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aloesarchives · 2 months

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Domestic Headcanons W/ Toji, Megumi, Tsumiki, and Mama!Reader

TW/Warnings: Profanity, Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Pregnancy, Mention of Sperm but not sexual, unhinged crack, too long(LMK if anything else needs to be tagged)

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her (Usage of Mama, Wife, Mom, Mother)

Word Count: 10k words

This headcanon is paired with this one right here. This can be stand alone for general/modern au. But this one mostly revolves around my Toji Lives AU.

Also, I'll be posting either my Toji/Megumi/Reader mini series or Suguru/Satoru/Reader series this week. Here's the form if you wanted to be tagged in my works. Please let me know if something's up with it.

[!!Edited and Proofread! 3/27/2024 11:48 pm CST!!]

The married life with Toji isn’t any different from prior to marriage. You two live in a fairly spacious apartment for Tokyo Standards and well furnished on top of that.

The basic routine of you and Toji as followed: Toji wakes up and gets ready in 10 minutes, gets the coffee going or anything you drink/eat for breakfast, you wake and get ready for work, you and Toji eat breakfast together for a bit, Toji gives you your work bag and lunch, gives you a kiss and sends you out the door on time, cleans the dishes and table once you leave, looks to see if there’s anything you’re low on or out of and makes a list for it, Toji does some house chores before leaving to go run errands, goes to run said errands and buy some groceries, comes home starts meal prepping, you come home as soon as he’s finished cooking, both of you eat together, then chilling on the couch together after cleaning up, Toji forces you to go to bed, does your nightly care routine with you while brushing your teeth, then pulls you into bed where both of you are knocked out instantly.

House Husband Toji and Working Wife (Y/N) dynamic, I don’t make the damn rules. Well it makes sense as you have a sustainable and consistent job that pays comfortably for minimal work. Honestly, Toji doesn’t mind it at all but you both established your roles in the relationship but help out whenever possible. In fact, he loves being a stay-at-home husband. He gets to do his hobbies and chores without distraction, having a piece of mind, cooking food with you, etc. Highkey loves being domesticated.

While yes, he does get an occasional high paying job/bounty from Shui, they happen a couple times a month. But even then it’s few and far in between. You don’t mind working, your job pays you enough to not take any overtime and you never work the weekends. Plus you get a raise and bonus once in a while so you’re not scrambling to find a second job. Also, it’s worth it since Toji takes care of your shared apartment and you.

Both of you are financially stable to the point of comfort. Like only paying utilities because you and Toji own the apartment. Not having to worry about buying food or paying on time. Not taking up extra hours or shifts to just live. It’s a comfortable and stress-free environment you and Toji have created for yourselves.

Doesn’t understand the fuss about men not being stay at home material and it’s a woman’s job. He just thinks those guys can’t take care of themselves and will force someone to baby them under the guise of tRadItIonAlIsm or some bullshit. He understands if both have their jobs and work to split the house chores. It’s not a luxury everyone has and he knows he’s in the small percentage of people who get to stay home while their spouse works. If it works in the relationship, it works, Toji says. It might not work for some people but you working and Toji staying home works for your relationship. If not, it has made it healthy because there aren’t severe or frustrating arguments about house chores, errand runs, cooking, maintenance, home management.

You do anything in order to help out Toji because that’s your home too. Therefore, your living space you share and it’s your responsibility to at least take care of it. After work, you text Toji if there is anything you need to pick up or do for him while you’re out. 75% of the time he says there’s nothing you have to do, but the 25% is Toji asking you to pick up the dry cleaners, some food items he forgot to get while out, check if there’s a sale going on, or buying detergent and stain remover. Also text with a:

‘Doll, can you actually grab a few things from the supermarket? I’ll send the list to you.’

‘Hon, would you be able to pick up my jacket from the dry cleaners? Thank you’

When you say yes or of course, he’s hitting you with the:

‘Thank you, Sweet Girl. I appreciate all you do.’

‘Stay safe, (Y/N). Call me if anything happens. Love you, Baby’

Talks about buying a house and having a family happen a lot more frequently since the two of you got married. You always wanted to have a family of your own but wanted to wait for a good man to be a good father because you can choose a husband but your children can’t choose their father. But you knew Toji would step up when it happened. Toji didn’t think too far into his future but he knows he wants to have a family with you and grow old together. You changed his mind that he was okay with having a family and doing all that it takes to be a loving father and husband. As if he doesn’t do that already.

That and you two talked about how your genetics would make the most beautiful and good looking babies. Toji would say he wants your kids to have your smile and personality while you told him you want them to have his eyes and nose. This is one of those late night talks you have with him that you absolutely love.

You have an ungodly amount of money saved up to pay the house off in full or less than two years. You decided on one where it was a mix of modern and traditional. It was within walking distance of multiple subway and train stations while not being near the busy parts of the city. It’s in a more quiet suburb with good schools and nature. It’s a big home with the exterior of a traditional home but the interior is a little more modern. The main building is two stories and is the actual house, the building connecting to it is for guests, training/workout room/and a meeting room. The walls that surround the property are tall and sturdy. It looks like a mansion but feels more homey as you two start to make it your own.

So when you tell Toji you’re ready to have a baby, the man goes all in. Trying to watch your cycle and listens to the doctor in increasing his chances of getting you pregnant. Man looks up recipes that increase your fertility rate and balance out your hormones. Thinks about checking his sperm count but you declined saying Toji hasn’t done anything to decrease his numbers.

He definitely got good aim because it didn’t take long to get pregnant. After like 2-3 months of trying, it happened. You missed your period by a week and you decided to get a pregnancy test. You got the double lines and were excited to show Toji. He went to drop off your jacket to get it fixed and came home to find you sitting at the table with a napkin. You tell him to sit and he complies with a bit of concern. You gesture to the napkin and he picks up to see the positive text in front of him. He asks are you for real and you just nod. He pulls you into his laps and holds you while saying thank you and I’m going to be a dad.

Becomes protective of you instantly. Having morning sickness? He gets you a towel and some medicine. Sensitive to certain foods or smells? He will change them to your liking. Need him to do something for you? He’s already a flight of stairs ahead of you. He doesn’t want to stress you and the baby out so he’s doing everything.

As trimesters progress, the more protective and conscious he comes. Once you start showing, say goodbye to carrying items, doing some household chores, running errands, or fucking walking because this man will NOT let you do them. Is at your beck and call for anything and will become scary if people give you a hard time or look at you funny. Toji told you if your boss gives you a hard time, call him and he’ll talk to your boss with no fear or hesitation whatsoever. Once almost killed a man because he accidentally bumped into you. Toji had this look of death in his eyes as he grabbed the guy by the collar and forced him to apologize to you. Make sure the guy actually apologizes too. Walking? Who is she? You are only walking a couple of feet before he says ‘nah’ and picks you up to carry you. You tell him you can walk but it falls on deaf ears. Then you get concerned about being heavy for Toji. The man has never been more offended in his life. He looks at you, dead in the eyes, and says: “What kind of husband am I for not being able to comfortably carry my beautiful and pretty pregnant wife? If I can’t carry you, I need you to kill me, (Y/N).” You just get used to him carrying you around.

Always find a seat for you on a bus or the train. Will scare a guy who isn’t tired from work to give you the seat. Always hold your hand during the rides.

Talk to your bump every night. Hands on your stomach, face unbearably close to it, kneels on the floor or lies in bed to talk to it as you run your fingers through his hair. He’ll say some things that make you laugh but he mostly say sweet and warm things to your baby as he just wants to love and protect them. Definitely says:

“You know your mama is the prettiest and most beautiful woman out there? You’re so lucky to have her because you will be unconditionally loved and cared for. How do I know this? Because your mama loves me too, Kiddo.”

“Hey, be nice to mama. She’s not having the best time so I need you to go easy on her. Please, little one.”

“Hi, this is your old man speaking to you. I don’t care whether you’re a boy or girl. I will always love you no matter what. I wanna meet you soon.”

Does the thing where he lifts up your bumps to alleviate some of the weight for a bit and smiles when you relax into him.

When he touches your bump and feels a kick, he is so happy that his head is glued to your bump so he can feel it.

Buys your cravings whenever and whatever it is. It could be late at night and you’re asking him to get you your egregious food combo. He doesn’t understand your cravings but will not complain to you until it’s a straight up abomination. THEN, he just cooks you anything you want because he’s lowkey scared about your cravings affecting your health.

Daily/Hourly reminders of how beautiful and gorgeous you are. Body worshiping and praising, especially since you are carrying his child. The amount of reassurance and sincerity that comes from his words makes you cry a lot, and it’s not because of your hormones. He’s so sweet and loving with his words towards you, it makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Goes to every appointment with you and never fucking misses one. Actually, he is the one to remind you about them. Has this soft look in his eyes as he looks at the ultrasound seeing your baby. Asks for at least two copies so he can frame one of them and hang it somewhere in the house.

Doesn’t care if it’s a boy or girl, as long it’s half of you that’s all that matters.

You always tell him your love and appreciation for all that he has done for you and the baby since he has a tendency to push himself a lot more than he has to. A kiss and a hug will do the trick because he goes all soft for you every time. It’s amusing to you how your huge, seemingly intimidating, husband can become a warm melted putty at the snap of your fingers. But then again, you have him wrapped around your finger completely.

Grows more cautious and protected once you go on maternity leave in your final months of the final trimester. Constantly asking how you are feeling that day or hour, grabs everything within arms reach if there is anything you need or could get you, if you need help with everything in general. It’s not the point of overbearing or suffocating, it gets a bit annoying but you know Toji means well. You assume he’s concerned and worried for you and the baby because he is afraid you will have complications during the birth. It’s terrifying to him to know there’s a slight chance you could die while giving birth to your baby and he couldn’t do anything to help you.

So when you DO go into labor, man’s is a bit scared but also prepared with your bag ready in hand. Drives you to the hospital, checks you in, and makes you feel comfortable while giving birth.

Is holding your hand during the whole thing while wiping away the sweat off your forehead and face.

Says encouraging and calming words to keep you focused and at ease. Guides you through deep breaths and keeps you grounded:

“Take a deep breath for me, Honey.”

“You’re doing so good, Mama. So amazing.”

“I’m here with you, Sweet Girl. Keep squeezing my hand. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt. Hold onto me, (Y/N).”

Sheds a few tears when your daughter comes out and starts crying. Kisses your cheek and forehead while praising you for doing a phenomenal job.

Cuts the cord while you’re coming down from your intense birthing process.

Lets you sleep and relax while he cuddles and holds your daughter with his shirt off for skinship.

Once you wake up, he buys you any food you want since you’re not pregnant anymore. Spoon feeds you while saying you did a wonderful job and asking how you feel.

Once you hold your daughter, he’s over the moon. You look so perfect and ethereal the man thanks the gods for blessing him with you as his wife and your daughter, the proof of your love.

Lets you name her since she is a girl and the first-born. You name her Tsumiki because it’s a cute name for a pretty girl. She gets most of her traits from you besides her hair texture. Toji comments that a pretty girl deserves a pretty name because she was birthed by an elegant and demure woman. You chuckle at him and his sappiness but it brings you a certain type of happiness that Toji was expressing this side of himself more comfortably.

Once discharged, gets the car to bring you and your daughter to your new home where she’ll and her sibling(s) grow up.

Lets you have your bonding time with Tsumiki while you’re on your six months maternity leave. He lives to see you hold and carry your daughter around the house.

Takes care of everything in the house and helps you out during your postpartum. Reminds you of your beauty, that he still loves you and your body, how grateful he is for everything you’ve done for giving him this life.

Gets the hang of parenting faster than you did. Toji already knows how to burp, change, feed, and bathe your daughter.

Lets you sleep and rest more when Tsumiki cries at night by getting up to calm her down himself. Ends up sleeping in the rocking chair with her on his chest.

Tries to play and entertain her as much as he can. Toji is more of a stuffed animal guy than dolls because they’re more inclusive and genderless. But he will buy dolls for Tsumiki when she asks for them once she's old enough.

Tears up when she takes her first steps as she tries to walk towards both of you.

Her first words were Papa for sure but then Mama two weeks later.

Tsumiki is a fairly calm and happy baby. Moves around but isn’t super hyper and energetic. Very smiley and giggly baby that brights up the room she’s in. Always puts you and Toji in a good mood.

Toji is the type of guy to wait for you to give him the green light for another child. Even though the doctor says you’ve made a good recovery, he ain’t pouncing on you until you tell him so. Your doctor asked if she needed to write a note that you weren’t ready for another baby for some time but you told her you’ll be fine because Toji isn’t THAT TYPE OF GUY. On top of respecting you and your body, Toji highkey wants to have age gaps with your children. Like at least a year and a half or so they can be close in age and grow up together, but also give time for you and him to adjust to being first-time parents.

It was after Tsumiki’s first birthday that you said you wouldn’t mind having another kid. Then Toji and you tried for another kid. Happened fast per usual with minimal effort once again. Toji’s goo is pretty strong lol.

He was there with you when you took the pregnancy test and it had the fable two lines. Hugs you close and is excited to give Tsumiki another sibling.

Unfortunately, your second pregnancy wasn’t as forgiving as your first. In fact, your second child was pretty brutal on you. You were more sensitive to everything and your symptoms multiplied by three. It was a struggle but you managed to pull through but barely.

Hurts Toji a lot because you’re in a lot of discomfort compared to being pregnant with Tsumiki. Steps up tenfold to help out and make things better for you.

Tsumiki just plays on the floor in her pen as you watch her while dealing with her younger sibling and Toji's making food in the background.

When you both found out it was a boy after a couple of months, you told Toji he can name the baby this time since you did with your first-born. It threw you off a bit when he said Megumi, a name that means blessing. You talked about names before but this was a new one both of you haven’t brought up yet. Perhaps it was a name Toji wanted but forgot to mention

Man, Megumi was a hard pregnancy. He was an energetic one in your womb. Always makes you lose sleep, loss of appetite, or straight up moody. Toji always talked to Megumi, lowkey begging him to be more gentle on you and not be so rough.

Once Megumi was born, you knew that’s Toji kid because he barely took anything from you. The nose, the eyes, the hair, even his small pout, it was all Toji. Toji was crying once again that your son is born but he takes after his old man. Tsumiki was just happy to see the little baby that is her younger brother.

After Megumi, you and Toji decide that this is ENOUGH children for now. Especially since you have two children under the age of three.

Megumi, however, was an interesting baby. Tsumiki likes being held by both you and Toji, she never picked favorites. Megumi, on the other hand, was attached to you like glue. Technically, all babies are but Megumi never liked being away from you. Megumi was very clingy when it came to you, his mama. You have to hold him or be in his line of sight if you’re not.

Megumi is a certified mama’s boy. He’s all sweet to you, with his gummy smile and bright big eyes as he laughs when you hold.

His first and only words were Mama for a while until he said Papa.

Megumi becomes fussy and cranky if you’re not in the room. He wants you there when he wakes up, to feed him, change him, bathe him, everything. If Toji has to do it, it will take double the time because Megumi is all uncooperative and resistant to his father’s attempts to care for him. It helps if you’re in the room or nearby then Megumi will behave but if that's because he knows you’re there.

Baby Megumi glares at Toji over your shoulder when you’re making his and Tsumiki’s food. Toji glares at his son's back. As he gets older and can walk, Megumi always runs towards you. Place himself on the couch, floor, chair, any surface he can sit on so he is seated next to you. One time, Toji’s head was in your lap as you watched the news in front of you. Megumi was mad because he was supposed to sit next to you. But Toji was faster than him and sat himself where he’s currently positioned. Tsumiki was in front of the couch playing with her stuffed animals on the floor. Megumi decided to grab his doggy plushie and started hitting Toji’s face with it. Toji yelped while you grabbed Megumi and placed him in your lap. Megumi holds onto you while you and your husband exchange shocked looks.

Megumi purposefully and accidentally cock blocks Toji. It’s explained more in this headcanon here.

It’s exhausting to take care of Megumi because he always wants you and never Toji. It kind of sucks because you want Megumi to bond with Toji more as you also don’t want to neglect Tsumiki as well.

Both of you take turns caring for your two kids. It’s so cute to see Megumi bonding with Toji as Megumi smiles a bit more when he’s with his dad. Tsumiki just likes hugging you and so you hold her ever so dearly.

Tsumiki and Megumi never really fight, which you find odd since it’s common for siblings to fight with each other. That’s when you keep observing and notice Tsumiki will let Megumi have his way even though she didn’t have to. Though you appreciate her being an older sibling, you have to remind her she can say no to Megumi if she doesn’t want to. Also reminding her to tell you or Toji if anything happens and not feel scared or ashamed for asking for help.

