#i need to get back into writing for this continuity too man

[bonbonly]

BONBON!!! need collegeau! carlos punishing artstudent!reader for going almost no contact with him when she was on her trip with mrs sainz. left him in the dark, wondering if she was with another man.. he needs to leaves so many marks so that no man goes near her for a while.. 🙏

LITERALLY AS SOON AS I FINISHED WRITING "INTO THE WOODS" I WAS LIKE I NEED TO GET TO EM'S ASK (and im combining 🍒 anon's ask in this as well!)

bon's thoughts (18+)

college!au carlos is at his study room, typing up an assignment that he has for his entrepreneurship class. his fingers drum against the keyboard before he adds another paragraph to his proposal. he leans back in his chair, reading over the word doc and then stiffening when he hears your laughter downstairs.

you had just come back from an art exhibition with his mother. you spent the past two weeks ignoring his texts, never picking up his calls. every time he did call, it was always when you were talking with an art director about trying to get your paintings to another gallery across the globe. by the time you'd get back to your hotel room, you're passed out and dozing off, completely oblivious to the thousand calls carlos was spamming you with.

mrs. sainz is making pasta for everyone tonight, and she smiles at you, "my dear, would you mind going upstairs and getting carlos? i heard he hasn't eaten anything since lunch, no snacks or juice! my poor boy must be starving!"

you laugh, slipping off the stool and nodding your head, "will do, mrs. sainz!" and you skip out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs. you approach his room, and pause in front of his door. you peer into the small crack and see him working diligently, his glasses on. he never really wore glasses that often, only if he was locked in and trying to get his work done. but ugh, he looked really good wearing it. you clear your throat, knocking on the door, "carlos! your mom's calling you for dinner!"

"come in!" carlos barks, cracking his knuckles. you enter, closing the door behind you,

"hey!" you smile, but your face falls when you see that he's glaring at you. he gestures for you to walk over to him and you sigh, reaching him behind his desk and running a hand through his hair, "hey, what's up? is your college work too much?" but before you can get a response, he shuts his laptop, placing it to the side and tosses all the papers and pencils onto the ground before picking you up and slamming you onto the table. you gasp out loud as he's tearing your clothes off, spreading your legs wide. he lets a trail of his saliva flow onto your pussy, his fingers sliding the spit along your folds which causes you to choke back a moan as you gaze at him with wide eyes. he chuckles, darkly,

"very cute of you, hermosa," he snickers, licking your clit, "i think my dinner's right here." and he wraps his entire mouth around your cunt, slurping the sweet juice you have to offer him. you're shaking as he continues, and folds you into a mating press as he rubs his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent, "fuck, i've spent two weeks without your calls and texts, imagine how much i missed you, princesa"

and you gulp, realizing that he didn't forget the fact that you forgot to call him back. he's holding onto your wrists to make sure you can't hold onto his hair as his tongue delves deeper, his head shaking against your cunt which has you crying out loud about how good his tongue is. truth is you missed him too, but you wouldn't say that because you knew his ego would get bigger. when you cum around his tongue, he lets his tongue drag up to your tits, sucking and biting anywhere that he can find. he's marking your neck, your forehead, your collarbones, even your arms, all while his cock is pistoning inside of you without stopping.

"are you going to cum? hm, is that what's going to happen?" he mocks your pleas as you're frantically nodding your head, telling him how close you were. he laughs, shaking his head, "i thought you were fucking some other man, i thought you had forgotten all about me... me, the man that even got you those art exhibitions! fuck, i think the only way you'll ever understand is if i get you pregnant. my cum flowing out of you every night. my mama will be so happy to be the grandmother to our child."

"carlos!" you scream, clenching around his cock as his nibbles your ear. your legs are stretched so wide you know you're going to be limping back downstairs. a knock on the door makes you snap your head to the side, and carlos is grinning as he's pounding into you faster.

"carlos, what's taking you so long?" mrs. sainz asks from the other side, and carlos groans quietly to himself at the feeling of your pussy swallowing him, taking him deeper,

"just a bit... fuck, busy with work mama! we'll be out soon, don't worry! give me 10 more minutes!" he yells, and mrs. sainz sighs,

"take your time! your work comes first, mi hijo!" her footsteps grow quieter as she heads back downstairs, and carlos grabs your jaw, forcing you to look back at him,

"you heard what she said, mi zorra, you better hope mi mama doesn't see my cum all over you," and you whimper out loud, biting your lip at the thought of being drenched from head to toe in his cum. he giggles, shaking his head, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? and who am I to deny my princesa?"

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 20 - WRONGFUL PERCEPTION [E1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC (Marie)

Summary : When the daughter of an old friend has compromised herself, Christopher Brandon sacrifices himself to save her reputation. But maybe love can blossom, even in the most unusual context.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Loneliness. Abandon. Rumours. Harsh mother. Unwanted pregnancy.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had been a long time since Christopher had seen Sir William Fleet. He had known him in the army and although he was much older than him, he had quickly become friends with him. He was a wise, discreet, and introverted man, quite the opposite of John Middleton who was also a good friend of William. The latter liked to joke that John was often the yin to his yang.

Christopher's visit was not insignificant. He had received word from John that their old friend was very ill and the doctor was not certain that he would survive the winter. Christopher had therefore made the trip, hoping to see his friend in better condition than he had been told.

A servant showed him into the large Fleet home. The place was much more modest than his Delaford estate but it was a beautiful, well-kept place, which housed the memories of several generations, some more prosperous than William today, although he had done a remarkable job of managing the family fortune.

"Colonel Brandon, my father will see you," a small, shy voice startled him.

He turned around and couldn't help but stare in spite of himself at Marie Fleet, William's daughter. He had never met her before, every time he had come to visit his friend, his child too shy to meet anyone's gaze had always taken refuge in her room and her father, sometimes too indulgent, had always let her do it. Christopher remembered a month's stay where the young girl who could not have been more than twelve at the time had managed the feat of never being seen by anyone.

Marie was twenty-one now and she was a pretty young girl with soft features, but her eyes, which she had been pretty, seemed to carry a shadow that betrayed torments far too great for a young lady of her age and rank.

"Miss Fleet, I am delighted to meet you," Brandon said, bowing politely.

She gave him a small bow without answering, then headed down a hallway, still in silence. Christopher knew he had to follow her and she led him to a small private sitting room with heavy green drapes that filtered the sunlight, giving the room a pleasant, subdued light.

"Christopher, my old friend !" William exclaimed as he rose from his chair.

He didn't look very well but he didn't seem as ill as John had said. Perhaps the potions were taking effect.

"Do you need anything, father ?" Mary asked, never looking up from the floor.

"No, thank you, child. You can get back to your business."

She left without asking for more as William went to a bottle of Brandy to pour a generous amount into two glasses.

"You seem to be in better shape than the rumours suggested," Brandon pointed out cautiously.

"Marie is taking good care of me, but this cough refuses to leave me alone. The doctors weren't sure I'd recover, but I'm more robust than he thinks," William replied, taking a sip from his glass.

"John said you were dying."

William stared at his glass, swirling the liquid without really seeing it.

"I exaggerated a bit because I wanted to be sure you'd come," he finally admitted.

"Why didn't you write ? I would have come without you lying about your condition," Christopher said coldly.

"I didn't lie. Not really. The doctors really weren't sure I'd recover, and they said it would be a harsh winter, especially in this big, old house. But... there's something I'd like to ask you."

Before he could continue, he was overcome by a coughing fit that doubled him over. Christopher stood up to help him, but William stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"It would be as much of a lie as saying I'm perfectly fine. I'm getting old, and while I'm not yet in the grave, my health is failing. Fast. Too fast. And I need you to do me a favour, old friend."

"Of course, tell me," Brandon said, watching him closely.

It was true that William was not the dashing soldier he had once been. Life had worn him down, and Christopher could see the weariness imprinted on every one of his features, that weariness that life brings and that never goes away once it sets in.

"My daughter... She has no suitor. She has always been very lonely and the boys, the few who were interested in her fortune, have ended up turning away. As soon as she opens her mouth, she surpasses them and it scares them. And so much the better, I don't need a dowry hunter as a son-in-law. But, if I die and she is not married, she will have nothing. Everything will go to my nephew. I can't leave this world without being certain that she will be protected. She could work for you..."

"Work for me? You want me to make your daughter a servant?" Christopher asked, really surprised to hear such a thing, "her cousin will be able to take care of her, right ?"

"He would have done it before, but when... when she... not after that. He will disown her and she will end up on the street. She is a good girl, she made a mistake, but she does not deserve to pay for it for the rest of her life, and she is brave, she will work hard, I am sure of it and I know that you treat your people well."

Christopher frowned without understanding.

"Christopher, I trust you. I ask nothing more than that you accept her under your roof when I am no longer here. She and..."

"What are you hiding from me William? " Christopher asked, understanding that Marie's situation was not as trivial as it seemed.

There was something more than a father worried about his daughter who would not inherit his estate or his money and he could not put his finger on this certainty William had that his nephew would refuse to take care of Marie.

"Christopher, what I am going to tell you must never leave this room."

Christopher nodded solemnly.

"Marie, last summer she went to London with my brother and her cousins. There she met a young man. A young man unworthy of her affection, but she did not know that. She did not want to tell me much, but he comes from an important family and he is said to be a lawyer. Anyway, she believed his sweet talk and... and..."

William was unable to continue, the lump in his throat compressing him too much, this lump of fear for this only child that he had always cherished so much since the death of his wife.

"She's carrying a child," Brandon guessed, jaw clenched.

"Yes. It can't be seen yet, she must be barely two months old. We went to see a healer who offered to... to deliver her early, but Marie refused."

"How could your sweet and shy daughter have gotten herself mixed up with a smooth-talking lawyer?" Brandon growled, although his anger was not directed at Marie but at this miscreant who clearly refused to assume his paternity.

"Out of naivety. Also out of hope of finally being loved by someone other than her old father. It's my fault. I was too lenient with her, I wanted to compensate for her years when I was not there and she had to grow up with the firm and implacable authority of my wife who never let her get away with anything. I trusted her and her cousins ​​to watch over each other, but Marie, although intelligent, is terribly naive in matters of the heart and the flesh. She believed in her fine words, she let herself be seduced and now... now, if anyone finds out that she is expecting a baby out of wedlock, she will be ruined. And how can you hide such a thing ?"

William's voice broke on these last words but he bravely held back his tears.

"I first thought of hiding her until the delivery and then giving the baby away, but Marie... she wouldn't survive it, I know her, she wouldn't bear to see her baby taken away from her. And she couldn't keep such a secret, pretend that nothing had happened, she would suffer from it, would never recover and would be unable to find a husband."

"That's the best solution," Christopher pointed out, "you could entrust the child to good people, who would raise it well."

"I know, but I thought... I thought that you could take her and the child in. She could put some money aside, and I have some for her too, a little safe that no one knows about. When she had saved enough, she could leave for the Americas and invent a new life for herself. To say that her husband died in India. They say anything is possible there."

"So you want me to take in your daughter and her child, for your daughter to work for me until she has enough money to escape to a country where she won't know anyone and will be left to fend for herself with a child? " Christopher summed up.

"I don't know what else to do," William admitted.

"Marie is innocent, she can barely look anyone in the eye, and do you think she'll be able to survive alone in a distant land ?" Christopher asked.

"Isn't that her best hope ?" William asked, no longer hiding his tears.

Christopher stood up, pacing.

"No," he finally said firmly, "there is another solution."

"Which one ?"

"Marriage."

Christopher's words were followed by a heavy silence.

"Christopher, I would never ask you that," William began.

"No, but I'm offering it to you," Christopher interrupted.

"What about the child ?"

"Mine. No one will have to know."

"I... Christopher, do you understand what you're proposing ?" William insisted.

He knew Christopher was a good man, he also knew that after Eliza disappeared, hisMy friend didn't really believe in love anymore, but to find himself trapped in a marriage of convenience with a lost girl...

"I'll take care of her, she won't want for anything and you know that your inheritance interests me very little. When you die, I'll make sure that everything goes to your daughter and her child. If it's a little girl, I'll make sure that everything is done legally so that she inherits everything when she's an adult. That way, you'll know that at least one Fleet girl will have some freedom to choose the life she wants to lead."

"Christopher... Marie, what if she never gives you back what you're offering her now ?"

"Then, so be it. I'm not doing it so that she owes me anything. I'm almost 35 and I no longer have any illusions about finding love. I'm old and very unattractive."

"Nonsense! Old? Wait until you're my age, wait until you need a maid to get out of bed and you can call yourself old, you young fool," William said, rolling his eyes.

"No matter, I'll watch over her and the child. It doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, it will be mine and the child will never want for anything. As for Mary, she will be free to move around, the Delaford will not be a prison for her. Besides, John's cousins ​​are set to move in near him in his old cottage. Maybe she can find a friend with one of them."

William thought for a moment, emptying his Brandy in a slow sip.

"Are you sure, Brandon ? I don't want to give Mary false hope, make her believe that everything will be fine if you're not sure."

"I am. I won't back down."

"Good. I'll talk to her tonight," William said, feeling a terrible weight lift from his heart.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to do it myself," Christopher suggested.

William nodded, standing up with renewed vigour.

"How about we go see the ponds ? I don't really have time to tease their tenants anymore, but my gardener takes good care of them."

The two men went out together, William joking like in the good old days of the army, Christopher still the stoic and composed man who suffered in silence. He didn't suffer from his decision, however, he knew it was the right one. Mary would have a chance, she and her child, which Eliza had not had.

Late that afternoon, before dinner was announced, Christopher asked permission to speak to Mary alone. The young woman slowly entered the library where he was waiting for her, her eyes lowered, her cheeks slightly pink.

"Colonel Brandon, did you want to speak to me ?"

"Miss Fleet, we were never formally introduced."

She didn't answer, but he didn't miss her hand that almost landed on her stomach before she stopped it.

"Miss Fleet, may I speak to you frankly?" Christopher asked, observing her carefully.

"Of course," she answered, looking up at him for the first time.

"Your father... he confided... he confided your secret to me."

Marie blushed violently, her eyes wide in a mixture of fear, anger and shame.

"He..."

She was tempted to tell him that he was a little senile and no longer knew what he was saying, but she didn't want to disrespect her father in this way.

"He shouldn't have. It's my burden, not his," she said instead.

"I'm afraid a child's burden is always his parents'," Christopher replied bitterly.

Marie was lucky to have an understanding father who wanted to lighten his load. If his sister had ever returned home in Marie's condition, their father... he preferred not to think about what his father would have done. He remembered that his sister was happily married in France and focused on what he intended to tell Marie.

"I can help you," he said, his features softening with the compassion he felt for this very young woman.

"How ?" Marie asked, frowning.

"I proposed to your father and he accepted."

"What ? But he had no right ! And I, don't have a say in it ?!" Marie fumed.

Christopher couldn't blame her for her reaction, but she was still young and naive about the world around her. She had been far too protected by a father who had wanted to redeem himself by offering her everything she wanted without ever letting her stray too far from him. At least until that unfortunate escapade in London where she had proven that she knew nothing about the world.

"Your burden would also become mine. You would be protected from rumours, from judgments."

"A pity marriage ?" Marie spat.

William entered at the same moment.

"Come, come, my child, why all this shouting ?" he asked calmly.

"That's your solution, father ? Marry me to a stranger ? Chain me to a man I don't know ?"

"You feel insulted, Marie, but that's the best solution. Christopher is a good man, I have known him for a long time. He will watch over you and your child.

"Father !" Mary exclaimed, outraged.

"You will have a name and protection, just like your child." William said, raising his voice a little.

"You can't force me !" his daughter insisted.

"No, but if you have any common sense you will accept. You made a mistake, an unfortunate mistake, but all is not lost. Christopher is offering you a marriage to save your honour, you will have a roof over your head, you will get my house and my money when I die and this child will never be called a bastard, Mary. This is an opportunity and if you don't take it for yourself, don't be selfish, take it for the baby !"

She took a step back. It was the first time her father had spoken to her like that and his harsh tone took her by surprise.

"What if I refuse ?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Christopher stepped forward, towering over her.

"I'll do everything I can to help you, but I think marriage is the best solution. It will spare you the rumours, the prejudices, and most importantly, it will spare the child. It will have a chance, a real chance in this world. You know that a child with no name has nothing in this world."

Marie remained silent, her green eyes shining with silent pain until she finally whispered :

"If you think this is the best solution, father, then I accept."

The old man sighed in relief. Making Marie see reason hadn't been too difficult, and with any luck, this marriage would become more than a marriage of convenience.

The marriage couldn't wait, not with a nearly two-month-old baby growing inside Marie's womb. That night, William was already making plans for the wedding with Christopher. It would take place in the small chapel that bordered his land. Nothing too lavish, nothing too flashy, which suited Christopher just fine.

Marie, she said nothing. It was not the wedding she had dreamed of, nor the man she had imagined her life with, but she had only herself to blame for having believed the fine words of this lawyer, son of a Lord with words as clever as the venom of a snake that paralyses its victim to kill her.

Except that she was not dead, and she was suffering. Her heart was broken and the child she was expecting would remind her for the rest of her life of her mistake and the fact that she was condemning Christopher to a life he had not asked for and did not deserve.

Five days, she would be married in five days. Her father had her mother's dress brought to her, but Marie hesitated.

"Father, I don't think she'd be happy if I wore her dress. Not under these circumstances."

"Marie, your mother was harsh, but she loved you. And she wouldn't have abandoned you, I'm sure of it."

Marie bit her lower lip.

"You'll look lovely," William added as he handed her the dress.

The days passed in a total blur for poor Marie who seemed totally disconnected from everything that was going on around her. In any case, she didn't really have a say. She was asked her opinion on the flowers and she just nodded, she was asked her opinion on the meal and she just recalled that she hated onions.

The ceremony took place with few guests, as agreed. Brandon, dignified and elegant in his red suit, supported Marie when her father handed her over to him. The young woman was shaking, but she was elegant in the white dress that her mother had worn years before. Christopher lifted her veil that hid her frightened eyes and smiled softly at her, hoping to reassure her.

When it was time for the vows, Marie said hers without even hearing them while Brandon said his with firmness and honour.

