

James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname. 

“Yes, my love.” 

“Can I count on you?” 

You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that. 

“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.” 

James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face. 

And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time. 

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter

[angelsdean]

desitel feelings / love timeline (2 me)

DEAN:

immediate attraction in s4 (hello he has eyes!)

s4 - 5, going from allies to friends, crushing hard and shooting his shot / flirting, but all of it goes over cas's head

s6 betrayal / cas's s7 death: when he starts realizing that the way he feels abt cas is Different and More than just a crush / friendship. bobby and sam not reacting the same way to cas's betrayal and death really starts to get the gears turning. then when bobby dies, dean also realizes his grief over cas is different from his grief over bobby. (also the keeping his coat, carrying it with them in every new car all throughout s7. like that man was in Love-love.)

s8: purgatory solidifies dean's feelings. all dean can think about for a year is finding cas, saving cas. he prays to him every night. his mind is just a skipping record of cas, cas, cas. i think by this point he's accepted his romantic feelings for cas. and by the end of s8 he was ready to tell cas how he felt in the crypt. he changes "love" to "need" (which imo is MORE insane and vulnerable actually) and then dean perceives cas's actions after the crypt as a rejection of dean's feelings). meanwhile, cas has not yet even realized his own feelings for dean are romantic love yet, more on that in a minute.

s9 - s12 imo are dean grappling with the fact that his love is unrequited and trying to live with that and maybe move on (drowley summer of love).

s13 -s14 : first the widowers arc of it all. dean realizing no matter what, cas was IT for him. there's never going to be anyone else for him. he doesn't want anyone else. dean accepting that cas is effectively his life partner and he's fine with them staying platonic (bc he still thinks cas doesn't feel the same way). dean stops hooking up. dean is content with the family unit they have made for themselves.

s15: dean grappling with the knowledge of chuck's manipulation over the years. dean questioning what's even real ("is his love for cas even real?") cas asserting that they are real. divorce arc. destiel miscommunication at its finest. dean once again thinking cas doesn't care for him the way he cares for cas. dean nearly losing cas again in purgatory and deciding to put his heart on the line (was going to confess before cas cut him off). then---cas's "i love you." dean overwhelmed in the moment. dean still not sure what cas's words mean until cas is taken by the empty and he processes the speech and declaration. and then he realizes--cas was in love with him. it was mutual. they could've had it. they could've been together for years. the one thing they both wanted---

CAS

immediate attraction in s4 (hello he has eyes! many eyes in fact!)

s4 - 5: going from allies to friends. cas remembering what it's like to FEEL again ("for the first time") after his millionth lobotomy. dean re-awakening those feelings, both for humanity at large and for dean specifically. but cas doesn't have a name for these feelings yet. he attributes them to his bond with dean / assumes most people feel like this about dean.

s6 - 8: cas largely still attributing his feeling for dean to their unique bond. cas putting the mission first. cas also dealing with his own guilt over his failures. not a lot of time for him to process his feelings for dean.

s9: cas has his italicized "oh" moment. i think it's a combination of being human and for the first time all the angel stuff isn't there, he can't attribute his feelings to their "bond." he's rooted in his body for the first time, really in-tune with his physical reactions too. i think early s9 is when he starts to realize his feelings for dean are different but he's still not quite putting a name to them. then metatron calls him out on those feelings (his snarky knowing "he's in love...with humanity") and then dean dying really solidify cas's feelings. he is now aware.

aaaaaand then s10 - 12 is him grappling with those feelings at the same time that dean is really starting to accept that cas doesn't feel the same and is trying to accept that they'll be nothing but platonic and move on. so that's why you get stuff like dean calling cas their "brother" (he's trying to be ok with this) while cas looks sick to his stomach bc he is just now really accepting and processing the fact that he's in romantic love with dean. gotta love that classic destiel miscommunication, never being on the same page at the same time.

by s13 he's accepted he's in love and is now thinking it's one sided and this is all they'll ever be. he's also still kinda avoiding it all throughout the later seasons, putting the Mission first again, leaving more often, focusing on jack stuff. really just putting his feelings on the back burner.

then s15. just like i said in the dean bullet point, the divorce arc stuff is more classic miscommunication. cas so badly wants dean to ask him to stay. dean so badly wants cas to stop leaving. they both need to just have one good conversation about all of this. anyways, the "i love you." truly i think mr. avoidant cas would have continued to keep his feelings for dean to himself perhaps forever, had it not been a life or death situation where he realized telling dean his feelings would trigger the empty deal. but he does tell him. and my personal headcanon is that when he does tell him he gets hit with a wave of feeling from dean (along with the love in his eyes) that basically confirms to cas that dean actually has felt the same way all this time. and also, i think cas has partially known for a while but let his own self doubt and insecurities convince him that dean couldn't possibly feel the same.

Additionally: i do enjoy another late seasons variation, where BOTH of them have a mutual awareness of each other's feelings, but they both let insecurities and circumstances convince them it's not the right time, or they don't deserve to have this. they keep putting off talking abt this thing between them because there's always another apocalypse or big bad. because saving the world always comes before their own personal desires and happiness. so they keep putting it off until it's too late, until there's no time left. by s15 they're both feeling desperate. it's the end. they both feel they need to say something. dean tries in The Trap. cas finally does in Despair. and then there's just no time left. it's over. they never got to have it. (YET. because their story ain't over!)

anyways, i'm multitudes girlie and can enjoy many different interpretations, esp in fics, but this is my main destiel + feelings interpretation for when i'm watching the show and engaging with canon.

TLDR: they both start Feeling things for each other immediately. dean realizes these feelings are romantic love and puts that name to them first around late s6/s7. dean Accepts these feeling around s8. while cas has his realization that these intense feelings are romantic love around s9. and accepts them at some point between s10 - 12ish.

[tofuxtea]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊 + “𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑” 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 | 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 + 𝙘𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — dracule mihawk x fem!reader x shanks

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, threesome, cuckholding, fingering, praise (shanks), teasing + edging (mihawk), reader is shanks’ lover, shanks has both arms for the sake of the plot, porn with plot, “mama” and “sweetheart” are used by shanks, “darling” and “naughty girl” are used by mihawk, p in v sex, shanks watches mihawk fuck his girl and gets off to it!

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 2.7k words. got this idea from the ending scene where mihawk brings shanks luffy’s wanted poster. they gave such divorced husbands energy and i fucking loved it so much. also what i wouldn’t kill to be in between these two anyways ??! [kinktober m.list]

“bring out the reserve booze, boys.”

your captain had loudly cheered upon discovering the bounty that had been set on an old apprentice of his. that was nearly four hours ago, a rowdy party slowly beginning to wind down.

a majority of your fellow crew-mates had passed out by now, strewn out around in the sand and drunkenly muttering incoherencies in their sleep. the rest were sharing stories by the fire they were lighting, seeing as the sun was giving its final fiery orange hue from the horizon. night would come not long after.

you were still among the living, slowly working on your third cup of the night while swinging in shanks’ hammock. the man himself was busy with the remnants of his crew while they started the nightly bonfire, laughing and celebrating with them.

you smiled towards the man before you broke out into a yawn, realizing you had partied pretty hard that night. it was starting to wind down anyways, who was going to miss you for the rest of it?

so you stumbled out of the hammock with your drink in your hand and started to where the red force had been docked for the week, pausing when you heard a familiar voice calling for you.

“where’re you off to, sweetheart?” shanks asked, playfully swatting at beckman and roux as they not-so-quietly shot suggestive jokes at their captain.

you only smiled back. “off to the ship. you can come join me in a few if you’d like.” you remarked before strutting off, shaking your head as you walked when you heard the boys’ whoops and shouts at the wink you’d given him.

you trekked through the sand for a while before you were aboard the red force, heading straight for yours and shanks sleeping quarters. yet once you ducked inside the dinette, you were stopped short with a shout.

mihawk, shanks’ old rival and the one who had informed them of one monkey d. luffy’s bounty, sat at the dining bench, yellow eyes piercing right through you the second you walked in. “good god, mihawk.” you clutched your chest. “what’re you doin’ in here?” you asked him, laughing lightly.

“the party’s out there, you know.” he replied lazily, swirling the glass he had definitely taken from the ship’s cupboard before taking a sip.

“i should be telling you that.” you squinted warily at his cup. “that better not be shanks’ stashed booze.”

oh, it most definitely was. you could tell by the color alone. how he’d even found it was a mystery, though. he never told anybody where he hid his special liquor. but you only rolled your eyes and took a seat beside him, slumping back with a sigh. “party’s almost over.” you replied softly. “i’m surprised you stayed for so long. figured you’d have a lotta marine work to tend to.”

“i don’t work for them.” mihawk quickly shot you a narrow glance. then he paused and his eyes lowered to his cup. “i’m surprised he asked me to stay.”