But Tsumiki is such a sweet child, she says she doesn’t mind at all when it comes to Megumi. But you brought it up to Toji because you don’t want Megumi to become very spoiled nor do you want Tsumiki to feel it’s okay to disregard her needs. Toji understands your concerns and tries to reassure you that he won’t let that happen as they get older.

While you were away from work, Megumi snatched Tsumiki’s pillow pet dolphin from her hands and Toji saw all of it. Toji put Megumi in time-out while he comforted Tsumiki. She wasn’t crying but he could tell she would have if he didn’t step in. Toji refrains from yelling and acting out because you told him that’ll strain his relationship with the kids. It’s easier and effective but it has long-term effects that negatively affect the parent-child relationship and the child themselves, something you knew all too well. So Toji is patient with Megumi, telling him it’s not nice to take things that aren’t his, especially when it’s his older sister’s stuff. That he should understand that Tsumiki doesn’t like it when he does and only lets him have them so he wouldn’t get upset. Toji makes Megumi apologize to Tsumiki but Tsumiki already forgave Megumi.

Toji being patient with his kids is hard and always tests him as a parent. Then he remembers how you told him having a family with him isn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world. But children deserve parents who will love and care for them unconditionally, who will be patient and understanding no matter what, to not make them wish they were someone else in order to please their parents. You didn’t want your children to experience what you did growing up and you believe Toji is someone who will help you make that dream come true. So he continues with his gentle/patient parenting method because he knows it will pay off in the end.

Since you’re going to work most of the day, he’s always the one to take care of them. Toji always takes them to the park or outside so they can run around and be kids. Forces them to go with him to run errands so they can get used to it. Megumi hates this while Tsumiki loves it. After some time, they get used to it and ask Toji to take them on the errand runs. Like going to the local butcher for meat then to the supermarket for everything else. Toji makes this a learning experience for the two by teaching them how to pick and order what they want. He teaches them what each ingredient is and explains why he buys it. Because of this, Megumi and Tsumiki know how to do errands by themselves and get things on the way home from school if Toji texts them to get something.

Megumi doesn’t admit it but he always follows Tsumiki’s lead. Especially when they start going to the same school together. When Tsumiki gets a fever/cold and can’t go to school, Megumi is a little nervous because he’s going by himself. So Toji had to comfort Megumi that he will be okay and Tsumiki will be proud of him for being able to go by himself.

Tsumiki is a quiet extrovert but Megumi is a raging introvert. Megumi, due to his aloof nature, doesn’t have many friends. You became worried because maybe there was something you weren’t noticing with Megumi. So you went to get Megumi checked out and the doctor ruled it out due to his personality and high intelligence. The doctor says it’s common for some children to prefer their own personal space rather than making friends. Though it does encourage you to have Megumi expose himself to kids around his age so he’s not socially distant.

This is where you and Toji butted heads for a bit. You don’t want to force Megumi into something that he doesn’t want. But Toji wants Megumi to interact with other kids that’s not Tsumiki so he can make friends. Megumi just doesn’t like people who are not his family. That’s the conclusion you both draw in the end.

Jungle gym Toji. Ever since they could crawl, Megumi and Tsumiki have been climbing on Toji like a rock wall. They hang off his arms, hold onto neck, climb onto his back, they’re all over him. Well, Toji is built like a mountain so it feels like they’re climbing Mt. Fuji. Toji isn’t bothered by this at all. In fact, he likes it when his kids are playing with him.

When Toji works out, whether it’s outside in the courtyard or in the workout room, he has the kids nearby playing somewhere. Would definitely ask Megumi and Tsumiki to sit on his back while he does push ups.

Hides his old weapons in the shed outside the house, he makes the excuse it’s for gardening tools and snow shovels so the kids aren’t curious.

Doesn’t do baby/kiddie talk to his kids. Obviously he’s gentle when he speaks to his kids but he also isn’t going to dumb things down for them. He’ll speak to them like a regular person but has a soft tenderness for children. It’s actually pretty sweet to see it.

The type of man to say to his children, “Isn’t Mama pretty? She is pretty, right?” Saying positive things about you to Megumi and Tsumiki. Then the two will say those lovely words back. You do this with Toji too. Telling the kids “Papa’s strong, right? He’s so cool.” “Papa made us this lovely dinner. Isn’t Papa amazing, you two?” Shit it so cute, I swear.

Speaking of food, Toji makes their lunches. From preschool to high school, he makes Megumi and Tsumiki’s lunches. It’s a challenge as they get older because both have different food preferences but he takes up on it. Just like with your lunch, everyone is in awe and jealous of their food. It’s always something good every time and it always smells good. Yuuji and Nobara ask Megumi if his dad could make them one and the next day Megumi brings two extra bentos for the both of them. Courtesy from Toji himself.

The type of man to make the kids their character bentos and eat the scraps/leftovers. Like the picture where the kid has a cute breakfast while the parent eats the cut out bread and fruit left over.

Family nap time! This is quite common in the Fushiguro household. You come home from work, sometimes earlier than scheduled, to see them laid out on the floor with a blanket underneath them. Sometimes, if the weather is enjoyable, they would nap outside. Toji is holding both kids in his burly arms while Tsumiki and Megumi hold each other’s hands. It’s so adorable that you have multiple pictures saved in an album in the house. You would join them as well. A family napping pile.

Speaking of which, you have many albums from over the years as a family. Up until the present day, you have so many pictures of your children and your husband having their little family moments. Some wholesome, some embarrassing, others are cool photos or stolen shots. I don’t know if this fits Toji but I’m projecting here: he’ll have photos of your family throughout the years on the walls and tables of your home. But mainly, the ones he loves the most are the portraits of the family. They’re five of them. The first one is of you and Toji, the second one is you two with baby Tsumiki, the third is you holding baby Megumi as Tsumiki is standing with Toji, the fourth is the four of you with the kids who are six and seven, then the fifth one is taken from present day where the kids are teenagers while you and Toji haven’t aged at all. All of them have you wearing formal wear/Kimonos. He gets these personally commissioned and they’re 17 inches(43.18 cm) by 14 inches(35.56 cm), which is fairly large.

Since you work 6 hours of the day, Toji always takes the kids to and from school. It’s not a problem for him nor the kids as they know you are working and making mula for them. The problem is, a lot of parents believe he’s a single dad. More so, the moms of the other students. Toji wears his wedding band on his LEFT FINGER that’s SHINING when the sun hits it and people still couldn’t take a hint. As he picks up the kiddos, a lot of moms go up to talk to him to pass time. He knows most of them are trying to flirt with him, very few only genuinely talk to him. Toji doesn’t play games when it comes to his status and is very blunt if the woman can’t get the message.

“I have a wife.”

“I’m married.”

“The love of my life and the mother of my children is working right now.”

Bro, some of these moms are jumping hurdles just to get a chance with Toji. Toji would keep on flashing his wedding band and they are fucking delusional to think they still got a shot. Someone thought he was a widower even though you were ALIVE AND WELL. Toji felt his eyes twitch as he scowled at the accusation. Toji legit wanted to push her but can’t because he’s a big guy and all. ‘Fuck, I can’t put my hands on a woman. I’ll have (Y/N) do it instead.’ Toji tells you about this and he is more mad than you are about it, which you don’t blame him for. On Friday afternoon, school’s out and the parents are picking up the kids. Tsumiki waits for Megumi outside his classroom door as they always walk out together to get picked up by Toji. As they walked out, they were surprised to see you with Toji in your work clothes. They went into a full on sprint in your direction and you crouched down to hug them both. After giving each other a good squeeze, they hugged Toji. The look on the woman’s face when she saw you was priceless. Tsumiki was hugging Toji while Megumi was reaching for you and you took him in your arms. You turn around and feign a friendly smile her way with such an elegant but dominant introduction.

“Oh hi! I’m (Y/N). You never saw me here since I work as a (occupation). Toji takes care of the kids when I’m away working. But I come every now and then when I get off early. Thanks for keeping my husband company! Though, you shouldn’t press on a married man when he refuses your advances. I mean, it’s not like his wife and the mother of his children has resources when most of the population doesn't. So, try to refrain yourself from stepping into the deep end, Dear. It was nice knowing you!”

Toji thought that was hot af. Tsumiki was hugging Toji’s neck because she was tired while Megumi glared at the woman. After that, no woman ever approached Toji after that.

FAMILY OUTINGS!!! Ugh, you always have one every weekend with your family. The favorites are the zoo and the park. Megumi on Toji’s shoulders while Tsumiki holds both you and Toji’s hands, she swings in-between the two of you. You go to all the exhibits your children want to go to. Tsumiki likes the marine enclosures while Megumi prefers more of the forest and savanna ones. You never could forget the way your son slightly bounces on his dad’s shoulders when he sees an elephant. He lets out a gasp of awe while calling out to you, “Mama mama, look! Look at the elephant!” “I can see it, Baby. You like elephants, Gumi?” “Yeah!” “What about you, Tsumiki-dear?” “I think they’re cool, Mama.” Toji tries to feed the animals but the animals are so scared of him like he is the most dangerous one which is true. This also goes for festivals as well, wandering the stalls and food stands. Toji winning every game you stop by and getting prizes his kids want, if his kids want it he’ll get it. The whole day is fun but exhausting once you come home. Toji carries the kids home along with the family bag. The kids are knocked out and easy to tuck in as you and Toji decompress.

As the kids get older and mature, it’s easier to go places like Kyoto. Megumi and Tsumiki are more of exploring and sight-seeing individuals, which makes it easy on you and Toji so you don’t have to spend a lot of money to do those extravagant things. They just want to experience the surroundings and life without sticking out too much. They like the trips when you all stay at a Ryokan Onsen, it’s relaxing. Especially for Megumi since he’s away from Gojo, Itadori, and Kugisaki. He loves his teacher and classmates but they can be a handful to deal with. Once they get older, they have school and you and Megumi have missions so these family outings happen less. But if everyone’s home, you four go out and do whatever depending on the weather. Spring and early summer are good times of the year because the cherry blossoms are in bloom and the weather is pleasant. You usually go out and have a picnic when the trees are blossoming. It’s simple but sweet to get together so your kids will have some memories they can look back on fondly.

There is this scenario that I can’t stop thinking about but it’s Toji coded: After a day of family bonding, Toji is standing in the train while you and your kids are sitting. It was full but not crowded. During one of the stops, Tsumiki ends up giving her seat to a pregnant woman who’s around her late stages of the 2nd trimester. Toji pets her head as she stands next to him, holding onto his pants as you send a sweet approving smile her way. She sends one back as she grips onto Toji to steady herself. Megumi is in our lap, completely gone into the world of dream as he clutches closer to you. The stop before the one you all get off, Tsumiki helps the pregnant lady up and walk her towards the door. The lovely lady thanks her, gives her a piece of paper to her family bakery which your family become regulars later on, before waving at her and you two. Mouthing ‘You have a wonderful daughter.' You and Toji glance at each other and smile. As your stop approaches, Tsumiki asks Toji if she can carry Megumi. He asks why and she replies, “Because Mama’s tired and I can carry Megumi for her.” Toji glances down at you and see the droopiness as they flutter to keep themselves open. He crouches down, pets Tsumiki on the head, saying she is a kind and sweet kid but he will take care of it. He asks her to give him your bag while he exchanges it for his jacket. Tsumiki places his jacket around you and Toji tells her to get into your lap. She does and you wrap your free arm around her. The next thing she knows, he’s carrying you in both of his arms while you hold your children. Once the train doors open, the incoming passengers are met with a towering man holding his sleeping wife and kids in his arms. They part to make way for him and he WALKS the whole way home. His arms never tired or aching. Tsumiki smiles up at him and comments how cool and strong he is, “You’re always strong and cool, Papa.” He just chuckles in his whole deep, simp-worthy, DILF voice before crouching down to let her stand since she grabbed the house keys. She unlocks the door and holds it open for him. They take off their shoes as Toji places you and Megumi on the couch while Tsumiki gets her Sanrio blanket to place it over you and her brother. You wake up an hour later to Toji cooking dinner as Tsumiki uses her color pencils on her coloring book. You wake up Megumi and have dinner together as a family.

Has no problem carrying you and his children in his arms. Like he can carry a 8 year old Tsumiki and a 7 year old Megumi like it’s nothing. He can carry you, Tsumiki and Megumi around without getting tired. You do the trend where Toji is holding you, Megumi and Tsumiki as kids then you retake the same picture but when the two are in their late teens. The point of those pictures were meant to show Toji is still strong; if not, stronger after becoming a father. If the kids fall asleep on the couch while watching a movie, he’s carrying them to their beds. They did their homework late at night on the kitchen table and are too tired to go to their rooms, he will take them to their beds no problem. You fell asleep on the couch because you came home extremely late from work or a mission. Toji is getting you to bed with him using his oversized shirt as your PJs. When Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara are out cold from their sleepover, Toji covers them with a huge blanket and gives them each a pillow.

I discuss this a little bit in this but I’ll expand upon it here. Megumi and Tsumiki are way less traumatized. Megumi has sass and is aloof but that’s his personality. The reality is, Megumi isn’t as withdrawn or quick to make assumptions about people. He seems reserved but his walls aren’t thick or tall. He’s not going to summon Mahoraga in every death situation but just sometimes uses it as a last resort because he hasn't pushed himself to his limits. It’s more of the lack of knowledge behind his technique since you and Toji can only know so much. Plus you and Toji, specifically Toji, aren’t letting the Zen’in clan be near your children. Tsumiki also isn’t inclined to act more mature and take on adult responsibilities. She is allowed to be a kid and have a childhood, same goes with Megumi. Plus, the two are raised in a loving household. Is it a traditional one? Nope, not in the slightest. Their mom works while their dad stays at home. But it's a functional, healthy, content family. You and Toji have tried to set good examples for your children on love, relationships, and the process of communicating. There are some pitfalls every now and then. Yet Megumi and Tsumiki have seen honesty, patiences, and openness when you and Toji talk things out.

Plus they know the rule you and Toji have: never fight in front of the kids. Matters between you and your husbands are between you two only. You never wanted to drag your children into the argument themselves. Obviously, when they are younger, you have to explain to them that you and Toji weren’t on the same page and are mad at each other. As they get older, you explain what the argument/conversation was about transparently. Megumi and Tsumiki also notice how after you and Toji clear up things the both of you never made snide remarks about each other in the slightest. This helps the kids out a lot because they never felt like walking on eggshells. That’s why Tsumiki and Megumi never really worried about you and Toji splitting over bad blood. They know you and Toji aren’t going to stay stubborn for long and make up no matter the circumstances. But there was an argument that both of them never can forget. They didn’t witness it themselves but they knew it was the worst argument you both had, and this happened when Tsumiki and Megumi were TEENAGERS. It lasted for a WHOLE DAY, the longest you two have been in the waters of the aftermath. The two of them wanted to say something but they knew better when you and Toji told them to not involve your affairs. It was worrying them to the point Megumi asked Tsumiki if this would create a rift. However, being the older sister she is, says the both of you will work through it. And she was right when the two of them came home to see you and Toji on the engawa wrapped up in each other’s arms with a blanket over you both.

Tsumiki loves the flowers and plants in your garden beyond the courtyard. When you take her outside and show her the pretty flowers and plants, she has this sparkle in her eyes as you touch and hold the flowers up to her. As she gets older, she spends most of her time in the garden as you are sitting under the tree with your blanket keeping the dirt away from you. When you mentioned to Toji the garden would look better if there were more plant diversity, the man is handing you a list of your favorite plants and flowers you want. The next few days to weeks, the plants you wanted are already in your garden and blending in well with your home. He is also doing this legally, and doesn't want to be a bio-terrorist by accident.

Toji does this with Tsumiki too. She had this book about flowers from her school’s library and told him that those flowers were pretty and nice. She kept drawing them, saying they would look good in the garden. The next week, there was a bush of them in her favorite spot. Your garden becomes the Garden of Eden with the amount of plant life you and Tsumiki bring in. You do basic gardening but Tsumiki and Toji have the green thumbs in the family. They’re the ones doing maintenance on the garden. Mostly Toji since Tsumiki goes to school and isn’t always home.

Toji does all the planting, replotting, mulching, everything a garden needs. The type to cut the hedges into a perfect shape because it fills his ego and makes him productive. Like one time, Megumi brings over Yuuji and Nobara to hangout and they see Toji cutting the hedges into a cool dragon. Toji wipes the sweat off his forehead to see the fruits of his labor, smirking to himself saying, “I’m so fucking good at this. I’m literally the best.”