"We'll leave for the Delaford tomorrow," Christopher announced to Marie during dinner.

"Good," she said calmly.

She ate little, aware of her uncle who was looking at her sideways. He didn't know, she was sure, at least not about the child. But it was not impossible that the cousin to whom she had confided about those nights with the young man who had conquered her heart had spoken to her about it and that he had guessed the reasons for this hasty marriage.

Arriving at the Delaford, Christopher showed her the room she would occupy and Marie, once alone, lay down on the bed and fell asleep immediately until the next day. A maid came to help her get dressed and set up her things.

Christopher, for his part, was aware that he had to give her time. Only time and respect could lead Marie to adapt to this new life, and who knows, perhaps also to accept him as a husband and not just as a protector.

The days passed and if Marie made efforts to talk to him during dinner, she always kept a certain distance. However, although he wasn't really demonstrative in his gestures, Christopher did not fail to be so in his attentions. Every day, he ordered the servants to ensure that Marie's room as well as the small living room where she liked to embroider and the library where she sometimes read were always well heated.

He had also noticed the young woman's love of fruit tea and since then, the kitchen shelves were overflowing with it. He had also had new shoes made for her so that her swollen feet would suffer less and he had also asked that the poetry books, a genre she seemed to like, be all gathered on easy-to-access shelves in the library.

And yet, it never seemed enough to make the young woman lower her guard.

"A ball ?"

Christopher had just announced to her that they were invited to the Middletons. There was a ball there and he hoped she might meet John's cousins ​​or make friends with a lady to ease the loneliness that seemed to follow her like a shadow.

"I don't want to go," she said calmly.

"Why ?" Christopher asked softly.

"I... I wouldn't know anyone," she said.

He could see she was genuinely frightened. Perhaps the memory of the last social outings in London and their aftermath still haunted her.

"I'll be with you all the time," he said, "John is my best friend, I can't upset him by saying no."

She bit her lip, annoyed. She had met John and Mrs. Jennings soon after her marriage to Christopher and had found them nice if a little too outgoing for her tastes. She had also met Elinor Dashwood when she had tea one afternoon with Mrs. Jennings and had found her very nice but she had not liked her sister who thought very little before she spoke and who was a little too impulsive for her. She also did not like this man, this Willoughby, with whom she was constantly hanging out. Something told her that he was not trustworthy. He looked too much like... like the one for whom her heart had raced, making her believe she was in love, except that he was only a mirage and not a lover.

"I am afraid they will see," she finally murmured.

Christopher took her hand gently in his and she did not remove it to his great pleasure. No one would see, he thought. No one except him who could notice the subtle changes in her figure. But her pregnancy was still easily concealed.

"They won't notice. Amelia will take care of your dress and nothing will be noticed. But Mary, we'll have to tell them," he told her kindly.

"But they will know. It doesn't take a great mathematician to figure out that I was pregnant before we were married," she said in a small voice.

"We'll say the baby was premature," he argued.

"They'll see that it's not small enough to be premature," she pointed out.

"In that case, we'll stay confined for a while. They'll pretend that the child was born fragile and can't be in contact with too many people so as not to get sick," he said with conviction.

"And the servants ?"

"They won't say anything. They're loyal to me and they're carefully chosen by Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Stafford to ensure that they meet my standards and the grandeur of this house."

Marie finally accepted, her stomach in knots, but deep down, she wanted to please Christopher. She owed him that after all. He didn't force her to do anything, was always respectful and in return, she was going to impose another man's child on him. A child he had promised to recognize and raise as his own. She owed him more than a ball, she owed him everything. 

On the night of the ball, as Christopher had promised, no one noticed anything. However, he couldn't help but notice their similarities. Like him, she had this gift for not showing what she felt, even if he guessed her discomfort that must have knotted her stomach at the idea of ​​being surrounded by so many people, she was sparing with words and she had this melancholy air that never left her. He wondered if she had always had it or if, like him when he was just a young man in love with Eliza, she had been happy to live and all smiles.

He had asked her to dance, and although a little clumsy with her feet, she had accepted and had let herself be guided by his kindness. When they returned, she had accepted that he put his coat on her shoulders to protect her from the frost that was starting to bite the roads and arrive in their home, she had agreed to share a last tea with him before going to bed.

The next day, when she had joined him at the dining room table, she had told him to announce her pregnancy and Christopher's smile had made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he were announcing the expectation of his own child, he carried the pride of a father and it had hurt Mary's heart, all too aware of what she was doing to this man.

That afternoon was particularly rainy. Mary usually didn't mind going out in the rain for a walk, but today the rain was falling hard and the wind was blowing so hard that even the trees seemed to struggle to stay standing.

She had taken refuge in the private sitting room, the one that never saw a guest, and she was busy knitting socks for the baby when Christopher came back with a pile of mail to sort.

"Oh, sorry Mary. I didn't mean to disturb you. I can go to my office," he said, already turning around.

"No, stay. The office is probably freezing, no one has lit a fire in it," she said, setting her work down next to her.

"Can I help you ?" she asked as Christopher settled into an armchair by the fireplace.

"Well, you can answer these letters if you like," he said, handing her a few envelopes, "they're congratulations on the birth of our future baby."

He watched her furtively several times as she wrote concise but courteous replies. She was fragile and vulnerable, but he could see that she was strong, much stronger than she thought. He would teach her.

That night, Marie struggled to sleep. She was troubled by the conflicting emotions she was feeling. Finally, she decided to go down to the living room. She was pretty sure that the fire still warmed the room and she could read a little away from this oppressive room. 

As she entered, she jumped. Christopher was there, a book in his hand. He looked up at her and couldn't help but examine her closely. She wore only a simple nightgown that hugged her pregnant curves, making her look even more feminine than she had when they first met.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were here," she said, looking down.

"You're not disturbing me. Do you need anything ?" he asked gently.

"No. I couldn't sleep," she said, moving slowly into the room.

"Sit down. Would you like some tea ?" he asked, pointing to the still-steaming teapot on the coffee table.

She nodded, and he poured her a cup, which she held in her slender hands to warm them.

Christopher picked up a blanket that was neatly folded on a dresser and placed it on his shoulders. Marie murmured a small thank you, but the sincere smile she gave him filled Christopher with a joy he couldn't explain.

"Marie, do you have any happy memories ? Before... before all this ?"

He immediately blamed himself for asking, but he was itching to get to know her a little better.

"I remember my father teaching me to read in his study instead of working with the ledgers," she said with a wistful smile, "and summer days by the ponds. One of them was clear and I used to swim in them when I was younger."

"Marie, are you happy to become a mother ?"

There was a silence during which she had to make an effort not to burst into tears.

"I... I never imagined becoming a mother like this," she finally said, "but, he said he loved me, he told me we would live in his family's mansion, that we would have a good life and then... when he got what he wanted, he didn't even look at me anymore."

She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Immediately, Christopher stood up to come and take her in his arms. She let him do it without resisting.

"And now, in addition to having ruined my life I ruin yours," she said between two sobs.

Christopher pulled back and took her by the shoulders.

"Marie, you didn't ruin anyone's life. You made a mistake, a mistake in judgment, but your life is not over because of it. You are strong and you should be proud of yourself for being here, still standing and fighting. And you are not ruining my life. I chose you and I don't regret a thing."

She looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude and for the first time, she thought she had had a wrongful perception of Christopher when he had proposed to marry her to save his reputation. He was a man of honour and he proved it to her every day.

"There are rumours, I know," said Mary as she pulled away from Christopher's embrace, "Marianne Dashwood mentioned it when we went on a picnic with Mr. Middleton and Mrs. Jennings."

Christopher clenched his jaw. Damn Marianne and her forked tongue. Of course there were rumours, he knew that. Some people said that this hasty marriage had been orchestrated to save the young woman's reputation but thanks to John who, although he understood the truth had been kind enough to pretend he knew nothing, the rumours thought that it was the honourable Christopher who was not so honourable that he will pass it was rising and that he had sinned before redeeming himself by marrying her.

"Don't listen to Marianne Dashwood. She is a girl of little judgment. This child, Marie, is ours and I will challenge to a duel anyone who dares to say otherwise, is that understood ?"

She nodded, but Christopher put a finger under her chin to force her to look at him.

"Is that understood ?" he insisted.

"Yes," Marie whispered.

"I know you think everything is ruined, that you are lost and that nothing is right, but it is not. Everything is fine and you are not lost, you are my wife. And in time, it will get better, you will see."

They finally separated and Marie returned to her room, gently caressing her round belly. She wondered how a woman like her who had sinned, damaged goods, could deserve a man like Christopher Brandon.

Christopher lingered in his office for a moment. He opened a drawer and pulled out a portrait of Mary, a portrait he had made himself. It had taken him no more than a few months to fall in love with her and yet, even if she opened up to him, she still seemed far away.

He had often wondered if an arranged marriage could open the door to true love and he had long doubted it. His parents had never been happy in their marriage, his brother had ruined Eliza, but still, John had assured him that his marriage, although arranged, had been a solid foundation and that the love he had built with his wife had been much stronger than a quick passion in the glow of a burning fire that made the heart of a man blinded by the illusion he called love beat faster.

But there was no wrongful perception for Christopher. He had fallen in love with Marie, and with patience, she might eventually give herself to him. At least, he hoped so, now that he had a chance to experience love in his tormented life.

[lightlycareless]

An almost 10k piece but it's finally here, the toji fic continuation/conclusion. Ngl I'm really excited because after this I can literally write anything domestic with him—not that I needed to do so, but it kind of made sense in my mind lmao.

Anyways, I do recommend reading these two works (how it all started) (prior to this) (and an alternate ending.) beforehand to understand a bit more what is going on. Also, this is the official opening of a Toji category in my masterlist hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! Sorry for breaking the Naoya streak 🥹 I'll be back to him soon enough :)

Now, the warnings: angst. mentions of infidelity. self-harm. tiny mentions of naoya/reader. y/n is very miserable and toji pitiful. sorry :( and I apologize too if there are errors in my writing 🥹 or if Toji seems too ooc. It just needed to work this way.

Happy reading!

You never officially accepted Toji into your apartment, but you’ve long given up trying to push him away. Because whenever you thought yourself successful in doing so, he’d simply come back… more persistent than ever!

But it wasn’t all bad. In fact, the notion that he hadn’t become a burden since he arrived is something that elates you, for the last thing you needed was more problems pertaining to the Zen’in, a family you had strictly barred from being spoken of in your house…

Which Toji was more than happy to oblige to; he wasn’t too fond of them anyways before you came into his life, so this was the perfect agreement.

It didn’t mean there wasn’t moments where your curiosity got the best of you, where your mind wandered to your ex-husband, to the man you swore to love ‘till the rest of your life, wondering what he was doing, if he was missing you—

“You’re not allergic, are you?” Toji asks, snapping you out of your thoughts and back to the plate before you, his attempt of setting up the table.

“To what?”

“Mushrooms.” He says. “They’re in what we’re eating today.”

“…No. Not that I know of.”

“Good, then eat as much as you or the baby want.”

One of the main things you rarely worried about as of lately was food. Toji simply… decided it would be his responsibility, and has been doing a god job at that, even if most of the time it was just take out—cooking isn’t one of his strengths, but you suppose you couldn’t complain considering your precarious situation.

…

…

He didn’t need to do any of those things. Anything, really. There was never a necessity for him to seek you out and pretend to care for you. The relationship the two had back in the estate was practically nonexistent, whatever there was it was simply established out of convenience, what one could get out of the other… and you intended to keep it that way: your husband was the one you wanted.

But then, Toji was the only one to reach out to you after hell broke loose. Suddenly so interested in your and the baby’s well-being, without any apparent reason, was… eerie, to say the least. Almost too good to be true.

Yet, above all, it was painful. Because his actions only served to constantly remind you of the one you lost.

Question if you had perhaps… overreacted to Naoya’s cold words.

It wouldn’t be the first time the love of your life was pressured by his family to do things he didn’t want to. Say things he wouldn’t normally say to you.

That… that would make sense, wouldn’t it? It was simply more logical to assume that he’d never throw away all the years the two spent together… willingly, that is. That had to be the undeniable truth!

Or perhaps… not? Maybe he did believe that, wholeheartedly; and now desired to stay away from you for good—

Because if he thought otherwise, don’t you think he would’ve contacted you already? Try to make amends?

Oh, but how could you think that if you essentially disappeared? Hiding in some remote place of Japan in hopes of never being found…

There’s only one way to get the answers you desperately sought, and that would be contacting him. Reaching out for Naoya and giving him a chance to explain himself. Maybe it was all an misunderstanding, the foils of people that had always want nothing but your downfa—

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?”

You blink, once more being pulled back to reality and to the somewhat unwanted presence of the man before you.

You notice a prominent frown on his face, one that makes you believe he was trying to read your mind, as if that would ever be possible.

However, your assumption wasn’t that far off. In the short time the two have lived together Toji has gotten increasingly better in discerning whenever you were getting too deep into your own thoughts, and subsequently get you out of them before it got too… serious.

He could only imagine what went through that mind of yours—once a cheerful woman that brightened any room she walked in, now dimmed down to nothing less than a shadow of who she was.

Toji doesn’t question that whatever it is that you might be conjuring up isn’t good. Unfortunately, he won’t find out once you decide to postpone this train of thought to another day.

When it’s too late.

Toji doesn’t like pressuring topics. He’s always been the kind of person to not bother with trivial matters and just let things flow their natural way; if they end up biting him back later, that is something his future self will deal with.

However, that is not a privilege he can afford with your pregnancy, which you’ve profoundly refused to discuss with him. He doesn’t know if you plan on keeping it or not, and he supposes his opinion doesn’t really weigh in on your consideration, but that doesn’t mean he’d leave you to your luck.

Toji does not falter when it comes to keeping up with your growing needs. If you need a new blanket, or if there’s a new craving he needs to consider this time around, he’s on top of the situation as soon as it occurs.

Just because he didn’t have the same financial liberties as his annoying cousin doesn’t mean he wasn’t creative. He’d find a way, he always did, to get what he wanted.

Except when it came to convincing you into taking it easier. In other words…

“—you’re pregnant. You should spend most of your time resting.” He’d urge you once more, but you—still not keen on his presence around your modest home—take your work as your only means to escape your reality. “Or at least take lesser shifts… too much stress will harm you and the baby.”

“I’m fine.” Is the response you give him every single time the topic is brought up. Paying him no mind as you continue to do whatever it is that you enjoyed doing during your leisure time: reading, watching tv, or a simple nap.

Perhaps if the context behind your pregnancy was different, Toji would’ve found your stubbornness quite endearing. He might’ve even gotten to enjoy the fact that he was to become a father too! The idea never thrilled him in the past if he was being honest, but after getting a small taste of a domestic life with you, alongside the feeling of being wanted, he ended up liking it.

And what wasn’t there to like about having a home to return to? With people that look forward to see him, although the mother didn’t seem to appreciative of his presence yet… it was definitely an upgrade from the estate that cruelly demeaned him.

“Do you need anything from outside? I’m leaving soon.”

“No.” you respond curtly, he sighs. Well, at least you responded this time around.

“I’ll be back, then. Don’t do anything dangerous—and if you need anything you can always call me or Shiu. But I made sure everything is restocked beforehand.”

“Where are you going?” you ask, and this would be the first time he doesn’t openly indulge you, because he supposes you wouldn’t like the answer.

Why?

Because he’s going to the Zen’in estate.

As it was stated before, just because he was a man of limited resources, doesn’t mean he didn’t have options to go through. And one of those options led him to his old home. The Zen’in riches were vast, surely they wouldn’t notice the absence of a few things here and there, like clothes, cleaning supplies, even food, amongst other things he could still get a good mileage out of.

His visits there were always short and straight to the point. Toji’s hatred for them would continue to exist as long as he’s alive, more so after the horrible things they’ve done to you.

Yet, he never thought it possible for his disdain towards them to grow even stronger until he was proven wrong that very same day, after one of his relatives approaches him, handing him a white envelope that takes a lot of his willpower to not laugh at their ridiculous attempt of courtesy—

Or snap upon reading its contents.

“What is the meaning of this?” Toji breathes, his fingertips crumpling the edges of the paper.

“Is it not obvious?”

“Did you really expect me to care?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it was only a formality.” The other responds. “Though no one really expected you to come since there’s rumors of your new… occupation.”

“If you dare do anything with that information, I’ll personally deal with you.” Even when being the black sheep of the family, the punching bag for their frustrations, there are still some that recognize his true power and do well in keeping their distance—just the right amount to keep instigating him but never to the point of crossing him. Toji often wishes they’d stop all together, but he supposes he can’t have everything in life. “Whatever, this is just garbage to me.”

“As I said, it was only a formality.”

“Yeah, right—whatever.” Toji says, quickly stowing away the envelope into his jacket with intentions of throwing it away once he got out of that wretched place, which he did so soon after, hoping to leave all this behind and get it done with.

But he wouldn’t be able to do that quite yet, not when the burden of the enveloped inside his jacket still weighed heavy on his mind. Toji had no interest in the affairs of the estate, on what the members decided or not to do, but… really? And so soon too?

It was clear to him that this is something you should never learn about. Not about his visits and certainly not about this.

He’ll take it to his grave, it’s the least he could do to preserve this small happiness he’s found.

Though it’s not what receives him once arriving at your apartment. There, just a few steps away from the entrance, you are scowling at him, arms crossed as you prepare to reproach him about his prolonged absence—all that was missing was the impatient tapping your foot and you’d be the epitome of an anxious wife.

How… endearing, he chuckles. At his unamusing response, your frown deepens.

“Where were you?” you ask once he begins to perch his coat at the nearby hanger. Toji barely had time to remove his shoes when you were already bombarding him with more questions. “At what time did you expect to return? Midnight??”

“What, worried about me?” Toji teases back, taking a deep sigh before looking up to you. You were already in your pajamas, it somewhat explains your behavior.  “You know I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I meant, you’re just later than usual. If you’re going to live here then you must at least let me know if you’re going to be late, I was about to lock the door.”

“I’ll just make my way in if you do.” Toji responds, attempting to thread back one unruly strand of hair behind your ear, stopping him when you move away. “Or you can give me a copy of the keys.”