“ah.” you nodded understandingly as you took a sip of your own drink. “i was, too. it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, you know.”

mihawk seemed to pick up on the little underlying suggestiveness in your voice and you noticed his eyebrows pinch together. but it wasn’t hardly the reaction you wanted.

truth was, you’d known him since he was shanks’ rival. the two engaged in battles constantly when they were younger, but over the years they grew farther and farther apart until they just stopped.

the two seemed to form a strange alliance a couple of years ago, which had unintentionally blossomed into something much more not long after that. with you being a key member of shanks’ crew and his lover, you often joined the two for drinks whenever they were together.

sometimes you guys would have too many. the first time it ever happened, it was completely unexpected. it was most definitely the alcohol that had you straddling mihawk’s lap, bucking into the hand between your legs while shanks watched the both of you, painfully hard in his pants.

the second time, however, was not the alcohol anymore. nor were the handful of times after that.

it went on for months. you were shared between the two men more times than you could count on your two hands. it had gotten to the point where you believed mihawk only wanted to pop up for drinks for that reason alone, seeing as the man would vanish not long after you and shanks would knock out. then, as his and shanks’ battles had been, he stopped coming by as often. and then he stopped completely.

the two of you tried to keep regular tabs on the man — not necessarily out of concern for his safety seeing as he had been deemed one of the seven warlords of the sea, but out of sheer curiosity — but eventually it became a second thought. while shanks was well aware that mihawk would never get off of his tail for any reason, you doubted that. at first you believed he was bored of the two of you. maybe he was looking for something new, which didn’t tie you into knots. maybe it was partly out of shame.

shame from having drunkenly fucked his old rival’s lover right in front of him. shame from having done it over and over for months. shame from having enjoyed it a little bit too much.

no matter the reason he once had, he was back now. he’d traveled from wherever he had once been to give shanks a piece of paper. a piece of paper that the crew would have stumbled onto regardless — seeing as the bounty that they were celebrating was the highest in all of the east blue. the kid would’ve become a ship-hold name in no time. and as you stared at the side of mihawk’s motionless face, you knew that he knew that, too.

“you’ve missed me, darling?” you knew he was baiting you the second that name left his mouth, and fortunately for him it was working. your lips slowly curled upwards into an impish smirk and you breathed out a weak laugh.

“you could say that.” you replied with a shrug. you weren’t planning on losing to his games so quickly. he’d made you wait so damn long, after all. “didn’t you?” feigning cluelessness, you leaned into him and slid your palm over his clothed leg.

mihawk didn’t flinch, glancing first at the hand that slowly started moving upwards and then into your eyes. for the first time that night, he stared at you. his eyes were squinted slightly like he was questioning your actions, even though he was well aware of what you were doing.

part of you had not an inkling of knowledge of what he was thinking about. he’d left his cup onto the table in front of him, letting you know you had his attention, but his expression was unreadable, as was his body. but all it took was one look into his yellow eyes that washed away all of your doubt. those never lied to you. you looked down at his lips, running your tongue over your own as you found yourself craving him. his touch, his lips, him.

he brought his hand up to your face, gently pinching your jaw between his fingers as he tilted your head back just a little bit. “i did.” he finally admitted after a long and tense silence. he spoke quietly now, like if he was even slightly too loud, the moment would end.

yet it still did. a noise coming from the entrance made both of your heads turn, and shanks froze as he shut the door behind him, eyeing the scene before him. then he broke out into a wide grin. “i see you got to her before i could.” he took his bottom lip between his teeth as he strode up to the table, eyeing you like a piece of meat. “how ‘bout we take this to bed before the others come lookin’ f’me, hm?”

you could smell the booze on his breath as he pulled you to your feet. you followed him to the room you shared with him, mihawk at your side with his hand pressed into the small of your back. you swore you could see a gentle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he walked, but you’d forgotten all about it once the door shut behind you and shanks pounced on you.

his lips crashed onto yours, wasting no time to push his tongue into your mouth. you moaned, all of the fight leaving your body as he guided you towards the bed. he had a tight grip on your wrist, his other hand squeezing your exposed hip with lust-fueled fervor. you could feel mihawk’s gaze on the both of you and soon you heard his coat hit the ground. your top was next, shanks releasing you only to peel the tight shirt from your torso and toss it aside.

both pairs of eyes shamelessly raked down your naked body, shanks wasting no time to get rid of your shorts next.

“don’t just stare now, mihawk.” you spoke with a devilish smile as you sat yourself on the edge of the bed. the man got the message and followed you, slotting himself between your legs and caging you between his arms. you gently squeezed his hips with your thighs with a giggle before pulling him down into a heated kiss, grasping the brim of his hat and throwing it into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. mihawk groaned against your lips and he bucked into your clothed heat, drawing a whine from you.

your fingers raked through his hair, pulling at his dark ruffled curls each time he would rock his hips into yours. “mihawk,” you purred his name into his ear the moment he pulled away, enjoying the way his breath slightly hitched at the sound of your voice. your hand dove between your bodies and you desperately tugged at the waistband of his pants. “please. need you so badly.” you mindlessly babbled on.

“i’ve never seen her this desperate,” shanks whispered as he crept up behind you on the bed. “c’mon, mama, use your words. tell him where you want him.” the red-haired man looped his arms underneath your armpits, pulling you flush against his chest. he spoke tauntingly, a shit-eating smirk on his face as he looked down at you.

you whined, eyes squeezing shut with what felt like agonizing pain. “need you inside me, please.” you writhed in shanks’ hold, trying to rut up into mihawk’s clothed erection.

“you’ve already made her wait this long.” shanks now stared at mihawk with a lazy grin, waiting to see what he’d do next.

he shot shanks a narrow glance before turning back to you, eyeing the tears that were welling in your waterline because of him. “i suppose i have.” your eyes lit up at his confession and you waited for him to fulfill your wishes.

instead, he lifted himself off of you, completely deaf to your garbled protests, and lowered himself onto his knees beside the bed. you jumped when he pressed the pad of his finger against the damp spot on your panties, his eyes finding yours. “already so wet and i haven’t even touched you yet. naughty girl.” he spoke lowly as he hooked his slender fingers into the waistband of your panties and peeled them down your legs.

mihawk hooked your legs over his shoulders as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. you very poorly bit back a cry and let your head fall back onto shanks’ shoulder. he laughed softly.

“so noisy already, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

mihawk’s lips drew closer and closer to where you needed him most, drinking up every single noise you made because of him. his hand left your thigh and he started circling your clit with his thumb, watching your face morph with pleasure. you writhed around, wanting so desperately to squeeze your legs shut or card your fingers through his hair, but shanks had your arms restrained behind your back.

you bit your lip to keep your cries from spilling out each time mihawk brushed over your sensitive clit. the sensation was already winding up the coil in your gut and you could feel your orgasm building up fast.

“c’mon, sweetheart, let us hear those pretty noises. for us, hm?” shanks cooed into your ear, one of his arms releasing its hold on you to grasp your jaw, his thumb pushing past your lips and onto the flat of your tongue.

you gasped at the intrusion, and mihawk took your moment of weakness to slide his middle and ring fingers into your cunt. you choked against an obscene moan, and your walls clenched around his digits.

“there we go.” shanks mumbled, satisfied as more and more moans spilled from your mouth with each thrust of mihawk’s fingers. “ya sound so pretty for us, mama.”

mihawk was unrelenting, thrusting his fingers inside of you to the knuckle and keeping the pace he knew melted you every time. he could sense your orgasm nearing as your cries grew higher and your thighs started to tremble in his grasp.

he kept going until you were just about to come crashing down, your eyes squeezed shut with anticipation when he suddenly pulled his fingers out.

a sob tore from your throat. “no, nonono, mihawk!” you tried to chase after him as he lifted himself to his feet, but shanks held you securely in place.

it was pitiful, really.

“no need to cry, darling, you’ll get what you want.” mihawk towered over you, gently wiping the fat tear that had rolled down your temple. it was then that you became aware of the distance shanks had put between you and himself. your arms were freed from his grasp, but it wasn’t like you had the strength or mind to use them.

mihawk’s other hand swiftly nudged his pants down his hips, just enough to free his hard cock, before swooping down to catch you in a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth, drinking in the taste of booze that still lingered on his tongue.

the man pushed himself inside of you, groaning softly into your ear as your velvety walls sucked him in. you cried out and grasped his arms to try to keep yourself grounded. “mihawk!” you moaned when he started thrusting, his pace already unrelenting.

you could hear shanks just beside you, groaning lowly at the sight before him while he jerked his aching cock in his fist. he stared at your face, which was twisted up with utter pleasure, through hooded lids.

a cry slipped from your lips with each of mihawk’s slow, deep thrusts. it was a feeling so familiar yet so foreign after so long of not having him. you’d almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you up, how he was able to hit every single blissful spot inside of you.

you clung to him, your nails gently digging into his skin while he planted sloppy kisses to your neck. you knew they would blossom into bruises that you wouldn’t be able to explain to the rest of the crew the next day.

it didn’t take much longer before you were close, barely able to warn mihawk of your quickly approaching orgasm. but he already knew. he could tell by the way your eyes squeezed shut and how your whines had gotten much higher than before.