Megumi lets his Shikigami out into the garden because they like to hang out outside. The only ones allowed in the house are his divine dogs because Toji doesn't want to see a huge owl or elephant in the living room.

Come to think of it, you and Tsumiki are the main ones who decide what goes in and out of the house. The flowers and the garden were just an example. Furniture, appliances, the color of the blinds and curtains, the interior and exterior, hell everything at this point. If you and Tsumiki made a comment about the appearance of something and it started with the words if, what, wonder, he’s already pulling the catalog for ideas. It’s mostly curiosity but if both you and Tsumiki bring it up, he’s changing it to your liking. Megumi never understands this because he’s the “it is what it is” or “I’m fine with it.” Megumi would be visiting home from school and sees Toji rearranging some of the furniture or building something from scratch in the backyard and he doesn’t question it.

Speaking of which, besides the appliances/photos/silverware/complicated items, almost everything in the house is made by him or customized by him. Tsumiki and Megumi’s rooms? Toji made them into their liking. The main bedroom? All Toji’s work. Not one spot in this house hasn’t been adjusted or changed by Toji. That’s why you credited your house to being the perfect home, all because of Toji. You always remind him that his work is much appreciated around this house. He’ll just smirk but you can see the way his ears fade into a pink rose color. He loves it when you say stuff like that to him. IF the kids say it to him, his grin is stuck on his face for a whole 24 hours.

THE HANGOUT HOUSE! You know how there’s always that one friend where almost every hangout occurs at their home? That’s Megumi, it’s literally him. Technically since Yuuji permanently lives in the dorms and Kugisaki used to live in the countryside, Megumi is the only person in the trio to have an official home. They pass by it a lot when they go exploring or hanging out. Megumi never said anything but the two notice how he stares at it for some time. Then some shenanigans happen and they had to take cover in Megumi’s home. Mind you, Yuuji and Nobara were looking at Megumi like he committed a war crime when he b-lined to the house. And they know it’s a nice house. They were yelling at Megumi saying they were trespassing and they’ll be in some deep shit if they get caught. But Megumi yells at them to trust him as he opens one of the doors. Then Yuuji and Nobara start begging him to not get them killed because they finally see that the home is a literal MANSION. They think they’re cooked by whomever lives here. But from Megumi’s reaction, they’re wondering if Megumi knows the person that lives here. Then when they go inside the actual home, they slide off their shoes and walk to what’s the common area of the house(kitchen/living room). Then Yuuji notices one of the photos and sees kid Megumi and three other people. Nobara shoves herself to see it and they both turn around to Megumi grabbing a pitcher of some sort of drink out of the fridge. “YOU LIVE HERE, FUSHIGURO!?!?” “Oi, not so loud! My sister isn’t home yet but my parents are so quiet.” They don’t meet Toji here but later on because he was doing something with Shui. But you pop in and the students instantly recognize you. You force Megumi to show them around the house and they are in absolute awe. The moment they see his cool ass room, this house is their default hangout spot.

Sleepovers happen often, Megumi doesn’t want them to but you insist since he could just use one of the bigger guest bedrooms or his own room if he wanted. They stay up watching movies, shows, or watching youtube videos or documentaries just because. They do the laughing challenge to see if Megumi actually laughs. He does but fewer far in between.

Toji embarrasses the hell out of Megumi. You don’t purposefully but by accident. Yuuji and Nobara would see Toji going into the kitchen to get a glass of water, see the color drain from Megumi’s face, then ask Toji about anything relating to Megumi. Then Toji spills the TEA on Megumi, it’s so funny. If Megumi won’t spill then his dad definitely would. Megumi’s face becomes like a tomato when anything about him comes out of his dad’s mouth.

Your house is stocked up on everything. There’s nothing in this house you wouldn’t have. Nobara needed some period products and you literally gave her a basket full of them. If she needs something else, you run to the store to get it for her. Yuuji forgot his toothpaste? You gave him a new tube and another one for his dorm. You tell them to ask you or Toji for anything if they need it. Nobara and Yuuji ask you to adopt them.

After a certain point, they just come over and ask for you instead of Megumi. He gets so annoyed and mad at them for it.

But you always insist on sleepover because Megumi finally has friends that he can call his own. It makes you happy he surrounds himself with good people and Toji agrees.

They know Megumi is balling in money which he always denies. But Yuuji brings up that Megumi has a Gameboy, Gameboy color, a DS lite, 3DS XL, a Switch OLED in his room. They’re all blue with every Pokémon game to have ever been released. He’s not beating the rich allegations.

Megumi is so irritated with Toji, it’s absolutely hilarious. I said it before and I’ll say it again: once Megumi is high school age, he’s an angsty teenager. Dude just gets so annoyed at his dad for existing, he only imagines it’s just you, him, and Tsumiki only. Toji asks him to do something, will do it but will grumble under his breath about it. But if you or Tsumiki ask him to do something, he has no attitude. Megumi is more softer with his sister and you but his dad? Nah, if he inherits everything from his dad, he’ll use them to his disposal against his Pops. He and Toji butt heads a lot but it’s never serious. Tsumiki sometimes wants to stop it but you tell her it’s a father son bonding thing.

Megumi inherited Toji’s grumpiness. Actually Megumi inherited a lot of things from Toji but he doesn’t want to admit it. Physically, Megumi is a mini version of Toji. Personality-wise, fairly similar. It’s just his hair curls up a bit but you believe it’s a recessive gene from a distant relative that decided to come out in a rare time.

Never tell Megumi he looks and acts like his dad. It will temporarily ruin his mood for like an hour or so. He legit got so mad. Put a side by side picture of the two and show it to him and he’ll walk away. If he’s compared to his mom? The saintess who does no wrong? Hell yeah he’ll take up the compliment. But his old man? He has his own personal beef with that. It’s when you or Tsumiki tell him he’s like Toji because you’re his family and know his antics better than anyone. But if it was someone like Gojo-sensei? He’s throwing a roast back. “Man, Megumi-kun. You’re just like old man Toji, grumpy and full of attitude.” “And that’s the same old man who was able to beat you and lived. I don’t wanna hear anything from you, Gojo-sensei.” Gojo cried to you about why your son was so mean to him while Suguru was absolutely done with him.

Tsumiki took a picture of Megumi when his hair was still damp from a shower, he looked so much like Toji. She showed you the picture and you asked her to send it to you. She shows Toji and Toji smirks to himself, knowing he’ll dangle that over Megumi’s head for as long as he lives. Toji gets his and Megumi’s side by side comparison framed in the house lol.

Sometimes Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko babysit younger Megumi and Tsumiki when you and Toji are busy. Tsumiki loves them, tolerating Satoru at best. But Megumi is irked by Satoru’s presence and only hangs out with Shoko and Suguru. Hates Gojo’s constant teasing but from pure annoyance. He and Tsumiki grow up with them and that’s why both of them know the three long before anyone else did.

Megumi gets irritated during Middle and High School because his parents are HOT. He remembers when his classmates from middle school would ask who’s the woman waving at him/man that grins his directions. Megumi grimaces and says “That’s my mom/dad.” Then his peers would start gushing about how gorgeous and demure you are/handsome and attractive Toji is. He wants them to shut up about it. If it’s only one of you, some of his peers would say, “Can your mom/dad fight?” Megumi wanted to punch them so badly, but refrains himself because he doesn’t want to waste his punches on a rando. It doesn’t help when he goes to the same school as Tsumiki, it’s the same THING. He knows people gush about him but he could care less. It just irritates him to no end when others do it on his family members. So when both you and Toji show up to school to take Megumi and Tsumiki out, everyone is just looking at Megumi and his attractive family. They can see where he got his genes from. His gene pool was created by divinity itself. His mom’s attractive, his dad’s attractive, his sister’s attractive, then they look at Megumi and see that he’s attractive. It gets worse with Yuuji and Nobara. They make remarks about it every time, how show stopping your looks are, his dad had people of all sexualities swooning, and his sister made people have hearts in their eyes.

Nobara: “That’s not fair! Fushiguro gets his amazing looks and genes from the two most heavenly beautiful people in the world and he’s not using them! God has favorites for sure.”

Yuuji: “But Fushiguro-kun is using his good-looks though, Kugisaki! He’s just the more silent, mysterious, aloof type of guy that every secretly wants, you'know?”

Megumi: “Can you two just shut it right now!? Stop talking about my parents or appearance! Focus on the damn mission!”

Family dinners are silent but content. Everyone always eats together whenever possible since Toji’s done cooking dinner at 6:30pm. There’s some talking here and there but everyone is more focused on enjoying the meal Toji cooks for them. The kids clean up after themselves and usually fill the sink with hot water to place their dirty dishes inside. They prefer to eat their dad’s cooking any day. Yuuji and Nobara come over to have dinner every now and then. That’s when it’s more lively since they’re always gushing about Toji’s food.

Your children are so protective of you because of their father. Toji tells them there are some people out there that won’t respect you and tells Megumi and Tsumiki it’s their job to tell him if anyone bothered them or you. They mostly tell him about the amount of men who try to hit on you even though you said you’re already married to Toji, flashing your wedding ring, when you pick up Megumi and Tsumiki from school. Toji shows up with you, sizing up every male in the vicinity while puffing his chest. You roll your eyes but silently admit it was hot. It doesn’t change when they get older, they just hide it better. You could be in the grocery store in the produce section and some guy is hitting on you. You don’t have your wedding ring on because your fingers were sore and it hurt to wear jewelry on your hand. But you wore it on in a necklace. The guy wasn’t taking no for an answer until he saw two people behind you, staring down this man. It’s your son and husband. Then your daughter pops up and steals you away to look at a sale of some fruits she wanted. Leaving the poor man in the wrath of Megumi and Toji. They only put their hands on someone if they harass you or down right disrespect in any form. Mostly they’ll give a talk to the individual that’s not so courtesy of you. The best thing about this whole thing? The teens and Toji saw it all happen and made it into a whole operation. Tsumiki was in on it too, bruh. The men collectively agree to stare down any person that looked at you funny. Tsumiki isn’t so serious but she’s more subtle with her warnings and hints. You remembered when Toji was talking to Megumi about dealing with these situations. “Megumi, when you bring your dogs out, I need you to have them bite the guy in the balls if they try something with your mother or snatch their bag if they’re a woman.” “TOJI!” “I was thinking about the same thing, Dad.” “MEGUMI (L/N) FUSHIGURO! PLEASE! I can’t with you two!”

Those family talks. Like when Megumi opens up to you or Toji about something, it could be anything but it’s mostly personal things. You know it’s serious when it’s just him sitting at the kitchen table while you and Toji are doing something in the kitchen. Hitting you with the “Can I ask you two something?” Then you and Toji give Megumi your undivided attention to let him know you’re listening and paying attention. These happen with Tsumiki too but she’s already an open book and isn’t as reserved as Megumi. You both give your commentary and advice when asked, sometimes you let Megumi rant or let out his bottled up feelings. Surprisingly, unsurprisingly, Toji gives out insightful advice that Megumi takes into account every time his dad speaks. This is also how you become closer to your son and daughter, even your own husband.

They are allowed to swear in the house but Toji’s rule is “You can swear but it can’t be towards someone.” But the kids didn’t swear until they were in junior high.

The house doesn’t have much talking but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s the kind where everyone is enjoying each other’s presence with no need for talking. It’s functional in your household, so it works with your family.

Don’t remind Toji that Megumi and Tsumiki will eventually move out and have their own lives because Toji will get all soft and emotional about it.

Toji and you are living the dream life. A nice house and property. A loving family with two wonderful children to ever bless you and your husband. And a healthy life where your family is close. Toji never thought he could’ve had this life but he now he does. This is the greatest middle finger and ‘fuck you’ to the Zen'in clan.

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forteafy · 9 months

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Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Carlos Sainz is a best friend.

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband.

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life.

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore.

When you did wake, the bed was empty.

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes.

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side.

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you.

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him?

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself.

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea.

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic.

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept.

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs.

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact.

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him.

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.”

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now.

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to the moment he had said the Spaniards name.

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you?

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months.

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman.

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate.

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you.

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time.

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?”

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter.

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?”

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head.

You were his wife, after all.

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook.

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies.

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles.

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light.

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase.

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit.

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek.

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first.

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow.

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock.

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress.

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence.

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest.

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago.

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you.

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life.

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement.

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes.

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend.

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own.

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon.

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart.

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring.

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room.

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way.

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter.

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers.

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say.

11:32: Carlos Sainz:

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish.

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that.

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances.

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always.

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily.

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day.

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him.

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much.

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you.

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes.

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied.

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest.

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you.

“How I��ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites.

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser.

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks.

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable.

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word.

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit.

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you.

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone.

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum.

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all.

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology.

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head.

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort.

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel.

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day.

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil.

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist.

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs.

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows.

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat.

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead.

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth.

Carlos Sainz is a liar.

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind.

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.”

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction.

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier.

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases.

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months.

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from.

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home.

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other.

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago.

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon.

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence.

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible.

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance.

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival.

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call.

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark.

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you.

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh.

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom.

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now.

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind.

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

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generalsmemories · 9 months

Text

48 hours.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: did time always pass this slowly before?

✧ word count: 3.5k

✧ contents: established relationship, mentions of other characters, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the 1.2 main story! + a very sorry attempt of writing angst lmfao

✧ a/n: i better see my man waking up from the best sleep he's ever had next update, i ain't accepting anything else. but until then you guys will get whatever this is because Jing Yuan is literally the definition of sleeping beauty throughout 90% of this piece.

The smell of seawater is prominent the closer you get to the statue of the former high elder. The waves seemingly roaring their praises for the Vidyadhara male before you who once again parted them to reveal a palace buried beneath them.

You're still able to see the waves crash down onto the shore, the force of the impact so harsh that your shoes are drenched.

The troops behind you seem to be in awe, whispering amongst themselves as you make your way up the stairs. Fu Xuan seems to notice you almost immediately, to which you give a curt bow before looking over to Jing Yuan whose hardened expression seem to soften slightly upon seeing you, "General, the reinforcements you've requested are here," you relay, glancing behind you to gesture the other Cloud Knights to position themselves behind the two that was behind Fu Xuan.

"Splendid, Lady Fu?" Jing Yuan turns his attention back to Fu Xuan who straightens up a bit, your eyes sweep over the people behind him. The trailblazer and their companions either giving you a curt nod or an energetic wave upon seeing your attention on them. Only one male diverts his attention elsewhere when his eyes locked upon yours. You can however see him give you a curt nod when he glanced back at you, "Remain here - lead the Cloud Knights in defense of this passage. We must prevent further incidents."

Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can utter a sound Fu Xuan takes a step before you in alarm, "Jing Yuan- General, are you planning on facing Phantylia alone?"

Your mind blanks the moment you notice what he's planning to do, but as the plan has already come this far any complaints you would have would fall on deaf ears. You can merely bite back your words and look away from him - Jing Yuan does take notice of this, but he has no time to console you, merely sparing you an apologetic glance as if that would lessen the sudden reveal of his plans.

You only turn your attention back towards the stairways leading down once you start to hear bustling around you, already noticing Fu Xuan address some Cloud Knights - but she does glance at you and cock her head to the side towards the retreating group with a small smile.

Almost as if saying: "We never know what might happen, say what you want to say now instead of regretting it later."

He's walking considerably slower than the rest of the party, and you let out a scoff at how he even predicted this, "Jing Yuan." you call out, and your lover turns around with the same easygoing smile he always gave you whether it was during a meeting at the Divine Foresight, on the training grounds of the Cloud Knights as he sparred with Yanqing or at the comfort at your own private quarters.

But he doesn't move from his spot - "Yes?" he asks softly, foregoing the petnames he usually addreses with you, a silent hint as to what sort of situation the two of you find yourself in.

"... I expect you to return safely to your troops, general." you merely say, before mouthing silently: "And to me."

Jing Yuan doesn't give you a nod, he merely laughs with a smile before turning around and descending down the stairs.

The next time you saw him, he was being carried by Dan Heng, not even conscious to hear your call for him.

HOUR 3

It took an hour to haul him to to Miss Bailu's place, the smaller vidyadhara's eyes widening upon seeing his unconscious self being carred by another Vidyadhara of all things.