“I’d rather you not, the last thing I need is the neighbors becoming even nosier than they already are.”

“Sounds like a good reason to give me keys.” He insists once more, like he’s always done after the few first days of living with you.

But you’ll only continue to reject him, briefly twisting your lips before turning around and heading back into your bedroom, effectively terminating the conversation and leaving Toji on his own—as these situations often went by.

A part of him wishes that by now your… behavior towards him might’ve eased up a bit. He’s not asking you to do a 180 and act as if the two were best friends since forever, but at least give him some consideration when it comes to all he’s done for the apartment and you…

It’s disheartening to see that everything remains essentially the same since the first day, if it hadn’t worsened already…

And yet, just when he was about to give up, hope is rekindled withing him upon seeing the small plate set up on the table, served with food that is undoubtedly cold by now, but its intentions still remain clear. It was for him.

You had put aside a plate for him in case he returned for dinner. The first time you’ve ever done so.

No wonder you were angry, he essentially stood you up!

And the thought alone of your attempts to get along is enough to have all silly ideas of your rejection thrown out the window, taking the plate to the microwave as he giddily reflects how you’ve grown a soft spot for him. Because small as it was, it was still there.

«All that, and she actually likes me, doesn’t she?»

Maybe. Might be more of tolerating that actual enjoyment, but it’s an advancement he’s willing to take to heart, enough to have him in a great mood for the rest of the night as he sits down to enjoy his meal and watch some tv—forgetting all about his visit to the estate, that dreaded envelope he’s forgotten to throw away before arriving to the apartment, and instead, inspire him to do something different.

Something involving the two, for a change.

Consider it as a token of his appreciation.

Or the calm before the storm.

Toji spent quite a lot of time shaping out everything. It was very surprising in fact to look back on his intricate itinerary knowing he was the one who made it. But it shouldn’t come off that shocking, he’s always been the type of person to achieve whatever he sets his mind to.

Guess it really boils down to being capable of putting aside his needs in favor of others. Yours.

All he planned for the day was with your enjoyment in mind, though mostly because of his ignorance when it came to your preferences. One would think that considering the time he’s spent living with you he ought to know something.

But reality was that he barely knew anything—like the places you like to frequent, if there are any restaurants you considered your favorites, or parks you’d like to take a stroll on from time to time…

What little he knew came from your time at the estate, when you were still in the good graces of Naoya and in the receiving end of his fortune. There was not a day where an expensive gift didn’t grace your attention, high end brands alongside names he’s never even heard of that Toji could only dream of affording.

So yeah, it was intimidating. But he tried his best anyways, so the program ended up going something like this:

First, he’d pick you up from work. It’s his day off so it’s not like he has anything else to do, but beyond that, he wants to do it. It’s… quite a nice gesture to do, right? Besides, he’s always wanted to see where you actually worked.

From there, get something to eat. He always ends up starving after work so he supposes that for a pregnant woman that must be no different. There are a few options he’s set aside near your job, but if you wish to go somewhere a bit further to disconnect, he can also do that.

Later on is when his options branch out more. The two could either go to a park to wind down, watch a movie, or even go to the mall. Do some shopping he thinks you might enjoy… or even start looking into a nursery.

Your current apartment is quite small, having only 1 bedroom and a somewhat humble living room/kitchen he’s transformed into a bedroom of sorts, which would’ve been more than enough for one person, but for the family of 3 you were to become, that was not appropriate.

Which is the other thing he wished to go through today. After a series of side jobs there’s no real need for you to know of, he’s gotten enough for a deposit in one of the new places he’s set his eyes on.

Sure, moving onto a much nicer apartment might demand a few restraints from both when it comes to financial decisions, but ultimately the benefits outweighed the sacrifices; by doing so, you’d be in an area where your commute wouldn’t take up to 30 mins before seeing the faintest semblance of urbanism.

What you have right now is certainly not what he’d consider ideal for the mother of his child. In case of an emergency, there’s only some family-owned pharmacy to rely on. The nearest hospital is all the way down to the city!

But even if the places were not up to your expectations Toji would still make it work.

Because he’s been in your shoes, he’s got you under his skin: understanding all too well what it is to need help and have everyone turn their back on you.

It’s a dreadful, empty sensation he never wants to experience again, less on woman he’s slowly become more and more fond of by each passing day.

Ironic to think that the man many considered ruthless had become putty in your hands. And how could he not, after having a taste of what it is to be… needed? Alongside your small attempts to get along with him, or so that’s how he perceives the moments you’re not outright rejecting him.

The same ones that motivated him to keep doing his best, as well as be more approachable in his posture. Toji’s aware that his façade isn’t quite the softest one out there, but at least he’s not ugly! That ought to amount to something, right? More so if he plans to win you over like that too…

Either way, regardless of what is to happen down the line or now, Toji gets thrilled at the prospect of spending time with you. Hoping to finally see one of those adorable smiles he always loved to catch when no one was seeing—

But unfortunately, his expectations would stray off in a completely different direction once arriving at your work to learn that you weren’t there anymore. You hadn’t been there, in fact, for quite some time now. Apparently, there were days where you’d leave early just because. Naturally your workplace wasn’t to disclose that kind of personal information to anyone, less to a complete stranger in their eyes.

Seems you hadn’t bothered to tell them about him… but it’s fine. They’re not people he cares for either, so he doesn’t let it affect him much.

Your early departure instead makes Toji wonder where you’ve gone. He never really noticed your little habit since you always came back to the apartment at the same time, but he can’t help but hopefully assume you were ok. Already on way to home, actually. If he’s quick enough he might even catch you at the train station—which he better do if he hopes to continue with his carefully detailed itinerary.

Yet, as he arrived through all possible places where you could be, scanning them only to realize you were nowhere to be found…

Toji grows a bit worried. Anxious as he rushes back to the apartment, where he finds the door open but the premises void of your presence.

It’s a small place, there’s no way he’d miss a spot—it’s not like you were hiding underneath the bed or in the closet. Too silly, that doesn’t sound like you either way.

But what does sound like you, however, is the necessity to have everything neatly organized. From the cabinets to the few plants outside the window, you always made sure that everything was to your visual liking.

Such as his so-called bedroom, apparently having folded his clothes and set them on the edge of the couch to make use of it, he assumes.

… Even the jacket he wore that day to the estate, the same one that harbored that damning envelope he had forgotten of in favor of thinking about you.

Which now laid open, crinkled, on the living room floor, with its contents available for anyone around to see.

Just one second of observing the scene, just one moment was all that Toji needed to understand what had occurred. What your curious nature had unwittingly pushed you into, his heart dropping to his stomach once the gravity of the situation finally hits him.

Soon after, he turns around, sprints past the door and begins to scour for you. Exasperatedly calling for your name, looking from one side of the neighborhood to the other, even asking the nearby unsuspecting passers of your whereabouts in hopes they’d have a lead, only to remain empty handed.

Each second that passed his worries just grow stronger, like a ticking bomb, his mind was only conjuring the worst scenarios your knowledge of that situation could evoke—

But none could compare to the one he concluded after a neighbor gave him his much-needed answers.

Or more like torments.

“I think I saw her—the woman you’re talking about.” They said, Toji’s heart quickens. Clenching his grasp as he swallows. “She looked very agitated while going to the nearby pharmacy before heading to the forest—”

No.

Nononononono

No.

“To the hills?” Toji scowls. “And you didn’t stop her?!”

“I—I didn’t think I needed to! She’s always been… reserved, you know? She doesn’t even salute us when passing by; so, I just thought she wanted to be alone—”

Toji didn’t have time to waste trying to make sense of a selfish fool that couldn’t see what you were horrifyingly planning to do. Instead, he cuts through their conversation and rushes to the forest, following the small trail which he hoped you took and find you before it was too late.

Before you took one more step towards the cliff, which he could easily see you were still determining to do or not given the fixed gaze you had upon it, and the tight grip you had on the small boxes of medicine.

The only two options you had to deal with the dreadful news of the estate. The only ones your broken heart could think of.

“Y/N—Now, let’s not do anything irrational—” Toji begins, stopping just a few feet away to not startle you, but close enough to react in case…

“How long have you known?” you breathe, eyes still on the edge.

“I don’t think it matt—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” You shriek, snapping your head back to him. He already imagined so, but the look of your reddened eyes and soaked cheeks only shows how much pain you were truly in.

How much love you still harbored for the one that wronged you.

And how little importance he had in your life.

“How long have you known that Naoya is getting married?”

Toji swallows, he had to be extra careful with his words because at the minimal miscalculation this could very mean your decision. But at the same time, to see you so afflicted by his ungrateful cousin… he…

“You weren’t supposed to.” Toji responds honestly. “I… didn’t think it was necessary considering all that happened.”

“And who gave you the authority to decide that? What made you think I needed your consideration?!”

“I just thought it would be the best for you, you are pregnant with my—"

“Oh, the best for me.” You mock with a laugh. “Of course you’re only doing the best for me! How could I forget the way you essentially forced your way into my life when I didn’t even want you near me! It was all because of your miserable self that I got—I got stuck with you!”

But even if your words hurt him far more than any pain he’s ever experienced by his own family, he pushes through the ringing of his ears and seeks for your safety first.

“Y/N, please, let’s—let’s have this conversation in a… safer area.” Toji cautions upon seeing you take a step closer to the cliff, so his paranoia made him believe. “It’s cold, and you’re probably hungry too, let’s come back hom—"

“You never really cared for me, did you? All of the things you’ve done… it was only because you want to get revenge on Naoya, isn’t it?! It’s always been that, since the very. First. Day.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Y/N. You know I rarely had contact with him, he was the one always looking for me like a stray dog!”

“Don’t insult—”

“And you knew too how much I loathed that place.” He continues. “If I could, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

“But you didn’t anyways, right? Because you were searching for the perfect way to get back at them!” you gasped. “And you—you found that opportunity in me!”

Toji should’ve felt great offense at your accusing words, more so since they were incredibly one-sided and void of any semblance of truth—his truth.

But instead, all that he felt was an inundated sense of sadness at the realization that the preconceived notions of his family had made way to you too. Completely overruling your once sweet demeanor with the cruelness he had been all too acquainted with throughout his whole life.

Was he cursed to never do anything right?

Never be happy?

Did it even matter… to try anymore?

…

…

…

“Is that what you think of me?” he softly asks, you frown at his incredulous belief. “I would never do that to you. Not you.”

Not once he’s realized how much he’s changed for you.

But his words only served to further stir the fire within you.

“It’s because of you that I’m stuck with this damned—thing!”

The crude way you refer to his unborn child hurts his heart in inexplicable ways he doesn’t believe he’s ever experienced before; but yet again, it shows that not even his offspring is safe from the torment he was promised since the moment he was born.

His steel front begins to chirp at your indifference, as felt in the knot in his throat at the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. And the shatter of his heart.

“Because of you—Naoya is… Naoya is going to marry that woman.”  The one from a prestigious, powerful clan; the type of person that while you never imagined the Zen’in would like as future Lady of the House, it’s clear by a quick comparison that she was a much better candidate: rich, strong, beautiful…

You could never hold a candle to her, much less in your current situation, that much is obvious now.

Officially, heart wrenchingly so, you’ve lost your husband.

Forever.

And all because of Toji’s selfish desires—

“Please, let’s just go home; you can do anything you want to me. Scream, cry, hit me, hate me, anything you want.” He pleads.  “Just get away from the edge, please."

“I have no home.” You respond. “I lost it the moment I… I got involved with you.”

He knew their relationship had been rocky since the very beginning, but he never thought it was this bad. Maybe because a part of him hoped that after all the time the two spent together you would’ve… softened up a bit.

Perhaps not to the same extent as his, but at least… be careful enough to not spew all those poisonous words that only inched the knife of your indifference deeper and deeper into his heart.

Guess that was all on his mind.

“I hate you.” You suddenly declare. “I really do.”

“You don’t mean that.” Toji responds immediately after, his last attempts to gather the pieces of his ruptured heart before they completely disappeared. “You’re just angry.”

“No.” you double down. “You don’t know how much I hate seeing you around the apartment, doing all those stupid things just to appear a good person when we both know you aren’t! When because of you I’ve become worthless to— to my husband…! Because of this thing that I’m carrying!

…

…

…

If I—I could only get rid of it then maybe—then maybe Naoya will want me back. If so, I will do whatever it takes so it happens.” You begin to spiral, suddenly revealing your intentions in this place and making Toji’s eyes widen.

“What are you planning to do, Y/N?” He breathes. “You don’t—you don’t have to do anything. Not like this. Not when we can still talk and figure it out!”

“I can get my old life back with this thing out of the way, my marriage, my house, my—my love—" you begin to tremble, the faintest possibility of being back in Naoya’s arms is enough to put a smile on your face, if just for a moment.

Live in the fantasy that he hadn’t moved on from you. Like he hadn’t set eyes on someone else as soon as he made ease of his turmoiled heart.

Even if it had been by force, through matters of his clan that he was tasked to get married again, the truth remained the same: Naoya didn’t seek you out. He didn’t put up a fight to stop you from leaving nor defend your honor. He didn’t even try pushing his family’s overbearing ways back.

He simply took what was given to him, showing that he cared little next to nothing for the marriage he supposedly sacrificed a lot for, and leaving you at the lowest point of your life to fend for yourself.

But if you were already rock bottom, then that meant your life could only improve from there.

A small risk to take to get back the love of your life.

The same one Toji needed to do in this precise moment, if he didn’t want to lose you either.

“Y/N, Naoya… he doesn’t want you back.” Toji suddenly says, hoping that his words would snap you out of your delusions. “And getting rid of the baby will not make any difference.”

“How would you even know that? Someone—someone as despicable as you couldn’t know a single thing about love!” you reproach. Toji swallows, taking a step closer just in case you—you… “What would someone like you know about how I feel?! About the pain I carry?!!”

Much more than you imagined.

Much, much more, since he’s become clear in his thoughts. Of his feelings.

You weren’t alone. You didn’t need to, not when he was there to support you,

When he was there to—

To…

“—love you.” Toji suddenly declares, and for the first time that evening, your thoughts come to a screeching halt, blinking as you try to understand what he just foolishly said. If he even knew what it meant. “I—I love you, Y/N.”

But you only took his words as another baseless jest to get you right where he wanted. A manipulation tactic it didn’t surprise you he’d use against you—in your most vulnerable moment too… has he got no shame?!

“Do not lie to me, after all you’ve done, after all you made me lose—the least I deserve is your honesty!”

“But I am telling the truth.” He persists. Toji has never considered himself to be quite the nervous type; he was quite the opposite, really…

Yet, when it came to facing the love of his life in attempts of saving her life…

He’d rather face a thousand curses than go through this painful ordeal any longer.

Nonetheless, he pushes through. Because a life without you is not a life worth living.

“Since our days intertwined for the very first time, you’re all I cared for.”

“Stop it, you don’t mean—you don’t know—”

“I fell in love with your smile. With the way you laughed.” He continues, taking a step closer to you at every word he professes. Toji expected you to back away, but you only stood there petrified as he began to list all your virtues, much to his elation. “With the way your eyes seem to glisten whenever eating sweets. How you play with your hair whenever deep in thought. How you like to sleep on your right side but don’t do it because of the lights coming from the window, keeping you awake.”

“I don’t want to—I don’t want to hear any more of how you’re a creep—!”

“With the way you always reproach at me, and then… still put up a plate for me on the table.” He chuckles at the memory, how bothered you looked that one night, and yet… “I’ve always thought your pout was cute, but it wasn’t until I became the reason of it that I completely fell in love with it.”

“Why are you even telling me this? What do you think you’ll get out of me?!”

“I don’t know, nothing, maybe. I guess. Besides reminding you that you’re not worthless.” Toji says. “Because to me, you’re everything.”

“That’s not—"

“It’s the truth. All of my words, every single one of them, I meant.” Toji murmurs. “You have no idea how desolate my life was until you came along. How you brightened my days with just one word; and even less than that. You just had to smile my way, and I’d stop feeling like the disgrace of the clan. Just one smile, and I’d feel human. Worthy. Like I mattered.”

You wished to snap back, but the shocking, genuine nature of his declaration keeps you speechless.

“I won’t deny that my actions back then were made with a jealous intent. A craving to have what my cousin did—to have power over those that wronged me, one way or the other.

But I guess the more I spent time with you, without him, the more I began to sink. To let my thoughts unravel and wonder what it would be instead, to be cherished, loved, needed by someone as gentle as you.

I never intended things to end like this. You’re a delicate flower amongst that ocean of thorns. You, of all people, don’t deserve to go through all this suffering.

It’s why I swear to you again that I will do everything to make you happy. To give you what you need. Whatever it is, whatever you want, it’s yours, just—

Just don’t leave me.”

It’s only when he instinctively lets out a sob that he realizes how much he’s been crying, the two, in fact. Both yours and his cheeks soaked with tears at the presence of his undying love. Of his desire to be with you, through good or bad, better or worse. It didn’t matter if the two ended up in the street, barely making it through the day, and hated by everyone in the whole world…

Because as long as the two were together, that was enough to make Toji happy.

It’s what you always sought for a partner, what you always dreamed of…So why…

Why do you keep rejecting the things your heart so desperately desired to have once again?

“You can ignore me, hate me, treat me like I’m the worst person in the whole world, I can take it. I’m used to it. But don’t leave me.” He breathes, voice trembling as he finally reaches out to you, mere inches away from touching you... “If you leave me, I’ll…. I’ll do it myself too. I’ll jump down that cliff, or take whatever pills you take, to be with you. Because a life with you is… a life without meaning.”

…

…

…

“But you don’t believe me, do you?” Toji fearfully asks in response to your overwhelming silence, your refusal to acknowledge the heart he’s poured out to you. “You don’t believe anything I say—why? Why don’t you?”

Was he… was he truly that despicable? So unthinkable to believe that a man like him was capable of loving too?

Did he not go through enough punishment already?

How much more must he suffer, for the gods to leave him at peace?

Not much longer, because unknowingly to him, his words served to break you free from all that was holding you back. The refusal to accept the pain has inflicted on you, on your marriage and new reality.

On the fact that your heart has been shattered, probably in a million pieces, an occurrence that would probably take a lifetime to fix, if you ever do.