“that’s it, darling. just let go.” his palm soothingly slid up and down the side of your waist while he fucked you through your orgasm. your knuckles went white with how tightly you held his biceps and your head lulled back as a string of incoherent curses and moans flew from your swollen lips.

shanks’ breath hitched at the unfolding scene. “fuck, you look so pretty when you come, sweetheart. just for us.” he spoke against gritted teeth as his own orgasm washed over him, thick ropes of cum painting his own hand.

mihawk pulled out moments later, his seed landing on your lower stomach with a groan. his hooded eyes lingered on your cunt, messy with your own cum as it started to drip out of you. the sight nearly made him hard again within seconds.

you laid still, taking a minute to catch your breath when a low laugh from shanks made you pick your head back up.

“don’t fall asleep on us now, mama, we ain’t done yet.”

something about shanks and the word “mama” has done something irreversible and irreparable to my brain chemistry.

[supreme-leader-stoat]

Where does "turn the other cheek" leave Christians in terms of self-defense?

Alright, so, big asterisk up front: we've been arguing about this among ourselves for about two millennia and it shows no signs of stopping. A Quaker is liable to give you a much different answer than a raised-Baptist.

First, some context. The "turn the other cheek" verse is specifically part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus takes Old Testament law and raises the ante. The law says not to murder, He tells them not to let their anger overtake and control them to begin with. The law says not to commit adultery, He says not to even look at people with lustful intentions (this is the poke out your eye, cut off your hand passage). The law says that a man divorcing his wife has to give her the legal protections of a certificate of divorce, He says that anything short of cheating isn't valid grounds for divorce to begin with (this has a lot to do with the protections or lack thereof for unmarried women at the time, but that's a whole tangent I won't go into here). The law says to keep your oaths, He says to be such a straightforward and honest person that you don't even need to give your oath to begin with. And so on.

Now, with all that in mind; "turn the other cheek" is Him upping the ante on the segment of Mosaic law that literally gives us the phrase "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." It was half legal prescription on the just punishments for certain crimes, and half laying down the rules and restrictions of what constituted acceptable proportionate retaliation. If someone punches you, you can punch him back. Someone kills your brother, you can execute him. What you can't do is go and slaughter his entire family, because that's how you get blood feuds, and that doesn't end well for anybody.

Looking at it from that angle, "turn the other cheek" is a commandment against retaliation and vengeance, and this is the interpretation I've grown up around most of my life. Someone hits you and you've got the opportunity to walk away, then you take your lumps and go, and you don't stew and think about what you're gonna do to get back at him the next time you see him.

Active and immediate self-preservation is another matter. To the best of my knowledge, there is no clear prohibition in the Bible against such actions; even "he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword" is immediately followed by "Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?" The rebuke isn't for acting in the defense of others, it's for getting trigger-happy when Jesus isn't in any true (immediate) danger and because it's ultimately a pointless fight; Jesus has to go to the cross.

If you'll pardon an older example, let's take a look at Esther Chapter 8. King Ahasuerus gives the Jews leave to form militias to protect themselves and their property against the lynch mobs that would be attacking them as part of Haman's genocide plot, and this is presented to us as an inherently just and sensible course of action.

So, to answer the original question, I don't believe that there's anything wrong with Christians practicing self-defense, "turn the other cheek" notwithstanding.

But.

There's one more thorny patch to consider in this whole argument, and that's the one bit of Matthew 5 that comes after "turn the other cheek": "Love your enemy, and pray for those who persecute you." The safety that Christians enjoy in the modern west is an anomaly both geographically and historically. Christianity is, at its very root, a religion of martyrs. Many and maybe even most of those martyrs have gone to their deaths, if not willingly, then at least peaceably. It's worth noting that we don't tell the story of Stephen, who made a valiant last stand against the mob that tried to stone him. We tell the story of Stephen the martyr. "Lord, do not hold this sin against them."

Honestly, I don't know that I'd have the courage to die like they did. If there's someone who's trying to hurt you, trying to hurt your family, I won't be the one to look you in the eyes and say you have to stand down; I'm already well aware of the decision I'd make in that situation. But from the moment we accept eternal life, our old lives here on Earth are forfeit. Any time that could be taken from us with our death is on loan to begin with. A hypothetical attacker in a self-defense situation isn't guaranteed that same benefit. They might very well have far, far more to lose than we do.

I don't believe Christians are forbidden self-defense, but I think we are expected to weigh the costs.

[r0se1111]

Can't stop thinking about being Ford's assistant and you're there when Stan shows up and the portal mess happens... you just lost your best friend, and sure his brother might be a bit weird but dammit you are not leaving this weird little town until Ford is back! So you and Stan work together and live together trying to get him back... you eventually agree with his whole "Mystery Shack" business and fall into a sort of strange but comfortable domesticity.

You teach him about interdimensional physics and quantum engineering, and he teaches you how to be a better liar and how to mark up prices just enough that people don't complain. The two of you get greasy meals at midnight in grimy 24/7 diners after hours of trying to decipher Ford's journals... you take long car rides listening to the fuzzy radio... you watch shitty TV together and who really minds if his arm finds its way around your shoulder, or if his hand wanders a little too close to your thigh to be considered platonic. It's really not a big deal you tell yourself, if you find his over-the-top 'Mr. Mystery' act more endearing than annoying, and if the wall between your two rooms seems a bit too thick some nights.

And well, it's just natural that you two get married a few years down the line because "Mr. Mystery needs a Mrs. Mystery... just think of all the merchandise we could sell!" and if Stan blushes when he sees you in your thrifted white dress on the way to the local courthouse- well he's never seen me dressed up, that's all- and if the rings you exchange are definitely more than you two can really afford but no less meaningful, you don't blink an eye.

It's not until 30 years later and the twins have come into your life, between Mabel's puppies-and-rainbows attitude towards love, more specifically the love she swears to see between you and Stan, as well as watching the man bond in an almost fatherly way to Dipper (who reminds you so much of Ford it hurts sometimes) that you begin to reevaluate your guys' relationship. The little touches, the playful flirting, the hours spent in each other's company. What once was a marriage of convenience, a relationship which you could swear was just two good friends, now is subject to your critical review as you shakily realize. Shit. I'm in love.

Before you can figure out how to tell your husband of 30 years you're in love with him, ta-da Ford is back! He's shocked to find that his brash brother and quiet assistant are now married, and after watching your interactions for a few days assumes it is a marriage of love. It's not until you ramble to him in a panic that you "have feelings for Stan and probably have since you'd first met him but we only got married for practicality and he probably doesn't see me like that and we just flirt for fun and he's your brother what do I do??"that Ford sighs heavily and in true annoying brother fashion, forces the two of you to confront each other.

I bet you didn't see this coming reader, but ofc Stan returns your feelings with a sort of blinking awe. He's torn between a sort of excited "I've still got it" and a sheepish "It took us 30 years of MARRIAGE to realize we like-like each other Jesus Christ..." But your relationship had already been so couple-y that the two of you adjust easily.

ALSO also... since Stan faked his death and took Ford's identity technically you're married to Ford... he very graciously divorces you (sorry Ford girlies... it's just for this imagine </3) and you and Stan have an Actual Wedding where you two are Officially In Love. Same little courthouse, same too-expensive rings, but different because now you are surrounded by family and friends as you happily enter officially married life. Sigh... idiots in love <3

[marshmallowdarling]

Hi! I love reading your story's, can I request a yandere Hannibal x fem reader please?😊💕

It’s not surprising that Hannibal plays the long game but Hannibal also makes the game. 

It was easy for him to set up the game, almost laughably easy. He was a renowned therapist who helps police on cases, strong, smart, made a name for himself- a good name. Your parents didn’t even have a chance to have doubts when he came to ask for your hand in marriage. If anything your parents were elated, over the moon that you, the black sheep of the family, had the eye of a man like Hannibal. They practically threw poor little you to into his hands. 

One thing Hannibal likes is politeness, manners, and no matter when or how Hannibal had meet you he was struck with the need to understand you, figure you out and not in his usual killing urge type of way. After a few months or even years of following you around he finally realises what it is, love. 

Does he really think its love? Not really, its something deeper, more sinister than love. He would rip apart anyone that would try to hurt you, he wants to keep you safe with such feral intensity it’s not sane. But he himself can’t even breathe at the thought of hurting you himself either so he chalks it up with a simple word. Love. 