And as much as you wanted to stay by him, there were more immediate pressing matters to handle. You had practically begged the high elder to take care of him, sputtering whatever you were informed before Bailu were forced to sit you down to make you relax.

You were offered a cup of her herbal tea before you continued on your way, taking one last glance at Jing Yuans' resting form before you rushed out to take care of your home in his stead.

HOUR 12

The ink brush in your hand is barely moving at this point, the tip of the hair dipped with the ink having made an extended black dot on the paper scroll you were currently writing on. You glanced over to the side from your place at the desk, watching with rapt attention Jing Yuans' chest falling up and down - an indicator that he was alive and breathing.

You're pretty sure you've observed his condition more than you have gotten any work done in the past few hours. The intial plan was to go the Divine Foresight to take care of the duties that would be left behind with the abscence of the General personally because at that point you would be easily accesible to the public. But just after an hour or two, Qingzu had contacted Fu Xuan to inform her that you were in no right mind to currently focus.

Thus you were tasked to stay home or work from the room where Jing Yuan was resting by Bailu's clinic - Fu Xuan had merely parroted back what Bailu had said to her which was to let Jing Yuan wake up on his own terms, he didn't seem to be affected too strongly by Phantylia's attempt to turn him into a voidranger, and Bailu was currently in the process of finding out more.

"You wouldn't want him to wake up to the entirety of Xianzhou and yourself in disarray do you? If anything the moment he does he would sure wish he was back asleep," she had tried to joke, to which you only responded with a dry laugh.

You glanced towards the clock again, you don't know how many times you've done it, 7:28 AM. it had gone 9 hours since? Why did it feel like it had gone days?

You let out a sigh, settling yourself to sit beside Jing Yuan and brushing a hand through his hair, "How come you even made me forget the concept of time for us?" you mutter. 9 hours was usually nothing for you - nor for him. 9 hours was a lot for a short-lived species, but for you, it was just 9 hours.

It was just supposed to be a few hours.

So how did 9 hours suddenly feel a lot longer?

HOUR 24

There's a quiet knock at the door that jolts you awake, the sudden sound amidst the quiet room makes you jump from your seat at the desk, your knee colliding with the surface underneath the desk.

It doesn't hurt of course, but the person behind the door can hear your quiet curse, "Come in, Yanqing," you utter a few minutes after, and when he opens the door he's met with scene of ink spilled all over the desk and dripping down the floor.

"... Lady Bailu wouldn't be very happy about that mess, you know?"

You merely dropped a handful of paper towels down on the floor and set the ink bottle straight again, taking a seat by the bed and gesturing for Yanqing to settle on the floor in front of you. The boy doesn't utter a word as he passed you the bandages and first aid kit he had gotten from one of the attendants.

"You know you don't have to come all the way here to just get your wounds dressed up, right?" You remind the lieutenant, but at the back of your mind you're well aware the reason why Yanqing keeps coming back, "But thank you."

A couple of minutes pass like that, Yanqing kneeled on the floor as you set up everything, the distant tick-tock of the clock reverberating by the lieutenant ears.

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore, right?" you ask while undressing the bandages currently adorning his head, "It never hurt at all, who do you take me for, [Name]?!" he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side harshly - immediately regretting said decision with a pained whimper.

You chuckle, brushing out his hair before starting to wrap the bandages around his head again, "You and that idiot really like to throw yourselves head first into danger, hmm?" you muse quietly, Yanqing's posture immediately stiffening at the mention of the general still unconscious beside you.

"He's not mad, is he?" Yanqing asks quietly after you've tied a knot, leaning his head back to stare at you. The mere question makes you laugh even more, "He was already aware of what you were planning to do, he could never be severely disappointed in you," the response made the younger boy let out a sigh of relief.

"... Are you mad at him?" Yanqing asks in the end, the boy having already made himself comfortable against you, twisting his body to lean his arms on your left thigh. Propping his chin on his arms that rests against your thigh, he takes a long look at Jing Yuan before directing his gaze back to you. He patiently waits for your response, but you can only blink back at him in wonder before your gaze turns towards Jing Yuan.

... Were you angry?

HOUR 32

"You're not gonna rot in this room with him of all things, [Name]." is the first thing Fu Xuan says the moment she slams the door open. You are for once, not cooped inside the clinic room, but outside by the balcony staring down at the Xianzhou people go on about their day with a cup of herbal tea in your hand, merely giving her a glance with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm very much not rotting inside there, Lady Fu. Bailu wouldn't let me either. Please give me a bit more credit than that," you say with a sigh, placing the cup of tea down in front of her before taking a seat opposite of her, "I'm just concerned is all, is there any news from Lady Bailu?" you question, the divination commissioner shaking her head, "Other than her confirming that the general should really just be deeply asleep, she hasn't found anything yet. But he did take a lot of wounds and hits during that fight from what I was informed, it's amazing there's nothing more than that."

A moment of silence passes, the only sound is the clinking of ice cubes against your glass while you swirled the tea around.

"That's the thing."

"Pardon?"

" There should be something more happening to him than just being bedridden needing a nap! He was almost turned into a voidranger of all things, Fu Xuan!" you shout, the fragile composure that you had so desperately tried to hold up cracking in just a few hours. The divination commissioners' eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst.

If the past you could've seen the state you were in now, they would've laughed at you. Even now you find yourself pathethic. Because it is pathethic, you've been through worse situations that lasted for weeks, months and even decades.

But somehow, seeing your beloved in such a position and unable to do anything when you usually were able to just cracks down on every purpose and belief you've held yourself to.

"He didn't want help, he didn't ask for help when he had the chance! He went into that battle expecting to not come back alive at all, but with purpose to bring that ravager down with him! And of course he would, it's Jing Yuan! He will lay down his entire soul and being, his life to protect the Xianzhou through another crisis - just like every other problem that could've risen to a crisis in the past centuries!" you cry, Fu Xuan can see that even with the outburst you're still trying to keep yourself sane, your knuckles turning white from gripping the corners of the table before you.

"The only thing I shouldn't have to worry about is when he's going to wake up, Fu Xuan. That worry shouldn't have to be my only concern with his condition," you mutter in the end. A few minutes pass by in silence, not because Fu Xuan didn't know what to say - moreso because she was aware that you weren't looking for comfort.

So she lets the few minutes pass before you raise your head with a smile. It's a smile she is well aware is forced: "Why don't we take a stroll outside then? I think Bailu would jump in joy if she sees me out of the room too."

HOUR 45

Fu Xuan realized how efficient you truly were whenever you didn't have to appease a touch starved general. A glance at the desk when she first arrived to drag you out showed her results of your hard work under 24 hours which was the finished and marked scrolls that was supposed to be sent to her - in addition to more "trivial" paperwork left behind at the Divine Foresight.

No wonder Marshal Hua was reluctant to let you go when Jing Yuan had first proposed to you.

And Fu Xuan will be damned to let said general also be your downfall.

So for the next 13 hours after that, you were somehow visited by numerous people who were in need of some minor help - that be the trailblazer looking immensely out of place as they asked you for some obvious facts about the luofu to Yanqing dragging you out to the training grounds to finally have a chance to spar with you again.

That girl really can't show concern in the normal way, can she?

A futile attempt to relieve your mind of endless worry - but an attempt nonetheless which makes a soft smile graze your lips. You sent a quick message to Qingzu to send a few Cloud Knights to guard the perimeter of the house before heading out the door once again.

If you knew the Cloud Knights well enough, they would already be running over - and sure enough you were greeted by enthusiastic greetings by them after merely taking a few steps away from the porch.

Fu Xuan merely gave you a deadpanned look when you arrived at the Divination Commission, "What, weren't you the one who wanted to distract me from worrying so much?" you asked with a grin.

"Yes, but I meant it in a way to relax your body and mind, not overwork yourself to exhaustion."

"Just humor me this once, Lady Fu."

Fu Xuan huffed, turned around while nagging at you. She didn't comment on the way you were clenching your fist so tightly that blood seeped out from where your fingernails were digging into your palm.

Love truly was a dangerous feeling.

HOUR 48

Jing Yuan felt like his whole body was underwater. It was hard to move, and even harder trying to open his eyes. There's a dull ache spreading through every vein in his body - a feeling he had gotten used to thanks to numerous battles, but with so many centuries of peace he was not liking how taxing it truly was.

Blinking his eyes open, he was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, but inside an environment that he was somewhat familiar with whenever he felt like skipping work.

Trying to heave himself up proved harder than normal, the man letting out a groan as he supported both hands on the bed to drag himself up to a sitting position.

He was covered in fresh bandages, so either Bailu or another attendant must've been inside a few hours before to change them. One look around the room gave him a rough idea on what has been going on.

It's been roughly 2 days since the battle with Phantylia, the new addition to the desk by the corner piled with scrolls and textbooks indicate that you've been by his side ever since he came back.

And lastly, although his whole body is hurting and moving even a muscle sends shockwaves of pain through his body, he was still very much alive.

"Bailu I've already been chased around for 13 hours to prevent from being inside there, I just want a break. No it's fine I don't need a bed I'll just sit by the balcony again - yes I'll call you if I need anything, don't worry. Really it's fine -" The fake cheer in your voice immediately stops up when you turn your head away from Bailu and into the room, but instead of being seen with the same scenery as you've gotten used to in the past 48 hours, you're staring straight into Jing Yuan's open eyes - the man himself only cocking his head to the side with a smile.

"Good afternoon, dear."

He can tell Bailu has already hightailed away to grab her things, which leaves him alone with you. You, who hasn't even moved a single muscle since locking eyes with him. Jing Yuan can see your mouth move in attempt to say something and that the hand on the door handle is trembling slightly.

"... What, you're not happy to see me?" he tries to joke, but the moment he sees your eyes flicker from surprise to anger he knew it was a bad joke to tell, "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" you seethe through clenched teeth, still having enough rationality to not yell inside of a clinic of all things, even closing the door gently before marching into the room.

You don't even reach out to him, and Jing Yuan doesn't have the energy to reach out for you.

"You sure weren't sorry when you kept all of those plans to yourself and walked down that staircase with half a mind of not returning," you point out, and Jing Yuan can only give you the same easygoing smile he gave you that very same day.

"... Why? Why is at the most crucial moments that you want to do everything alone? Why won't you lean onto someone for once, why must you do everything in secrecy but at the same time be so open?" you question, every worry and fear just pouring and Jing Yuan let's you speak.

And even when his whole body hurts, he reaches out to gently grab your wrist to pull you down to sit by the bedside. He's aware that you could've easily stood your ground, because he's much too weak to actually force you to do anything.

And yet you're so pliant, sitting down close enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head against your shoulder, "... 48 hours isn't a long time for our people," you breathe softly after a moment of silence, "But those 48 hours where you didn't even turn around one single time nor make a single movement? It was almost the worst 48 hours I've experienced so far."

"And I hate it, why have I let you reduce me to something so vulnerable and I can't do anything about it?! Why have you gone against everything you first promised to me?!" Your voice is gradually getting louder, but Jing Yuan doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," he mutters again, and you only scoff, "You're not sorry, I know you're not. If something like this happened again I know you would do the exact same thing."

You know him too well, and that's what also scares him in the end.

Because if you weren't so high on emotions right now and just took a moment to think, you would realize that if you were in the same battlefield as him things would not go as smoothly - to either one of you.

It was better for him to be alone right then and there - because if Phantylia had even seen one weakness from him of all people it would've reduced the already slim chances of them winning that battle to zero.

If Phantylia had even decided to target you, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his rationality inside - because you have him wrapped around your finger more than you realize.

Every regret and painful memory he has experienced have started to pale when he compares to every joyful moment you've given him. So if you were to perish in that fight for him and for the Xianzhou? Jing Yuan would've truly lost against the battle of time.

He's selfish, for once he wants to be selfish because he's chosen to not be in every waking moment of his life - so he wants to be selfish this once and rather take a gamble with his life than toy with yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers once again, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek, the general chuckling when he feels a stray tear his his thumb. He leans back to watch you, a guilty look crossing his features at your slightly reddened eyes.

And yet you're glaring at him in anger, but Jing Yuan is so relieved that you're still there with him.

So he leans in with no hesitation, pecking the corner of your eyes while whispering that he's sorry after every peck, his thumb pushing down on your lower lip to stop you from biting your lips so harshly, "I truly am," he whispers, silencing the bubbling sobs coming from your lips with his own.

He is sorry. And he hates the thought of you hurting, because both of you had gone through enough. But he would rather that you go through 48 hours of pure torment for him than taking the risk of losing you completely.

His love for you is selfish like that, because if he wasn't selfish he would be too vulnerable.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #hsr x you #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader-insert

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 28 days

Note

😴😴😴 (to find later) AITA for putting sleeping pills in my boyfriend's drinks without him knowing?

I know this sounds absolutely awful, but please bear with me.

Basically, me (27 m) and my boyfriend (26 m) have been living together for around five years, meaning we usually also sleep together. Or at least we try, since my BF suffers from terrible insomnia and reoccurring nightmares so bad sometimes he wakes up into a full on anxiety attack. He does go to therapy and has prescribed sleeping pills, but he hates taking them because he's always afraid that when he does fall asleep he's just going to have nightmares, (which also just makes him avoid sleeping in general even not including his insomnia).

Usually I try to help him by staying up with him, watching his favorite show while cozied up on the couch under a bunch of blankets and with a hot coco, or we do something else that he likes and helps him relax. I really don't mind, I love him and I love spending time with him. However, it used to be that he would fall asleep at around 3-4 AM, but as time went on he started staying up longer and longer, until at a certain point I literally had to start leaving for work in the morning while he still hadn't gotten any sleep.

This was an issue for two reasons: 1. Obviously, without me there he felt even less comfortable and had an even harder time falling asleep, sometimes staying up for even 48 hours (or maybe more, I'm not sure) just to wait for me to come back home so I could help him unwind again. 2. He actually started lying to me about sleeping while I wasn't home, so that I would go to sleep normally and let him stay awake because "he wasn't tired" even though I could clearly tell he was.

That's when I started getting seriously concerned and questioning him about how much he actually sleeps, especially since I could see it was affecting him more and more both mentally and physically. He was avoidant about the topic but I pleaded with him to talk to his therapist about it, to try and find anything else to help him. Apparently his therapist just told him to keep using his sleeping pills to help with the insomnia, and if they're not working she'll look into prescribing him stronger ones. Yet despite that he still insists on not taking them and just going to bed normally even though it's clearly not working.

To clarify: as far as I'm aware, he has no negative side-effects from these sleeping pills, he's never complained about feeling any pain or feeling worse after taking them or anything like that. Literally he only doesn't want to take them because he's just that afraid of going to sleep.

That's why whenever we stay up nowadays, I always add a small dose to his cup of coco, which thankfully has a strong enough taste to cover the pills (I've tried a small bit myself and couldn't tell a difference). Since I started doing that, he's been regularly falling asleep before 2AM and even though the nightmares still sometimes wake him up or make him feel a bit tired in the morning, overall he's been doing much better.

Still, I do feel bad about putting stuff in his drinks without his knowledge even if it's for his own good. I really wonder if I should stop, but I'm really scared that if I do, he'll start spiralling again. I want to help him and be there for him but I've already tried talking about it and it never worked. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

529 notes · View notes

macfrog · 10 months

Text

company cowboy like me chapter six

lfg i am so happy to finally be back writing!!! here's a new part of cowboy like me to celebrate - you can also catch parts one thru five over on my masterlist 🤍 love u all lmk ur thoughts whose side are we on with the argument? 😏

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel and his hands help you feel better after an argument with your dad

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! shower fun, handjob, fingering, bit of comeplay, like, allusions to exhibitionism?? not rly tho, dom!joel, unprotected p in v sex (i do not condone it unless it is fictional), praise kink, overstimulation, begging, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, grilled cheese consumption (for all my lactose intolerant babies i got u)

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.” He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm. “Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.” “No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

The birds singing. A car passing by on the street outside. The dull buzz of the shower running, and the gentle humming of the man standing in it. Whichever one wakes you first, you don’t much care. Your eyes have fluttered open to find the bathroom door half-open, the steamed-up shower right ahead of you.

You can see his silhouette moving around. Hands raising to rub shampoo into his hair. Dipping to push soap suds down the trail from his belly button. You’re half-naked in his bed, still sore from your antics from the night before, and he’s winding that coil all over again. Just from showering.

You push yourself off the bed with a groan. Your thighs burn as you move them; between your legs feels just as tender. His t-shirt hangs off you.

You slowly wander over to the bathroom door and pause to listen. It’s one of his country songs he’s always playing in the truck. And this man swears he ain’t a country fan.