And if you somehow manage, you don’t want to risk it. You don’t want to endanger yourself;

All because you don’t—

“—don’t want to —I don’t—I don’t want to get my heart broken ag—again…!”

All the painful words you cruelly used against Toji were only results of your anger, and not your true sentiments towards him, that much he could understand once he quickly and tightly held you into his arms. Pulling you as close as he could into his embrace as you begin to cry, letting all that you’ve been holding in since your departure of the estate out.

The tears you never shed. The cries you never made.

It was all coming out. Washing over your body as it finally allowed your heart to heal for the first time.

“I won’t do that to you, I swear.” He breathes against your hair; you sob once more.

“Please—please don’t do this to me.” You beg. “I can’t—I won’t be able to take it again!”

“I won’t.” He repeats. “I will never let any pain hurt you ever again.”

And thus, your new life begins.

It took some time and great effort, but with enough patience and understanding, your perspective of him finally began to change.

Now, while you still had a long way to go to completely welcome him into your life, at least you no longer treated him with disdain.

Your mornings would begin with greetings to him, simple questions of if there’s something he desired to eat while you got breakfast ready, as well as good wishes wishes on his commute to work—if he didn’t accompany you to your own job, that is, which you eventually left once your pregnancy symptoms (and Toji’s endless persistence) were too much to handle.

But perhaps the most important improvement was your willingness to give him a copy of your apartment keys—or more like your keys, but the intentions were still the same, nonetheless. Toji almost pinched himself at the moment, if you hadn’t scolded him for being too silly.

“Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.” Toji teases, you frown.

“Just take them before I regret it. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to use them anyways…”

It happened so when you decided to continue with your pregnancy.

Regardless of how it came to be, and after much consideration… there’s no use in hiding the fact you’ve always wanted a family. A little baby to call your own, in a house you can decorate to your liking, with someone that would always be by your side to support you.

And everything seemed to be aligning just where you wanted. Not only for you, but for him too.

Toji had gotten a better job, one that afforded you a calm, work-free life, as well as a new apartment, one that promised to ease all of your constant fears of someone breaking in, as well as the proximity of all services you might come to use now with the baby.

You still couldn’t believe how it happened. That it even did.

Just one day, coincidentally the last one you were to work, Toji decided to pick you up and bring you along for some errands—little did you know, he was planning on showing you the new place you’d call home.

“Toji, this is—but the things—”

“They’re already here. I moved them all while you were at work.” He explains, your mouth falls wide open. “Nice, huh? Definitely an improvement.”

“Yeah...”

“And it’s all ours.”

It was hard for you to keep acting coldly as you always had towards him; definitely so after the gift he’d just given you. It just… wasn’t right for you to remain motionless, you needed to repay him for all his kindness!

But what could you possibly give a man as mysterious as him? Toji was… enigmatic, to say the least. And what little you knew just made your confusion regarding him grow even bigger.

Yet, if you listened carefully, remained attentive enough to his actions, you’d soon discover that he wasn’t as rough as he appeared to be. In fact, he was quite the softie when it came to be, and with the most unsuspecting thing too.

Yes, he had normal pastimes, like hanging out with that one friend of his, Shiu was his name? Though he seemed a bit more of an acquaintance, or even a coworker, than anything else. Gambling was another, or so you learned from Shiu, though it seems he’s stopped according to the same man. “—thanks to his new responsibility.”

Which circles you back to the first point.

Beneath that intimidating, cold exterior he always professed, Toji genuinely liked the prospect of being a father. From the way his gaze lingered at the baby department whenever passing by, or how he was always attentive to your needs…

There was not a person that eagerly awaited this baby more than him—you even overheard it so during the moments he thought you asleep, on those nights when your discomfort was too much to ignore and such, Toji remained by your side; keeping you company until slumber finally took over. Or at least distract you.

He carefully placed his hand over your protruding belly, sighing as he began to talk to the baby, the still nameless life he never expected to become so fond of, as if it could respond. Well, he just needed to wait a few months if that’s what he wanted, but he’d probably regret it when the kid turns out to be nothing short of a babbling mess.

Until then, he’d confide in his child his deepest desires, one in particular catching your attention and what you ultimately pursue to show just how much he’s begun to mean to you.

“The baby—it’s a boy.” The nurse soon declared once you’ve gone through all the strenuous, agonizing endeavor that arrival of your baby was.

You thought you were prepared for it, took endless classes and courses for it, mentalized that it was going to hurt… just never to this extent. The moment your water broke all that you had learned was wiped out of your memory, anxiety soon taking a hold of your emotions—

However, if it weren’t for Toji’s presence, his attempt of comforting words you unwittingly dismissed by shrieking at him.

“Shut up! You’re not the one pushing a goddamn baby out of your body!”

To which he laughs in response, because he finds your words amusing, or because he needed a way to take out his stress before he turned delirious with concern…

You wouldn’t have made it. You wouldn’t be where you were right now, exhausted, sweaty, but with your child in your arms.

An adorable baby boy that just by a glance you could already see whom he’d look like the most.

“Y/N.” Toji calls. He spent hours and hours daydreaming of this moment, of finally seeing the child he made with you—but when it finally came… he couldn’t lift his gaze from you. From the breathtaking sight of the family, his family, he’s sworn to cherish and protect.

From the love in your eyes as you admired the little baby boy he just knew would be a troublemaker, yet, still inheriting your kindness. Probably the only thing he’d get from you as you noted.

“He has your hair.” You say, cutting through his thoughts. “And… your eyes. Your face too.”

“I’m sure he has something of you.” He chuckles, leaning closer to you to get a good look at his child, realizing you weren’t lying. “You did well, Y/N. I was so afraid that something would happen to you, but you were brave and strong, like I always knew you were capable of”

“Toji…” you murmur, voice trembling at his words. Maybe you were just sensitive after all you endured; or perhaps… you’ve opened up to him, finally. “I was so, so frightened…”

“I know, but it’s over now. You can rest.” He continued. “And once you wake up, we’ll be here, waiting for you. To go home.”

Your lip spreads into a small smile, giving him a quick chuckle before sighing.

Finally, all of it, the sleepless nights, the random cravings, the unbearable aches, were over.

Kind of, the real struggle was only beginning.

But none of it mattered once you looked back at your lovely boy once more and realized it had all been worth it.

Your life with Megumi—a name you chose to show your appreciation for Toji, which he was elated to hear as seen in the twinkle of his eye—alongside his father, is one you couldn’t wait to see.

You knew Megumi was fated to look just like his father the moment he was born, but his growing similarities were simply ridiculous. Was it fair that he was an exact copy of him, after 9 months of carrying him?

Probably not. But you only excuse him because he’s too darn adorable! Though your amusement didn’t go without precautions, which Toji always denied.

“You should stop scowling around Megumi, Toji.” You begin. “He’s picking up your bad habits…”

“Scowling? I don’t scowl.” He retorts, a smile on his face as he does the same thing he refused doing. “Whatever the brat does isn’t my fault.”

“Don’t call him that.” You pout. “He has a beautiful name you should use more often.”

He does, he silently agrees. Heart fluttering whenever hearing you call him the miracle he was always meant to be. Or when remembering you’d given him such honor.

…

It’s these little things that always have him questioning where he stands in your heart.

And while he promised to always be with you, beyond what he feels for you simply because that’s what a real man does, a part of him still hoped that maybe, just… maybe, you’ve grown fond of him. More than the father of your child, like a possible partner to rely on too.

But he won’t push you. Because he understands that you’ve been through enough emotional turmoil for him to simply barge in and demand an answer from you.

Was it too much to ask?

No. Because you were very aware of the wrongdoings you’ve committed at the beginning of your story with him, plaguing your mind every second of the day, trying your best to make it up to him but failing to find the right way to do so.

Or more like the courage, for your shame often rendered you speechless in the quiet, private moments between the two when it would’ve been the perfect time to do so.

But it comes. In the most unexpected way too, on Megumi’s first birthday, which he coincidentally planned all by himself—by overshadowing your attempts, a spirit of competition ignites that day, but that’s a story for another time.

“The brat likes that weird show… the one that airs early in the morning, doesn’t he?” Toji asks as soon as you enter the apartment, helping you with the bags in your hands, filled with decorations and balloons for the small birthday party you planned to throw for your baby—though that was no longer necessary given his efforts.

“Toji…” you murmur, he quietly apologizes. “But yeah, he does.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s the cake I got him.”

“A… cake?” you blink, startled to see the big white box on the table, Toji opening it soon after and revealing a cake inside—themed of Megumi’s favorite show of the moment, just as he said.  “Isn’t that… much for just the three of us? And Megumi can’t even eat that yet—and did you do all this??”

“Seems more than enough for us, wouldn’t you agree? Or are you no longer a sweet tooth?”

But you don’t respond, still… trying to take in what was happening before you.

“…I just thought it would be nice for the kid’s first birthday. To celebrate it. Though most of these things early on in his life only tend to matter to the parents since they don't even know what their name is.” Toji adds. “…What I mean to say is that if you don’t want it, we can still—”

“No, no. I… I’m just thinking of all the things I have to return now that you... won me at it.”

“We can use them next year or spend the cash on something else.”

“Gambling?” you raise an eyebrow.

“You know I don’t do that anymore, princess.” He chuckles. “Maybe that family photo session you wanted. Or something nice for you.”

“You need new clothes.” you quip back. “We could start there.”

“That wouldn’t be the case if you didn’t steal all of them when you7 were pregnant."

“Ah, so now it’s my fault?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it.” He smirks. “Would a slice of cake make up for my insulting mistake?”

“…maybe.”

“Then get Megumi ready while I take care of everything else.”

“Yeah, I’ll… I guess I’ll do that.” Yet, as determined as you seemed to be on picking up Megumi, a soft smile on your lips as you cooed at him, telling him if he was ready to celebrate his first birthday and oh, how exciting it was going to be with all the presents he got…

Your mind was nowhere near him.

It remained on Toji. On what his actions had stirred inside you once more since the moment he gave you the new apartment.

Since he held you close the day you decided to end it all. After he comforted you after a rough night of cold tears and never-ending aches, never leaving your side even when you continuously pushed him away.

Once he gave you the last piece of pizza, the one he always ate, just in case you were still hungry. Or how he didn’t mind when you stole his hoodies, all of them really, just because they were warmer and… because you liked his scent, how it calmed you.

How everything about him soothed you. Even those not so quiet snores you couldn’t sleep without now.

As you recounted these moments, the truth unfolded before you once again. What you always knew but denied out of fear of getting hurt again.

But you could no longer hide it anymore, not when your heart was demanding you to free it. Yourself.

Him.

So, after letting little Megumi propped up in his chair, you hastily headed to the kitchen, where the only other guest of the party was overseeing the last details on the cake (such as the candle) as well as getting more napkins—his son was quite the messy eater, so they could never be too sure— stopping when hearing your approach.

“Oh, Y/N, is there something you needed? Are you ok?” Toji asks. You seemed in a hurry, distressed even; naturally, he had to worry. “Is everything alright with Megumi?”

“Yes, he’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m… not here because of him.” You slowly confess, swallowing down your nerves before looking up to him and continuing. “I just… I just wanted to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asks, you press your lips together.

It was hard, no one ever promised otherwise, but this was a very necessary conversation you could no longer ignore.

So, after taking one last breath, you begin.

“That I’m—I’m sorry. For the horrible way I treated you back then. I… I had no excuse to do so, even if I was going through a hard time in my life, that was no justification for the dreadful words I used against you, or the way I diminished all that you’ve done for me.

You were always, always good to me and I… I just didn’t care because I had my own issues that I dumped onto you.” You breathe, a sob trying it’s hardest to escape your lips, breaking through anyways. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry—”

“Y/N…”

“I guess what I mean to say is… thank you, for everything. And I’m sorry, for everything too.”

“You apologize too much, you know?” Toji says before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly into an embrace. You silently sniffle, taking in his warmth before returning the gesture. “You don’t need to do that; I’ve long forgiven you.”

“Ho—How? When?” you gasp, raising your gaze to him. “…why?”

“Didn’t I tell you before?” He chuckles, looking down at you before giving you one last smile. “I love you.”

And while it’s not the first time you’d heard him say so, whether subtly or bluntly, whether through words or actions…

But it is the first time you’ve smiled at his words. Accepting them into your heart, which in turn, finally pushed you to take that step and admit what you desperately needed to do so.

At least openly to him, because deep within, you already knew.

“I… love you too. I—I think, no. I know.” You say. “I know I love you too.”

Alongside their little miracle, their hearts were never empty again.

🥺

One of my followers will know who Naoya married lol. I do plan to explore that idea later on, after I finish up other requests :> hehe.

Now, I hope you enjoyed this small piece 🥹 as always, things ended up chaing a bit when I got down to write it but the tragicness of it all remained. I wanted a naive Toji that was happy to be with YN while she was stuck with Naoya still, enough so to attempt doing that.

Also, I first envisioned them declaring their feelings for one another after the birth of Megumi, but decided to change that to his first birthday eventually. Thought it was nicely paced :) enough for YN to heal and such.

Well, there you have it. One of the many things I hope to write about Toji in the future :> Thank you so much for reading it.

Now, take care, and see you soon!!

[roryacker]

WereGhost part 4

writing is under the cut as usual <3 couldn't force the art out, for some reason my brain won't let art on my phone happen, I've been trying for days it just ain't workin, and I have gifts to finish working on so PC is a no-go. Still! Writing!!

I do oddly feel more confident about posting things if there's art with it? Like I faked myself out trying to post this one 3 times and kept adding more thanks to that because I was like "wait no not good :("

Maybe because art's like. My thing. But screw it, if I'm getting over my anxiety I'm hitting all the weird triggers, it's a silly werewolf AU I don't think people care if one part has art or not

Simon doesn't like how Johnny smells. He was fine before, but since that morning the older man left with him in such a hurry he's smelled different. To a normal person that wouldn't matter, but werewolves aren't exactly normal folk, and smell is a very important part of their routine, Simon's especially.

Simon was familiar with Johnny's scent before- warm and herbal, a comfortable smell that Simon wasn't afraid to admit was soothing. It's probably part of why he's stuck around. Since he got back, since the anxiety and stress faded out, he's smelled different. It changed. It was faint, but there- something odd and flowery. Simon knew he didn't like it, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it's the fact it changed at all, maybe it's what it might signals, to hell if Simon knows.

Johnny, from there, starts going out more often, for longer, starting at earlier times, and the scent only gets stronger. It mixes with his original one, shifting and changing, and Simon hates it.

He especially hates it when Johnny comes home in the middle of the day, just once, and immediately gets to shoving Simon under the bed, blankets and all, muttering out something about not being prepared and needing Simon to sit still and be quiet for a while- Simon growls and snaps at his feet, though his teeth never connect, but begrudgingly does as told, ignoring the way his heart thuds in his chest and ears flatten to his skull. After a bit, cleaning up and trying to make the place look nice, it seems, sweeping fur off of the bed and floor, Johnny leaves, and Simon is left alone, confused and quite frankly tired, watching the door shut from the little space under the blanket hanging off the bed.

By the time a few minutes pass, he hears the front door open, and another voice starts up. It's not the older man, it's not Johnny, it's new and unfamiliar, soft and feminine, and Simon can feel the fur on his neck raise at the sound. Oddly, he feels threatened. He doesn't like the new voice, doesn't like the scent that follows, doesn't like how it's the scent that's been drowning out Johnny's for weeks now. But he sits there, tense and uncomfortable, listening to them talk in the sitting room. He doesn't like it, but he does it, if only so Johnny doesn't change his mind about all of this and kick Simon out after all.

It lasts for a few hours, Simon unable to fall back asleep, until he hears the door open and shut again. He thinks Johnny might have left too, but no- footsteps come up to the door, and he steps inside the bedroom, crouching down with a sigh.

"Think she likes me, Ghost. Might be the one, aye? Just have to see what to do about you, then..."

His heart sinks at the words, but doesn't reply- just growls lowly and shifts his weight, curling up further to avoid looking at the man.

"Aye, I know. Yer feelin' grumpy. Sorry."

Johnny tries to drag him out from under the bed, gripping the blankets tight, but Simon fights, of course. He can't go one day without being stubborn, especially not when he feels so personally wronged.

"Jesus, fine. Stay under there. Don't make a mess."

It continued on like that for a few days. Long, uncomfortable, grueling days, where Simon slowly began to set up a little den under the bed. It was nice and dark, so at that point it was really just instinct drawing him into it, pushing and arranging the blankets into a cozy little spot for himself. Eventually he manages to fall asleep even when Johnny has his bird over, as much as he might not like it- Johnny slides a plate of food under the bed to try and keep him from getting snappy, not that it ever works, and it becomes another routine.

Simon as tired of it the moment it began, but he tolerates it anyways, just to avoid being thrown out. His leg's mostly healed, and he knows he needs to leave, get out into the forest again, get back to his normal life.

But he doesn't want to.

He gets cooked food, he gets the warmth and comfort of soft blankets that smell pleasant- they're the only thing that don't have that new scent on them, at this point- he gets to sleep in peace without having to worry about wolfhounds scenting him out or humans coming across him, doesn't have to worry about any other predators trying to get a meal out of him, there's no hiding, there's no running, no wasted energy... but he can tell Johnny knows he's healing. He leaves the bandages on longer and comments on the progress he's made, and at this point Simon knows that if he doesn't leave on his own Johnny might just toss him out anyways.

The thought makes him uncomfortably bitter, a sour feeling that wells up in his chest and leaves him feeling nothing short of sick.

He tolerates it all for a few more days, making the most of it, and then watches intently as Johnny leaves, one morning slipping out from under the bed to watch him from the doorway as he leaves, locking the front door behind him. He loafs around for an hour or so, then shifts, standing on unsteady legs and adjusting to the feeling of being human for a bit- as close as he can get, anyways. Simon finds himself staring at a window for a long while, facing the woods.