He should have seen it coming, really he should’ve since he had been watching and ‘protecting’ you for so long, but he’s still struck shocked when you fight back your holy matrimony with such pettiness and sass. You couldn’t stop your parents from practically forcing you to agree to marry him, getting dressed up in a dress you didn’t really care about, everything too grand and nothing like what the little girl in you envisioned. So, in retaliation you tried everything to get him to re-think his decision, anything to get him to divorce you, even if it meant being a sassy brat. Turning your nose up at his delicious food just to piss him off, doing little things you knew he hated just to push his buttons.

It’s cute, he thinks, really cute that you think being a brat would stop his heart from yearning for you so much his physically body aches being away from you. But you aren’t a brat, are you? Your just pretending because your sick of your parents stupid pressuring expectations, hating how they dictated every little thing in your life and now your ‘life’ partner. 

Every time you push and shove and take bits and pieces of his sanity it just fuels his obsession for you, every time he feels himself get frustrated or irritated it just makes him more head over heels over you. Staring at you with hearts practically in his eyes as you make his blood boil, he takes everything in stride. With a polite smile on his lips and insanity in his heart eyes. 

But he does feel bad, really he does, he feels bad that you have terrible no good rotten parents who are ready throw you to the wolves once they get their greed filled, or bad enough for a man who feels no remorse or guilt. Maybe its pity, he thinks, like how one looks at a wounded animal. But he could never see you at a level as an animal, no matter how adorably cute you are. Maybe a goddess then, a fallen goddess, he worships you as if you’re a goddess anyways, taking your sass and anger as some sort of twisted love from a holier being. 

He can’t help the feeling of amusement that bubbles up when he see’s you try to be a brat, but the manners engraved into your very soul peek out, like your body and mind are fighting on your decision to pretend to be mean when your really such a sweet nice darling. 

The little ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ that come out when you demand something from him or the sweet little ‘no thank you’ that you give him when you pretend to glare at him with faux hatred in your eyes, because you didn’t really hate him. How could you? He was unbelievably sweet and attentive, picking up on the little things you didn’t even know about yourself until he picks up on it. He was the best husband anyone could ask for, in and out, even if he could be a little serious, cold and calculative at times. Hannibal shields you from everyone, including your parents, shutting them down so quickly and efficiently when they start their bullshit of bringing you down it seems natural. 

And one day your fake anger towards him slips, your tipsy on alcohol and his love, its all consuming but it feels oddly soothing, like cool balm on an open wound. You stumble and almost trip, but his arms are already there to catch you, ready to do anything to keep you safe and without thinking you lean up and press a soft, albeit clumsy, kiss on his lips. 

Something in Hannibal snaps. The kiss, as quick and fleeting as it was felt like heaven. Like he was reborn, like for once in his life he could finally breathe.

You gave this dirty, blood-stained sinner a slice of heaven and now he’s your most devoted worshiper at your alter. For better, or for worse. 

~~

Hannibal has you pressed in a mean mating press, one of your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. The thin handmade anklet he got you for your wedding present, dainty and small, designed from start to finish by him with a little ‘H’ dangling on it chimes in his ear and makes his head spin. 

“I- god- I love you so much.” He groans out, sweat clinging to his brow as his messy blonde hair sticks to his skin. “Goddess." He murmurs into your skin, pressing his lips against your ankle, kissing all the way up to the side of your knee as he saours the way your skin feels on his lips. Pulling back he licks your sweat that smeared on his lips and he smirks. 

 His pupils are wide and blown as he gazes down at you with so much love and tenderness it hurts. Sweat clung to his muscular frame as he threw his head back, groaning so low you feel it in your tummy.

Your in worse shape than him, yourpractically writhing under him, not able to escape the torturous pleasure as he puts all his weight down onto you. As sweaty if not more than him, twisting and bucking and shaking, hair messed and sprawled out on the bed beneath you, eye brows knitted. Your breath being selfishly stolen by him as he takes and takes, gasps the only thing able to leaven you as well as broken keens and whimpers. You had long stopped trying to muffle your embarrassingly lewd noises, he had practically growled at you to let them out, not letting you hide anything from him. 

Sparks zing up your spine as he hits deep and a wail leaves you, your hand coming to push at his lower stomach, nails scratching over his muscles. Hannibal moans and his eyes roll at the feeling, quickly snatching your hand he slams it softly next to your head. His fingers entwining with his as he locks them together. 

Long deep slow strokes makes your brain melt out of your ears, brain gone all fuzzy as you get addicted to him and his touch. 

“Take it sweetheart, I know you can.” His breath hitches as he forces your thighs open wider to accommodate him, he looms over your more and the change of position makes you cry out. “Let me worship you my goddess, your mine, all mine.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Woo wee thats finally done! I hope my first proper attempt at smut was ok I think there was another ask for Hannibal but it was H/C's, I'LL GET TO YOU MY LOVELY I PROMISE 😭 Im trying to get back into writing but its hard, im sorry but I will get to you all. Some might be before others just because some things kick start my writing process 🥺 But please keep sending requests I love the ideas and support even if it takes me a bit to get to them. Hope you enjoy lovelies.

~Mwah ♡

[gardenschedule]

just insane mclennon things

John playing his and Yoko's sex tape in a band meeting

As the meeting was drawing to a weary close, John, not this day with Yoko, who hadn’t seemed particularly connected with what was going on, said he wanted to play us a tape he and Yoko had made. He got up and put the cassette into the tape machine and stood beside it as we listened. The soft murmuring voices did not at first signal their purpose. It was a man and a woman but hard to hear, the microphone having been at a distance. I wondered if the lack of clarity was the point. Were we even meant to understand what was going on, was it a kind of artwork where we would not be able to put the voices into a context, and was context important? I felt perhaps this was something John and Yoko were examining. But then, after a few minutes, it became clear. John and Yoko were making love, with endearments, giggles, heavy breathing, both real and satirical, and the occasional more direct sounds of pleasure reaching for climax, all recorded by the faraway microphone. But there was something innocent about it too, as though they were engaged in a sweet serious game. John clicked the off button and turned again to look toward the table, his eyebrows quizzical above his round glasses, seemingly genuinely curious about what reaction his little tape would elicit. However often they’d shared small rooms in Hamburg, whatever they knew of each other’s love and sex lives, this tape seemed to have stopped the other three cold. Perhaps it touched a reserve of residual Northern reticence. After a palpable silence, Paul said, “Well, that’s an interesting one.” The others muttered something and the meeting was over. It occured to me as I was walking down the stairs that what we’d heard could have been an expression of 1960s freedom and openness but was it more likely that it was as if a gauntlet had been thrown down? “You need to understand that this is where she and I are now. I don’t want to hold your hand anymore.”

Paul putting beetles fucking on his album artwork

John hiring a pig and posing with it solely to mock Ram even though he was scared of it

At the end of the day a farmer delivered a huge hog to the mansion [Tittenhurst Park]. It was John’s notion to parody the album jacket photograph of Paul McCartney’s Ram, which showed Paul wrestling with a ram; John would wrestle with a pig. We all went outside and stared at the large surly animal. It was much bigger than any of us had expected. John circled the animal warily. He liked the idea, but he didn’t like the hog. Dan stood poised to snap the picture. “Climb on its back, John, and grab its ears,” he said. John looked doubtful. He stepped closer to the animal. It let out a shrill, strange, sound. John stepped back, but we all urged him on. “You can do it, John,” I said. John approached the animal once again. “I can’t hold the friggin’ pig for too long. You get one shot and one shot alone,” he told Dan.

Loving John: The Untold Story, May Pang

John & Yoko attempting to get revenge married in Paris 2 days after Paul & Linda

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible”

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life

We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required.

John Lennon

SALEWICZ: Well, I always found it interesting the fact that he got – I mean, it seemed too much like coincidence to me, the fact that he got married a week or month after you. You know what I mean? PAUL: Yeah. I think we spurred each other into marriage. I mean, you know. They were very strong together, which left me out of the picture. So I got together with Linda and then we got strong with our own kind of thing. And I used to listen to a lot of what they said. I remember him saying to me, “You’ve got to work at marriage,” which is something I still remember as a bit of advice. I still remember that. Um… And then yeah, I think they were a little bit peeved that we got married first. Probably. In a little way, you know, just minor jealousies. And so they got married. I don’t know if that’s – I mean, who knows… [inaudible] making it up, anyway.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London): journalist Chris Salewicz

Their belief in telepathy & shared dreams

NEIL: I’d just rather not say anything. It’s one of those situations. PAUL: Yeah. [pause] Well, that’s – that’s the trouble you see, there, ‘cause that’s it. It’s like, with our – heightened awareness, the answer is not to say anything, you know. But it isn’t. ‘Cause I mean, we screw each other up totally if we don’t do that. ‘Cause we’re not ready for your heightened… vows of silence. [laughs; hapless] We’re really not! Like, we don’t know what the fuck each other’s talking about, when that – we all just sort of get— NEIL: I think it’s just between the four of you, that get it. That’s what I’d pretend. PAUL: Oh yeah, right, yeah. But you see, that’s it, that’s why John doesn’t say anything. ‘Cause he, you know, he just… There was something the other day, when I said, “Well, what do you think?” And he just stood there and didn’t say anything. And then – and I know exactly why, you know. I mean, I wouldn’t, if… [long pause] Somehow. You know, there’s nothing really much to be said about it. You just – we all just have to do it, and all that, instead of like talking about it. But – but if one of us is talking about it, it’s a drag if the other three aren’t. Because then it sort of throws you off. [inaudible; voice marking tape slate] I mean, we’ve just been talking about it now for a few years, you know. Like this…

From the Get Back sessions (13 January 1969).

HINDLE: What do you think about language? JOHN: I think it’s a bit crummy, you know? It is a drag form of communication, really. We’ll get – we’ll get telepathy. I believe that. HINDLE: You believe that? JOHN: Yeah, sure. Sure. Sure as anything I believe. It’s too… Because now we need it so much. [...] There are – there’s people everywhere of the same mind and it’s just… even amongst ourselves we can’t communicate. Which is the hard bit, you know. HINDLE: Yeah. JOHN: Amongst the people that sort of really agree. HINDLE: Just ’cause of words? JOHN: Just ’cause of words, and upbringing, and attitude, and how you express your… Well, it’s just some – you’ve got to find a mutual sort of language to express yourself, you know? And my language is that— HINDLE: Unless you fall in love it’s impossible to communicate like that. JOHN: I mean, I wasn’t in love last year, but I was communicating quite well with people. Not as well, or maybe not as powerfully. ’Cause now there’s two of us, doing that, brrmmm, whatever it is. Sending out a vibration or whatever. But before it was me and… or me and George, alright, or whatever it was; we weren’t in love, but. You know. There’s enough in you to shove it out. It is just that bit. If you – if somebody comes in a room and he’s uptight and that, he can make the whole room uptight.

John Lennon, interviewed by Maurice Hindle (December 1968).

PAUL: I remember when John and I were first hanging out together, I had a dream about digging in the garden with my hands. I’d dreamt that before but I’d never found anything other than an old tin can. But in this dream I found a gold coin. I kept digging and I found another. And another. The next day I told John about this amazing dream I’d had and he said, ‘That’s funny, I had the same dream’. So both of us had this dream of finding this treasure. And I suppose you could say it came true. I remember years later talking about it – ‘Remember that dream we had?’; ‘Yeah, that was far out’. So the message of that dream was: keep digging lads.

PAUL MCCARTNEY TO THE BIG ISSUE. FEBRUARY 2012.

John climbing the wall to Paul's house because Paul skipped a session for his & Linda's anniversary

(Not confirmed but supposedly)

Paul being utterly convinced that John can't be gay because he didn't try it on when they slept in the same bed

I mean, if John was–the trouble is, see, is he’s not here to fend for himself, and we can’t ask him, “‘Scuse me, John, are you–have you ever been gay?” I mean, he’s the kind— I remember people used to ask that. There were lots of people asking cheeky questions, and they were always saying, “Well, why–have you ever tried homosexuality, John?” You know, they always used to ask all that kind of stuff. I remember John saying to them, “No, I’ve never met a fella I fancy enough.” And that was his kind of opinion. You know, “I may go–I may be gay one day, if some fella really turns me on.” He was–he was that open about it. But as far as I was concerned, I slept in a million hotel rooms–as we all did–slept in a million places with John, and there was never any hint of it.

December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott

“And I say, if he’s homosexual, I thought he’d have made a pass at me in 20 years, darling.”

Paul McCartney talking about John Lennon.

“Brian Epstein, the Beatles’ manager, was a known homosexual. Epstein was always polite and charming. It has been insinuated that John was drawn to Epstein. I believe there was no such relationship between them. John was macho. But if John was a homosexual, it would have made no difference to me. I’ve asked Paul McCartney, who laughed and said: ‘Why not me? I’m handsome.’ Then he said: ‘I was holed up with John in hotel rooms everywhere. There was never a suggestion of anything like that.’ I believe him.”

Julia Baird, in Boston Globe: Lennon’s half-sister remembers… (2 October 1988).

“All I can ever say about it is that I slept with John a lot because you had to, you didn’t have more than one bed - and to my knowledge John was never gay.”

Paul McCartney, The Brian Epstein Story

And maybe he's right to be offended?

Did Lennon have sex with other men? “I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono. “No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.” So did Lennon ever have sex with men? “No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”

Yoko on her and John discussing the terms of an open marriage in 1973 (John Lennon: The Life)

On that note, Paul's obsession with sleeping in the same bed as John

Paul McCartney answers questions for Q magazine, 1998

John and I used to hitch-hike places together, it was something that we did together quite a lot; cementing our friendship, getting to know our feelings, our dreams, our ambitions together. It was a very wonderful period. I look back on it with great fondness. I particularly remember John and I would be squeezed in our little single bed, and Mike Robbins, who was a real nice guy, would come in late at night to say good night to us, switching off the lights as we were all going to bed.

Many Years From Now

John and I always liked wordplay. So, the phrase ‘She’s got a ticket to ride’ of course referred to riding on a bus or train, but – if you really want to know – it also referred to Ryde on the Isle of Wight, where my cousin Betty and her husband Mike were running a pub. That’s what they did; they ran pubs. He ended up as an entertainment manager at a Butlin’s holiday resort. Betty and Mike were very showbiz. It was great fun to visit them, so John and I hitchhiked down to Ryde, and when we wrote the song we were referring to the memory of this trip. It’s very cute now to think of me and John in a little single bed, top and tail, and Betty and Mike coming to tuck us in.

Paul McCartney, on ‘Ticket To Ride’. In The Lyrics (2021).

“John and I grew up like twins although he was a year and a half older than me. We grew up literally in the same bed because when we were on holiday, hitchhiking or whatever, we would share a bed. Or when we were writing songs as kids he’d be in my bedroom or I’d be in his. Or he’d be in my front parlour or I’d be in his, although his Aunt Mimi sometimes kicked us out into the vestibule!”

New Statesman, “Paul McCartney - Meet The Beatle,” September 26, 1997

“I wrote all those songs with him so…. what can I say to people?? We were kids! I mean… we slept together, topped and tailed in beds and hitch-hiking and stuff, so,…. I mean, we were just totally you know,….. mates.”

Paul McCartney

John taking matters into his own hand to start rumours about him and Paul

The consensus among John, Paul and Yoko that if J&P could have been together, they would have

“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”

Paul McCartney, interview with German tv program Exclusiv, April 1985.

JOHN: It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?

John Lennon, interview w/ Sandra Shevey. (Mid-June?, 1972)

Y: After the initial embarrassment, that how Paul is being very nice to me, he’s nice and a very, str- on the level, straight, sense, like wherever there’s something like happening at the Apple, he explains to me, as if I should know. And also whenever there’s something like they need a light man, or something like that he asks me if I know of anybody, things like that. And like I can see that he’s just now suddenly changing his attitude, like his being, he’s treating me with respect, not because it’s me, but because I belong to John. I hope that’s what it is because that would be nice. And I feel like he’s my younger brother or something like that. I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong with me, John, and Paul.

Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968

"We thought we'd do a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul.""

As a second choice from the Lennon- McCartney songbook, Elton suggested 'I Saw Her Standing There'. This appealed to John for its antiquity, and because its lead vocal always was sung by Paul. (...) There was a whisper of Royal Variety Show mischief when he announced "a number by an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul" - no one yet knowing the estranged fiancés were long reconciled.

John Lennon: The Life, Philip Norman

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

Married couple signatures

(and the reverse of that postcard...)

John publicly predicting Paul & Linda's divorce

You were right about New York! I do love it; it's the ONLY PLACE TO BE. (Apart from anything else, they leave you alone too!) I see you prefer Scotland! (MM) -- I'll bet you your piece of Apple you'll be living in New York by 1974 (two years is the usual time it takes you right?)

John's letter to Paul in Melody Maker, 1971 Finally, about not telling anyone that I left the Beatles—PAUL and Klein both spent the day persuading me it was better not to say anything—asking me not to say anything because it would 'hurt the Beatles'—and 'let's just let it petre out'—remember? So get that into your petty little perversion of a mind, Mrs. McCartney—the cunts asked me to keep quiet about it. Of course, the money angle is important—to all of us—especially after all the petty shit that came from your insane family/in laws—and GOD HELP YOU OUT, PAUL—see you in two years—I reckon you'll be out then—inspite of it all, love to you both, from us two.