Your head leans against the doorframe. One gentle push and he’ll know you’re right here.

The t-shirt comes off in one swift movement, and in you go.

“Mornin’, baby,” he coos as you walk over the threshold. When he peers around the steamed-up glass, he notices your lack of clothing, and mumbles an Oh as you step inside.

“What time does Sarah’s flight get in?” you ask innocently. His eyes are making their way slowly down your figure.

“An–” He clears his throat. “An hour.”

“You got time, then?”

He smirks as you soak yourself under the hot stream of water, and says, “Always got time for you.”

Your hands cup his strong jaw and pull him down to you. He obliges, lips parting to crash against yours. Tongues twisting and curling around one another, hands squeezing and scratching and stroking bodies. His palms find your tits and he squeezes, pulling a moan from your lips.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile back into the kiss, replying, “It’s all your fault.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” your hand starts travelling south, “got – me – fuck – all ruined.”

Joel’s already hard when your hands take hold of him. Like, fucking hard. So hard you actually look down as you grip him with both hands, awestruck by how quickly he’s turned on. When you look back up, a cocky smile fills his cheeks.

“Get goin’ then. I ain’t got all mornin’.”

“Fuck you.” You drag your hand up his length.

“That’s what I got you for,” he breathes, leaning his head back against the tile, eyes closing.

This is the part you like. Sure, Joel’s hot when he’s being dominant, fucking you senseless, whispering filth in your ear, even just the way his hands grip your body. But this – when he’s under your hand, right where you want him, right where he wants to be. This is it for you.

Watching him unravel at your touch, the way you squeeze him, pull him, take care of him; your words, sweet and smooth as honey in his ear, asking how good it feels, telling him how good he looks, peppering wet kisses down his neck and across his chest; and then, when he’s close, the way he pants and takes hold of your wrist, telling you without speaking exactly how to fuckin’ get him there.

When you feel his hips buck, you sink to your knees and hold the head of his cock on your tongue. He tilts his head to look down at you, mouth agape, hand on the back of your head. You stroke his length a few more times, the tip swirling over your pink lips, before he grunts, releasing all over your tongue, watching as you take every last drop.

“Good girl…” he whispers, over and over until he goes limp. You never take your eyes off of him as you lick your lips and swallow. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

When he comes down from his high, Joel takes your hands and pulls you back up to stand. He lazily bumps his nose against yours and then pulls you in, filling your mouth with his tongue. He groans into the kiss, tangling his hand in your hair, tasting himself on you.

“You know how good you are to me?”

Your face lights up when you look up at him. You could almost say something you think you’d regret afterward. When the wave of bravery washes down the drain with the water from above, you settle for your usual cocky teasing: “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

He laughs and turns you gently so your back is to him. He shifts your wet hair out of the way, and then begins to massage your shoulders. His hands drop down your arms, squeezing and rubbing, then back up, feeling their way over your breasts and down your stomach.

“Gonna make you feel nice ‘n better, after last night.”

Your lips fall open, silently begging him not to stop, to keep going further down, to fuck you with his fingers against the cool tile.

You forget he’s a mind reader. He’s already doing it before your thought is done.

Fingers run over your clit, already sensitive and swollen, and you gasp.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he whispers in your ear.

Your head falls back to his shoulder with a moan, and he kisses your neck, sucking softly on the sensitive spots that were between his teeth last night. His fingers rub you gently.

“So pretty for me, baby.”

You can feel your legs starting to give, but his free arm wraps around your waist, holding you up so that, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t collapse.

His fingers dip lower still, parting your lips, running through your folds. He’s so good, you think you might be dreaming. Then he inserts a curled finger and you know for sure, this is no dream.

“Joel…”

You squirm under his touch, and it only pushes him further. A second finger, stretching you out more, pressing up against the soft, spongey insides of your pussy. You grip onto his arm snaked around your waist with one hand, place the other against the tile to steady yourself.

“Doin’ so good, baby, that’s it. Just like that.” His voice is as smooth as whiskey in your ear, the drawl of his accent sending you as far as the fingers hooked inside your cunt.

Your breathing starts to stammer, your stomach tightening with your orgasm fast approaching. Joel inserts a third finger, making you cry out, and your head knocks into his shoulder again. Pleasure sparks between your legs, the weight of you riding on Joel’s hand, fire igniting through every nerve in your body.

“‘attagirl, all over me,” Joel coaches you through it, his other hand forced to let go of your waist to steady you both against the wall as your release doubles you over.

You come back to earth; stars in your vision, feeling the weight of him on your back, protecting you from the spray of water from the shower, chin still dipped over your shoulder.

“We’re good at this,” he whispers, and you give a blissful smile. “One day they’ll make a movie about us.”

You come back to reality with a hearty laugh, turning back around slowly. Joel’s arms snake around your waist and he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

“Maybe one day we could do that ourselves,” you tease.

He gives a smile which means more than it looks. You’re a mind reader, too. He likes that idea. He’s…considering it.

“I gotta go,” Joel says after some time.

You nod.

He follows you out of the shower and hands you the towel he’d sat on the counter for himself, dripping off to the linen closet in the hallway for another while you pat yourself dry. You scoop up his shirt and throw it over yourself, laying back down on his bed to wait for him finishing up getting ready.

Another thing you love doing: watching him. Whether he’s driving, grabbing a beer from the fridge, or just getting dressed like right now, you like to watch him. Study him. Know him better than he knows himself.

He doesn’t typically let you watch him do much – his hands are usually all over you with the precious little time you two get together – and when he clocks you staring over at him as he buckles his belt, he snorts.

“Besotted, ain’tcha?”

He stands at the foot of the bed. You say nothing back. Then he begins crawling up, knees apart to climb over your legs, and crouches over you as you giggle.

His head drops down to give you one last meaningful kiss before you know he has to leave. When you part, his forehead leans against yours.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” he softly says.

You don’t have a reply. At least, not one you want him to hear. Yet.

“Go pick up Sarah. I’ll be gone when you come back.”

He stands, and you take his offered hand to pull yourself up from the bed.

“Don’t have to be. I’ll tell her you wanted to surprise her.”

You shake your head. “I got work later anyways. And y’all deserve some time alone to catch up. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Okay, darlin’,” he says in a mocking baby tone, pouting his lips. Pulls you in for a quick squeeze. Then turns and wanders off down the hall to the top of the stairs.

“How will you cope without being the center of my attention?” he calls back.

You smile to yourself and watch as his figure disappears. You stand on his carpet, still, silent, until the front door shuts and his truck engine hums in the drive.

Your eyes travel around his room. His unmade bed, one big dip in the middle of the mattress where your bodies had been pressed together, limbs intertwined, sharing breath. The small pile of your clothes Joel had laid out as you dozed, neatly tucked on a dresser, your phone laying on top. A framed photo of him and Sarah on his windowsill that makes your chest tighten when your eyes find it.

You turn away and start getting ready, picking up your clothes one by one. Your panties are missing – not that they’d be much use anyways, the last state you saw them in. It’d be hot to go commando if you thought Joel might find out; less hot when you’re just about to head off on a walk of shame back to your dad’s.

You wander around to Joel’s nightstand and roll the drawer open. Pick up a pair of white boxers and pull them on. As you leave, you throw his tee over your elbow.

He won’t notice it’s gone, right?

----------

You’re perched on your window seat, watching the quiet street below. It’s been two days since you last saw Joel, strolling down his hallway to go pick up Sarah. You’d been working the past couple days anyway, but your mind had been elsewhere.

You and Joel weren’t able to see each other for obvious reasons, but he was always at the end of the phone whenever you were bored and wanted attention. Truthfully, you’d spent every waking minute hanging over your cell, waiting for it to light up with a message or call from him.

You unlock it and scroll through the last few texts you’d exchanged.

Joel: Decorations were a hit. Should be all over Instagram or whatever

You: You’re welcome ;)

Joel: Don’t I get any credit?

You: You can take the credit for blowing my back out afterward. Let me have the decs

Joel: Fair.

You smile, reading back over the messages. You’d been trying not to bother him so much now that Sarah was back, but you’re struggling to find anything to distract your thoughts from him. What he’s up to, where he is, who he’s with…and not even in a jealous way. Just…because you miss him.

That’s the weird part. Missing him.

Sure, for the last two weeks, anytime your hands have been on your body, it’s Joel’s name passing your lips in breathy moans. But missing the sound of his voice? The smell of him?

That’s new. That’s weird.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

Your dad nudges in, toolbox in hand. “Hey, hon. Just thought I’d have a look at that latch on your window that keeps catchin’.”

“Oh,” you say, shifting from your seat. “Sure. Thanks.”

He sets the toolbox at the end of your bed, and you shift some cushions and blankets to sit beside it. As he’s digging through his tools, he glances up and notices the men’s large t-shirt laying strewn across your pillows.

“New shirt?” he asks.

You look over your shoulder. Fuck.

“Texas Rangers.” Your dad raises his eyebrows, nodding. “Impressed.”

“Yeah, I– I, uh…” You’re scrambling for some excuse, words tripping over one another in the scram to explain. “Got it at a thrift store the other day. It’s nice to sleep in, I guess.”

He hums and then turns, completely oblivious. “Might head over to Joel’s once I’ve done this, since I got the tools out. He has some pipe in his bathroom he reckons is leakin’. You wanna come? See Sarah for a bit?”

“Maybe…” you hum, not really listening. You’re typing a message out to Joel.

You: My dad just totally spotted your shirt on my bed…

Joel: So you’ve got my shirt? I was looking all over for it.

You: Is it really that much of a surprise? Had to say I’d thrifted it

Joel: Offended by the fact you wanted him to believe anyone would throw out a Rangers shirt

You: Well, he believed it, so what does that tell you, cowboy?

Joel: Given what we know your dad’s oblivious to right now, not a lot, kid

You: Speaking of, when can I see you?

Joel: Tough right now with Sarah being home. Sorry baby. Soon as we can, I promise.

You throw yourself back onto your bed with a sigh.

“Boy trouble?” your dad asks.

“Huh?” You sit up straight. What…the fuck?

He chuckles, messing around with the window, his back turned to you. “Awfully big sigh. I know that sigh. Who is he?”

If Joel were in the room right now, he’d be masking his laughter behind a closed fist at the mere sight of your face. You stare at your dad’s back for a decent amount of time, long enough for him to turn back and look at you.

“You hearin’ me?” he asks. “It someone I know? It ain’t your friend Sam from Frank’s, is it? That boy don’t know his hand from his foot at the best ’a times. You can do better than him.”

“It ain’t a boy. And I appreciate the advice, but I’m good, Dad.”

“Speakin’ of advice…” He walks slowly over to the bed, switching out some tools. “I got this supplier whose daughter works in human resources at…uh…some company, downtown. Name escapes me. He was tellin’ me it’s good money, lotta hours…Said she’d be happy to meet with you if you wanted to go in for an interview.”

“I…I’m okay, I think. Thanks, though.”

“Sure? I thought maybe you’d wanna be lookin’ for something a little more…permanent.”

“I will,” you reply, glancing down at your phone. No new messages. “I just…I’m happy at Sal’s right now.”

“Right, right. And Sal’s been real good to you, kiddo.”

“I kinda wanna see what I can get with my degree anyway.”

Your thumbs dance over the keyboard, still hunting for attention from Joel, and searching for the right words to get it. You’re barely even present in the room with your dad when you hear him ask, “Film? You really think there’s gonna be much out there?”

Your head whips up. He’s sauntering back over to the window. Your phone lands with a thud on your bed beside your thigh.

“Uh…I don’t know. ‘s why I wanna look.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

He shakes his head, screwing something into your window frame. “Naw, I just…don’t know what you’re gonna find, is all.” He chuckles a little. Kinda chuckle that makes your fists ball.

You watch him through thin eyes, pulling your bottom lip under your teeth. “Well, I got Sal’s to keep me goin’ until I do find somethin’.”

Your dad doesn’t reply. You stare him down until he turns around, notices you, and raises his brows, forehead crinkling.

When he dives back into the toolbox instead of responding, you start to feel heat in your belly.

You speak through your teeth. “Is that…Is it okay?”

“Sure, hon. I ain’t tellin’ you what to do.”

“Well, you ain’t tellin’ me much else, though, so…”

“I’m only thinking,” he lifts his palms, your eyes trace them, “your degree is very specific. And there maybe isn’t a lot of specific work down this way for somethin’ like film. That’s all. I thought HR might be a good move.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s closing over the metal lid.

“Then why’d I go through four years of studying it?”

“Because it interested you. And because you were good at it–”

“So, shouldn’t I be doin’ something with it?”

“–but ultimately, hon, a degree’s just a degree, you understand?”

Your face screws up, lip curled. “Huh?”

“Lotta folks don’t got a degree. Lotta folks get one, and it goes to waste. They spend all that money, all that time…and work part-time in some dead-end job for the rest of their lives. Chasin’ a career that’s never comin’.”

You choke back a laugh, a stunned, confused, livid laugh. Your lips tremble and twist in and out of different shapes, trying to form words that your voice won’t speak.

“You worked damn hard to get that degree. Now, use it. Use it right.”

He slaps the toolbox closed and starts trotting out of your room, and you find your voice.

“Oh, screw you!”

Your dad’s hand hooks around the doorframe and he turns back. “Pardon me?”

“What fuckin’ right do you have to tell me I’m gonna end up in a dead-end job? Ain’t a job a job?”

“Woah, kiddo,” he holds a hand out, “no, no, that’s not what I’m sayin’. Not at all.”

“You’re saying I should give up tryna get a job I actually want, and get a real job, right? That– That film ain’t much of a thing? I worked my ass off for nothin’?”

“No, you worked your ass off for everything, and you deserve to find somethin’ that rewards all your hard work.”

“Oh, what the fuck does that even mean?” You throw your arms up, striding across the room.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “It means – I just want what’s best for you. I was just thinkin’ out loud, honey. That’s all.”

In one sweep, he’s gone. The toolbox rattles down the hall and recedes into background noise. You’re stood in a cloud of rage at your door, breath coming hard and fast out of your nose, staring at the empty hallway before you.

You stalk over to your bed and your thumbs finally figure out what to send to Joel.

You: Are you free to talk real quick??

He’s calling you within thirty seconds.

“What’s up?” his voice speaks before you even open your mouth, and instantly you feel yourself calming.

“Are you eating?”

“Mhm. Grilled cheese.”

You can hear the chewing sounds through the receiver.

“You mind swallowing before you talk?”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he chuckles a little, then clears his throat. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Just…” You sigh. “Fuck…I don’t even know.”

Your head falls into one hand as you pace back and forth.

“I had this argument with my dad; he’s goin’ on about careers and jobs and using my degree – but to do somethin’ I don’t wanna do. Then, he’s makin’ out like I’ll never find a job in film, or in anything I want. And he said that– He basically said that I’ll be in a dead-end job forever, ‘less I go work in human resources.”

Joel’s quiet for a few seconds until he realizes you’re done. “’sec, baby, I got a mouthful of grilled cheese over here.”

You roll your eyes and, after a gulp, his voice floats back through your phone.

“He wants you to– Human resources, I hear that right?”

“Yup. He says it’s a good place to be, apparently.”

“Your dad, the contractor?”

You throw your arm up in the air again. “Thank you!”

Joel and his laughter cut you short before you start another rant.

“Alright, alright, first of all…you already got a job, and it’s a good, steady job; you like it, you’re happy enough there, right?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

“Mhm. So that’s not an issue. Second, you’re twenty-three. That’s still young, darlin’. You got your whole life to try and find somethin’ you really like. Hell, I didn’t figure it out until I had Sarah. You got time. Don’t worry about it.

“And third: who gives a fuck what your dad thinks? If you’re happy, what’s it matter what him or anyone else says?”

You nod, sitting down on your bed. Your eyes are starting to well.

“Hm?” Joel beckons.

“Yeah,” you squeak.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little mind, baby. It was just an argument. He wants what’s best for you, ‘n if I know him half as well as I do, he just got his words a little jumbled up.”

“I’m still fuckin’ mad at him, though,” you mumble.

Joel laughs. “Yeah. ‘n I reckon you’re allowed to be, for a little bit.”

“Thanks. Sorry for interruptin’ you ‘n your grilled cheese.”

“’s alright. I gotta make you one of these next time you’re over here, I’m a master at ‘em. Sarah’s favorite.”

You lay back on your bed, giggling. “I’m gonna hold you to that, y’know.”

“Oh, I know, kid. Hey, I was actually thinking of dropping by tomorrow mornin’, got some papers your dad wants to take a look at. Figured I’d catch ‘im before he goes off to work.”

You feel your heart swell just at the thought of him being in front of you, actually in person, standing right there. Cotton-covered chest to be touched, worked hands to be held, rough but gentle lips to be kissed.

Hard cock to be – never mind.

“Yeah?” you say, coolly, trying not to let him in on the butterflies swirling around your stomach.

“Yep. Better be awake. I’ll want my t-shirt back.”

“Setting my alarm as we speak.”

----------

You’re in the kitchen making breakfast when you hear the front door open, and an all too familiar Texas drawl.

“Anybody home?”

You lean back from the counter and stare down the hallway toward the door, which he closes and turns to face you.

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Hi,” you mutter, smiling.

“Dad in?”

You nod. “Upstairs. Getting ready.”

His fingers tug on your t-shirt sleeve. His t-shirt sleeve.

“Nice shirt.”

You give a bashful smile, but he’s grinning. The fucker loves seeing you in his clothes as much as you love wearing them. He doesn’t care.

Joel sets his papers on the countertop and runs a hand through your hair, sweeping it out of your face. You lean into his touch by instinct, then catch yourself, and move away, but Joel stays where he is.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Mhm. Want some cereal?”

He smiles, shaking his head, then lowers his chin and softly presses his lips to yours.

Your hands drop the box like it’s scorching hot, and link around his neck. He pushes against you, pinning you to the counter.

If it weren’t for the thudding of your dad’s footsteps down the stairs right then, you’d probably ask Joel to fuck you right here and now in your kitchen. You’re that needy.

“Hey, partner,” your dad calls when he notices Joel, now standing a good four feet away from you, papers back in his fist.

You pour some milk in the bowl and lean back against the island, cereal in hand.

“Brought that paperwork.” Joel lifts his fist, and your dad nods gratefully.

“Hey,” your dad says, turning to you and knocking your shoulder with his index finger. “Here’s the number of that guy’s daughter I was talkin’ about…”

You take a deep breath, studying the card in his hand, the name Vanessa Hart printed below some logo. Joel notices your expression when your dad holds it out between two fingers. He knows y’all fought – though he’s not meant to – but he doesn’t know you two haven’t spoken since. You ate dinner in your room alone last night.

The look in your eye catches him up just fine.

“What’s this?” Joel asks, returning the papers to the counter behind you and taking the business card from your dad’s hand. He tosses it over before passing to you. You wordlessly take it, sliding your bowl alongside his paperwork.

“She’s been thinkin’ about work. Lookin’ around for somethin’ a little more…challenging, than retail anyway. Right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Right.”

Joel looks at you intently. Knowingly. “Thought you wanted to be a journalist, or something? Film…? No?”

You glance up at him. “I, um…”

“This is maybe somethin’ a little more realistic, y’know.” Your dad shifts from foot to foot, almost awkwardly.

“She got a degree in film,” Joel mutters, almost leaning into you to make you answer. Your eyes travel along to his shoulder. “You like film, right?”

“I like film. Yeah. It was good.”

“So, you don’t wanna do somethin’ with that?”

Your shoulders tense as you look up at him, trying to answer him honestly and at the same time, stop another heated discussion from happening between you and your dad, who then initiates that discussion himself by piping up.

“What’s Sarah doin’, again, Joel?”

You wince, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Sports Science.” Joel’s voice feels dangerous. He’s still staring at you. Vanessa’s card is beginning to tremble in your hands as you flip it over and over.

“See? Now, that, I would understand. That’s a great degree. Not that yours isn’t,” your dad shoots you a look as he’s packing his lunch into his bag, “just that, with Sports Science, I mean…she could do lotsa stuff.”

“I could do lots with film, too, Dad.” You try to mask the anger through your teeth.

“Like what?”

Joel sighs under his breath. Your eyes dart across his. You take a deep breath, steady yourself.

“Like…journalism, or production, or promotion. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“I’m just tryna look out for you, kiddo, just tryna be realistic. Like I said last night, there aren’t so many opportunities in that sorta stuff down here. Fine, up in New York, but in Austin? Nah.”

“Maybe you just gotta move back to New York. I’ll come with ya,” Joel says, shrugging, with an expression that elicits a laugh from you. He looks relieved to see you smile.

Your dad clears his throat and takes a step closer to you. Your smile fades as quickly as it appeared.

“I just want what’s best for you. The arts…ain’t really a steady job. Somethin’ like Sports Science, see, now, that’s safe. That’s a good choice.”

“A good choice,” you echo, your face flushing. “So, mine wasn’t a good choice?”

“No, it’s just that–”

“Why are we havin’ this same conversation again, Dad?” You throw the card behind you on the counter. “I said I’d do my own thing, in my own time, and you come up with even more to shove in my damn face. You can’t just leave it? Not even for one day?”

“Aw, c’mon, hon, film? Tell me what you found, lookin’ for jobs in film. Go on.”

Joel’s head cocks and he holds a hand out. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“No, tell me. I’m seriously askin’. What did you find? ‘cause I’ve been lookin’, kiddo–”

You scoff. “Oh, you’ve been looking.”

“Yes, I have, which seems to be a damn sight more ‘n you’ve done, and there ain’t nothin’. Now, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I thought I was doin’ a good thing. Thought you’d appreciate me helpin’ out.”

“Sure. I appreciate you steppin’ foot where you ain’t wanted. And then insulting me while you’re at it.”

Your dad sighs and lifts his arms, bringing them down onto his thighs with a clap. Then he picks his bag up, slings it over his shoulder, and turns back to you.

“I just wanted to help. I’m gone, alright? Joel, thanks for those, I’ll take a look when I’m home.”

Without another word, he strides down the hall and heads out the front door.

Joel’s hand immediately wraps around your arm.

“Hey,” he says when you turn away, tears forming. “Woah, hey. It’s alright.”

He pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head, and you bury your face into his shirt, groaning with rage. He rubs the back of your head and hushes you as you weep into his chest.

He pulls away, cupping your chin and pushing the hair out of your face. You’re still bubbling away, Joel’s thumbs wiping away tears hot with anger from your cheeks.

“I’m not crying ‘cause I’m upset,” you sniff, and he nods, softly caressing your face. “I’m crying ‘cause I’m fuckin’ angry.”

“I know, baby,” he fusses. “He’s bein’ an ass, no doubt about that.”

“I told you.” You ball your fists and lightly bump them against his strong chest. “Fuckin’ dick.”

“Fuckin’ dick,” Joel agrees, and you laugh. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better.”

You lean back, Joel’s hand locked around yours to stop you from falling. A dark thought crosses your mind, and you do your best not to let it show through your eyes. Joel seems oblivious when he reels you in and your hands come to rest on his pecs.

“I dunno,” you mumble, eyes stuck on the fabric of his shirt.

“Must be somethin’. What do you want me to do?”

“Just…stick around for a bit? Keep me company.”

“Company, huh? What’s that entail?”

“We could…watch a movie?” Your fingers flirt with the collar of his open shirt. “…could…talk…?”

Joel studies you as you slowly peel the button-up from his shoulders, letting it rest on his biceps.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, realizing where you’re at, “I got stuff I should be doin’ today.”

“I know. Just…make me feel better first.”

He sighs, looking at you from beneath his brows. His shirt is hanging from his elbows, his palms planted firmly against your waist. His hands are squeezing you just enough to encourage you to keep going.

“Won’t be long. Promise. You can have your shirt back, after it.”

You angle your jaw and smile sweetly at him, and he lowers his to meet you halfway. Your breath hot against his lips, you whisper, “’s not like either of us are gonna last longer than five minutes, anyway,” and he closes the space between you.

When your lips connect, Joel pushes off the counter and begins backing you toward the couch.

“I love,” you breathe into the kiss, “when you do that.”

“Do what?” he mutters back, lifting the hem of your top.

You fall back onto the couch and Joel follows.

“Give in to me.”

He pulls back, eyes skimming across your half-naked body, t-shirt ruffled up to the bottom of your bare breasts.

“That’s all I do, baby.”

You open your legs beneath him and his hips slot between yours, hardening jeans rubbing against your sleep shorts. His tongue leaves wet marks down your neck and across your collarbone, hands creeping further up your naked torso.

When you buck your hips, Joel understands, and takes the waist of your shorts in tight fists, pulling them off your legs in one movement. His hand comes down to cup your sex and shift your underwear aside. He’s moving without thinking; it’s instinct by this point. He knows exactly what to do to get you where he wants you.

His fingers move around your folds, dancing in and out of your entrance, rubbing your clit. It’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough. You whine, and he listens again, slipping two fingers inside your wet cunt.

Your back arches, chest rising to meet his. A sigh of relief passes your lips, finally feeling his body on – and in – yours again.

“We– I don’t wanna– fucking hell, Joel– I can’t wait this long for you,” you whimper, as he dips his jaw to suck a bruise into your neck.

“Hm?”

“Too – fucking – long. I need you – all the fuckin’ time.”

He’s humming against your hot skin. Your fingers are knotting in his hair, dark brown flecked with streaks of gray tangled around your knuckles.

His fingers burrow deeper, stretching your wet pussy out just right. You clench around him.

“Need you,” you breathe again, “all the time.”

“You got me, pretty girl,” Joel coos, lips now dancing across yours. “I’m here now.”

Your foreheads lock like they always do, Joel’s eyes trained on yours like they always are. He fucking loves watching you, loves the way your eyes glaze over and you submit to whatever he wants to do to you. I started it, and I know how to finish it.

His thumb begins to rub your clit, pad drawing circles around and round. Your hips lift again in response, and you feel a smirk pull on Joel’s lips. You’re writhing under his touch, the entire room filling with filthy moans of his name and of yours, tangling together in the air and knotting as tight as the pressure building in your stomach.

You reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt, hands weaving around Joel’s wrist to gain access to his jeans. Your fingers graze the rough teeth of his zipper when you hear something outside.

The sound of a car door slamming.

Your lips freeze against Joel’s. His hand stops dead against your core.

“Was that–?”

The front door bursts open and the hallway fills with the early morning light.

Joel heaves himself off of you, scarpering to the other side of the room as you straighten up, slam your sensitive legs closed and kick your shorts under the couch. Your tee is long enough to cover your thighs, only if you stay seated.

Your dad rounds the corner to the room just as you both assume position.

“Joel still around? His truck’s– Oh, hey, bud. What the hell you still doin’ here?”

Joel clears his throat. “She, uh– She said somethin’ was up with the TV. Bad signal or somethin’, right?”

“Right.” You nod almost furiously.

Your dad blinks. Looks from you, to Joel, to the TV behind him. Which is switched off.

You toe the line between still mad at your dad, and wanting to appear totally innocent. “Joel was just having a look. He, uh…switched it off.”

“Waitin’ for it to reboot.” Joel sways back to hold a steady – slick-covered – hand to the TV set. You wince as he notices your gleaming wet coating his fingers, unreadable expression on his face, and calmly holds them behind his back.

“That so?” your dad says, pouting his lips. “I didn’t notice anything last night.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead choosing to let the moment pass in awkward silence until your dad changes the subject. Joel knows him better than most, and it works in the end, but you wish he’d just fucking say something to take your mind off of the hand he’s currently hiding behind his back and your shorts disturbing the dust under the couch.

“Left my hardhat,” your dad says, almost flatly. “You seen it, kiddo?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“You wanna help me look?”

Right now? With no pants on? And your best friend stood less than six feet away? You know what, I’m good, Dad.

“Not really.”

He sighs and shakes his head to Joel, a Can you believe her?

Joel sputters out a forced chuckle, which he cuts short when he notices your sharp glare in his direction.

When your dad disappears upstairs, you fish your shorts out and throw them on.

“That,” Joel leans into you, motioning to where your dad was just standing, “was too damn close, you hear?”

“How was I supposed to know he’d come back?” you hiss.

“If we’re–” another flappy hand movement between the two of you, “y’know, we gotta be on alert for any–”

“We–” you mimic his gesture, “thought we had an empty house. If he walks in on somethin’, then that’s–”

“Don’t tell me that’s on him, kid.” Joel tilts his head, inviting you to finish your sentence with something more sensible. Before you can answer, your dad calls out.

“Got it!”

His boots thud back down the stairs.

You and Joel spring back to your positions, an unassuming two meters of carpet separating you both. Your dad stands at the opposite end of the coffee table, holding his hardhat up like it’s a trophy.

“Alright,” you clap your hands, “see ya, then.”

You brush past him toward the kitchen, feigning grabbing a drink. In your wake, you hear him mumble something to Joel about you not forgiving him just yet. Joel doesn’t laugh.

Eventually, he doddles off to the door, and Joel slowly follows. You hear the click of the door handle, and the hallway floods with light again, tile floor painted with Joel’s silhouette. When the sound of the engine trudges off into the distance, the door slams shut, and his figure materializes beside you once again.

You’re holding a bottle of water against your lips. Not drinking. Joel takes the bottle and sets it down on the counter.

He doesn’t speak. Barely even looks at you. Just takes your waist and hoists you up onto the kitchen counter. It’s cold under your bare thighs, but he lifts your knees and tugs at the waistband of your shorts, slipping them off for the second time in, what, ten minutes?

You sit still and watch him, stood between your legs, looking you up and down. His gaze falls to his still soaked fingers, and with a blank expression, like it’s as normal as passing you the sauce over dinner, he lifts his hand.

“Wanna clean up your mess for me?”

He presses the pads of his fingers to your bottom lip. Asks you without words to part them.

Your mouth falls open, not because you tell it to, but because his words pour a fog over your entire body that dumbs you senseless. That same intoxicating drawl, the way his head tilts with every perfectly innocent question laced with just the right amount of filth to have you do whatever the fuck he tells you.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth, resting them on your tongue.

“Now, pretty girl. Put that mouth to good use.”

“Joel–” you mumble into his knuckles, but he shushes you.

“Clean. Them.”

In a fluttering haze, you close your mouth around his thick fingers and suck, tongue slipping over them, under, between. Joel watches almost dangerously, like a wild animal watching its prey. He’s focused entirely on your wet lips, the way they’re bobbing up and down over his knuckles.

His fingers are sweet, coated in your thick arousal, and when you loosen your jaw, he pushes them in further. Almost chokes you with the way he forces them back. His eyes are dark, clouded over by the way your pretty little mouth looks. The way it feels, choking and spitting all over him.

When your eyes close over, his free hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter back open; light seeps into your vision and chases everything but the man between your legs out of focus.

You can’t taste yourself on him anymore. He tastes like Joel again. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers hit the back of your throat, and he only withdraws them when you gag.

He slips out, soaked in your saliva, and his wet hand falls back to place on your thigh.

You’re breathing heavily, drool dripping from your lips, but you know for a fucking fact if you move to wipe it, he’ll stop you.

His grip on the back of your neck tightens suddenly.

“You wanna act like a little whore? You get treated like one.”

His hand moves to his waistband and he undoes his own belt, batting away your fingers when you try to help.

He lets you link your arms over his shoulders as he messily unzips his jeans, tugging them down only a little. His rough hand grabs your knee and hooks it over his elbow, opening your legs wide for him.

“J…”

“Shut up.”

Now’s not the time for talking. He’s got a glassy expression in his eye that you don’t recognize. He doesn’t want to fucking talk. He wants you to make him cum.

“Wanted me to fuck you on your dad’s couch, huh? Wanted to make a mess in his livin’ room?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he lifts your ass up to bring a hand down on it. Shut up.

“’n what if he’d walked in a few minutes later than he did? Saw the pair of us? That what you want?”

You bite your lip and look at him under hooded lids; answer enough. Nah, you didn’t want your dad to see you guys. But, fuck, you liked the thought of being caught.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he’s murmuring, lining up to your cunt, pre-cum soaking the reddened tip of his cock. You’re staring at it, mesmerized, mind totally blanked by it.

“Look at you,” he whispers roughly, “drunk on it, aren’t you darlin’? You want it inside you?”

You nod, but it doesn’t matter. The slightest movement of your head and he’s pushing inside you, stretching your tight hole around the thick head of his cock.

Joel groans and his head falls back, eyes on the ceiling. He makes it halfway in before he’s pulling back again.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Shut – the fuck – up,” he replies, hips pushing forward into yours again.

You bite back a whine as he pushes further and further, filling you up, pain and pleasure and fucking bliss rippling through you, driven by Joel.

He wastes no time letting you adjust, no long, slow strokes. No tender kisses or fingers guiding his dick in. He picks up a dangerous pace from the outset, hips snapping into yours, bouncing you against the kitchen counter.

This is what this is, isn’t it? This whole thing between you guys. You have needs; Joel has needs. You’re just both coincidentally very good at helping the other meet their needs. What’s wrong with that, right?

Your head starts to swim with the feeling of Joel’s cock spearing you, the image of your kitchen floating in and out of focus, the thought of being one doorway away from being caught. You imagine Marcia in her backyard, almost in plain view of you two right now, seeing you propped up on the counter with your dad’s best friend between your legs, fucking the hell out of you.

And then your eyes find Joel again, beads of sweat at his forehead, cheeks flushed. He meets your lazy gaze and his hand takes your jaw, thumb and finger on each side.

“Good?” he asks, breathless, teeth gritted.

You nod.

Then Joel nods. “Good.” His eyes close over and he fucks you even harder onto his length, hurting so good every time your bodies connect.

The heat is stifling, not from the Texan summer, but from the two of you – sweating, panting, fucking off one another, bodies slipping against and sticking. The air fills thick with your stifled moans, Joel’s bitten grunts, the slapping of skin, your wet mixing with his.

You can’t take it anymore. Your head lulls back with a loud, long moan. Joel knows that moan.

“Think I should let you cum?” he asks. “You think you deserve it?”

“Fuck – please – Joel,” you’re panting, and he spanks your ass again. It doubles you over; your head collapses against his shoulder.

“Mm,” he hums, contemplating. “Dunno if you do, babygirl.”

“L-let me cum,” you plead, tears falling from your eyes, electricity whirling around your core. Your head rolls around on his strong shoulder. “’m so close.”

“Know you are, darlin’. ‘s too easy to do this to you,” Joel pants, breath jerking each time his hips do. “Get so wound up for me, every damn time.”

“Joel,” you’re begging now, unable to loosen your grip on his shoulders. “Fucking – please.”

“Come over for five minutes and you can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

You whimper in response, the feeling between your legs turning to tightly-wound pain. Your hands have come down to hold onto the edge of the counter, marble cutting into your damp skin under your grip.

“Want to…Want…”

“Tell me, baby. Talk.”

“Want to cum, Joel,” you pine, eyes screwing shut.

“I’m gonna let you, pretty girl. You don’t gotta worry about that. Just gotta ask nicely, huh?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, stars and tears clearing from your vision to reveal him once more. You don’t have the fucking energy to beg him anymore. Not like this. “Please, Joel.”

“Nicer.”

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.”

He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm.

“Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.”

“No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

You shake your head, pathetic beg painted all over your face. Joel’s expression falters, softens, only for a nanosecond, but you know him well enough to notice it. Something in his exterior breaks, something cracks.

“Then why didn’t you fuckin’ say so?” he coos. His arms wrap around you – finally – holding you up against his torso, his lips pressed to your ear. “Come on, darlin’, you can let go.”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before it happens. Your orgasm floods over you, pulsing from your soaking pussy up and across your stomach, lighting your shoulders and tightening your grip on Joel. You bite into his shoulder, muffling a sob as your walls contract, coil snaps, tension relieves.

You fucking hurt. All over. You don’t even feel him pull out, don’t realize he’s gone until he’s pumping cum all over your stomach, jacking himself to the sound of you coming undone. It’s only when you come around and feel the hot wet rolling down your tummy that you notice.

Joel’s breathing is labored. His dark tee has sweat patches under the arms, along his chest. You can feel it on his back.

You lean against him for what feels like hours, legs either side of him, his soft dick on your stomach, cum seeping into your panties. He lets you, just holds you tight and gently sways, listening to your breath slowly steadying, feeling your body stop shaking.

His voice is nothing but vibrations under your cheek, resting safely on his chest. Your ears are still ringing too loud to actually hear the words he says.

When you don’t reply, Joel’s hands cup your cheeks and lift your head to face him. You read the words on his lips.

“Need to know you’re okay before I go.”

“I’m okay,” you mumble.

“Can you walk?”

Your eyes roll back by themselves as he takes a step back, one hand around yours, the other braced in case you fall. You slip off the counter shakily, and, with as much effort as it’d probably take to go for a hike right now in the sun, you stand straight.

“I can take it,” you tell him.

Joel takes a deep breath. “Know you can, baby. Did so well for me.” He tugs his tee down over your stomach to cover the mess he’s made. “You want help cleaning up?”

You give one lazy shake of your head, almost entirely leaning on your shoulder. “I’m gonna head for a shower anyways.”

He takes your shorts and kneels, pulling them back over your legs one by one. You’re bracing yourself on his shoulders, and he stands as he settles them on your waist.

Joel gives your hand a gentle pull and leads you down the hallway. You walk with him, knees weak, to the front door. Joel holds it open and you let go of his fingers to step into the burning sun, hand coming up to shield your eyes. The breath of fresh air wakes you up from your state a little.

“Bright one,” you murmur, as his shoulder comes to meet yours.

“Oh, mornin’, Joel,” Hank calls from the sidewalk as he hobbles by, newspaper under his arm. He sings your name and you nod back in greeting. “You’re both up ‘n about early.”

“Broken TV,” Joel waves back, turning to look at you, “and a few other things needed fixin’.”

Hank nods and keeps walking. When he rounds the corner toward his own house, you glance back at Joel.

“What?” you ask.

“Still wearin’ my shirt.”

“You want it back now? Here ‘n now?”

“If you’re offering a striptease, baby, I’ll take it. Out here or inside, I don’t mind.”

You slap his arm and turn back to head inside. “I’ve had enough of you today.”

“You call me anytime that TV starts playin’ up, darlin’,” he calls over his shoulder.

You blindly throw your middle finger up over your shoulder in response, and feel his strong fingers wrap around your wrist. He tugs you back, and you swirl around to meet his stoic gaze.

“Day or night,” he tells you, “you call me.”

He walks off to his truck.

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill (lmk if i've missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #cowboy like me

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luckykiwiii101 · 3 months

Text

What I Will Be Manifesting This Week :

What I will be manifesting this week:

- Desired Body (Revised)

- Always Waking Up In The Void State Aware

- That my 3D always conforms in under 48 hours

What Will I Be Doing?

- Embodying the state of having my desires.

- Fulfilling myself in imagination whenever I think of my desires.

- Fulfill through visualisation and inner conversations because that is what feels most natural to me.

What Will I Manifest In The Void State?

- Desired Face & Body but with some finishing touches. (doll - like, kind of like Karen smith from mean girls)

- Desired Height (5’7)

- Desired hair (doll - like)

- Desired Name (so elegant and pretty!)

- Desired Personality

- Desired voice (singing & speaking)

- Desired Vibe (90s Supermodel)

- Desired house (so luxurious)

- Desired room (Barbie x Gossip Girl themed)

- Desired Wardrobe (Blair Waldorf type outfits)

- iPhone 15 Pro + Desired Phone Case

- New Desired Biological Dad + New cousins & aunties etc to match

- Revising that my parents got married in Paris

- Rich Family

- All my family members are happy and have everything they want

- Privacy

- Pretty School Interior & Exterior

- Desired School Uniform

- My best friends to live on the same road as me and to have everything they want.

- Perfect mental and physical health for all my loved ones.

- Desired Career to start early (Supermodel for when i’m 17)

- Perfect Posture

- Perfect Eyesight

- Perfect Culinary & Baking Skills

- Fluency in French & Dutch

- Piano Prodigy + being able to play desired songs on it

- Good at playing electric guitar

- Changing Appearance of my family members

- Revising my family’s names

- Always knowing what to say

- Family celebrates holidays like Christmas & Halloween

- Revising my memories to align with my dream life

- Photographic & audiographic memory

- Perfect grades

- Whenever I listen to a song, it feels like listening to it for the first time again.

- Desired Items

- Immune from embarrassment + Revising that any past embarrassing moments never happened

- Life feels like the early 2010’s again

- Life feels like a Gossip Girl Episode (You know I had to XoXo 💋)

- Life feels like a barbie movie (like princess charm school or smthg idk)

- Looking like desired songs

- Can Choose To feel hot or cold

- airport and plane processes to be always extremely fun and quick for my family, friends and I

- Teen Wolf & The Originals to be put back on Netflix

- Season 3 of One Of Us Is Lying to come out

- Some cute things for my pets

- Always know what my pets want

- My whole family to have good taste in fashion

- Go on nice holidays every year

- Materialise something instantly by affirming for it x3

- Kind, Respectful & Secular Family

- Disgusting Roadman fashion in London to be stopped (ew if u saw that shizz)

- Fashion to go back to the 90s and early 2000s

- People At School Don’t annoy me

- High Spice Tolerance

- Always Wake Up Feeling Fresh & Energised

- Never late to school

- Desired ear piercings

- Scary Insects never come near me (especially spiders AAAAH!!!)

- I appreciate all aspects of life

- Never abuse my manifesting abilities

- Everything i manifest manifests 10x better than how i imagined

- Basically revising my whole entire life top to bottom

+ much more personal things

Things I Will Be Manifesting For The World:

- World Peace in all realities

- No wars in all realities

- Palestine being free in all realities

- World healing

- Healed society

- Righteous justice system

- No corrupt leaders

- No corrupt governments etc

- Healthcare everywhere is free

- People are good people

- People treat eachother with respect and kindness

Guys, I will definitely go into more depth when i actually materialise all these and post my success story. + Will probably post some picture proof of materialistic things in my home and outfits etc but not my face or anything personal like that.

I wrote everything i’m going to manifest on here because I know i’m not going to be bothered to type it all out when i’m actually living my dream life in the 3D 💀

Share what you guys will be manifesting and stick to your new story so we can all post our successes together!!!

#void state #void #law of assumption #loa blog #loa tumblr #loassumption #loablr #manifestation #loa #neville goddard #live in the end #living in the end #law of assumption blog #manifesting

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endlessthxxghts · 4 months

Text

Joel Nye, The Science Guy

no outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈4.6k

"Is he really choosing coffee right now over having you? I mean, not to toot your own fucking horn, but seriously. Who would delay an orgasm for some coffee? Apparently, Joel fucking Miller would."

Summary: Joel stumbles across an article online about the effects of coffee on the body. Determined to uncover the truth, he tests the hypothesis with you as his subject.

Contents/Warnings: Any physical description of reader is neutral (no size descriptions). Joel is bigger than you though (but he’s fucking huge in general, so…). No age mentioned for reader or for Joel. Implied established relationship. No matter what age, Joel is a grandpa when it comes to technology. Mentions of Amazon LMAO. SMUT 18+ MDNI (mutual masturbation on the phone, touching yourself in the workplace, dirty talk, sexting [kinda], ..kitchen activities…reflections…, finger fucking, lots of liquids, squirting, cumming untouched, drinking coffee with an ulterior motive!, allusion to further sexual endeavors). Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Happy New Year, my loves! I just got done rewatching TLOU for the millionth time while drinking some coffee, and for some reason, this was born. I have no idea wtf this is, so don't ask me.💚 Also let’s thank @javierpena-inatacvest for titling this silly thing for me hehe. Fucking iconic. I love you, bestie.🥹 Here's to my first fic of 2024, and to many more! I hope you enjoy.💚

MASTERLIST

Joel’s number one favorite sensation every morning was when the first drop of the bitter, black liquid met his tongue, consuming all his senses into nothing but pure coffee. It was one of his favorite things—past tense—because then he got to experience what it was like waking up to you every morning, what it was like tasting you every morning. The first drop of you blessed his tongue one year ago, and he never looked back.

That is, until now.

You had work today and Joel had the day off, a rare occurrence. You forgot to set your alarm this morning, so you broke from his hold in a rush, leaving him nothing but a sweet kiss to last him the day.

Usually your mornings together are spent tangled in his sheets until he leaves you with less than twenty minutes to get ready for your day. Too addicted to the way he makes you feel, you mastered the art of quick change, using the rest of your time to do your morning skincare routine. This, you’ll never skip—subjecting yourself to a few scoldings by your boss because of it.

Joel allowed himself a few more hours of sleep after you left, his body needing extra rest from his unusually crazy day at the job site yesterday and from the way you pounced on him as soon as he came home. You promised him it would be you doing all the work, but like the addicting little thing you are, he couldn’t help but take charge so he could watch you fall apart over and over and over again.

Joel pulled himself out of his bed, a chill running down his body from leaving the trapped body heat of the sheets. He was hard, of course, and usually you’re there to help with his morning problem, but apparently today’s full of rare events for Joel. He grumbles to himself as he makes the way to the bathroom, not wanting to take care of himself without you, not anymore. He could wait for you to be home, but he knows he’d be a leaking, grumpy mess all day—God forbid he has to interact with another human in that aroused, frustrated state. He checks the little clock you bought for his bathroom counter when you moved in—so I can watch the time when I get ready for work, you scolded him when he made you late for the first time.

11:48 the clock displays; twelve more minutes until your break. He can wait twelve minutes. You usually close your office during your lunch, don’t you? Maybe he can call you. He might as well do his own morning routine while he waits. Joel’s old morning routines consisted of brushing his teeth, then washing his face with soap and water. Though, upon witnessing his wretched routine the first morning you two spent together, you were utterly appalled at his actions, forcing him to the store and spending the first half of your morning educating him on proper skincare. His morning routine went from four minutes to fifteen with your influence, but because he didn’t want to be a minute late in calling you, he shaved three minutes off from his task.

As soon as the clock hit twelve, Joel plopped himself in bed, leaning against the headboard, and reached for his phone, immediately dialing you.

Two rings later, and your sweet voice fills his ears. “Hi, baby,” you say. He can hear the small smile on your face.

“Hi, darlin’,” Joel rasps, his voice still groggy from the lack of use.

“You just wake up?” You jokingly scold, knowing damn well what the answer was. You like when he sleeps in. He deserves the rest from all that hard work he does.

“Maybe,” he tells you. You can hear the smirk on his face now. “How’s work goin’? On your break now?”

“Work is… definitely going,” you huff. “And yeah, I’m on my break now, which means I’ve got an hour to counterproductively stress about these reports that have to go out.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” he tells you softly. But then he’s smirking again. “Can I help?”

“Help?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he states like it’s the most regular answer ever. “Lemme help de-stress ya,” he adds, his voice dropping an octave.

A heat consumes your face, but you remain calm. “Yeah?” You breathe. “And how would you help me, cowboy?” You ask him as you swiftly stand from your desk to lock your office door and close your blinds.

“I reckon you just locked that door of yours, huh?” He asks rhetorically, knowing you better than you know yourself. Not even your past lovers would be able to pick up on the slightest of changes in your voice when you’re aroused. Joel picks up on it instantly.

“Maybe,” you repeat his sentiment from earlier.

“If I’m remembering correctly,” Joel says as he rubs his hand over his tenting bulge in an attempt to ease his ache. “You’ve got a couch in there, baby?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Well, you know what to do next, babygirl.”

Glancing at your door to make sure it’s really locked, you make your way to your couch, unbuttoning your jeans in the process and shucking them down as your ass meets the cushion. Fuck, you’re already soaked.

“Where are you?” You ask him, your fingers ghosting your core over the wet patch on your panties.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your phone buzzes. Joel sent you a text. An image. Clicking it, a breathy little whimper escapes you. “Fuck.” He’s leaning against the headboard, legs pushed open, his thick thighs on display. He’s just wearing his boxers, and his hand is inside, gripping onto his length. His leaking, angry tip is showing from the top of his boxers. A little circle catches your eye, and- oh. It’s a live photo. You hold down on the image, and you see his hips jerk into his hand. “Fuck,” you say again, your pussy twitching in excitement yet frustration that you can’t have him inside you right now. “I need you so fucking bad, Joel,” you whine into the phone as your fingers finally dip inside.

“I need you, too, baby,” he groans, “I’m fuckin’ dyin’ over here.” He sounds so pained. It riles you up even more. Your fingers speed up at his words, breathy moans escaping you. You circle your clit a few more times before reaching lower and dipping your middle and index finger inside of you. Joel hears the faintest sound of a squelch, and the grip on his cock tightens. He pulls his boxers completely down over his thighs, his cock completely free, and he tugs at a slow, teasing pace in an effort to build himself up the way you normally do for him. “Let me hear you, baby, let me hear you touch yourself for me.”

Lord, you hope your room is sound proofed enough because without any hesitation, you’re putting him on speaker and setting your phone down near your cunt, pumping in and out of yourself faster and deeper for him to hear. “J-Joel, f-fuck,” you stutter, “I- I’m-”

“You’re close, baby, I know,” he says soothingly. You can hear the slick sound of his hand speed up. Your other hand falls to your clit as your fingers continue inside. “Let go for me, mi amor, soak those fingers as if it were my cock fuckin’ you,” he rambles. “Just like I know you can, baby, atta fuckin’ girl.”

With the help of his filthy mouth, your body seizes up and you’re seeing stars, your eyes falling to the back of your head as you remove your hand from your clit to slap it over your mouth in an attempt to stop the high-pitched, purely pornographic moan of his name from escaping the walls of your not-so private office. You can hear the moment Joel cums, too, a painful groan roars from his throat as you hear the movements slow but get slippier with each pass over.

You’re on the phone for a few moments more, listening to each other’s breaths, slowly fixing your clothing as you let your heart rate return to normal.

“Joel,” you finally have enough strength to say.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

He hears a faint knock on your door. You pull the phone away to lessen your volume on his end. Just a moment, he hears you call out. “Gonna need more of you when I get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel replies more than happily.

After your phone call, Joel cleans and dresses himself up and heads to the kitchen.

Joel can’t help the way your words bounce around his head. Gonna need more of you when I get home.

“And I’m definitely gonna need a fuck ton of you today,” he mutters to the bag of Colombian coffee grounds he pulls out of his kitchen cabinet. He refills the machine with water, inserts a filter, pours two heaping spoonfuls of the ground beans into the compartment, places a mug, and hits start. He goes to put the coffee away, but it’s then he feels how lightweight the bag is starting to feel.

Genuinely, he begins to panic. He needs to order more, and he needs to do it now. He cannot go a day without his precious coffee. The brand he orders is online only, and usually he would wait for you to help him place the order, but he doesn’t want to risk hitting the cutoff for same day delivery.

Joel isn’t that old, and he certainly grows with the time period, but when it comes to technology, he’s worse than your 97-year-old grandmother who attempts to group FaceTime both of you every night. Sure, he knows how to send you pictures, but that’s the extent of his ability. Truly. With his coffee in mind, though, he puts on his bravest face and opens Safari. He searches for the website you’re always on. A, he types. M. A. Z.

There! Amazon. He clicks the website, not knowing the app is already installed on his phone. He sees the smiling logo, and, proud of himself, he smiles back at it.

The smile is quick to fade, however, because the intricacies of working the website is giving him heart palpitations. He sets his phone down and reaches for his reading glasses in his pocket and slides them on. He picks up his phone again.

The thing about using Amazon on a phone through a search engine, though, is that the website is constantly glitching. So when he types in the word coffee, he has zero idea how he ended up on a completely different website, his original search lost in the complicated webs of the internet.

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s reading, but once it registers, it’s way more interesting than his original task.

Women reporting intensified orgasms after drinking coffee, the headline read. His eyes begin to scan lower. Researchers concluded there was a “correlation between caffeine and sex” after testing its effects on rats.

Oh, yeah, he’s intrigued.

After reading the article, Joel restarts his original task and ends up ordering a larger amount of coffee than he normally would. In the name of science, he rationalized with himself.

Satisfied with his accomplishments, he grabs his mug and takes the time to enjoy his cup of pure caffeine. He needs the energy after all.

You get off promptly at 4pm, not wanting to spend any more time in your office—especially with the way you’ve been buzzing with need ever since your noon phone call. As soon as you park, you see an Amazon delivery person dropping off a box. They don’t ring the doorbell, and you know Joel doesn’t pay attention to the delivery notifications.

You get out of your car, leaving your things to get later. You reach the front porch and unlock and open the door first, bending down and picking up the box second.

Joel greets you at the door, immediately cursing himself for not paying attention to the door, resulting in you doing the heavy lifting. He knows you’re more than capable—Hell, you could probably handle his job better than he can—but his Southern upbringing is too deeply rooted into him to allow anything less.

“Hi, my love, I’m sorry, I coulda brought that in, baby,” he tells you as he takes the box from your grasp, giving you a forehead kiss as a trade off. The warmth of his lips physically relaxes you.

You two walk towards the kitchen, Joel sets the box down on the counter. “I just parked as they dropped it off, honey, it was no biggie,” you reply softly.

“I know, baby, but you know I-” he starts. You don’t let him finish as you grab him by his biceps and pull him into you, your arms finding their home wrapped around his neck as his grip completely wrapping your waist. Your lips slot together in a slow, needy embrace—your tongues slowly breaching each other’s mouths. You swallow the groans escaping his throat as you pull away from him.

“I know,” you say breathily, eyes as dark as his morning coffee. “Won’t do it again, promise,” you smile, knowing this is the only false promise you’ll ever make. At the rate of how hard you work him in other things, carrying a few heavy boxes is the least you could do every now and then. “Now, please undress me, baby,” you whimper, your hand skating down the front of his body, your deft fingers sliding into his waistband.

With one arm around your waist, another claws at your top, untucking it from your jeans to lift it over your head as he kisses and nips all over your jaw and neck. He turns your body so that your ass meets the counter, pushing his hips into yours, silently telling you to jump up.

Too eager, you don’t realize the trajectory of your jump, and your ass smacks the package, causing it to almost slip off the edge. The impact to your rear surprises you enough to pull away from Joel and look back. Apparently, your brain is already turned to mush because you completely forgot about that box’s existence.

However, now that you’re looking at it, you’re confused. You haven’t ordered anything recently. Did Joel order something? But he doesn’t even know how-

“You okay, darlin’?” Joel asks, pausing all his movements.

“Did you order something?” You ask.

His cheeks go red. “Yeah.. we were runnin’ out of my coffee ‘n I didn’t want to not have any for tomorrow or for later ‘n I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home to help me-”

The bubbly sounds of your giggles are what cut him off. “What?” He asks, slightly defensive and slightly giddy at the sweetness blessing his ears.

“You ordered something!” You exclaim. “You ordered something! And you were successful with it!” You’re gasping for air, speaking your excitement into his chest as you wrap yourself around him.

“Don’t make fun a’me,” he pouts, grabbing your chin with his thumb and forefinger, giving your face a little scolding shake.

“Oh, baby, no,” you coo, your laughter calming down because of the pain in your cheeks from smiling so wide. “I’m not making fun. I’m so proud!” your voice raises back up, as if you were talking to a baby who hit their first big milestone.

He rolls his eyes. “Baby, don’t be like that,” you say as you lean in to give him a soft kiss. He gives in, of course, and he deepens it. “I really am proud,” you say as you attempt to pull away.

He doesn’t let you. “Yeah, yeah,” he says sardonically in between kisses.

Your hand drags up and grabs at his jaw, pulling him away so you can speak. “Now you don’t have to ask me to order things for you anymore,” you say with a smirk.

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he breathes, trying to push against your hold on him. “Worst experience ever, I even-”

He cuts himself off because he was so caught up in you when you got home, he forgot about the little detour his internet experience took him on today.

Women reporting intensified orgasms after drinking coffee.

“Actually,” he redirects. “Can we have some now?”

Your eyes pop out of your head in astonishment. “Right now?” you ask in disbelief.

He gulps. “Y-yeah, right now. That okay?”

You don’t see why not besides the fact that his erection has been perched right against the soaked fabric of your panties for the last fifteen minutes and you’ll probably go mad if you don’t actually get relief in the next five minutes—but yeah, sure. Why not?

“I guess?” You say. Or ask? You really don’t know anymore.

Is he really choosing coffee right now over having you? I mean, not to toot your own fucking horn, but seriously. Who would delay an orgasm for some coffee? Apparently, Joel fucking Miller would.

You’re not really a coffee person. Sure, you have a cup here and there—mostly iced and from your favorite local shop on your way to work—but compared to Joel, you are nowhere near the level he is.

“How do you want it?” He asks, his back turned to you as he prepares two mugs.

“Rough,” you mutter, slightly annoyed. You can feel the slick in your underwear start to get cold—and dry.

Joel briefly turns around catching your eye; he points to his ear. “Say that again, sweetheart?”

Fuck. Okay, maybe you’re being a little too bitchy. You rise from your seat at the counter, perching yourself right beside him, reaching your hand into his curls to give him a little head scratch. “I’ll do it, baby,” you say. “Thank you.” With your hand still at the back of his head, you guide him to look at you as you stand on your tippy toes to give him a soft kiss.

The coffee, honestly, wasn’t that bad. Yeah, you put your usual creamer and sugar, but you put slightly less—curious to get a glimpse of the natural flavor Joel loves so much. You could get used to it like this, you think. One thing is for sure, though: the brand Joel buys is fucking strong. You’re on your last sip, and you are struggling—you can feel your heart pumping out of your chest, and you swear you feel like your entire body is pulsing. Like you can hear your blood coursing through your veins. You don’t tell Joel because you don’t want to sound weird, so you shrug the feeling away and take your last sip. Perfectly in sync with you, Joel finishes off his coffee and reaches for your mug to also bring to the sink.

Quickly letting the faucet run into the mugs so the coffee doesn’t stain, Joel speaks up. “How was it, darlin’? I know you don’t really enjoy coffee the way I do,” he notes.

“Actually, baby, I really enjoyed it,” you say with a genuine smile.

“Yeah?” He asks, a boyish grin sneaking past his lips.

“Yeah,” you reassure. “It was really strong, though,” you add.

“Strong?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah, um-” you start, unsure of how to describe it. “I don’t know, I just- I’ve never had coffee make my entire body feel like- like it’s buzzing or something. I don’t know,” you ramble.

“Huh,” he says to no one in particular. “I mean, it is one of the stronger roasts,” he tells you. Is this because you were already severely worked up beforehand? It can’t be the placebo effect—he didn’t even tell you about his discoveries.

Guess there’s only one way to go from here.

Not giving you a chance to respond, his hands find your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. He kisses your jaw, trailing his lips down the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Your head falls back onto him, your eyes fluttering shut as you give him full access. His fingers skate across the front of your jeans, your shirt already untucked from his earlier attempt. Your hips buck into his hands in response, a whiny little please leaves your mouth.

“Shh, I got ya, sweet girl,” he rasps in your ear, his drawl licking a heat up your spine. He adjusts himself so he’s the one leaning against the kitchen counter, your body entirely relying on his support to keep you standing.

He’s unbuttoning your jeans and right away you’re reaching for the zipper, helping him pull your bottoms down in one go.

You’re shaking in his grasp, too pent up with a need your body doesn’t know what to do with. “Relax, baby, I’ma take care a’ya,” he says with a nip to your shoulder, his middle and ring finger already finding their place running through your soaked folds.

Your eyes shut at the sensation, your breathing erratic and vocal. He drags your slick up to your throbbing bundle of nerves, circling with a precision only he knows how to provide. “F-fuck,” you moan. His other hand slides down to your sex, his two fingers going straight for your entrance and sliding in with ease with how much is pouring from you. “Fuckfuckfuck-”

“Gonna cum on my fingers, babygirl?” He’s pumping in and out of you at a languid pace even with the squirm of your hips. The stimulation on your clit never falters. “I can feel that pretty pussy flutter ‘round me, darlin’, I know she’s close.”

“J-Joel, please,” you let out, your head bobbing back and forth, unable to keep its heavy weight up.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s using his foot to kick your legs further apart, settling yours on the outside of his, and then both of you are dropping to the ground. His back is to the wall of the kitchen island while you land perfectly spread open atop his lap. Not worried about his or your balance anymore, he fucks into you harder, applying more pressure on your clit—the kind that makes you want to force your legs shut but you can’t, not with the way his own legs are keeping you open. “Open your eyes, sweet girl, need ya to look at yourself when you fuckin’ soak me.”

You open your eyes immediately and cast your eyes downward to his hands on you. “Nuh uh,” Joel tuts. His hand working your clit comes up to your jaw, your slick dampening your jaw as he guides you to look straight forward. Your reflection stares back at you from the dark oven window. Even in the dull image its showing you, you can see the way your pussy is glistening in the fluorescent kitchen light, the sweat dripping down your temples, your fucked-out face with Joel’s dark gaze ravaging every part of you.

Everything—all of your senses—is completely Joel, Joel, Joel, and before you know it, you’re gushing into his hand; his newfound liquid gold ever since he met you, collecting into the depths of his palm, all while you’re roaring and thrashing out in pure bliss on top of him.

The sight, sound, the feel, everything—just like you—consumes him whole. His lust takes over now, and his hands aren’t stopping. They continue their pace—their assault—on your sensitive core. He peers down over your shoulder, and his cock grows impossibly harder at the messy, slippery sight before him. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “Gimme one more, c’mon,” he breathes in, your scent beginning to linger into his nose, crawling into his skin and finding its home there. “I know you can gimme one more, baby, always such a good fuckin’ girl f’me.”

Your head is nodding furiously as you fight with your eyes to stay open and locked on your reflection. Your babbling, spit thick and coating every inch of your mouth as you try and respond. Mhm and one and more and fuck break free from your mouth, giving all the green light Joel needs to know he isn’t going too far.

You turn your head to face Joel, your hand flying to the back of his curls and pulling him for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue—an intermingling of each other’s spit as you swallow the other’s coffee-tinged breaths.

He feels the flutter in your cunt once more, but this time it’s stronger, tighter. The way you’re clamping down on him sends him into a frenzy, his hips rutting his erection into your lower back at the feel of your warmth wrapped around him. “C’mon, baby, let go, I feel you,” he encourages.

“Fuck-!” A high-pitched gasp turned whine comes out of your mouth as your entire body goes rigid, your pussy uncontrollably fluttering and spasming as Joel fucks you through your high. All you see is white, your body is engulfed by a tingly feeling that only describing it as TV static could do it justice. Your breathing is deep and shallow all at one, but more notably, you feel wet. Completely and utterly soaked, you can feel liquid pooling at your asscheeks and on the hardwood floor.

You finally gather the strength to look down—Joel too, and he steals the words right from your mouth. “Holy. Fuck.”

You two stay there for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts on what the fuck just happened, and finally, you speak first.

“I just-” you start.

“You did,” he finishes, equally as shocked. Amazed.

“How are we gonna-”

He rubs your thighs. “Can you stand?”

You think for a moment. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I’ll get up first. Then I’ll pull you up. Just don’t move, I don’t need ya slippin’ on-”

“Yeah, okay,” you stop him, feeling slightly embarrassed about it all.

He stands up, avoiding the little puddle below; then he pulls you up, kneeling to pull your underwear on for some sense of emotional comfort. “Hey.” He nudges your face with his hand to look into his eyes. “That was fuckin’ incredible. Ya hear me?” Heat washes over your entire face. You say nothing. “It was so fuckin’ hot and sexy and so so beautiful, I’m fuckin’ lucky to have witnessed somethin’ so heavenly, darlin’.” He pulls you in for a kiss. “Ya hear me?” he repeats his question, softer this time.

The embarrassment washes away in an instant. “Well,” you look into his eyes, a flash of trouble dancing across your orbs. “Felt fuckin’ incredible, too.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, grabbing and guiding your hand down to his cock. “It did feel mighty incredible,” smugness written all over his face.

He dips your hand inside his pants, and you're met with his half-hard, sticky length. “Joel, did you-”

“That I did, baby, that I did.”

A moment passes, and you burst out into laughter for the second time tonight. Only this time, Joel joins in, completely taking advantage of how sweet the comedown always is with you.

“I think I oughta drink more of that coffee,” you say out of the blue, taking Joel completely off guard as he finishes wiping up your… spill.

“Why?” he asks, trying to maintain a normal tone.

“I swear, Joel,” you whisper as if there’s other people listening in. “I swear that coffee is the reason I finished so… intensely,” you finish, your eyebrows raised in intrigue and curiosity.

“You really think so?” Joel asks, a victory smile threatening to escape him.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I think we should test it out. You’re off tomorrow, yeah?”

“Well, I am now.”

End note: The article Joel stumbled upon is a real article LOL. Here it is, in case any of you were interested. The article is from 2023, so by all means, picture 56 year old Joel. I’m imagining him a bit younger in this lil AU, but there’s no explicit age description, so imagine whatever the hell you want😘. And in case you were wondering: yes, he ends up telling you about his intentions behind wanting to drink coffee first. Let's just say... you both end up getting hyperfixated on trying to "prove" this theory even though you both damn well know what the result is. ;) All my love, I hope you guys enjoyed.💚

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Utilizing my taglist a few more times just to have a slow transition to my updates blog! @katiexpunk @janaispunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @lilynotdilly @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories @akah565 @getitoutofmymind @axshadows @survivingandenduring @joels-shitty-puns @its-nebuleuse @axshadows @yorksgirl

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