With a sigh, he steps closer and pushes it open, and crawls out, shutting the window behind him and shifting back so he can break off into a run. He regrets it the moment he's outside, the air frigid and uncomfortable against his fur, feeling like needles against his skin, but he doesn't have much of a choice at this point. He does it himself or Johnny will do it for him, maybe throw him outside in his sleep or something. He's careful not to leave any prints, stepping lightly and never lingering in one spot too long. The beartrap that got him into this mess serves as a marker, telling him where to go, and from there it's just a matter of following old paths, and by the time night starts to fall he's found it again. His scent has faded from months of inactivity, but it's his territory all the same.

Suddenly it doesn't feel like home at all, but he reasons that it won't be come a few weeks, anyways, when the wolfhunts start again the second the town's dogs start to catch his scent, and he'll have to leave all over again. He curls up in a familiar hollow, surrounded on all sides but one so he can't be reached or found quite as easily, and falls asleep with the lingering thoughts of fleeting warmth and soft fabrics on his mind.

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Hello! Sharing a longer bit from my fic This Infinite Love which is now fully posted on ao3 ❤️💚 I had so much fun writing this one and it was so amazing reading along with everyone’s comments all week 💕

After a year and a half of pursuing the why of Gabriel’s murder, he was finally ready to face the why of the pain. Gabriel was his dad. And Carlos realised that it wasn’t through solving his murder, or becoming an exemplary Ranger that he would continue his father’s legacy or make him proud. It was by being a good man, a generous and gracious husband, by prioritizing his family and building a good life. And, he told TK with a hopeful spark in his eye, by being brave. By being a good father to a little boy who desperately needed one.

TK knows that Carlos was scared, that despite coming to terms with everything his father was, he was still terrified of making the same mistakes and possibly causing more harm to a vulnerable little boy. But Carlos took to fatherhood naturally. His fear only made him more mindful, more sweet with both of them, more purposeful of prioritizing his family and holding up his promises.

He knows he would have taken Jonah in on his own if he had to, but this family wouldn’t be the same without Carlos.

Carlos, who is always coaxed into reading at least two extra stories when he tucks Jonah in at night, because he always reads them in the silly voices that Jonah adores.

Carlos, who lets Jonah ride around on his shoulders through the farmers market, the same one they’ve been going to almost every weekend since he and TK first started dating. The vendors they know by name, June, who provided the flower arrangements for their wedding, Marisol, who always gives Carlos an extra sample of her raspberry honey, and Maurice, who’s lamb rounds are the only cut of lamb Carlos will use for his carnitas, all love Jonah and have stickers and sweets for him when they stop by their booths.

Carlos, who spent an hour digging through boxes in his parents’ garage one afternoon after TK called him at work to tell him Jonah had the flu and that he’d been feeling so rotten he was practically inconsolable. He came home with Kique, his old stuffed koala, and put on a little puppet show in Jonah’s room until he fell asleep.

TK Strand is living a full, beautiful life. And it’s due in no small part to the man that’s walking through it by his side.

Later, when Jonah has gone up to brush his teeth before he and Carlos head out, TK corrals Carlos in the foyer where he’s just finished packing up his work satchel and pulling his boots on. He hands Carlos Jonah’s lunchbox and leans in for a kiss.

“You remind me of him, you know,” he says softly when he pulls back from their kiss, running a hand lightly over Carlos’s hair. He still gels his curls back for work, but since he wears the cowboy hat with his Rangers uniform, TK doesn’t have to be quite so careful not to mess it up as he did back when he was working as a patrol officer.

“Babe,” Carlos says, eyes going dark and shiny.

“It’s true,” TK says, cupping Carlos’s cheek with a soft hand. “It’s in the way you love us, the little ways you take care of us.” He moves his hand down to Carlos’s chest and rubs over his heart. “You’re an amazing man, an incredible father. He’s proud of you, I know it.”

“Thank you, baby,” Carlos replies, voice rough and eyes soft with fondness.

“You don’t have to thank me,” TK says, leaning up for another kiss, quicker this time. He knows they’ve got seconds before Jonah comes flying back into the room. “I always wanna make sure you know. You’re everything to me, to us. And we love you very much. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“I love you too. You are both so precious to me.” Carlos smiles, grabbing TK’s hand and cradling it between their chests. “And you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sound of little feet pattering across the hardwood floor is all the warning they get before Jonah is upon them.

“Are you KISSING?” he shouts.

“Not anymore,” TK mutters under his breath, causing Carlos to laugh and playfully flick the side of his head before he turns his attention to Jonah.

Read on ao3

Thank you for the tags @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @nisbanisba @carlossreaders @everlastingday 💕

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[ttheggrimrreaper]

12 Days of Christmas, day 6

Six Geese a-Laying

Shidou ryusei X NB!reader (Platonic roommates, Ft.Sea Itoshi)

Tw: Use of the word Pussy

"-and we need eggs!" You said, writing it down in your notes app. Three people, two ridiculously tall males, and then you. Walking in the park headed towards a market nearby. You and Sea were roommates before Shidou hoped in. How it happened? You still can't really put it together. You were friends with the prodigy as kids, and when you offered him a place to stay, he didn't deny. Then came along Shidou after the U-20 v. Blue lock match. You watched all of their games, not that you really cared about soccer but you cared about them.

"let's just hurry so I can give my Pussy some lovin'" Shidou said,the words themselves making you pause in eating your popcorn. Sae on the other hand didn't even bat an eyelash.

"you need to stop referring to our cat that way." Sae mumbled as he kept walking, leaving you just creeped out. Sarbi, your cat that you had adopted before Shidou joined your roommate situation, loved Shidou.. just Shidou referred to the cat as 'pussy cat' which was fine,, until he forgot to add that last word.

"I wasn't talking about that pussy." Shidou responded. Sticking his tongue out and winking at you, you reeled your head back and flicked a piece of popcorn at him.

"Pervert." Was your only reply as you sped up to try and catch up with Sae, then Shidou did the same and draped an arm over your shoulder. His other hand went for the popcorn. "Hey get your own!"

"but you're right here!" He whined, still grabbing some. You pouted, and although you were going to keep your regular pace, you ended up speeding up seeing the small flock of geese waddle over. Shidou looked confused, then saw the geese and chuckled, throwing a little of the popcorn into his palm at them.

"no! Shidou no! Once you feed them they won't stop!" You looked over your shoulder too the see horror taking place, the geese in this park were resilient. Chasing children for their popsicles, Grandma's for their bread. Complete and utter assholes.

"aww come on. They are fine!" He hummed back, Sea had already moved on, sitting on a bench watching you both with his bored eyes. Shidou continued to feed the growing hoard of geese.

"come on now, Share' he said, nudging one goose out of the way with his foot so the others could get some.... A horrible choice, the goose hissed at him, wings flapping. "What are ya? A cat now? Hey! Back up!" Shidou dropped all of the popcorn he had and the rest of the geese started hissing and flapping their wings.. when one charged, he was gone, sprinting across the field avoiding the angry mob of geese chasing him.

"oh no..." You sighed as you went to the bench and sat down with sae, both of you watching the blond run around. It was when he ran into a circle of six sitting geese. "Careful now! Those are the nests" you teased, yelling. Sae side eyed you before taking some popcorn. You chuckled as then the six Geese stood up and chased after Shidou as well. Occasionally one would get close. But never enough.

"how long is this going to take?" Sae mumbled as he pulled out his phone, you had already pulled yours out to record.

"till the geese finish him off or they get tired." You hummed in response. "It's probably gonna be the first one." You nodded as now only six geese chased the man. After a couple more minutes.. the geese finally laid off and Shidou tredged to the bench,

"so much for the help"

"I tried to warn you!" You spat back. You did, but why would Shidou ever listen. But, by tomorrow he would already be famous for another reason than just soccer and being creepy.

Wrote this half asleep, can you tell?

Day 5 Day 7

Masterlist

[deepwater-abyss]

you will lead us into a better future

[amelikos]

I am already a big enjoyer of Friede and Amethio's rivalry and dynamics in general, so if Crave turns out to be Amethio's father, I feel like this knowledge would reframe their rivalry in very interesting ways and give additional readings and perspectives..

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[arundolyn]

bruh. i know shit is dire for me mentally when i dont even bother to make a pot of tea for myself on a day off

[aria0fgold]

Chapter 1: This isn't the Sekai!

A rare blue supermoon overlook the world below. Emu and her friends happily gazed at it a few moments ago, with the Virtual Singers' hologram atop the phone as they gaze along them. But for Emu whose excitement was barely contained at the rare and beautiful sight, she wanted to share it with the plushies in the Sekai too. She even brought a high quality camera to take pictures of it, excusing herself from the others and Miku who was using her phone for her hologram, Emu stood up with camera on hand and clicked on “Untitled.”

It was the usual ceremony of the world being bathed in a bright white light before fading away to reveal their Sekai, well, at least, that's what was supposed to happen. Instead, Emu felt a rush of air pass through her as the ground below her feet vanished. The night sky was replaced with a bright sunny day, hurriedly yet seemingly, slowly going by her.

W-wait… I'm… F-falling?!!!

Emu's screams came with a slight delay from having only processed what was happening. She couldn't see the ground at all, and as she continued to fall, small patches of green start appearing in her view.

T-this is bad!!!

Tears welled up from the corners of her eyes, she doesn't know what was happening, wasn't she supposed to be in the Sekai? She clicked “Untitled”! She was sure of that! But where is this? Why is she falling?! Fear overflowed in Emu's chest as she could do nothing else but tightly shut her eyes, wishing with all that she can to get back in the Sekai, or at least…

Someone…

“SAVE ME!!!”

As if on cue, the breeze ruthlessly blowing past her as she fell, halted. In fact, her entire body stilled as she merely floated in place. Her eyes quickly opened then and beside her, she saw…

A man riding a… broom?

“Are you alright?!” The man's red hair danced with the wind as he flew towards her. He stretched out his arms to pick her up and placed her securely on the broom in front of him as one of his hands were on Emu's back, “Whew… Good thing we were nearby.”

Emu looked up at him, his eyes were two different colours. Although his hair was covering his other eye.

“How are you feeling? Are you hurt anywhere?” He continued to ask, worry clear on his face.

“A-ah… I-I'm fine!” Emu's voice was hoarse, throat dry and aching that she coughed a bit.

“Here!” The man opened his palm and muttered something under his breath, it didn't seem to be a language Emu knows of, afterwards though, a couple of star-like candies appeared on his palm.

It looks like… Konpeito!

“These should help for now.” He offered the magical candies to Emu.

She merely stared at them as she brought her camera and phone closer to her, unsure of whether she should take the candies or not. Questions continued to fill her mind, she was even more confused now than she first appeared in the sky. For one thing,

Where am I?

And another thing is that,

Who is he?

The most important question however is,

What is happening?

Emu didn't know what to do.

“Ah, right!” The man smiled awkwardly as he withdrew his hand, the candies disappearing as easily as it appeared, “It would be weird if a complete stranger suddenly offered something to you, huh.” His gaze landed upon Emu's camera and phone before raising an eyebrow.

“Sir Knight.” Emu looked at the source of a new voice, it was another man on a broom, one with silver hair and eyes matching with the man beside her, although it was mirrored.

Who's that?

As if an answer to Emu's unspoken question, “Sir Knight” called out the man's name.

“Owen!”

The other man called Owen glanced at Emu and a smile formed on his lips, it looked rather…

Scary…

“Ohhh and what is that you have there, Sir Knight? A lost bunny?”

The man Owen called Sir Knight groaned, “Not now Owen. She's already frightened enough as it is.”

Owen scoffed, “What ever do you mean, Sir Knight? What sinister ideas must you be thinking about?”

“That should be my question!” Sir Knight sighed, “Anyway, let's head back to Master Sage. I have a feeling they'd be able to help her more than us.”

The broom they were on moved then, a small squeak escaped from Emu's lips as her body tensed up, fearing that she might fall again she instinctively leaned closer to Sir Knight and gripped the front of his clothes with her free hand.

Sir Knight let out a small chuckle, “Don't worry! You'll be safe with me!” His hands never once leaving Emu's back. “We'll fly slowly, okay?”

“You'll surely take forever to get back. Bye then.” Emu glanced back at Owen, only to see no one there.

Whoa… He disappeared?!

“Sorry about Owen, that's just how he is.” Sir Knight moved the broom, a gentle breeze blowing on them as he maneuvered in the air, slowly, and carefully. It calmed Emu enough to feel assured that she will be safe, just as he said, “Right, I don't think I've introduced myself yet.”

He smiled brightly at her, as if the sun itself was shining right beside her. It reminded her of Tsukasa's smiles. “My name is Cain!”

Emu can feel her courage coming back to her, she leaned back a little to return a smile of her own, “I'm Emu!”

[webbluvrsugar]

hi! i absolutely adore your writing omgg

if it’s not too much trouble i was thinking maybe ethan landry x fem reader and continuing with that dynamic of the dom gf + sub bf in public but vice versa in bed? LOTS of size kink (if you’re comfortable writing it ofc) and maybe some degradation from ethan? ugh that would just be sooo 😩😩😩

tysm in advance, no rush in writing, and don’t forget to eat and drink water!!

— 🦚

a/n: guyyys it’s official!! I have my first emoji anon <333 and of course bae, tyyy sm!!!

proofread

﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆. ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭ casual dominance with Ethan in and out of bed

Outside of bed, it’s like you both have your roles assigned to each other, you take complete dominance, you ask him to do simple thing you could do like — carry your books, your purse and even cleaning your shared dorm for weeks and weeks without stopping, it was something he found particularly annoying, specially when you basically did nothing compared to him.

“Babe, do you think you can wash those dishes for me?” You’d ask the taller man in front of you, standing right next to the sink.

“Can’t you do them? You’re already close and I’m kinda busy right now.” He mutters, focuses on whatever project he’s working in his computer, slightly nibbling on his thumb.

“Come on… you always do them for me.” You say in indignation, crossing your arms and huffing before you sit down on the couch.

“Yeah but I’ve been doing them for weeks, and again, I’m busy.”

It almost serves as a warning, and by now, you’d stop, you’d do your own dishes yourself, but you really can’t find it in you to stop when you just want him to do one simple chore. — Why can’t he do them anyways? He’s not that busy, is he?

“Ethan are you serious? It’s like two dishes and you spend all your time in that computer, you can spare some time to do it for me, it’s not that difficult.”

See, that’s what does it for him, because he finally stops what he’s doing to look back at you, raising a brow as if daring you to keep acting that way, and when you do say something else, it doesn’t take more than two seconds for him to toss you over his shoulder and take you to bed.

He’s on top of you — all over you the way he likes it, fucking some sense into you with some quick and hard thrusts, one hand wrapped around your throat while the other gently holds your waist.

“This is just what you needed, huh?” He scoffs. “Some dick so you can finally learn to stop bothering me and do your own shit.”

You don’t respond, instead, you press your eyes shut while one hand paws at the one at your throat, moaning as you try to make him let go.

“Uh-uh, you’re gonna learn your lesson, you’re gonna learn that when I say no, it means — I’m fucking busy.” He groans.

He squeezes your neck a little tighter, bring his other hand down and slightly fiddles with your clit, loose and messy movements that somehow do get you closer.

“And after this —“ he breathes, leans down to whisper on your neck. “You’re gonna wash your fucking dishes.”

[zhongrin]

honey, can you… oh shit wait i forgot we’re not dating (yet)

© zhongrin | 2024 ✼  [✘] no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. [✓] rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, fluff, non-established relationship, potential secondhand embarrassment, boyfailure neuvillette (/aff)

✼ a/n ┈ zhongrin uploaded 3 weeks in a row?! madness!!! utter madness!!!! /silly i feel like i've been writing too much cutesy/sfw stuff lately.... i want to write 'darker' types of stuff but my brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate ugh pain

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

zhongli watches your reaction closely, at first.

when he deduces that you were self-aware of your own oversight and are evidently panicking about it, he gives you a warm chuckle and shakes his head gently, “there is no need to apologize, and please do not feel mortified in any way. it really is fine.”

if you continue to not believe him, the ex-archon will be as patient as ever with his words of reassurances, and he does not mind repeating them until you feel comfortable enough to ask him the real errand that you wished to bestow upon him.

... but not before he gently places a hand to the small of your back to lead you to walk a little closer to him due to the increasing crowd on the streets, his voice a tender caress to your ear, “coming from you, i certainly did not mind the nickname.”

al haitham raises his eyebrows and shuts his book, “what a fascinating blunder. is that how you view our relationship subconsciously? or perhaps it’s an innate desire you’ve chosen to suppress but accidentally slipped out in a moment of unawareness?”

the scholar has the decency to wait for your answer betwixt your embarrassment, but he eventually sighs when you failed to form a coherent answer that satisfied his inquiries.

“you seem to have the impression that i am displeased at your err. i’d like to inform you that your assumption is yet another mistake - which, i would theorize, was made in the rush of the moment as your nervous system kicks into gear, therefore clouding your judgement. i would suggest you take a few moments to reanalyze my stance based on this new information. i’ll wait.”

and with that, he opens his book once more.

.... um.

congratulations, i guess?

wriothesley takes the opportunity and replies with a cheeky, “yes, honey? what can i do for you, sweetheart?”

he relishes in the utter embarrassment that quickly spread across your face that’s akin to water faced with his cryo elemental energy (though secretly he’s also dying inside at the cheesiness of the situation) and throws you a boyish grin before ruffling your hair.

not a man to let an opportunity escape, the duke decides to leverage the moment to take his metaphorical shot and goes immediately for a straight jab, like an experienced boxer that he is, all the while praying to the hydro archon so that this would be yet another match he could flawlessly win, “you know, my schedule’s particularly relaxed today… i wouldn’t mind staying longer if you want to make it a date?”

neuvillette blinks owlishly, his pale cheeks blooming with warmth as the situation starts to sink in. you, the apple of his eye, whom he treasured dearly and had taken great care to court, had just called him with a term of endearment that he had always dreamed of hearing.

wait, was this a dream? his gloved hands quickly found purchase on his blue horns, before he brought his hands in front of his eyes. okay, he had two horns and ten fingers, still. so he must not have daydreamed this. ah- wait, you’re staring at him. oh, now you’re giggling. and now you’re calling him silly. oh, it should be a crime to be so breathtakingー

it’s not until your expression changed into surprise that he realized he had said that thought outloud.

your teasing “if it’s a crime, are you going to put me on trial, monsieur?” elicits a darker blush on his pale cheeks and an awkward cough out of him.