John's personal letter to Linda & Paul, 1971

JOHN: Oh, [Klein]’d love it if Paul would come back. I think he was hoping he would for years and years. He thought that if he did something, to show Paul that he could do it, Paul would come around. But no chance. I mean, I want him to come out of it, too, you know. He will one day. I give him five years, I’ve said that. In five years he’ll wake up. YOKO: And people don’t understand, you know. There’s so many groups that constantly announce they’re going to split, they’re going to split, and they can announce it every year, and it doesn’t mean they’re going to split. But people don’t understand what an extraordinary position the Beatles are in, you know. In every way. They’re in such an extraordinary position that they’re more insecure than other people. And so Klein thinks he’ll give Paul two years Linda-wise, you know. And John said, “No, Paul treasures things like children, things like that. It will be longer.” And of course, John was right.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

[merlinssassybeard]

'Ex' Husband Gojo

Tags- fem reader x Gojo, swearing, angst.

Synopsis: The reader had a miscarriage and her husband wasn't there with her to give her support and now she's mentally shaken. Y/n decides to divorce him and but things take a way different turn...

Gojo and reader are married for 4 yrs and love each other profoundly but a terrible accident happened with reader and caused reader a miscarriage and was going through a very bad time. Reader wanted Gojo there to help mentally and emotionally but he was busy with curses...

"Satoru", you began with a shaky voice.

Your husband Satoru Gojo had all your attention the moment you said his name.

You had called up Satoru to the Tokyo estate, your marital home, for 'an important emergency talk'. These words were enough for Gojo to run from his busy packed schedules to run home to check up on you.

"Hmm?", Satoru hummed indicating you he's all ears. Both seated opposite to each other in the kitchen.

"Satoru, i-", you hesitated but continued, " Satoru, i want divorce...."

At first, he was unresponsive, still processing whether the words he heard were real or some weak residual cursed technique from cursed spirits left on him considering he came right after finishing a mission.

"Divorce?" Satoru came to his senses, "is this... some sort of.. joke my love MRS y/n? Cus' I'm really not liking it!", he tried to laugh it off.

But this wasn't a joke.

Not for you.

You're done.

Done giving him all of everything you have and receiving none.

You had your head slightly bowed down, unable to summon the energy, the strength to look right into his eyes. "This is not a joke, Satoru Gojo.", "i cannot live like this anymore".

Satoru knew it was indeed serious by the tone of it so he's demeanor changed as well.

"Why is it so y/n?", he mumbled in his soft husky voice while extending his hand towards yours to hold. "Is it something i did? You know you can tell me. I told you beforehand marrying me wasn't going to be easy, you remember?"

Yes he is right. He did told you a bazillion times when you nagged him for marriage anytime and everytime you saw him breathing around you. He had told you enough times that being his wife and also in a conservative society isn't going to be a cakewalk. 'Once married, there is no way out of the marital bond since its a holy bond, blessed by the heavens themselves' or as they said, but you didn't care, at that time.

"Reasons don't matter.", you flinched your hands away from his approach and passed the envelope with the papers and got up. "You'll find my signatures in there. Please be civil. Don't want any drama."

Satoru didn't knew what to say since he didn't even expected such a devastating and mind boggling news either. He had just finished his mission overseas and had taken only an hour of rest before being assigned another 'clean up' duty (messed/botched mission by another sorcerer) and in the middle of it he gets your call for an emergency meet up at the house.

He has been working all around the clock and came home to see you, hoping to receive kisses or you expecting souvenirs, which he had plenty just for you. But instead he got this ..... a farewell?

Gojo stayed seated there, watching you leave the kitchen to the room. He stayed seated there for a moment wondering what did he do, where did he go wrong, did he go wrong? Are you alright? Is this a cry for help? Is everything okay with you?

He wanted to check up on you so he got up to head towards the bedroom where you were but stopped dead in his tracks when it hit him, the reason....

"Y/n", you heard the door slide open and Gojo calling your name.

He opened the door and saw you were.... packing? God, you're really not joking.

"Yes?", you gathered the strength to look up at him for the first time in months! Due to his 'business trips' and you swear to god you would have fell down crying as your knees went weak.

"Is it...", he stumbled to say further but he knew he had to confront you with this, "is it because of that thing we talked about? On the phone?"

You knew you will burst out crying in front of him if he talked any further and because of that you couldn't speak either, holding tight onto lips to avoid the tears.

"Uh huh mmmhh mmmhh" you nodded and tried to avoid eye contact.

Oh no! Satoru knew he messed up. But he couldn't just let you... leave!? How could he? He knows and you too, that you are the only person who makes him vulnerable to the point he acts like child, only with you. You are the only one who actually makes him happy and content with his life in this miserable shite world. No words describe your and his relationship. So just how could he just let you leave?

"Y/n. I get it. You want kids." He mumbles, "then we'll have kids! Okay?" He declared.

You looked at him, and when he said that he looked as if he's been held under gun point, reluctant, yet... determined?

No! Yes, you do want children but the role of a father cannot be forced upon a man! That way the child will only be a 'burden' rather than a child born out of love and acceptance.

"No need." You announced and turned your back to him and started putting your clothes in the bag. "My mind can't be changed"

Gojo was left puzzled. He is ready to give you what you had been asking the day you both got married, what his and your parents wanted and the entirety of the Jujutsu Society had a keen eye on.

"I can't let you leave y/n like this", he said not knowing what to do either.

"Okay, I'll put on some fresh clothes.", you replied unbothered.

"No y/n i I told you once you're married you can't!", Satoru tried to come up with some reasoning.

"How the FUCK i cannot?" You yelled right onto his face, throwing the dress in your hand on the floor, annoyed at everything and anything.

"You just CAN'T!", Satoru tried to hold his sanity together.

"I AM FUCKING LEAVING! Divorce or NOT!", You snapped at him and went to pick the dress up and put it in the bag.

"Listen y/n, we can't go with divorce, it'll cause a lot of talk in the family and there's more but we just can't...", he tried to reason with you calmly but you were not in the mood.

"Why do you suddenly want me in your life when from the past fucking 4 years all you have done is being out on your trips?" You sneered and mocked, "Announcing we're going to have kids! Wow! That's not how it works Satoru!"

Satoru now lost it.

"Then what IS IT YOU WANT!? Haven't i given enough? You wanted this marriage! Not me! But i went for it because it was you! Went against my family for you and kept you away from them but what do you care" (your in-laws are toxic and would love to dance over your grave)

"Thats because i refuse to be your whore! You called me up whenever you felt like it. Might as well be your wife rather than just be some whore you sleep with on friday nights."

You recognized what you just babbled out and its disgusting. Your hands involuntarily moved and covered your mouth. You couldn't ever fathom the words you puked.

It is NOT like that! Not at all! You love Satoru, you Have been for a long time! And to have him as your husband is a dream come true! But how could say such lowly things.

Satoru just stood there. It was like one explosion after the other. So that is it? You came to him... for looks? For money? For sex? Goddammit! Satoru wanted to laugh because women of his family warned him not to marry some average human girl, saying further that you'll rob him of his money one day. But he didn't and just stood there watching the horror in your eyes unfold.

Satoru saw you as the only person in his life that made him actually understand the definition of love. Especially someone human, a non sorcerer like you. Thought of you made him content and calm, knowing he has someone waiting for him...... but not anymore.

He rubbed his temple as he'd been without an eye covering this whole time and his head ached a little with all this drama unfolding. He smiled through and looked at you, "that's what you think of me y/n?"

"No-no Satoru! Thats not what meant! Ugh! I don't want the divorce anymore!-"

He interrupted, "ah its okay, totally okay. I'll sign em."

Gojo was awfully calm and collected and you knew that when he's like this he would explode like a volcano if irked.

"No i will not let you!" You screamed and pushed him and ran out of the room in a frenzy to retrieve the divorce papers and tore the sections with your signature into tiny unrecognizable trash.

Satoru walked into the kitchen and just stood there. "You can have this house. I'll have Ijichi send down some papers later."

You eyes widened, "what..... papers?"

"Separation papers", he replied.

His gaze went around the house randomly and said, "since you don't wanna be a-" he stop and looks at you but continues.

"Since you do not wish to be a 'whore', you're free from me. I don't want chaos in both of our families so im suggesting separation. Yeah? Works in favor of both of us"

You were shook. You knew what you were doing when you brought the divorce papers but you didn't expected it to become so real.

"I'm leaving now. I'll send for my things so please don't throw my things just yet! Haha." Satoru was throwing jokes at a moment like this.

Damage has been done.

You ran out as soon as you saw him leave. You kept saying that its not what you meant and there's more to it and what not. But he just wore his blindfold and got into the car.

You saw him shut the door on your face and uttered his last words as your husband to you....

"Congratulations, Ms y/n. This'll be the last time you'll see me and when you think you're ready for divorce, lemme know!"

Part 2

Series masterlist

[romana-after-dark]

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

DBF!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Sugar Daddy Joel, No outbreak

Masterlist : Taglist

Summary: You need money for next semester. Luckily, your dad's rich friend's eyes follow you were ever you go, and he thinks you're such a good girl.

Warning: DUB CON VIA BRAINWASHING AND MANIPULATION: The sex is v consentual, the breeding is worn down. Breeding kink, age gap (30 ish years), Joel's obsession with gender rolls. The gender rolls and sentiments expressed by Joel and eventually reader are not mine. You do not need to be a mother or wife or care for children to be a good girl. Joel is controlling and manipulates reader away from friends and keeps her financially in the blind but he does not hurt her. If you like this and are okay with DARK DARK DARK you might like The Wrong Way on my masterlist bc Joel housewifes little one up. Cream pie, fingering, oral, but its not super smutty. Most is implied.

Immersability: Joel can pick up reader, reader can have kids theoretically.

This born of me being under extream stress rn and wanting all my thoughts out of my head.

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

Joel was broad, sweaty, and all consuming over you.

His thrusts were growing erratic, sloppy, but that was okay; he’d made you cum 4 times already, so it was his turn. You had no idea how someone his age had so much stamina while you got winded walking up a flight of stairs, but were too tired to think much further on it. As it was, you were falling asleep as his rhythmic thrust rocked you. It wasn’t that you were bored, it was that you were completely and totally wrecked. Spent. Fucked to sleep.

“Please baby, please? I need to cum inside you, need to make you mine.”

“I am yours.” You insisted quietly, fucked out head unable to stay up and nodding to the side. You needed sleep. 

Joel continues to grunt, to plead with you. “Not yet, not until you’re stuffed full of my cum, not until your belly swells with my baby…”

*

It was supposed to be one time. You were so, so close to having enough money for another semester of college… but not enough. You’d been late on payments so often your school required it upfront for you now, and you were just short.

“Hey hun, you alright?” Joel let himself into your family’s home. He had a key right now, with your parents vacationing in Europe the last couple months and gave Joel a key to watch over things. To watch over you. 

You check yourself in the mirror once again, everything needed to be perfect, so you shout down the hall.  “One moment, sorry!”

“Take your time, darl’n.”

Re-apply lipstick. Wait, no, too much lipstick. It’s too try hard, take some off. Fuck you smugged it! Touch out your cover up, then the lipstick again. FUCK ITS TOO MUCH! Oh fucking well, your were whoring yourself out, might as well look like one. Straighten your dress. Tits out.

You tried to act casual. It wasn’t unusual to see you dressed up for dinner, your parents were big on dressing for dinner especially when guests were over, and Joel had been a friend guest. Him and your dad were close friends ever since your dad represented Joel in his divorce, getting him full custody of Sarah. It ended up being pointless anyway, as his ex-wife stopped taking Sarah for her weekends a year into the divorce. Sarah had been just a pawn for her, but Joel loved her, taking care of everything she needed for college. His business had taken off, moving from not only construction to full on housing and property developments, so he had paid for her college and was paying for her dream wedding as well. You were invited, although you’d only met her a few times. Your parents, despite their success, had no interest in helping you with college when you rejected pre-law in favor of early childhood development, so you’d been paying your own way.

Joel had defended your life choices when your dad attempted to publicly embarrass you, your dad stating that you ‘don’t fucking listen’ and were an ungratful, disobidiant brat at a dinner party, but Joel wouldn’t hear it. He said you were ‘a good girl’, and that it was a beautiful thing to see a woman who cares about children, still in this world. He praised your efforts and your determination.

“Thank you for coming, Joel.”

Joel stands as you enter the room. “Of course, a pretty girl invites me to dinner, how could I say no? Everything's alright here, no one’s giving you any trouble are they?”

“Yes, everything is good, thank you.”

“Anything need fixing while I’m here?”

“No, thank you. Come on, diners ready.”

You lead him to the kitchen, and you don’t miss the way his eyes trail down as you pass. This is what you were counting on.

Joel was quick to praise your food, not holding back on compliments. “This is delicious, sweetheart, you really got a skill here.” and “You’ll make some man very happy one day.”

That last one made you swell with pride. You were happy he thought of you as wife material. What you were about to do wasn’t very “good girl” of you, however. Joel always called you a good girl, while your dad thought for sure you were taking an ‘easier’ major to allow more time for partying. You wanted Joel to think you were good. 

After dinner, you and Joel sat down with coffee and a cherry crumble, smoothing your dress over the couch. Conversation was light, easy. It was always easy with Joel, despite him making you nervous. He was just so fucking handsome, so fucking strong, and the way he talked about sarah with a twinkle in his eye… you know he was a good dad, a loving dad. The few times you met Sarah, Joel always took care of her even in adulthood. He gave her gas money she never asked for, told her she looked beautiful, and his face always beamed with pride when he looked at his daughter. He always hugged her goodbye, even if he’d see her tomorrow. Your father hadn’t hugged you in years.

“Is there a reason you brought me here tonight?” Joel asked, sipping his black coffee with a bit of splenda in it, a splash of the dark liquid remaining on his mustache until he dabbed it away.

You squirm a bit in your seat. “Well, yes, actually. Not that I don’t enjoy your company!” Was your fast addendum.

Joel chuckled, smiling into his mug. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I ain’t one of those old men that have delusions of pretty young girls wanting to spend time with them.”

“That’s not it!” You stand quickly, fluttering over to where he sat on the couch and plopping down. “I swear, Mr. Miller, if you say no, I’d want you to stay and finish dessert, I enjoy spending time with you, just as we are.”

*

Joel was struggling more and more to stave off his orgasm, but he needed this. He couldn’t just cum in you, although you wouldn’t resist and he doubted you’d throw a fit. He had you too wrapped around his finger by now. Young, sweet, naive thing that you were… but Joel needed you to want this too, Joel needed a life with you at his side, his pretty wife, mother of his children… starting tonight.

“Joel, nooooo…” You mutter, tired and worn out. He made sure to get you like this; compliant. “I have to finish school, Joel…” 

*

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Just tell me what you need, I’m sure we can work something out.”

You wring your hands in your lap, suddenly aware of your proximity to him. He smelled like leather and sandalwood. 

“Well, as you know I’m in school…”

He nodded, setting down his drink. “That’s right, Early Childhood isn’t it?”

That made you light up, turning to actually look at him and finding his kind eyes on you. “Yes! I can’t believe you remembered!”

“I remember your dad ranting about it. I told him he shouldn’t have been surprised, good girl like you, wanting to take care of children.”

You nod quickly. “Yes exactly! My school offers a minor in special needs which I added too.” You were happy with his approval of your choice and added that fact on to make you seem more noble. This was a good cause he was investing in. You were a good girl who wanted to help children.

“My oh my, darl’n…” Joel mused. “You really are a sweetheart, aren’t you? Now, what can I do to aid such a valiant effort.”

“Well, school starts this month and I’m close, I’m so, so close to having enough but even with the overtime, it’d looking like I’ll be short about $500 for tuition, and then there’s books and supplies and-”

“Now wait a minute, little lady.” Joel held up a hand, and for a moment you’re disheartened and think he’s about to reject your ask before it’s even out, but his furrowed brow is for another reason. “Your daddy ain’t help’n you pay for school?”

“No sir… not since I refused to go to pre-law.”

“Well that ain’t right… I know how much he makes, he can pay for a few months in Europe but not your school? Fathers are supposed to take care of their daughters.” He looked genuinely disappointed.

Shrugging, you chuckle nervously. “Well, I suppose he doesn’t think it’s very useful, so he doesn’t want to pay for it.”

* 

“You graduate before the second semester.”

“But my dad”

“I’ll handle your dad”

“What about Sarah?”

“I’ll handle Sarah.”

“But the money-”

Joel stopped, mid trust, his cock buried inside you and trying his best to stave off his orgasm. 

“Sweetheart… Don’t you know I want to marry you?”

*

Joel had known Mike wasn’t the most attentive father, but he never thought it was this bad. He always thought you were a good girl, kind hearted and calm, empathetic and caring. It had only been this last year that he’d begun to see you as something more, something seductive, yes, someone who he thought about fisting his cock at those lonely nights, but, that wasn’t the full picture either. You were a caretaker… Maternal. 

“That’s fuck’n stupid.” Joel countered, bluntly. “Take’n care of children, that’s the most important job on earth, why, your daddy should but thrilled to have such a nurturing daughter!” His voice was raised just a bit, but not at you. Didn’t your dad see what a prize he had? A woman like that, well, you were of high value. You were a treasure. His bitch of an ex wife never really wanted to be a mother, he knew that now, just like his mother. They had Sarah because that’s what you did when you were married in the 90’s. Joel fell in love immediately… she never really attached, and much like his mother wasn’t mentally present on the rare occasion she was physically… Well, his ex-wife lasted longer than his mother did, anyway. You would never leave your child like that. You would never leave him like that. “Whadya need, sweetheart.”

Your fidgeting continues. “Well… $1000… but… It’s not a loan, I was hoping to… to sell you something.”

Interesting… you had his complete attention, whatever you needed, it was yours. $1000 was nothing, and he’d much sure such a good girl had everything she needed… you deserved it. 

“Whatever it it, darling girl, I’ll buy.”

He saw you taking a deep breath, hesitating at first before standing up and walking in front of him. You looked stunning in your red dress, an absolute marvel.

With a deep breath and hands folded in front of you., you answered what you were selling.

“Me.”

*

“W-what?” You were suddenly awake again, snapping back to reality at his words. “No, no Joel you’re just saying that…”

Joel shook his head. “I wouldn’t like about that, baby. C’mon, you gotta know how badly I want to marry you. You're my good girl. We’d be so happy together, just you and me…” A large, splaying hand on your bare belly. “And our baby…”

*

Joel stands up, walking over to you and towering his body over yours. “Sweetheart, do you know what you're asking?”

You look up at him and nod. “I do, Joel. Please know I understand what I’m doing.”

He shakes his head. “No, darling girl I’ll just give you the $1000, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” You eyes shined at him, timid but attempting to look sure. “I can’t just take a hand out.”

“You can-” He reached for his wallet, but you grab his hands.

“I can’t. Joel…” You slide up to him, pressing your body too his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me… I look at you like that too.”

Reaching a hand up, Joel cups your face. “Baby…” He groans, erection growing in his pants already at the thought. “I don’t think I can do this just once… you gotta know that, don’t you? Special girl like yourself…” His eyes darted to your lips, cherry red and beautiful and oh-so inviting. 

You look down at his shirt as you behind to feel up his chest. Firm muscles of hard work under the softness of age. “Well, maybe… since my dad won’t help me…” You wriggle your pelvis against his, taunting him before looking up at his brown eyes again.  “We can come up with an arrangement?”

Joel was holding on by a thread. “Yeah? You gonna let me take care of you?” His thumb on your face spreads to your mouth, and when it prods are your lips, you open eagerly. Keeping eye contact with his brown orbs gone black, your nod and suck, the message clear. Yes sir.

“Fuck…” Joel mumbles his mouth encasing yours in a harsh, hard kiss and scooping you up with ease, only to lay you down on the couch. Your red dress splays and russles as he does, bending your knees so it slides down to your hips. When you make an attempt to remove the dress, rough hands stop you. “Keep the dress on.”

Your black tights, however, were ripped open to reveal white lacy underwear. “Uh fuuuuck..;. So beautiful…” He marvels at your pussy, so perfectly groomed for him. Falling to his knees on the floor, Joel mouths over the clothed core, his breath adding to the heat as he explored you. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know damn well I don’t.” Joel snaps. “I don’t want to, sweetheart, I need to.”

With that, Joel ripped off your underwear with two hands and dived into you. He couldn’t help but palm himself over his pants as he did. You just tasted too good, and he was a starved man.

*

His thrusts continued, but with a different rhythm this time. Eyes sharply on yours, he drew back slowly but thrusting in hard. Slowly, hard. Less slow, more harder. Less slow… you were going to come again, eyes never leaving his for a moment. 

“Everything you ever need, everything you ever want, I’ll take care of. I’ll provide for you, I’ll love you, protect you, I’ll care for you… only thing you ever need to do is take care of me and this baby, okay? That’s it.”

You were dizzy, you were worn, you were on the precipice of climax and you were in love.

“Okay.”

His eyes light up, a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, baby? You lett’n me fill you up?”

Joel knew you were ovulating. Of course he did. Joel tracked your periods to make sure he always knew what you needed. Heating pads, tea for bloating, pads and tampons and cups. He said he wanted to know so that he could take care of you emotionally.

Of course he knew when you were ovulating.

*

The next two hours were a blur of bliss, Joel taking care of all your needs, physical, sexual, even emotional.

At the end, a $2000 check was written in your name and a tender kiss on the head as he parted as well as plans between you to for next time.

For the next several months, ‘next time’ became more and more frequent, more and more demanding but a higher and higher price. Joel began to take care of it all. Your apartment, your food, every single need or want was handled by Joel, and in return every free moment was spent with him. You didn’t desire to see your friends. They just wanted to party. But you, you were serious about your passions. You were serious about helping people. Joel may have mentioned it once or twice when your grades were getting worse, suggesting instead of studying with them, you study at his place. He’d keep you on track. Quickly, your grades improved, and you began studying with Joel more and more. You eventually just stayed with him. 

It was like a dream, you had everything you needed, including Joel who whispered his love to you every chance he had. Joel took care of you in the way your father never did, Joel filled those gaps he left.

Joel took away every in convenience. He told you when your friends weren’t good for you, he cooked for you on late nights, he even began making appointments and getting your car fixed. Your parents were none the wiser, but you began to care less what they thought. Only Joel mattered, and the children. Joel took away every worry for you, and all you had to think about was making him happy, and what to do with your upcoming degree. 

*

“Yes Joel.” You whine, desperate to please him, desperate to remain his everything as he is yours. “Wanna be your wife, wanna have your babies, please?”

“Oh fuck,” He panted, holding on by a thread as his brows pursed together. “Gonna fuck you full, little mama.”

Your orgasm hits you, crashing waves causing you to cry out in a rigid scream. “Joel!!!” Your fingers claw bloody on his back. “Make me a mommy, please?”

“Ohhhhh, fuck yeah baby, good fucking girl, gonna put my baby in you, yes, yes yes, FUCK YES!” Joel growled and  unloaded into you, painting your inside in his cum and filling you to the brim before collapsing onto you. Heavy and overbearing, Joel consumed your body and every thought in your head and soon, your body and entire life will make room for him. 

Your mind reeled, the reality of what just happened setting in. At 22, you were at peak fertility… were you pregnant?

“Joel?” You ask, still clinging to him desperately. 

“I know exactly what you’re worried about, and what do I always tell you?”

You smell his neck, reassuring yourself with his mantra. “Don’t you worry your pretty little mind…” Joel always told you not to worry about a thing. He’d take care of it all, he’d take care of you…

 “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you’re worried about what I said…” Joel’s body pulls away just a bit, tucking his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna marry you, baby girl. I’m gonna take care of you and this baby. If you’re pregnant, if you really are my good girl, I’ll marry you.” Sitting back, Joel watches his cock slide out of you with a ‘pop’ and laments the cum seeping out of you. As he pushes it back in, Joel brings you to orgasm yet again.

*

You were, in fact, pregnant. As your belly swelled, Joel became more and more obsessed with you, constantly caressing your belly. You graduated college of course, as you dreamed, but finding a job… it wasn’t really on your raidar There wasn’t really a need. Joel handled it all, and he said he didn’t want you dealing with that stress right now. And who would hire a heavily pregnant woman?

Joel and you married in an intimate ceremony at the 4th month mark in a small baptist church. It was your parents, a few family members of yours and a friend who two who Joel thought were good influences and Sarah and Tommy were there of course. Joel promised you a big, fancy vowel renewal whenever you wanted, but a wedding like that takes time to plan, and you both wanted to me married when you had your baby.

Joel made you happier than you ever thought possible, he took care of everything. Of course, he controlled everything too, but that was okay. You didn’t need a bank app on your phone, all you needed to know was that your debit card would go through, and you knew it would. You didn’t need the routing and account number, you didn’t need to see finances, look at insurance plans, stocks, bills, anything like that. All you needed to do was take care of your body, and soon, this baby. 

“I gotta admit Joel, I wasn’t really a fan of this  at the start.” Your dad announces one Sunday dinner. He had invited Tommy and Sarah over as well. Extended family. Both had been hesitant at first, especially Sarah, who was a few years older than you… but they saw how you made her dad smile, and how Joel took care of you… how could they not be happy?

“I remember” Joel jokes back.

Your dad continued. “But I gotta say, this has been good for her.”

They tended to talk about you like you weren’t in the room, sometimes, but that was okay. You were Joel’s pretty, obedient wife, and you spoke when spoken too. You were there to support Joel, not meddle in his conversations.

Joel turned to you and smiled, kissing you on the cheek and feeling your 9 month swollen belly. “She’s come a long way, but she’s a good girl, obedient. Best wife I could ask for.”

Joel spoke for you, proudly telling them how after the baby was born and you’d recovered, you had plans to put your degree to use. Not work, oh gosh no! You don't need to worry about something like that. No, you’d be volunteering at a nonprofit. And isn’t that so much better!

You wouldn’t have to have another worry in your head again, outside of being a good mother. Your could give a few hours a week to children in need and then come home to a living family without being exhausted from long days on your feet.

Everything would be taken care of.

Everything would be handled.

All you had to do was be a good girl.

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

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

I hope you guys enjoyed!!!

I am so stressed rn ive been crying for days about work stuff. I dont want to work I want to volunteer and take care of children in need and have a hot husband fuck me and and and and ANYWAY

PLease consider reblogging, it's the only way to spread fics!

I love you all, thank you to everyone whose been raching out to me

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