.... this must be how the young ones flirt nowadays.

“perhaps after a proper date? if it’s not impertinent of me, may i be allowed to take you out on dinner tonight?”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈

@abyssmal-skies ! @hamdehlesmis ! @sunnshineflxwer ! @queen-belial ! @silentmoths

@dustofthedailylife ! @marina-and-the-memes ! @mixed-kester ! @lordbugs ! @anonymousficreader

@irethepotato ! @sassy-cat-in-town ! @syrenkitsune ! @smokipoki ! @cakeboxie

@crystalflygeo ! @ciexuvia ! @illaasya ! @celestewritestoomuch ! @pams-comfortzone

@spidermanluvr444 ! @ourstrawberryclouds ! @ryuryuryuyurboat ! @hrts4hanniehae ! @fiannee

@frosts-intuition ! @florapocalypses ! @genshin-impacts-me ! @scarasmood ! @hellcatinnc

@beloved-brynn ! @malachitemischief101 ! @average-yandere-enjoyer

[sunrizef1]

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[joelsdagger]

that’s the way road dogs do it || one

joel miller x f!reader

a/n: this one is a little wild; part two is already shaping up to be even more wild. many smooches to my beloveds: @pedrospatch for all the reassurance and support and for beta’ing this bad boy for me, and to @dinandwhiskey for screaming with me about this idea many many moons ago <33

pairing: ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel x f!reader summary: on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past. warnings: [no-outbreak au], big girthy age gap [reader is in her 20’s, joel is 50’s], alcohol consumption, allusions to cheating [not by joel or reader], no sarah or ellie but joel has a son, joel has tattoos and is a biker, pet names [darlin’, baby, kiddo], sexualization of the term kiddo [from the deepest darkest pits of my soul…idfc], a little bit of humiliation, panty sniffing, a teensy bit of fingering, a little manhandling, pervy!joel [he’s also a little fucked up and really unhinged but so am i so whateva], pussy pronouns, dirty talk [umm it gets weird lol], daddy kink, degradation, semi-public sex, rough unprotected p in v sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, dubcon [joel takes pictures of her that she doesn’t verbally consent to], smidgen of angst [ofc bc it’s me], creampie, body marking/writing [use of a pen], soft!joel, reader wears a skirt, has hair, wears makeup, and has two tattoos that are described within the story word count: 8.6k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!

Bad Habits is the bar where you spend every Friday night after work with your friends. It’s always too loud and too bright for your liking. But they serve good booze for a reasonable price and it’s on the way back from your office. Your Friday night usual; stopping at the bar with some friends from work before you bore yourself to sleep by looking over briefings and finalizing notes you need to send over to your boss in time for Monday’s nine am meeting.

You excuse yourself from the booth and head for the bar, plopping yourself on the velvet cushion of a creaky bar stool as you set your purse on the sticky bartop, ordering yourself another drink. Your phone chimes, and you sigh as you pull it out of your purse along with a pen and notepad, knowing it’s an email with a list of requests from your boss. He did tell you he’d send it to you before the end of the night. 

It’s when one of your hands is pressed to your temple, the other scribbling down your boss’ requests on paper when you hear it — a low, gravelly Southern drawl, a voice laced with honey — that you thought you’d never hear again. 

“This seat taken?”

Your pen freezes for a moment; you could pick that voice out of a suspect line-up. It never left you. But you willingly ignore him and decide you’re going to have a little fun of your own with him, so you continue finalizing your thoughts on paper as he situates himself beside you and orders a glass of whiskey while he’s at it. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ sittin’ in a place like this all by herself?” 

“I’m not alone. My friends are over there,” you throw your thumb, pen in hand, over your shoulder, jutting to your booth. “Just needed another drink,” you say, your eyes never leaving the notepad. 

“Why won’t you let me see your face, darlin?” he asks, head tilting to the side, assessing you. 

You snort. “Why. So you can decide whether or not my face is pretty enough to fuck — Mr. Miller?” Your voice drops an octave at the end of the sentence. 

You finally turn your head so you’re face to face with the man beside you, the father of your ex-boyfriend. 

Surprise flashes across his face; his mouth hangs agape briefly before he shuts it tightly. You watch as the Adam’s apple bops slowly in his throat. For once, the father of your shit-eating, cheating ex-boyfriend doesn’t have a comeback. He clears his throat as he attempts to recover. 

“Didn’t realize it was you, darlin’,” he says gruffly, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. 

You chuckle to yourself a little. “Of course you didn’t. The last time we saw each other was what? A year ago? Maybe more?” you quip. 

“You look different,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes glossing over your figure so quick you almost miss it. 

You raise an eyebrow at him; the corner of your mouth kicks up as you tilt the rim of your glass to your lips, hiding your smirk behind a sip.

“Good. I mean — you look good,” he tips his glass on its heel, eyeing it as he toys with it. 

You tilt your head in a shrug, “I needed a change.”

After Joel Miller’s son cheated on you and broke your heart, after you let the hurt linger for a few weeks and told your sob story to your friends who happily listened, you took their advice. 

You need something new, something fresh, babe. 

It really does help.

You’ll feel like a whole new person. 

Trust me, it’ll be good for you. 

You dyed your hair a few times, until you found a shade that felt more you. You got yourself a whole new wardrobe, something a little less fucking prudish and a little more slutty, and despite the cliché of it all, their suggestions did help to leave that shy, agreeable girl in the dust. The breakup was the last push you needed to leave it all behind. 

And now here you are, a little over a year later, sitting beside your ex’s father, whom you once hated to admit to yourself — no, you never really admitted it to yourself, but you found him attractive. Fuck. Who were you kidding? You didn’t just find Joel Miller, the father of your ex-boyfriend, attractive; you found yourself wanting to open your legs for him more than you did for his son, whom you had been dating for eight months. 

His eyes fall to your chest, trailing down the low cut of your top, and fixating on the peaks of your nipples beneath the tight fabric, and your heart stutters. “Quite the change,” a hint of a glint swimming in his hazel eyes. 

You can’t say the same for him.

You take him in now; he looks almost exactly the same, apart from a few more wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Still, he’s somehow more handsome. 

His tousled salt-and-pepper hair still sits messily on his head, though his beard is lined with more silver than you remember. 

Fuck. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes trail down his body, thick shoulders and thick arms deliciously clad in his black leather jacket, and beneath that, his white t-shirt pulls taut across his broad chest.  

 And oh. 

Joel’s head turns, peering over his shoulder at the sound of glass breaking. Your eyes flick back up and catch a curl of black ink on the tanned skin beneath his collar. That’s new. 

When he turns back, he raises the glass to his lips with a scoff, clouding the inside of it, and the dim light from above the bar catches on the square face of a gold band on his marked pinkie finger. That’s also new. Your eyes don’t miss that his fourth finger still remains devoid of a wedding ring. 

“I have your son to thank for that." You drop your phone, pen, and notepad into your purse, giving him your full attention.

A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. Flicks his tongue across his bottom lip before he bites it. Is it a show of anger? Disappointment? You’re not quite sure.

But there is one thing that you are sure of: Joel Miller liked having you around. You knew it. You were aware that his eyes lingered whenever he saw you. You caught it from the very first time. When you showed up at his house, in jeans that clung to you like skin, how you bent at the waist to fish your keys out of his sofa cushion, and in your periphery, caught the subtle tilt of his head to get a better look at how the denim hugged your ass just right, feeling his eyes boring into you, your skin sizzling with heat.

If you’re being honest, you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty or shameful for how Joel looked at you. You basked in how he made you feel; you certainly weren’t getting that kind of attention from his son. He had his eyes (and his dick) on someone else. 

You liked how that very last night you spent at Joel Miller’s house — a fortnight before you broke up with his son — you padded down the hallway to the bathroom in an old skirt that you had outgrown (wearing it only because it was the last of clean bottoms before laundry day), and you overheard Joel Miller in his bedroom, fucking his fist and coming with a gruff groan of your name on his lips.  

You just weren’t sure if he knew that you knew.  

His body twists, props a leg up on the footrest of your bar stool. “What happened between you two? He never talked about it,” he inquires. 

You scoff. “He gets that from you, you know, not talking about things. Think he knows it too.” 

Confusion floods his features. 

Your eyes drop to the inside of your glass. “Your divorce. Jason complained all the time about how neither of you talked about it.”

“There was nothin’ to talk about. She left,” he quips. 

“She cheated on you,” you retort. 

“How did–” 

“He knew, and he watched when you didn’t fight it. Think that’s why he did the same to me.” 

“That kid. Always fucking trouble,” he huffs, then takes a short sip. 

 “Hey, you raised him,” you joke. 

“I didn’t raise him to be a piece of shit,” he bites, shakes his head instantly, eyes meeting yours, and there’s something behind them that you can’t quite place yet.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, I just—" You sigh exasperatedly, “I think seeing how you didn’t fight for your marriage, for your wife, messed with him. And as much as I hate him for getting his dick wet in another girl, I think... well, now I know why he did it." Right shoulder tips in a slight shrug. 

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. 

“What?” you ask. 

 “Nothin'—I didn’t expect I’d ever hear you say that.”

 You look at him pointedly. 

 “Gettin’ his dick wet,” he repeats. “I’m not used to hearing you say things like that s’all,” he says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head a little. 

You sigh. “Told you, heartbreak is a hell of a thing.” 

“You didn’t deserve that darlin’, M’sorry,” he soothes. He leans towards you, a heavy hand dropping to your bare thigh, fingers wrapping tightly around it. It takes everything in you not to squeeze your thighs shut at his touch. 

You avert your eyes, scanning the crowd in the bar, your eyes eventually landing on your friends all crammed in the booth before looking back at Joel. “Everything happens for a reason, I guess.” 

His head dips, eyebrows go up in surprise, his expression a slight mixture of shock and guilt. “You really believe that?” 

You flash him a soft smile. You’re not sure that you do, but selfishly, it’s easier than the truth, and whatever it was, you’re not concerned about it anymore. “It’s fine, Mr. Miller, honestly," you clarify. 

His calloused thumb rubs small circles on your thigh; heat radiates there. “How many times, I gotta tell you, it’s Joel,” he insists.

Your eyes roll, “alright. Joel, it’s fine. I’m much happier now.”

“Oh yeah?" His hand releases your thigh; your body feels like it’ll wilt without the heat of his touch. His arms cross over as he leans forward on the bartop. The cuff of his left sleeve raises, revealing ink curling around his wrist. Did he complete his sleeve? You swallow thickly, your eyes lingering. 

"Got yourself a new boyfriend?’” He asks. 

You finally peel your eyes away, arching your brow. “What makes you say that?” 

His boot brushes against your bare ankle as he turns towards you; electricity sparks up your leg and up the base of your spine, awakening a long-dormant need. “Nothin’, just reckon that a pretty thing like yourself has a new stupid college fella.”

You chuckle. “I don’t date, it's not worth my time anymore.” You take a swig of your drink, swallow the tang down, and it mixes with the lick of heat, slowly spreading its way into your veins. You’re trying to tame the surge of energy zipping through your body, but it’s so damn hot beneath the lights lining the bar. And the chatter buzzing around the room, coupled with the weight of Joel’s gaze, isn’t fucking helping. It’s overwhelming, the nerves and arousal taking over, lacing with the alcohol in your system.

“That so?” His voice is a low rumble, dangerous. The corners of his lips twitch; your eyes dart down to them. 

You set your glass down on the dark wood with a clink, and your fingers begin tracing the rim of the glass. “And you?” Your body is warm and humming, something churning deep in your core.

His hazel eyes slowly rake down your body, a hint of hunger in them as they pause at the hem of your skirt, barely covering the place where you need him most; your skin is on fire under the heat of his gaze, and for a moment you have to resist the urge not to pounce on him right there in a bar full of people.

His voice cuts through your reverie as he answers. “Not in the cards for me, darlin’,” his eyes crease before he tips the glass to his lips.

“Guess we got one thing in common,” you sigh and mirror him. 

His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip, and your chest blooms. Black takes up the hazel hues in his eyes, full of lust, and you think back to all the times you’ve had his attention; only now it’s worse because you can act on it. And maybe it’s the liquid courage in your blood. Maybe it’s some stroke of desire for revenge. Maybe it’s just that — desire. Maybe it’s because you know him. Know by all those times you racked up in your brain of longing stares and fleeting tugs of every nerve of your body.

So you think, with the very obvious throbbing in your core, with desire turning molten and pooling between your thighs that you can no longer ignore, that now is your chance; you’ve got nothing holding either of you back this time.

“You want to get out of here?” Your eyes fall down his body and bite your lip as you take in his broad form again. 

He chuckles darkly. “Can’t leave my crew, sweetheart,” he juts his chin towards an area behind you. Your body twists, and laughter threatens to bubble in your chest when you spot them. Three men, all silver-haired and scruffy beards that cover surly faces, all clad in tethered leather jackets, sit in a corner towards the back of the bar. 

You turn back to Joel with a hint of smirk on your lips. “Aren’t you getting a little old to still be biking around? Shouldn't fossils be encased or padded up or something? You know as they age they don't hold up very well,” you tease. 

He bares his teeth with a crooked grin; the corners of his eyes crease. “Careful, kiddo,” voice a low warning, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind it.

You knock back the rest of your drink swiftly, ignoring how it burns the back of your throat. “Well, that’s too bad,” you start. Driven by the alcohol coursing through your burning veins and the painful ache at the apex of your thighs, your left hand grabs his, rested beneath the bar, and guides it under your skirt and towards your dripping sex. He stiffens, inhaling sharply through his nose as he feels the way the wet fabric clings to the lips of your pussy. You bring your lips to the shell of his ear and drop your voice to make it more deep and velvety — more enticing. “She’s already wet.”

You drop his hand and hop off the barstool and onto wobbly legs, your right hand looping your crossbody over your shoulder, and before your leg even brushes past his, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist, dwarfing it in his grasp. 

Without another word, he tugs you behind him, past your table of friends, all too loud and too drunk celebrating the end of another work week to notice the two of you sauntering by. He drags you down the dimly lit hall, and you’re biting your bottom lip, containing the smile that threatens to spread across your face as he shoves you into the bathroom. 

Within seconds, he’s on you, pressing into you so your back slams into the tethered wooden door. Your hands find his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands streaked with gray.

And with his mouth flush with yours, the taste of whiskey and cheap cigars is warm on your tastebuds, and you cannot get enough of it. You've dreamt of what he'd taste like for so long, and it's everything you've ever wanted. His tongue is heavy and hot as he pushes it into your mouth, swirling it around and cutting across your gums, leaving no inch of your mouth uncharted. It’s all rushed and sloppy and hungry, and very quickly does it become clear to you that he’s wanted this — wanted you, just as much as you had from the very beginning. 

Somewhere in the heady haze, you manage to remove your left hand from his dark curls, drifting it south behind your back to slide the greasy lock shut behind you, sealing your fate. 

The sound of the lock clicking in place has Joel maneuvering you towards the sink, your heels scraping against the tile as the both of you drift backwards, tongues still intertwined. 

Your hands fumble with his belt, and at the same time, your mouth skates down his neck, tongue darting out and lapping at the inked skin there. You hum at the taste of warm, salty sweat. As you try to drag the leather out from his silver buckle, you move to drop to your knees. You don’t even get halfway before he’s reaching for your wrists, pulling you back up to stand. “‘S much as I’d like that kiddo, I've been waitin’ too long to get inside this cunt,” he says bluntly, and then he’s taking a step forward, trapping you against the cold ceramic. “If m’gonna come, s'gonna be inside o' her.” 

Your stomach flips at his words, and you can’t deny that the use of that word again makes you want to drop to your knees for him twofold. Instead, Joel drops to one of his, grunting as his denim-clad knee hits the cold tile, and it’s what he does next that manages to shatter all essence of confidence you had tonight.

Joel flicks up your skirt with one large hand while the other grips the back of one of your thighs, and one of your hands finds one of his shoulders, fingers already clinging onto him for dear life as you try to anchor yourself. You’re throbbing for him as his hand drifts north to cup your sex through your damp panties; he tears his gaze away to peer up at you. “How many dicks has this pussy taken since my son?” 

His words strike you hard, and your blood runs as cold as ice. Your breath kicks out of your lungs. That was the last thing you expected him to say. Despite the fact Joel’s eyes often lingered and his breath often wavered in your presence, he always managed to compose himself. You never imagined he'd act on those impulses.

“I–I don’t–” you blink a few times, your brain malfunctioning, trying to find the words. 

“How many,” he taunts, his fingers prod at your lace-covered slit, his thumb applying pressure to your clit through your underwear. 

“I– I don’t know. I can’t remember,” you whisper.

Joel sniggers. “I figured. She’s just a little pocket pussy for us, ain’t she?” A shiver runs up your spine, and he watches you, hazel eyes glimmering in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom, gauging your reaction for a tell, a tick, something, that’ll give him a reason to stop. When you don’t, his head dips down between your thighs, and his strong nose presses up against the damp stain on the front of your skimpy black thong, which was doing a rather poor job of covering your cunt. His eyes close slowly, and he inhales. Long and hard, so hard you can feel his nostrils contracting against you as he breathes in your scent. And it’s not your fault a measly whimper spills from your lips when he does so. 

“This all for me now?” He coaxes, his fingers strumming up and down your slit through the lace. Words fail you as you look down and find his eyes already on yours. You nod once for him. 

“Words, darlin’,” his voice dark, thick fingers shifting your panties aside, exposing you to the cold air and spreading your soft folds apart, toying with your wetness. 

Oh fuck, sneaks past your lips in a whisper, and one of your arms snaps out behind you, hand wrapping around the edge of the sink.  

He tilts his head up, and your eyes fixate on his middle finger that reads, clutch, as the tip pokes into your aching hole. "S’this what you wanted? You oughta ask for it, pretty girl.”

“I want you. Fuck– I want you to fuck me, Joel.” You choke out. 

“Attagirl,” he starts, knees cracking as he stands. “Bend over ‘n let me see her up close this time,” he says with a smirk. 

You obey, and turn to drop your purse beside the sink before placing your hands on the wet countertop. But your eyes don’t find your own reflection in the mirror. Instead, they fall on Joel’s movements behind you and gulp down the near-pathetic excitement and nerves sizzling over you. Joel’s too entranced by the sight before him to pick up how your breath hitches in your throat when his calloused hands push your skirt over the curve of your ass and up to your waist. His sly smirk kicks into a low chuckle as he catches sight of your tattoo on your left ass cheek that reads, daddy’s girl.

You go perfectly still, and a firm hand between your shoulders pushes you forward, your upper body now parallel to the dark countertop. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, but you can still hear the low whistle he sings from behind you. And then–

“Jesus,” he breathes as he pauses and marvels at you, his gaze shifting up and down your form, goosebumps erupting across your skin as the knuckle of his index finger traces down the small of your back, cold metal from the ring on his pinkie grazes the meat of your ass by happenstance. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” 

And it’s almost like he can’t believe he’s here — with you, thirty years his junior, and his son’s ex-girlfriend, in a bar bathroom, about to ruin not only you but every other woman for himself for the rest of his life.

The liquid courage must’ve kicked into overdrive because you don’t know what compels you to do it, but before you can stop yourself, you call out his name–

“Joel.”

His dark eyes flit upwards to meet yours in the mirror. 

“You gonna stand there and stare all night, or you gonna fill her up?” But the tone of your voice doesn’t make it sound at all like a question, and you don’t mean it to be. 

That seems to pull him back. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ Christ, I didn’t think you’d be this filthy.”

His reaction manages to bring back your confidence, and your lips curl in turn. 

Joel doesn’t waste anymore time. You feel the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and hear the metallic clang of his belt and the buzz of his zipper as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. When he hooks a thick finger underneath your panties, tugging them to the side and over one cheek, you can’t help but clench, and Joel definitely doesn’t miss it. 

He tuts. “Needy little thing too,” he grips his length, thick and heavy in his hand, and lines up the blunt cockhead with your throbbing hole; it winks at him. “Tiny hole’s begging for me to fuck her, ain’t she? Look at her flirtin’ with me,” Joel gloats. 

And the sane part of you wants to cringe at that, but your cunt betrays you and clenches around terrible emptiness again. Joel doesn’t wait for you to respond; his eyes flicker back down to your hole, pushing the wide head of his cock inside, and that spark from earlier ignites. 

“Oh, Christ,” he exhales, his jaw falling loose and eyes going hooded as he enters your warm, wet cunt. You gasp as your own eyes fall shut at the stretch, your face twisting upwards at the sharp sting. You didn’t get to look at it before, but you can feel him. He’s big. Bigger than anything you’ve ever had, and for a second you’re not quite sure he’ll be able to fit. But Joel being Joel means he’s a stubborn bastard. He makes it fit. He pushes himself in, in, in, and you whine, and he groans as your pussy wraps perfectly around every inch of his thick length, sinking in like a dream.

He bottoms out inside your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix, and you’re gripping the edge of the sink so tight that if it weren’t for Joel fucking you, you’d be worried if your knuckles would break the skin. “Fuck, that’s good,” he breathes, ragged and hard. 

And it is. He feels so good. Stretching your cunt out and carving a place for himself after all this time. All the wanting and pining. Shared glances and stolen moments that you believed to be over the moment you broke up with that bastard of a son have finally led you here with him. 

“Daddy,” pours from your lips involuntarily. Your eyes snap wide open, and you freeze. Joel draws his hips back, cock pulling out from your gaping hole and catching onto it’s head, and before you can scramble your brain for a pathetic excuse of an apology, his lips curl into a snarl, and he slams his hips forward, cock ramming into you full throttle. The force of his thrust so hard, your body jolts forward, and your pelvis collides with the sink.

He doesn’t give you time to recover; Joel sets a fast, unforgiving pace, and with every strong, expert roll of his hips, the edges of your vision begin to blur. And it doesn’t matter how fast he bucks into you; the size of his cock never fails to fill you up to the hilt on every long, punishing stroke. He’s fucking loving it. And so are you. Letting him use you and yanking you back onto his cock by the thin material of your thong, hips snapping back into his like a rubber band. The air quickly fills with delicious wet sounds of your skin slapping against his, your moans and his, and the sharp clink, clink, clink, of metal rattling against you as the movement of your bodies colliding increases. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he says, voice rough with arousal. “Been dreamin’ of this pussy since the first time I laid eyes on ya,” he pants, eyes never leaving where the two of you are connected.

Desperate whimpers and breathy moans spill from your lips, his left hand bruising on your hip. “Caught a glimpse of that pretty young pussy under your skirt. Couldn’t get it out of my damn head. I thought about you n’ fucked my fist every night to that image of you in your slutty little skirt. Too fuckin’ short to cover anything.” Your cunt drools with slick with every word that spills from him; you can feel it on the tops of your inner thighs. The wet suction of your cunt around his cock getting louder and louder and louder. It’s borderline pornographic. 

His voice cuts through the lewd sounds. “Some nights I heard those sweet sounds you made–fucked my fist then too. Were you fakin’ it, baby? Huh. Were you fakin’ it with him? My son ever fuck you this good?” He rambles, grip smarting your flesh. 

Your stomach jolts. Scratch that. That’s the last thing you expected him to say. If your ex-boyfriend’s father fucking you wasn’t going to send you spiraling, then him bringing up his own son while he fucks you dumb certainly will. 

Your mind is abuzz; your brain has gone completely blank. There’s no way you could form a proper word in response, even if you tried. There isn’t a single thought inside your head. It’s too much. Too many things are happening at once. For one, he’s never been this talkative; you were lucky if you got two sentences out of him a year ago. And now he’s asking you if his son fucks as good as he does. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. And he’s not expecting you to. All you can do is whimper and moan while he fucks you with abandon, the way you should have been fucked all those times by his son.

“You don’t gotta answer. I know he didn’t. That boy didn’t know what was good for him if it hit him til he was blue in the face.” And you moan in agreement, still not able to think of a response while his tip jabs at your most sensitive spot. 

“S’okay, you were made to take my cock,” he grits, his ringed finger digging into your skin by the unrelenting grip on your waist. “Made to take mine, not his. Tell me, my cock bigger than his?” 

“Daddy–” you gasp, your cunt flutters around him, and Joel laughs a little at you, a low mocking sound that fuels the fire roiling low in your belly. 

“Course it is,” he murmurs. “You were made for me. So fuckin’ pretty n’ perfect n’  – fuck – so goddamn tight. Tighter than a fleshlight, baby.” He hisses in between sharp thrusts.

“N-” you choke on your words, fresh tears pricking your eyes by the force of him fucking you so hard. 

He clicks his tongue. “You don’t like that, baby? You tellin’ me if I say it again, she won’t fuckin’ squeeze the hell outta me?”

Your cunt answers for you, giving him exactly what he wants and fluttering around him in response.

“S’okay, you can like it. You oughta. This sloppy cunt’s gonna be my new cocksleeve. Gonna blow my load in ya, pump you so full o’me.” 

You squeeze painfully tight around him again and bite your bottom lip to muffle the obscene, broken moan that escapes you. You can’t help but picture what Joel looks like thrusting himself into the toy. Was he using it that night? When you heard him coming with a groan of your name, was he pretending to paint your cunt instead of the inside of faux flesh? Or did he pull out and imagine covering your face in his cum? Your back arches as you push yourself up by the heels of your palms on the ceramic, your head topples back onto your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull, the walls of your cunt tensing at the thought. 

His fingers unhook themselves from your panties and his hand finds the back of your skull, and with a firm grip, he angles your head, so you are face to face with your own depraved reflection. “Look how fuckin’ sexy you look takin’ me,” he growls.

And you do; your vision refocuses on the wrecked girl in the mirror: hair wild yet pulled back by Joel’s tight fist, lipstick stained around your swollen lips, mascara smudged by wet tears at the corners of your eyes, temples glistening with beads of sweat as you’re split wide open, perfectly filled to the brim by your ex-boyfriend’s father’s cock. 

Joel’s fist tightens on your makeshift ponytail, pulling you back into him, and with your back now pressed flush to his chest, he brings his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, eyes watching each other in the mirror. “You’ve got a velvet cunt, kiddo, s’damn shame my son didn’t know what to do with it.” 

You squeak, your body jostling and rolling with pleasure on every shift forward, the edge of the countertop bruising your hip bones. You’re blissfully unaware of the spit drooling from your lips and dripping all over the sink faucet until Joel points it out.

“Look at you, wanted it so bad you’re fuckin’ droolin’ f’me, naughty girl,” he pants, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. “Wanted me to use you like this, huh?”

“Mmm,” you mewl in response, everything beneath your navel tenses while his cock grazes the opening of your cervix on each harsh thrust.

He tuts. “Aww, poor baby, you were all talk before. But you can’t talk back now, huh? You all cock dumb, s’that it? Daddy, fuckin’ ya stupid?” 

"So – good – Daddy,” you force a choked moan. Your cunt clamps down around him, and it burns, flames running wild, scratching away at your nerves as the fat head of his cock brushes against your g-spot again. As if he can feel it too, the snap of his hips grows more desperate. Faster. Harder. Deeper. 

“Keep doin’ that, doin’ so good for me, kiddo. Just a little more, give it to me, come on daddy’s cock, c’mon,” he rasps. Your stomach twists and your chest tightens, his cock hitting you so deep each time his hips swing, and the weight of his balls slapping wetly against your clit has you hurtling full speed towards your release. 

“Daddy – oh f– fuck,” your voice all broken and hoarse. Your entire body goes painfully tight, thighs quivering, and something deep within you snaps. Your eyes screw shut as the energy thrums through your blood. Your mind is a dizzying blur, white light streaking behind your eyelids, and there’s a low ringing in your ears as your orgasm fully engulfs you. 

"Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, kiddo, there you go, let her soak me,” Joel praises as he fucks you through your high, cunt throbbing while your hips move lazily back and forth on him. 

As your orgasm settles, your body goes limp, and your head begins to dip, but Joel tightens his grip on you, shifting your body like a ragdoll until you’re on your tiptoes, the perfect angle for him as he fucks relentlessly into you. 

And with the blissed-out daze of the afterglow and the roaring music from the otherside of the bathroom door getting louder, you can just barely make out Joel’s low rambles of obscenities — almost like he’s mumbling to himself — and the quick, wet, smack, smack, smack of his hips against the plush of your ass as he pummels your cunt, desperate for release — as if his life depends on coming inside you. 

He grunts and through bleary eyes, you watch him through the mirror. He looks wrecked as he chases after his high. He must feel your eyes on him because then his eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and your cunt squeezes him unconsciously. That sends him overboard. His movements become sloppy, and you feel him twitch inside you. His jaw slackens, his eyes pinching shut while his head lulls back, and a breathless chant of, oh shit, fuck that’s it, fuck, escapes him as he comes undone.

His hands clamp, hips finally stuttering, a deep groan slipping past his lips, and then you feel the heat spreading inside you as thick spurts of his seed spill deep inside your cunt. His body falls forward over yours, his sweaty forehead falls into your shoulders, and you let him stay there as his cock continues to pulse, hips lazily rutting into you and pumping you full of his load. Your spent cunt spasms around his throbbing cock, and your wet and his, gathers at the base of his girth and trickles down his balls. 

His hips finally come to a stop, but he doesn’t pull out. Instead, his hand drops from your hair and begins rummaging through your purse. It only takes him a few seconds to find what he’s looking for. Your pen. You watch through watery lashes as he pops the cap with his thumb and brings the tip to the small of your back; your body flinches at the feeling of the cold tip. 

As the ball of the pen drags and tugs across at your skin, for a brief moment you try to surmise what he’s writing, but it takes him too long, and the intensity of your orgasm finally catches up with you. You drop your head on your hand and wait for him to finish whatever the hell he’s drawing on your skin. 

You feel his body shift behind you again, but it’s not until you hear the familiar sound of a low click that has you snapping your head up to the mirror. 

Joel Miller has his phone in his hands. 

And he’s not just doing anything with it. He’s not scrolling through it. He’s not opening up the contacts app. He’s not typing on it.

You catch a bright white flash in the mirror. He’s taking pictures of you. But not just of you. He’s taking pictures of your wasted cunt still plugged full of his cock. 

And for some reason — you don’t move. You don’t stop him. You don’t turn around and snatch the phone from his grasp and call him a dirty old dog. You stay perfectly still, and you let him do what he wants. Letting him take a series of pictures.

But it’s the last few that have his lips curling into a smirk, and he begins mumbling under his breath, gawking at the mess he made of you. 

With his phone poised in his right hand, his left drops to your left ass cheek, his fingers splay across your flesh, pulling your cheek back, and the shutter sound goes off. "Fuck, she’s so pretty like this.” 

Heat blooms in your chest. No one’s ever made you feel like this. But there’s no room for shame when he makes you feel this warm and beautiful... and so fucking sexy. 

And then it hits you. 

No one’s ever made you feel like this. There’s a sudden pang in your heart, tears stinging in your eyes. You’ve always known it. But you never admitted it because it never mattered. How could it? When you’ve never had someone who made you feel worth their time. How could you know what you were missing out on if you’ve never had it to begin with? 

Your head tips back between your shoulders, forcing the tears back into your skull, and to keep them at bay, you redirect your attention on Joel; watch him as he presses his hips flush to your ass so he’s filled you to the hilt. With your body still trembling, you wince and close your eyes in overstimulation. Your body sags forward on the cold surface, melting into submission.

You hear a series of shutters coupled with Joel’s mutters of, Jesus, look at her, the prettiest little pussy, look at this messy little hole swallowin’ up my cock, while you feel his hand moving along the small of your back, no doubt getting different angles of the place where the two of you become one. 

It feels like hours have passed by when Joel seems to have gotten his fill. One of his hands finds your hip again; you shiver and gasp in unison as he slowly slips himself out with a wet squelch. He pumped you so full of his release that you already feel it beginning to trickle out. You didn’t think there’d be that much of it for a man his age.

When his cockhead fully slides out from your hole, you have to fight the urge to whine at the loss of it — of him. But it’s what he does next that stops you from reveling in that; his hand quickly reaches down between your bodies, and two thick fingers catch the cum dripping out of you and push it back inside. You whimper tiredly. 

You stay bent over the sink, and suddenly, for a very brief moment, you feel the heavy weight of his cock slap wetly against your left ass cheek, and for the last time, the camera shutters. 

He quickly pockets his phone, and then he’s pulling your panties over the ache between your thighs, and his hands tentatively pull the skirt back down over your ass, smoothing out the rumpled fabric. You can hear the low rustling behind you — the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle, tucking himself back into his pants.

And then Joel Miller surprises you again. He leans forward over you and places a chaste kiss to your clothed shoulder before his hands are on you, gently tugging your body upright and turning you around to face him as he murmurs a low, Let me look at ya. 

His eyes scan over your face, grinning immensely, like he can’t help being proud of himself for ruining you. And you smile bashfully in tandem as you bring a weak hand up to your face. Joel shoos your hand away and rubs his thumb under your eyes, gently wiping away your tears and smeared mascara, then doing the same to the smudged lipstick at the corners of your mouth. 

He’s always been rather soft with you, but it’s a stark contrast in comparison to his earlier behavior; it almost gives you whiplash thinking about it. How he fucked you so full you could feel him in your chest, the stream of profanities he cursed under his breath, moaning the dirtiest things  — comparing himself to his son while inside you, taking filthy pictures as evidence of what the two of you have done together, then cleaning you up like it’s second nature to him. All of it was filthy. He’s filthy. But there was always a softness to him, and there’s no doubt about it in this moment.

You take the opportunity to mirror him and caress away the lipstick that stained his lips from your kiss, you smile and he sighs at the contact. His thumb swiftly pads over your bottom lip, his gaze lands on your lips, a sort of hesitance, perhaps deciding if he wants to kiss you again. Then, his thumb catches on your plush bottom lip. Joel’s lips twitch, his eyes go dark as he drags the flesh of your bottom lip down, eyeing something he knows he almost missed. He scoffs slightly and shakes his head in near-disbelief. You smirk knowing exactly what he’s reacting to. 

His entire face blossoms with cherry red as he does another once over on the black ink inside your mouth. 

“Angel, my ass,” he mutters under his breath before wetting his lips. Already hungry for more. 

He tilts your chin upwards and leans forward to kiss you. It’s softer, slower this time, but of course, he still nips gently at your bottom lip, and at the same time, he slips his free hand down between the two of you once more. It moves beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers shoving your panties to the side, the pulp of his middle finger pushing through your puffy folds and into your dripping hole, until the black ink that reads, brake, is entirely sheathed inside your worn cunt, making sure his come stays where it belongs. You whimper against his lips, bucking into his hand.

“Keep that in there, f’me,” he mutters, his hot breath fanning over your lips. “Want you thinkin’ o’me when it drips outta ya tonight.” 

You whine faintly when Joel removes his hand. He brings it up to his face, and his tongue darts out to glide across the tip of his digit, licking his finger clean of your wet and his, all while keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. 

There’s a long beat of silence between you, and then he drops his hand, pulling away. Your heart falls, already missing the warmth emanating from his touch.

“We oughta get back before people start looking for us,” he murmurs as he steps back. You smile softly and nod. You’re not sure you’ll see him again. And you don’t have the heart to ask him, nor do you have the strength to handle it if he rejects your offer. You have nothing else to give. 

You love how he made you feel, but your chest twinges — one that twists deep. And no matter how much you try to quell that deep-seated fear, it never truly leaves you. A little voice in the back of your mind that repeats on a loop like a broken record, telling you: He’ll break your heart. They all do. But he can’t hurt you if you don’t let him. You resist the urge to turn and run. And instead, you turn to glance back in the mirror, sure to tame your disheveled appearance, giving Joel a chance to leave before you, slipping back into someone from your past.

He makes his way to the door, sliding the lock open; his hand curls around the handle but pauses before pulling it open. He turns to face you. “You okay?” he asks. 

It shocks you. It’s more than his son ever did. Certainly means more to you after he’d ask, Was it good, after coming in you before you even got started. Everything Joel did tonight is more than his son ever did; asking you questions all night and listening attentively while you answered them — whether it was with the hope of fucking you or not — doesn't matter. You fought tooth and nail for a sliver of his son’s attention, but with Joel, he just fucking gave it to you. 

You do your best to ignore that gnawing feeling of fear, clawing its way up your chest by the only way you know how; you press your lips to Joel’s, pushing your tongue into his awaiting mouth, and licking along the rim of his teeth. A strong hand curls around your jaw, fighting for dominance over the kiss, but you don’t let him for long, though. Reluctantly, you pry yourself off him, but not before Joel’s teeth softly graze your earlobe, nipping the flesh there.

You flash him a quick smile, looping the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “Perfect.” 

He smiles softly at that, eyes dancing across your face. “Yeah,” he whispers and moves to the side, letting you step out first and following you out. 

You head straight to the booth where your group of four awaits you, but not before peering over your shoulder and seeing Joel stalk towards his crew. You smile to yourself and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear as you approach your friends. As you shimmy in beside one of them, they ask where you were, and their brows pinch when you mumble, I was feeling a little dizzy. Which isn’t a total lie, but no one presses you for more, and you’re glad they don’t. 

It’s not until your friends start collecting their belongings and announce they want to check out the new bar a few blocks down the street when you feel the weight of tonight’s actions sinking into you. You’re about ready to call it a night; your eyes are heavy, your brain is still fuzzy, and your body still has not recovered from Joel railing you. 

You mull over sitting in the booth until the car you plan to order shows up to take you home. But the thought of waiting around in Joel’s presence makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to find out if he’ll be like the rest of them. Something to scratch an itch, and then wiping you from memory. That urge to flee loops back, and your legs force you to stand.

Collectively, you amble through the bar, still bubbling with energy, and as you make your way to the exit, you can feel the heat of a stare on you. You don’t need to turn to know who it is; his broad form ghosts along the edges of your periphery.

You walk against that pull you feel towards him, ache festering, skin burning, and bones grating with every heavy step, your eyes locked on the door like a missile to a target, not letting your eyes wander over to his booth, trying to keep what’s left of your dignity. Resisting. Resisting. Resisting. 

Lucas steps out first, holding the door open for another group of younger twenty-somethings as they saunter into the bar. While you hang back, you quickly mumble over your shoulder to Nell that you’re thinking of heading home. Worry cuts across her face, and she extends an offer, At least let me drive you home, hun. 

Your answer is cut off by the chime of your phone in your purse. You still and fumble for it and see a message from Mr. Miller. You had forgotten you never deleted his number. 

Holding your phone close to your chest, cautiously away from your friend’s curious eyes, you click on the notification.

He’d sent you two of the pictures he happily took at the top of the hour with a message that reads, Look damn sexy on my cock, kiddo. 

Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and pride swells in your chest as you glance at the first picture: Joel plugging your used cunt full of his length, his graying pubic hairs drenched and the base of his shaft gleaming with a white ring of creamy release. Your eyes flit upwards, and you finally get a chance to read the dark permanent lines he’d written on your skin.

Joel had crossed out the latter half of your tattoo on your ass cheek. It now reads, daddy’s fleshlight, in sloppy penmanship. With his grip porcelain white, the cross on his thumb makes an appearance as his digit digs into your hip at the corner of your tattoo. Your eyes drift further north, and above the globe of your ass, the small of your back reads, mine. 

Your thumb swipes across the screen to the second picture. With his cock poised in his hand, he had pressed the swollen mushroom head, only a hairsbreadth beneath the ink on the plush flesh of your ass — black ink shiny with a pearly film, he had smeared it in your mixed juices. Your cunt clenches at the images — at his absence, missing the warm, thick stretch of him. And suddenly, you feel his cum beginning to dribble out of you and pool into the gusset of your already ruined thong. 

When you don’t answer. The message bubble appears.

A beat, then two, and then—

There’s a place for you here.

You swallow down the twinge, the ache, press your thighs shut around emptiness, and feel another slight trickle escape your lower lips when your pussy releases more of his cum. You lock your phone and look back up at Nell in front of you. You feign nonchalance and wave her off, telling her you can’t go home just yet. Tell her that you received a few more requests from your boss and you, Don’t wanna take work home. 

She asks how you’ll get home, you lie, and swiftly mention that you just saw Mr. Miller across the bar and that he’ll drive you home. Another tiny white lie. Your place is a solid halfway point from the bar to his house. And when she asks if you’re sure you’ll be okay alone, her hand gently squeezing your arm, brows furrowed with worry, bless her heart, your gaze follows that pull like a magnet and lands on Joel. 

He’s already watching you. 

Your eyes lock with his, one hand resting to the side while the other tips the glass he’d been nursing towards you, winking as he takes a short sip of amber liquid. 

And there’s no pang in your chest. No urge to flee. Just the warmth of his gaze that in any second now will radiate through his touch, turning your bones to ash. 

You flash Nell a smile. Yeah…You’ll be fine.

[giamee]

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 '𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐓!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🍭 )

he just can't get enough of your pussy !

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | 🚨🚨🚨SMUT !! (f!reader receiving oral & fingering), uhhh pussydrunk hsr men who are MUNCHES <3, i think this is the first time writing smut on this blog so hereee we gooo, uhh clit slapping (only once thanks blade), overstim, nothin toooo crazy, ever so slight dom!reader for sampo (that man needs to get topped so bad) + you call him a pervert idk, squirting (shoutout luocha 😙)

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN AGESSSS SO PLS BE NICE AND TO MY MUTUALS SORRY THT THIS SHOWS UP ON YOUR DASHBOARD LETS STILL BE FRIENDS PLS 😭

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 JING YUAN.

this is a dangerous game when he's involved

as a general, jing yuan is very accustomed to being in charge, of taking charge and ensuring that things happen

and as a man who cares more about the hours outside of his work than during, who can blame him for wanting to commemorate each time that he comes home to you?

he's always been very giving as a lover, that much is true. and as a man with a tendency to be more on the... spontaneous side, you were no stranger to a quickie in a slightly less than convenient location. he just couldn't bear to leave you uncared for, after all.

so really, you should have expected that he would quite literally stoop to this level. one minute he was walking through the front door, you calling out a greeting to him from the sink as you washed some dishes.

and the next minute, he was on his knees behind you, your skirt flipped up over your hips and panties tugged to the side as he began to eat you out with some type of renewed fervour.

it had you slapping one hand over your mouth, the other white-knuckled as you hold on for dear life to the kitchen counter. your legs were very quickly turning to jelly due to his ministrations, the feeling of his tongue fucking into you rendering you unable to form sentences.

and even worse than the sensation was the sound of it- every lick and slurp reverbating through the empty room, every squelch of your pussy making you go a shade darker as jing yuan moaned, the bastard, and delved even further into your pussy. your hips pushed against him, his hands snaking their way around your thighs to keep you pinned in place while he ate you out like his life depended on it.

you bit back a squeal as you felt his tongue flick against your clit before running back through your folds, circling the hole before fucking back into you.

"fuck, i love this pussy so much," he moaned out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he came up for air momentarily. "love comin' home to you every day- you taste so good, so good f'me-"

any attempts at muffling your noises were extinguished as you let out a sob, tears welling up from the pleasure, making you fold over so that your torso rested against the counter. your legs were spread wide by now, giving jing yuan all the access that he needed.

he relinquished one of your thighs in favour of using his fingers to pump into you, curling them just right against that spongy spot that had you shaking like a leaf, feeling the pressure build inside you much quicker than you anticipated.

"fuck- fuck- i can't, 's so good-" you were babbling now, trying in vain to break free or push his head away, the pleasure bordering on too much. it was comically easy how ineffective your attempts to hinder him were,

"you can." his voice was some soothing reprieve, and the warmth of his hands squeezing against your hips helped to ground you as he otherwise brought you to the edge.

your thighs were trembling, barely supporting your weight and you could feel your release fast approaching, though something was holding you back.

"cum f'me." jing yuan's rasped voice is what finally coaxed you to let go, to let that string snap with a final cry as you collapsed fully against the countertop.

always diligent, jing yuan continued to eat you out, making sure not to miss a drop as you spasmed against him, hips finally stilling after you ride out your high.

"bastard." your voice is muffled, head resting on your forearms as your regain your strength. jing yuan merely chuckles, placing a kiss with his wet lips to your inner thigh again, one last jolt of pleasure running through you before he stands, fixing your clothes for you.

"but you love it."

you give him a halfhearted kick in the shin.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 SAMPO.

he's the type of man who's best in small doses

the amount of times you get annoyed while he's on another tangent or trying to scam you sell you a product is..... a bit more than infrequent

but there's ways around that

"sampo, do you ever shut up?"

ironically enough, you asking him that made him do just that, pausing for a second to lick his lips as his smile widened, cheshire-like, as you watched the cogs turn in his head.

"no, but for a small standalone price-"

if youuu put a buck in my cup i will shut the fuck up (sorry)

"sampo."

the man cackles, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to his side.

"sorry, doll, but a man has to make a living somehow."

you turn to glare at him now. you really weren't in the mood.

"either shut up or i'll make you."

you watch as his smile drops for just a second, his pupils dilating ever so slightly at the underlying hint of what's to come. and bless his heart, the man decided to push his luck.

approximately five minutes later, you were grinding on his face. the only noises that he really made now were occasional grunts and moans as you rocked back and forth, and you decided that you liked him much better when he wasn't talking.

the man with a silver tongue had his uses, after all.

he was so eager to please, too- from what you could tell with the way he was eating you out. if it weren't for the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling, you would be convinced that he was enjoying it more than you. his moans reverberated around your clit as his tongue flicked over and sucked it, leaving you keeling over and your thighs quaking against the sides of his head.

every moan you let out had him eating you out with a renewed fervour, almost desperate for you to reach your high. you let your hand snake into his hair, getting a full handful before yanking on it, hard. sampo whines from the sensation, and you almost miss the muffled plea for you to do it "again".

his fingertips are digging into your thighs almost painfully, keeping you seated firmly against him (not that you were going to move, anyway).

your eyes land on the tent in his boxers, and an idea pops into your head as you snake your hand past his abdomen to pull his waistband down, letting his cock spring free. it looked painfully hard, the tip already leaking pearls of precum, and you spat in your hand before starting to jerk him off, ever so slowly.

he whined again at the pressure, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, desperate for any sort of friction.

"you're getting off to this, you pervert?" you laughed as he shook his head desperately, still plunging his tongue deep inside you even as his hips bucked wildly. he was already so close, it almost made you laugh.

you yourself were beginning to feel the coil deep within you start to tighten, a telltale sign that your own orgasm was approaching.

"so if i were to just... stop, you wouldn't mind?" to emphasise your point, you loosened your grip on him, grinning to yourself as he whined pathetically.

"hm... that's what i thought."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 BLADE.

blade's mean when he eats you out

he's one of those who eats it for his own pleasure, and whether it's until you orgasm once or multiple times, he's not stopping until he's satisfied, overstimulation be damned

"you still alive there?" the man between your thighs snickers at your fucked-out state, not even able to form a sentence to answer him.

how many times had he made you cum by now? six? seven? you'd lost count long ago, and you don't think it mattered much to blade. sometime after the second one, it began to dawn on you that his goal wasn't to simply make you cum then call it a day.

"c'mon, eyes on me." you squeal at the sensation of his hand slapping down against your clit, the raw flesh stinging for a few moments before his hand smooths it over, soothing the skin.

"you can handle one more, right?" you lift your head weakly to meet his ravenous eyes, somehow even hungrier than when he had first started peeling your clothes off. the look in his eyes made a shiver run down your skin, and you gave him a sheepish nod.

"attagirl."

blade's one to keep you on your toes, never knowing just what to expect from him. he ducks his head down, leveling it with your still pulsing hole, and you gasp as you hear, then feel him spit on it.

there's a blunt intrusion as he sinks two of his fingers into you, knuckles deep, crooking them just right to hit that spot inside you. your leg twitches as an automatic response, making the man snicker again.

"you're so sensitive," he coos, and you hide your embarrassed face with your arm. "i bet if i just..." your body seizes up as you cum, again, more sudden than you ever expected as blade presses harder against you. a strangled moan flies out of your mouth, writhing at the pressure.

he's nice enough to let you ride out your high, pathetically grinding your clit against his palm, whimpering at the tenfold sensitivity and the little aftershocks wracking your body.

and when you're finally breathing normally again, you hear his voice break you out of your stupor.

"one more?"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

what he lacks in experience is made up for doubly in enthusiasm

because let's be real, this man is too busy with the silvermane guards to have enough time to be dating and fucking around

but for you? he'd make the time. and he'd learn how to get you off while he's at it, too

"so if you just, slide your fingers in, slowly." gepard follows your instructions dutifully, and even then you still winced at the feeling of his large fingers stretching you out, the slightest of burns already kicking in.

"like this?" he looks up at you, all puppy dog eyes, so eager to learn. his face was too innocent for what he was doing.

"mhmm." you smile down at him, his face rested against one of your thighs as his gaze returns to your cunt, glued to the way it stretches around his digits. he feels you pulse against him and he shudders, trying to hold back for your sake. he was here to learn what you liked, after all.

"and then you kind of... curl them a bit? and move them too." his ministrations are soft to begin with, and even there's still an unmistakeable squelch each time he pumps his fingers into you, the lewdness of it all making him turn pink.

"does that feel good?"

"y-yeah, so good, baby."

he's so close to your pussy, you can feel each time he breathes, his little pants hitting your clit, making you even wetter. the anticipation of it all had you practically squirming where you lay propped up on your elbows, watching him.

his eyes are still transfixed on you, mouth hanging open at the way your hips rolled ever so slightly, meeting each of his shallow thrusts.

"you see that bit above? if you lick it, it'll feel really good f'me." gepard nods, all too eagerly leaning forward, licking a thick stripe from your hole to the clit with his tongue, before starting to flick his tongue against it gingerly.

"yeah, fuck, you're good at this." he hums against you, starting to move his tongue with a little more fervour, his hand still pumping into you. he always had been a fast learner.

he settles into a rhythm, one that has you steadily building the pressure in your core, soft moans escaping your lips.

"just like that, fuuuck," you pant out, letting your head roll back and your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling. it's then when gepard decides to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking ever so deliciously to make your toes curl.

you let out a particularly loud moan at the sensation, one that your ever so perceptive boyfriend latches onto, increasing the pressure in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"geppie m'gonna cum- don't stop-" he obeys your every word, slurping at your cunt with a hunger that sends you over the edge. you convulse, hips raising off of the mattress to buck against his face, his fingers curling around your quaking thighs.

"use my face, darling," he murmurs into you, so eager to please. the way the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit helps you ride out your high, grinding against his mouth a few more times before you finally flop back down against, the bed, limbs turning to jelly.

"no fucking way that was your first time eating someone out." gepard merely grins, wiping some of your juices off of his face before crawling up the bed to meet you.

"'m sure it was, now give me a kiss."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 LUOCHA.

your life will be CHANGED after this man eats u out for the first time i just know it

like.. he's got skills. he's a certified munch i know this in my SOULLLLL

"just relax, honey, let me take care of you." his velveteen voice is what has you finally lying back, letting the tension in your body leave you as his nimble fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, sliding them off of your legs ever so tantalisingly.

he groans at the string of slick that stays connected to them- no surprises there as you had been sat on his lap kissing him for the past half an hour- and you covered your face in embarrassment.

"don't go shy on me now, hm?" you peek between your fingers, catching the glint of his emerald eyes, the way his smile widens when he makes eye contact with you from his place between your legs.

"hi, pretty."

"hi."

"we can go as slow as you want, okay? tell me what you're comfortable with." luocha's thumbs rub gentle circles into your thighs, coaxing you to open them and let him settle more comfortably.

"do you want me to touch you?" you nod, watching as luocha's smirks almost imperceptibly.

"use your words, darling." you whine, kicking at him lightly.

"quit teasing me."

"do you want my fingers or my tongue?"

"luocha!" he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"i'm sorry, love, you're just so cute when you're flustered." he presses another kiss to your thigh now, lips inching upwards ever so slowly, holding himself back as he waits for your go-ahead.

"could you... eat me out?" your face feels so warm just from asking the question, but the nerves are quelled as luocha smiles brightly, shifting his weight on his hips to lower himself down closer to you.

"gladly."

there's a few seconds of anticipation, of his breath hitting your core before another entirely new sensation- something wet and muscled sliding against you as luocha licks a flat stripe through your slit. his tongue sharpens, flicking against your clit as he pulls away after his experimental first taste.

you're already feeling something inside you coil in anticipation, and it tightens even more at the blissed out expression on luocha's face.

"you taste divine, my love."

and then he's delving in for more. your usually so composed boyfriend lying flat on his stomach, buried facefirst in your pussy and eating it like a man starved.

the slurping and squelching noises are obscene, echoing off of the walls and filling up the room along with your wails and moans. your head was in the clouds right now, too fucked out to even scream his name. and he hadn't even put his tongue in yet.

as if reading your mind, luocha finally shifts his attention to your hole, his tongue circling it, teasing it open, before he plunges in along with his fingers, the size of them and his fingertips grazing against your g spot bringing you to the verge of tears.

everything just felt so good, and he was going to make you cum hard and fast.

the regular pressure of an impeding orgasm kept building up, more than it regularly would, until it became an entirely new sensation altogether.

"w-wait, baby, i'm gonna pee or something-"

luocha pauses, pupils blown wide with lust as he meets your gaze.

"you're not, honey, just trust me, alright?"

and because it's him, because you'd do just about anything for him right now if it meant continuing to feel this good, you lie back down, feeling him bring you back to that point again.

his fingers are drilling into you at an almost inhuman pace, the sound enough to make you cum, let alone the sensation. his soft lips suction around your clit, warm tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you squeal and throw your head back.

"'m gonna-" luocha nods encouragingly, his nose bumping against your clit in a way that has your vision go white as you writhe in ecstasy. there's an odd feeling, of something shooting out of you, and you look down to see a spray of clear liquid. luocha's fingers rub against your pusy frantically, making you writhe again, prolonging your orgasm as he milks you for every last drop.

you finally come back down to earth, vaguely feeling a warm wet cloth wipe away at you, at the mess you had made.

and luocha's gazing at you with nothing but adoration, a pussydrunk smile on his lips.

"aren't you glad you trusted me, love?"

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist