𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]
PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader
SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface
WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)
NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!
Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock
Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year.
Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make.
A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks.
“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath.
“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?”
“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?”
“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.”
There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.
“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest.
“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son.
“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed.
Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.
“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do.
Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy.
When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood.
You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more.
“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you.
Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him.
“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down.
“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.”
Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him.
“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.”
“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might.
So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House.
“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?”
“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James.
“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you.
“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you.
“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily.
“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly.
You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head.
“Who’s blood is on your shirt?”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.”
“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son.
“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.”
“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?”
“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?”
“That’s not what I-,”
“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.”
James sighed and chose to ignore your comment,
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.”
James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son.
When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest.
You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU.
You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son.
James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold.
You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most.
Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.
It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally.
“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked.
“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head.
“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.”
“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area.
“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.”
“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.”
“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?”
James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.”
“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked.
“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor.
“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,”
“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated.
The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.”
James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented.
“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked.
“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.
“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James.
“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?”
Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together.
“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.”
Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.
“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.”
You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs.
James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands.
“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.”
“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said.
“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed.
“No, no it’s not.”
You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you.
You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest.
While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself.
“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away.
“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted.
You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck.
“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier.
“No, why?”
“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?”
“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked.
“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.”
You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?”
“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.”
“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.
You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him.
James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news.
Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle.
You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to.
A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own.
“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed.
“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian.
With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes.
You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe.
“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand.
“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.”
You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours.
You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings.
“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.”
“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled.
“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process.
“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off.
“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.”
“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him.
“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.”
Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up.
He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period.
“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.”
James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap.
“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face.
“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.”
“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station.
Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators.
The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food.
“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.
“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.”
James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head.
“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.”
You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.
When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party.
You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done.
As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital.
You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital.
When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh.
“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.”
“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork.
You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it.
James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand.
Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths.
“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked.
“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.”
“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.”
“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”
“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted.
—
You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late.
“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”
“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time.
“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.”
Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private.
“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!”
“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.”
“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?”
“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?”
“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.”
James placed his hands on his hips and said,
“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,”
“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.”
When he said nothing you continued.
“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.”
James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head,
“Okay,” he said simply.
You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents.
“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital.
“No, not this time,” you shook your head.
“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together.
“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?”
Julian was content with your answer and left it at that.
Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up.
One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening.
Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end.
“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?”
“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.”
“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked.
“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.”
You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying.
“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,”
You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside.
“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.”
James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen.
“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea.
“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.”
“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass.
“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.”
“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded.
“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.”
You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding.
“These are all good ideas,” you started.
“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?”
“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.”
James shook his head.
“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.”
“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly.
“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes.
“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.”
“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.”
You took a sip of your tea and said,
“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.”
James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.”
“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light.
“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?”
“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.”
You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him.
“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?”
Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen.
You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing.
When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him.
“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.”
“She does, does she,” James looked over at you.
“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.”
James pressed his lips together and sighed,
“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.”
“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head.
James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room.
“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses.
“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.”
“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.”
“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress.
You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room.
James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him.
“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”
You nodded your head,
“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…”
“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled.
“James I’m begging you-,”
“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head.
“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out.
You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch.
—
Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married.
Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food.
You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island.
“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad.
“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you.
“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.”
Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example.
“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.”
That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked.
“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.
“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.”
“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way.
“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled.
James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.
“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.”
You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing.
“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.”
“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded.
“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.”
“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh.
“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head.
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!”
“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.”
“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head.
“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug.
“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.”
“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable.
When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad.
“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked.
“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.”
“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.”
“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded.
“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James.
After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit.
“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.”
“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?”
You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.”
“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked.
“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.”
“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.”
You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.”
Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room.
Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep.
Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed.
“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked.
“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed.
“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.”
“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright.
“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?”
Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James.
It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up.
“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice.
“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?”
“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.”
“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.
“It’s possible, was there anything else?”
“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks.
“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.”
“James-,”
“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.”
“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive.
James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him.
When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in.
“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!”
“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.”
You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay.
You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back.
“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband.
“No,” he stated just as firmly.
“James-,”
“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away.
“James, let me go.”
“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter.
“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you.
“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.”
“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.”
James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple.
You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.
Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?”
Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake.
“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?”
“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.”
“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn.
“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.”
You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian.
“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward.
When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together.
“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible.
“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted.
“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs.
You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.
—
“Mom…Mom, Dad?”
Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face.
“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.
“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.”
“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you.
“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders.
“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh.
“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed.
“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?”
“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.”
“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?”
“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.”
“Is it dangerous?” he asked.
You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details.
“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.”
“Promise?” Julian whispered.
“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.”
“I love you guys too.”
Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out.
It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop.
“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.”
“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested.
You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together.
“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?”
House was silent so James explained,
“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.”
“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.”
“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted.
He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office.
“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked.
“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside.
He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label.
“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically.
“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back.
“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?”
“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand.
“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you.
“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach.
“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one.
“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head.
“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.”
“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned.
“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.”
“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.”
You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago.
“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.”
You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking.
Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well.
As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic.
“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian.
“He does?”
“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,”
“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively.
“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.”
“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours.
“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion.
“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.”
“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.”
“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.”
James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.”
“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply.
“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…”
You shook your head.
“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.”
James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son.
“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.”
“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect.
—
“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job.
“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing.
“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle.
“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.”
He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins.
“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.”
“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked.
“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.”
“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.”
You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself.
You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine.
In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other.
“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.”
You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page.
Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look.
You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes.
“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo.
“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.”
“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added.
You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant.
That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy.
You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous.
At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach.
You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again.
You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel.
All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look.
You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you.
Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.
James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you.
“Can I keep this one?” he asked.
You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph.
It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp.
Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head.
“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”
“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”
You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face.
Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.
—
Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications.
Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies.
You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red.
3:07
You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower.
When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head.
You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening.
“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.”
“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son.
“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless.
“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained.
“And what were you doing up?” you asked.
“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”
You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands.
“So, is everything okay?”
“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower.
“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water.
“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you.
“A bad dream?” he asked.
“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”
James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs.
“Was it about us?”
He took your silence as a yes.
James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned forward sitting on the bathroom counter.
“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest.
“Would you tell me?”
“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled.
There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again,
“What was it about?”
You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak.
“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.”
“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.”
“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.
“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”
“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.”
You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.
James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure.
“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt.
When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently.
You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter.
“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered.
“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head.
He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say.
“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.”
James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?”
“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted.
“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused.
“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.”
James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you.
“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.”
“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer.
James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you.
You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian.
“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face.
“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes.
You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him.
“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.”
Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James.
“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him.
“You don’t mind?”
“Just this once.”
James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed.
When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep.
You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair.
One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’.
“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad.
“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?”
Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own.
—
“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.”
“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.”
“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked.
“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you.
“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said.
James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this.
“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him.
“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?”
“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled.
You looked up at James and he shrugged.
“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her.
You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat,” you nodded your head.
“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested.
You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?”
“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?”
You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go.
James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings.
Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married.
“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch.
“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.
“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow.
“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you.
“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink.
“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?”
“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized.
James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you.
“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.”
You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables.
“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired.
“Do I have to?” you asked.
“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled.
“What do you want me to say?” you asked.
“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly.
You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.”
“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.”
“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.”
James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak,
“Can I ask you something?” he settled on.
“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island.
“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?”
Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question.
“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough.
There was a moment of silence before you spoke again.
“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.”
James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern.
“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.
“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.”
James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent.
“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.”
“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.”
“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer.
“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted.
“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls.
He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.”
“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?”
“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”
“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?”
You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him.
“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.”
“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.”
“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.”
“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again.
You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear.
“James,” you breathed.
“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.”
“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice.
“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart.
You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks.
“Jamie?”
James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname.
“Yes, my love.”
“Can I count on you?”
You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that.
“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.”
James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face.
And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time.
TAGLIST —
@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter
❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED
— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .
𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con
JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.
His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.
The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.
With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.
His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.
He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.
However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.
Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.
"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.
And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.
After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...
He already has.
Good afternoon to Toto’s forearm
one thing that has been all over my fyp is this girl basically babying her bf when hes sick. but ! im imagining reader doing this to bestfriend!james and sirius and remus watching like ???!!!
In your opinion, it's perfectly acceptable to spoon-feed James soup while he's sick. After all, his limbs are achy from being bent at awkward angles throughout the night due to his restless tossing and turning, so repeatedly bringing spoon after spoon to his mouth would only wear his joints out more.
It is, perhaps, only a little silly because you are using an actual baby spoon. It's green silicon with white plastic around the handle that grows warm beneath your steady touch. requested specifically by James who always has an aversion to the feeling of his teeth scraping against metal cutlery, but especially can't handle it when everything else in his body feels wrong.
He lets the hinge of his jaw open weakly as you press another spoonful of soup to his lips, humming warmly as the broth slides down his dry throat and rehydrates it. Remus's eyes flicker over at the sound, but dutifully return to his book.
Sirius is the shit-stirrer, as always.
"Remus," He whines, tucked into his own blankets, though not for sickness as much as for laziness, "I'm feeling ill. Would you heat me up a ba-ba?"
"Yes dear," Remus hums, attention still firmly on his book, "Would you like me to burp you afterwards as well?"
Sirius lets out a belch from beneath the blankets, then snickers at it, "Nah, I've got that one down m'self."
"Vile," James's face crumples into a grimace, and you very kindly don't bring up the countless burping contests the two have had with each other over their years of friendship, "Sirius, I'm already nauseous enough as it is, you don't need to make things worse."
"Oh," Sirius gushes, "Baby's tummy hurts."
"Leave him alone, Sirius-" You marvel at Remus's intrusion, a sudden flare of gratefulness warming your chest, until, "-It's not fair to antagonize infants."
"You are awful friends," You decide, eyeing the pair disapprovingly as you pat away sweat that's accumulated on James's forehead from the strain of simply breathing, "The poor man is sick, and he has no appetite, he's not been able to breathe through his nose for days, he's got a constant headache-"
"-he needs a diaper change, he's missed his naptime, and Mummy won't take him to the playground," Sirius croons in faux-sympathy, "James, my heart goes out to you, mate."
"You'll see," James croaks, only rejecting the spoonful of soup that you hold to his mouth in favor of ribbing Sirius, "I'll cough on your toothbrush Pads, then we'll see who's being dramatic."
make a wish, huh? i wish i wish with all my heart for reader to have pissed off her daddy dom in the field. so as a punishment she has to sit on this big man’s shoe while he does paperwork. cockwarming him with her mouth until he decides no matter how bad she’s whining and needing him, that she can rock and get herself off. but only if she listens to him. if not? if she’s a brat and she’s being really really needy?? i do believe that causes for a spanking, don’t you? over his knee, skirt rolled up.. you know. just a wish 😈🙏🏻
The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Blurb
Pairing: Dom!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/sub!Reader
Words: 2k
CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.
Tags/warnings: master!hotch, bunny!reader, established D/s relationship, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), pet names (bunny).
a/n: when Morgan asks for something, you give it to her.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
You swallowed and his entire body tensed up under you. He hissed in disapproval, his darkened gaze almost searing a hole through yours. You couldn’t help it, saliva had been pooling in the corners of your mouth for a few minutes and it was either swallow or let it drip down your throat. And let’s be honest, the latter did not sound as naughty as the former. You knew how he’d react, knew that his cock would twitch at the slight change in pressure, knew that he would know what you were doing.
You didn’t let his stare scare you. Instead, you returned your own — round, innocent eyes that glistened with tears. It wasn’t that he was hurting you, on the contrary, he was giving you something that you craved yet it was a punishment that he knew was sure to make you lose your mind. His cock in your mouth, warm and heavy on your tongue, thick and hard against your throat. Unmoving, still, agonizing.
He’d asked you into his office the second the last agent had left for the night. You knew what it was about, knew what awaited you the second he locked the doors and closed the blinds. And fortunately for you, it had not been the professional reprimand that you’d thought.
Unfortunately for you, he had made you strip completely, only allowing you to keep your panties. The cold air made your nipples hard and your skin erupt in goosebumps. He led you down on your knees, your pussy landing on his expensive leather shoe. He was calm and collected as he rolled his desk chair further into his desk, caging you against the wood at your back and his wood at your front.
“Open,” he commanded, and fearing any more repercussions after your major, his words, mild, your words, fuck up in the field, you eagerly did as he asked. A hint of a smile graced his lips as he watched you, an overwhelming sense of pride and satisfaction burning through his body as he unbuckled his belt. It was painfully slow and you were overly eager as you realized what he was commanding you to do. You were about to reach out to help him speed along the process when his eyes darkened in warning, your hands immediately falling against your sides.
“Color?” he asked, a hint of cockiness in his voice startled you.
“Green, sir,” you replied, the implications of your consent not yet clear.
“Good,” with that he sprung his cock free from his underwear. He was already semi hard, the tip glistened with pre cum and you couldn’t help but salivate at the excitement. “This is not a treat, bunny,” your eyes met his again before he continued. “You are going to take me in your mouth but you may not make me cum, am I understood?”
Oh no. Aaron knew how much you loved to give him head, how you reveled in watching him come undone by your skilled tongue. It was one of the first things he’d learned about you, one of the things he couldn’t believe you liked doing. Which is why he knew that every fiber in your body would light up in protest. You wanted to scream, argue, throw a tantrum — but you didn’t. Instead you simply nodded solemnly. You had done this to yourself and there was no one else to blame.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he praised and the excitement in your lower belly went up in flames again. “You will be a perfect, still angel until I finish my paperwork, and then we’ll see if you’ve earned the right to get yourself off on my shoe.”
“Thank you, sir.”
And with that he rolled his chair all the way into his desk, one hand around his cock, the other grabbing your chin and pulling you where he wanted you. The movement made your pussy graze against his rough laces and you had to stop yourself from moaning. You could already feel your wetness start to pool and he’d literally done nothing yet. His fingers pressed against your cheeks and your mouth opened on its own, wide and eager, as he placed a third of his length on your tongue.
You could’ve started crying right then and there, but you didn’t. You would not let him break you that easily.
“Do you remember how to safe word, bunny?” He asked, he always asked.
You nodded, making your tongue rub against the underside of his length. You tapped his leg once. Yes. “How do you tap out?”
You tapped his leg twice and he rewarded you by patting your cheek, gently at first, but then his pats turned into soft smacks, right against the tip of his cock inside your mouth. He groaned loudly, the sounds slowly making you lose all sense of self as you felt him twitch inside your mouth.
“Fuck, bunny,” he moaned. “This is going to be a long night.”
And long it was. You had lost track of time. At first you decided to count the seconds, minutes, hours, whatever to distract yourself from moving, from what you actually wanted to do. But it was impossible. Your arms had wrapped around his leg to hold yourself steady, your legs had started to wobble and so you’d given up and fully sat yourself down on his shoe.
You were gone, your brain wasn’t working anymore. All you could think about was the weight of his cock in your mouth and how much you wanted to move. Move your tongue, move your head, move your hands to wrap around his base, move your hips to give yourself some kind of relief.
You swallowed again, this time accidentally, and because of your miscalculation, your flat tongue grazed against his length, making you roll your eyes back in euphoria. You didn’t register as your hips started moving, as your pussy made contact with the rough, uneven surface of his laces, as your wetness drenched his shoe. Your clit grazed against a buckle and you moaned, loudly. That was the final straw.
Without a word of warning he rolled his chair out, his hands quickly grabbing you under your armpits and effortlessly lifting you from under the desk. Your mind snapped back to reality in an instant. Glazed eyes turned sharp, numbness turned responsive, daze turned into realization. You were about to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to let the tears fall when he sat you down on his lap, your legs on either side of his own.
“Sir—”
His palm landed with a smack on your ass, the sting making you whimper. You had learned early on that there were times when he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t bring himself to verbalize his commands. Instead, he’d gotten into the habit of turning them into action. A single spank was a warning to be quiet, to save whatever groveling — he wasn’t going to listen to it.
“When I give you a command, I expect you to follow it,” he said, anger lacing every word.
“I’m sorry,” you breathed, your head hanging low avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t mean it—”
That made him snap, his right hand landing another smack against your reddening ass as his left tightly grasped your jaw, pulling your head up to face him.
“Like you didn’t mean to go into that apartment without backup?”
He was concerned, so much in fact that it was the easiest you’d ever been able to read him. You knew he’d been concerned for you. As your boss, you knew he cared for you. But as your Dom…that was a whole different story. You’d done your best to compartmentalize, to trust the other in your skills and training, to accept that you would both be put in scary situations when out in the field. But right then and there, you knew, you saw. He was terrified.
“Yes,” you breathed, the heavy understanding of your punishment washing over you like ice cold water. “It will not happen again. Sir.”
His eyes bore into yours, searching, but you knew what he would find. You cared too. It wasn’t like you had planned on going in without backup, it was that you both understood that the job came first, that whatever instinct made you follow through, no matter how reckless, had probably been for the best of the case. And as much as you both knew, if it made him feel more comfortable to remind you to be careful in this way, you would let him do it every single time.
“Good girl,” he praised, his lips hovering over yours teasingly. “I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?”
You nodded rapidly, making him smirk. You reveled in it, in his smile, in the warmth that was seeing him experience happiness in whatever form it might take. He gently guided you back to your knees in front of his chair and your eyes lit up.
“Make me cum, bunny,” he sat back down, legs spread open like inviting you to a buffet, chest rising and falling, his white button up straining with each breath.
You wasted no time getting to work, your hands quickly wrapping themselves around the base of his cock. He was still a little slick from your saliva, but it wasn’t enough, so you reached one hand down your panties, fingers eagerly collecting your slick before you slathered it all over his rock hard erection.
“Jesus Christ, bunny,” he groaned as your hands started to move up and down his shaft. Moves calculated, perfectly pressured, expertly avoiding his needy tip. Pre cum started to leak once more and that’s when you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your tongue darted out on its own volition, eagerly rolling around his tip, hungrily drinking him all in. He moaned loudly, his hand wrapping around your hair and pushing you further down against his length.
You let him, flattening your tongue and opening your throat as you swallowed more and more of his length into your mouth. He stopped at your hand, letting you work your magic then. You wanted him to cum, needed to feel his spend down your throat. Your hands sped up their movements, meeting your mouth sloppily as you bobbed your head up and down to meet them at the base. You continued to roll your tongue around his length as you sucked in your cheeks, tightening around his cock. You could feel him tense, his moans becoming louder and louder, his breathing uneven, his heartbeat aggressive.
“I’m close—” he didn’t even manage to finish his sentence as you removed your hands and took him the rest of the way down your throat. His chest erupted in an animalistic groan as the tension snapped and he spilled down your throat. You moaned at the feeling, at the power that you had over this beautiful man in front of you. As much as you wanted relief of your own, there was nothing more satisfying than having him spill down your throat, than having him come undone by your tongue. The tears finally spilled as you kept him there, patiently waiting for him to finish before you pulled yourself off him. Your eyes locked onto his as you swallowed, making a show of it.
You were both breathing rapidly, both stuck in a pocket of time where nothing else but the two of you existed, both completely satisfied in your own ways. He ran his hand over his face then, breaking the spell, knowing that if he stayed any longer, he’d say something he’d regret. Instead he took in a sharp breath and placed himself back into his pants before he reached out to help you to your feet. He led you back on his lap and this time he cradled you, warm hands running all over your cold body. You hummed against his chest, your own hands tightly grabbing a hold of his suit jacket.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to your temple.
“Yes, Master.”
idk if i'm "back" yet, but here's my offering to you on this saturday. but mostly bc i wanted to fuck with morgan while she's busy and can't do anything about it.
tags: @ssamorganhotchner, @criminalskies, @callm3c0nfus3d, @xladyxdreamer, @gr3enflowers, @lilyviolets, @howabouticallyou, @shadowmemory, @simp4f1, @honeylovemoon, @powerlvr25, @formulapierre, @spenciesprincess, @extra-trash77 (if i missed anyone please let me know!)
𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥
𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟭𝟬: 𝘆𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗼𝗱𝗮 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗮𝗯-𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝗳𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲
📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your mental state is suffering–you’re not sure if you can handle alphatauri posting another thirst trap of your boyfriend to disguise their inability to build a car that doesn’t break within the first ten laps. but, when yuki posts his own half-naked picture on main? he’s asking for it, at this point. clearly, he’s been spending too much time with pierre. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. ab-riding. pierre gasly is his own warning. no penetrative sex. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: yuki tsunoda x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: drabble. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best friend • saweetie ft. doja cat
𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: this is actually the dirtiest fic, in theory yk. yuki has my heart, and i'm single handedly going to fill tumblr with my posts about him, thank you, good night.
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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss
to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!
you can’t stand his smug ass smirk. he knows damn well how you feel about his thirst traps. sure, alphatauri milks any chance of plastering yuki across their social media page to fail at distracting fans from the fact that their the slowest car on the grid, and that they can’t build a car that doesn’t fall apart like legos. but, yuki, posting practically-naked (he’s only shirtless, so really you’re mildly exaggerating) pictures on his main instagram page?? he’s not george-fucking-russell, so, why the hell would he do that?
there’s only two answers to this question, and they’re both correct. one, pierre gasly—the french bastard. you can’t leave them together unsupervised. and two, to make you mad. 9which you very much are, so, yuki achieved what he wanted. he’s especially thrilled, when you shove him down onto your bed, and straddle his lap, angrily tugging his shirt off. yuki grins up at you, satisfied at where a simple shirtless picture lead him to. he should listen to pierre more often, his ex-teammate might have good ideas, however rare they are. once his shirt is off, you freeze, breathing heavily as you drink in the sight of his torso. you lean forward and start sucking marks into his pecs, biting into the meat of his chest, and tracing the definition of his abs with your tongue. yuki’s moans rumble in his chest, and he lets his eyes flutter shut and basks under the thorough claim you’re leaving on his body. at least you’re kind enough to avoid placing any marks high enough to where they could be seen from the neck of a shirt—alphatauri will just have to post pre-filmed videos they have in the vault while your hickeys fade, they’ll survive.
you erratically jerk away again, and strip your bottoms off, shoving your underwear down and tossing them behind you. you tug your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, and you drag the cups of your bra underneath your chest, causing them to spill over the top obscenely. roughly grabbing at your boyfriend’s hands, you direct them to grasp at your boobs, and command, “keep your abs flexed.” yuki makes a noise of confusion, but you don’t elaborate any further. you lower yourself to sit on his abdomen, and grind across him slowly, testing the waters. your head falls forward from the zing of pleasure that races up your spine, and you quickly start rabbiting your hips across the dips and ridges of his muscles.
yuki is rendered speechless at your motions. he was expecting you to ride his dick, not his abs. he’s not going to complain about this, though. you’re rubbing yourself off on his torso—your moans are bitten off and rough, and your grinds are deep and forceful to make sure your clit catches on every sharp edge of his abdomen. it’s the dirtiest thing yuki’s ever seen you do, usually he’s the one being unhinged. he squeezes at your chest rhythmically, dropping his hands to your chest eventually to watch how your breasts bounce at every shift you make—he sighs contentedly, this is heaven.
he brings one hand to reach around you and palm himself over his shorts, but is denied the chance to do so. you hiss at him meanly, and pull his hand back to your waist, eyes flashing at him in warning. yuki falters under the commanding glint of your gaze, maybe he pushed you too far this time. he adjusts his grip on your body and takes some of the load off you, and guides your hips against his body for you—he could feel your thighs begin to tremble in exhaustion and based on how deadest you’ve become on getting yourself off on his abs, he doesn’t want to feel any additional wrath when your release slips from your grasp.
a squeal of relief rattles through your chest at how yuki does the hard work for you. he moves your body exactly how you crave, and you find it incredibly difficult to remember why you were mad in the first place. instead of your thighs shaking in tiredness—you’re thankfully not used to being the one putting all the work in, your boyfriend’s stamina is appreciated—they begin to quiver as you get closer to cumming. your own hand comes to tug at your nipples, looking for any last flare of pleasure to push you over the edge. the wetness you’ve spread across his abs has started to lessen the friction you feel against your cunt. yuki sees the frustration furrowing your brow, and shifts his right hand down over your navel so his thumb can rub at your clit. you gasp, throwing your head back at white-hot burst of contentment behind your eyes, and all it takes is a few more furious passes of yuki’s fingers on your cunt, as the coil snaps inside your core, and waves of bliss crash over you.
yuki slips his hand away, and guides you to ride out the aftershocks on his abs. he moans at the sight of pure satisfaction on your face, and how you’ve soaked his torso, reminding him what belongs to you, with no room for vagueness. you eventually slow your roll, and fall to the side off yuki. the two of you pant as you stare at the ceiling, allowing the rapid beats of your hearts to slow.
you tilt your head to face him, and smile dopily at the sight of yuki staring at his navel. you’ve drenched him with your release, and it glistens beautifully on his tanned skin. if you were truly unhinged, you’d take a picture with your hand rubbing your wetness across his skin, and post it for everyone to see. the contrasting shades of your skin under the light of golden hour would look perfect. it would probably cost your boyfriend’s career, so maybe that’s not an equal exchange.
hummingly faintly, you stumble off 9ithe bed, legs still shaking as you walk towards the bathroom. “you can get yourself off. you’re not fucking me for a week—“ yuki makes an alarmed noise, sputtering in disbelief, struggling to find his words, “oh, don’t get mouthy with me. i could make it so you never fuck me again—i just gave you enough material to last you for that long.” you slam the bathroom door shut, and yuki’s mouth hangs open in shock. fuck, pierre. he’s never listening to his suggestions ever again.
taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime
© httpsserene 2023
OKAY dilf filthy thots: Seb spending the night at little Leclerc's flat. Charles walking in her room early in the morning, and true to gossip girl style... seb is giving her head under the duvet
APCXJPCFKC SEB IS A BETCH
"chérie!" charles slams the door closed, dropping the paper bags of breakfast he was carrying along to the counter. his eyes roamed around your pristine flat, finding no sight of you anywhere; so he figured you were still very much asleep.
charles was practically skipping on the way to your bedroom. it's been a while since he last saw you, and he arrived late last night. and after much deliberation, wether he'd bother you with his presence, or crash at the guest bedroom, his conscience won out.
if he was exhausted, you must be aswell... he just didn't know to what extent.
charles knocked twice, and as he hears your faint mumble of come in, he turned the knob and peaked inside your bedroom. he was welcomed by the sight of you in black rimmed glasses, and a white oversized tshirt, sitting up on the bed.
"goodmorning chérie," charles grins. "i bought you breakfast— well, brunch."
"mhmm," you nod rapidly, blinking. "let me just fix myself up." you inclined your head.
"alright, but hurry. the food's gonna be cold!" he reminds you, evidently in a cheery mood. you were craning your head as you awaited his footsteps to retreat— and you practically kicked sebastian in his back.
"i hate you," sebastian peels back the cover over his head, blue eyes sparkling with so much mirth, in his lips were the glistening evidence of your wetness and his cheeky smile. "i hate you so much." you utter as you sag against the headboard, weakened by the sudden interruption and willing yourself to stop trembling from his earlier ministrations.
"imagine if i didn't make you see stars, then huh." he purrs, "you'd be kicking me off the bed."
"so witty in the morning." you squint, laughing under your breath as his stubbled kisses tickled your skin. you ran your hands on his tussled hair as he gave you a breathtaking kiss.
"my pretty girl," he whispers against your lips, trailing his kisses on your cheeks. your heart fluttered, every single urge in your body was screaming at you to just throw caution in the wind, lock the door and orchestrate a repeat of last night's events— regardless of a potential meltdown charles would do.
"seb," you utter in protest, against your will. "charles is going to get suspicious."
sebastian groans under his breath, "why are your brothers a bunch of walking cock blocks?"
"they're barely here, chéri." you lean away from him, lashes fluttering as you try to sway his scandalous ire. he could be temperemental if he wishes to be. petty freaking german.
sebastian made a noise of disagreement, but he was silenced by the raised eyebrow you gave him. "i don't like sharing." he purses his lips.
"evidently." you chuff, "never knew how to share your toys as a child huh?"
"no." he says seriously.
"me too," you giggle, and he finally smiles again. "but if you behave now, i'll—" you lean in to whisper some filthy promises to the pouty german, so he'll finally let you placate the other big baby in the other room.
andddddd he's patiently waiting in your bed, all smug and pretty after charles left.
only for viewers over the age of 18
requests are always open
minors dni
Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader
Genre: fluff
Words: 4.4k
Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing
Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.
a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.
The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.
Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.
You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.
You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”
You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?
“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”
Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.
You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.
---
Then there was JJ’s baby shower.
Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”
And support her he did.
He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.
At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.
You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.
“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”
You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”
But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.
---
It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.
You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.
“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.
He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”
You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”
Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”
You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.
---
The team noticed it, too.
“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.
“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.
“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”
Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”
You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”
But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.
---
It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.
Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.
Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.
He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”
You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”
Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.
You nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”
Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”
Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”
His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.
“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”
Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.
“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.
---
Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.
You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.
And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.
It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.
You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.
“Aaron,” you said softly.
He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”
You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”
His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”
You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”
Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.
You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.
Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.
You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”
His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.
When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.
“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”
You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"
His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.
The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.
“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.
“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.
You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”
He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”
The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.
You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.
how lucky we are to live in a world where tiramisu exists
𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋 – 𝐒𝐕𝟓
-> summary: losing a game of lance vs stroll unlocks the competitive and kinky side to sebastian that he had kept down since his rbr days.
-> pairing: sebastian vettel x reader
-> word count: 4.2k
-> warnings: 18+ mdni. extremely competitive seb. long introduction, i’m sorrryyyy. spanking, fingering. perhaps a bit out of character but i tried my best.
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Lance VS Seb had become a bigger pain in the arse than you ever expected it to be. And you expected quite a lot.
Sebastian Vettel was known for many things. Being a kind person, an activist, a stand-in parent for many of the drivers on the grid who were not fortunate enough for their own fathers to be present. But only one or two drivers remained that remembered Sebastian for his strongest personality trait when he was younger.
His innate desire to win. At whatever the cost.
Having driven Mark Webber to borderline insanity and arguably forced retirement during his blonde, sun-kissed RBR career, Sebastian continued his tirade against anyone who had stood in his way. From Fernando Alonso to his best friend Lewis Hamilton, not one of them escaped the wrath of the German racing machine.
Though the gods appeared to no longer smile on Sebastian the same way they once did, that desire remained in everything he did even after Ferrari had shattered his soul. He put his all into everything, from the F1 season to two days a year at ROC and Grill The Grid, there wasn’t anything he didn’t want to come out on top in.
And that included Lance VS Seb.
The ridiculous way his eyes lit up when you had informed Sebastian that the latest round of silly tasks would be Table Tennis really should have given the heads up that the 34-year-old would act like a total menace. With a singular sentence, he was glowing with the youth of a newly crowned four-time world champion once more.
“I am very good at Table Tennis, you know?” He muses as you walk through the Aston Martin hospitality at the Jeddah track, to the room in which the team was filming for the YouTube channel.
“I am sure, Sebastian.” You answer simply, perhaps a little too sweetly for his taste. You hear him chuckle, and turn your face to see him shake his head in response, that cheeky grin pulling on the corners of his lips. The kind that made his eyes crinkle and made you nervous.
“You don’t believe me. I will prove it to you,” he insists, raising his crooked index finger to the air like he had on so many podiums in his youth. Of course, that championship-winning mindset would never go away.
It was your turn to laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully. It was charming, seeing him so invested each time in proving to you he had the ability to come out on top in every single one of the little trials.
“It’s not me you have to prove yourself to, it’s the fans,” you point out, acting like a true media representative as you opened the door to the small room in which the table had been set up, paddles resting on the surface. It was just the two of you so far, joined only by the preset cameras on tripods for filming.
“I would much rather prove it to you,” he smirks, “besides, it’s much easier to win when you have an attractive woman cheering for you.” And so it begins, the incessant teasing and flirting that had been happening for many weeks now, and despite your better judgment, you couldn’t tell him to stop.
It had started off slow, at first. Winks when he passed you in the corridor, and cheeky, ambiguous comments that bordered on innuendos. No one ever thought anything of it, knowing Seb to be jokingly flirtatious.
But you weren’t sure he was joking anymore.
“Is that why you were so upset that the grid girls left?” You countered. Goodness he had never stopped complaining. You remembered him, in that Ferrari Red racing suit, complaining like a child that the grid girls had been removed as a regular occurrence from the race day activities.
“Of course, don’t you always feel as though you perform better with an attractive person?” His lips quirked up as he spoke, the innuendo not lost on you.
“Sebastian,” you sigh, exasperated as you look at him with a pointed look. “Please behave while we film this challenge.” He simply raises his hands in mock defeat as Lance Stroll wanders into the room, flanked by the cameramen for the Aston Martin YouTube Channel.
There were the usual formalities, saying hello to the cameramen and giving Lance a hug to the tune of Sebastian asking why you never embraced him like that. Of course, you had answered with ‘because Lance isn’t even remotely as infuriating as you.’
Finally, as Sebastian batted across the table in practice, the cameramen informed the two drivers that they would begin filming soon. In the overall standings of Lance VS Seb, Sebastian was leading by a comfortable 7 - 3. Regardless, you knew that he would be desperate to win Table Tennis most of all, the competitive gleam in his eyes even more prevalent on camera.
When they began filming, Sebastian tossed the ball in the air, catching it again and informing the audience at home of the terms and conditions of the challenge. There’s a back and forth between both drivers, playful teasing.
“This time we chose the challenge ourselves, and we chose to play table tennis,” Sebastian smiled brightly, to which Lance scoffed, shaking his head.
“We? You pretty much insisted, Sebastian!” The younger driver pointed out, causing you to laugh. Sebastian shook his head, pointing the paddle at him. “No no this is equally your decision, Lance!”
After a few minutes of bickering, which you agreed with the cameramen would be cut for the sake of both drivers' integrity, they finally began the challenge with the utmost seriousness. Lowering his center of gravity by bending his knees, Sebastian gazed down the table with the intensity of a racing driver waiting for the lights to go out. Though you’d never admit it, that potent stare you mostly saw behind a helmet before the races always made your cunt flutter.
Taking a deep breath, he throws the ball and taps it across the table with ease. The instantly recognizable ‘tunk tunk' of the ball’s impact with the paddles and table sounded throughout the room. Lance, relatively unbothered by Sebastian’s cut-throat style, stayed practically straight-backed as he lazily batted back.
The first round went to Sebastian, the ball from Lance’s paddle missing the edge of the table and falling in an arch onto the floor. A grin splits across the Germans face, indicating he was pleased with gaining the first point of the game.
Though, the excitement was short-lived. Sebastian only managed to parry the ball back once in the second round before he overshot the table entirely, shouting out a shocked ‘oh!’.
“One all,” the cameraman announced. You giggle as Sebastian glanced over at you with a determination you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. He was insistent upon triumph, simply to prove you wrong.
A few rounds in, and as expected from the two of them, both drivers began to complain that it was hard to see the white ball against the equally white table in an attempt to maintain a level of pride. At this point, both were on an even playing field with a 2 - 2 score, and it was at this point Lance decided he was going to begin taking the challenge seriously.
“Okay, I’m going for the winner,” he declared, finally lowering his center of gravity and Sebastian widened his stance as he served the ball. Back and forth, both drivers batted until Lance’s shot missed the edge of the table entirely.
“Perhaps Sebastian could actually win this,” you muse, leaning back in your seat as the driver shot you a playful glare.
“Watch me,” he insisted, beginning his next serve. The next few rounds were a whitewash, Sebastian seemingly proving himself as he gained point after point against Lance. That natural instinct to dominate, the remnants of his Redbull years taking control of the match.
The purple patch was limited. Eventually, Lance started coming back. One point after the other, he slowly crawled himself to another equal footing with his new determination not to be entirely schooled on camera, much to Sebastian’s dismay and your absolute delight.
“Nein!” Sebastian yells, frustrated at himself for allowing Lance to recover from the significant lead that he lagged behind. The accent you had grown to love and find particularly attractive was strong even in that singular word, his *frustration* emphasizing the Germanic lilt. Passing the ball back to Lance to serve, he throws it at his feet with an ‘oops!’
“You know it’s getting serious when Sebastian starts speaking German,” you wink to Lance, listening to him laugh before turning back to Sebastian. “You shouldn’t be taking your frustration on Lance because you are inept at playing Table Tennis.”
For the first time, Sebastian looks mildly irked by your comment, a witty retort of his own falling from his lips. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be distracting me at such a critical time. I think you’ll find you will end up a sore loser.”
You can’t help but giggle. What was Sebastian going to do? Pester you with F1 facts until you drop dead? Everyone knew the man was a ray of sunshine and didn’t have a bad bone in his body. Even when frustrated over drivers interrupting his qualifying laps, Sebastian would drop his anger at the drop of a hat in order to keep the peace.
But Sebastian is entirely serious about these last few rounds, his knuckles white as he practically strangles the handle of the paddle with his grip. He knocks the ball back with stronger strokes, trying to outflank and outmaneuver Lance. Instead, his desire to win worked against him, leading the opposing driver to end up with a match point.
“Ready, Seb?” Lance spreads his stance, covering as much space across the table as he could to defend his point. Sebastian on the other hand, prepared to attack, ready to slam the ball across the table and take the point back.
This round goes longer than the rest, with quite a few passes between the two of them as you watch on the edge of your seat. Sebastian’s tongue peeks from his mouth, the tip resting against his upper lip as he focuses entirely-
“Go Lance!” You call, throwing Seb completely in his shock at your betrayal. The distraction is exactly what Lance needs to finish it, bouncing the ball off Sebastian’s side of the table and taking the match point. He leaps in the air, cheering as you clap for him with a laugh.
Perhaps you shouldn’t have made such a significant deal about Lance’s victory. Sebastian was quieter than you had ever seen him, fingers brushing over the flat of the paddle as Lance continued his victory lap around the table.
When those ice-blue eyes meet yours, you freeze to your spot on the sofa. There’s a hunger there, a form of frustration you’ve never seen in him. For years, you watched Sebastian try and fail to obtain a WDC with Ferrari, witnessed him grapple with a car he knew would never give him the title he felt he deserved. Looked in those same eyes and felt his disappointment.
This was different. There’s no cold indignation. It’s a playful fire, spurred on by your disloyalty.
All the while the team rounds out the end of the video with the simple sponsorship breakdown from Lance, Sebastian gazes at you with that same expression. It sets a blaze inside you, one that settles between your thighs and creeps up the base of your spine.
It was entirely unlike him. And you loved it.
Packing up their things, the cameramen inform you they will send you the edited clip by the end of the day for approval, and you wave them out of the door despite the rising heat on your face.
“Good game, man.” Lance shakes hands with Sebastian, who shows him that same warm smile that usually graced his face. Had you not been the recipient of that fervent stare, you never would have guessed anything was off with him. Neither did Lance. “See you at practice,” Sebastian shows him out of the room, shutting the door behind Lance’s back.
There’s a flirtatiously unsettling silence that fills the room upon your isolation with the scorned driver. Sebastian looks over his shoulder at you, paddle in hand. Your breath catches in your throat, ears burning as his eyes drag over you.
“Your teasing lost me my game,” he points out, matter-of-fact as he slowly walks across the room with a casual nature that doesn’t match his eyes. You bite on your lip, and excited panic rises in your chest.
“I’m sorry.” It barely comes out louder than a whisper, Sebastian’s smirk knocking the oxygen completely from your lungs. It’s not as though he was a particularly domineering person. No, it was more that you could tell he was plotting something with the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he grinned.
“Stand up,” he murmurs, voice low but direct. Despite your better judgment, you find yourself stumbling to your feet without argument. It won’t save you though.
Walking behind you, Sebastian continues his reprimanding. “You couldn’t help but dig in that knife, hmm? It made me lose. What am I to do about that?” The cheeky lilt to his voice indicates he’s not actually angry. But God, you feel so turned on at the concept of him telling you off.
You hear it before you feel it. The ‘thwack’ of the paddle in his hand striking the flesh of your ass. Your body jolts in shock, the gasp that forces its way from your throat echoing in the room. Snapping your head over your shoulder to look at him as the sting works its way into your skin in prickling swirls, you note the way Sebastian’s eyes drag over your ass before catching your own.
Nothing is said, he just watches. You realize he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll stop him before continuing any further with this fantasy. You don’t bother to halt his advances. You couldn’t if you wanted to, body screaming for him to continue with whatever he had planned.
Without resistance, a quiet groan indicates he intends to do just that. His long, lithe fingers wrap around your wrists behind your back, gently locking them in place as he leads you over to the Table Tennis top.
“Do you remember the German I taught you?” He murmurs as your hips knock the edge of the countertop. How could you forget the times you’d sat up late at night with him on the balcony, trying not to fucking jump his bones and instead letting him coach you through playfully strict German lessons? You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for fear of the sound being obscene.
“Good. You will count.” Your heart lurches in your chest as it meets the flat surface of the Table Tennis top, Sebastian’s freehand with the paddle having gently pushed your back into position.
Pressure between your shoulder blades indicated that Sebastian’s palm was keeping your chest down against the table. You turn your head, cheekbone pressed against the cool surface as you let out a shaky breath, waiting impatiently for him to spank you.
But he doesn’t launch into it. No, he rests the flat of the paddle against your hip, noting the way you flinch at the contact. Drawing circles over your ass, he makes you relax into the table, watching as the tautness in your muscles bled away at the soothing sensation.
“It will be 5.” He informs you, watching as you nod your head slowly in recognition of his instructions.
It happens so quickly, the lack of contact from the paddle, the whistling sound of it arching through the air, and the sudden, loud ‘smack’ that echoed through the room. Despite the way your body jolts immediately upon impact, you don’t feel the pain until seconds later. The prickling, stinging sensation that floods down the back of your thighs.
“Ah- Eins,” you gasp out weakly, mind swimming as you pull at every single brain cell you had to remember the translation. There is a hum of approval from behind you, Sebastian indicating you had gotten it right. Immediately his hand soothes the tingling skin.
“Good,” he instructs you, before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your pants and slowly pulling them down, exposing the bare skin of your ass. “Again.”
You flush, realizing that Sebastian has your arse out on full display, lace thong-panties not providing much coverage as he lines up the paddle against the exposed surface of your skin. You nod quickly, equally as turned on as you were nervous.
It hurts more this time, with no fabric there to serve as a buffer. The rubber of the paddle connects with your supple flesh in a sharp smack that sounds so much louder this time. Once again your muscles are tight, and this time a subtle warmth settles between your thighs.
“Z-Zwei,” it comes to you naturally this time, falling from your lips in a soft whisper. You feel Sebastian’s fingertips rub soothing circles into the inflicted skin once more, but doesn’t take his time with it this time, striking you suddenly with another flick of his wrist.
“Ah!” Heat sparks over the flesh of your ass, surely welting by now at his ministrations. “Drei!” You can hear Sebastian behind you, unable to see him from this angle. His breathing is labored, hard enough for it to be audible.
He’s watching the way the muscles in your thighs twitch against the pain, noting the way you were enjoying your punishment if the wet patch of fabric in the crotch of your panties was anything to go by. He’d never seen anything so sexy.
This time, you feel him switch cheeks, paddle on the other side of your hips in a slight tap to inform you of the change. “Your skin is so hot. It’s gone pink,” you hear him murmur, slight wonder in his voice.
You open your mouth to answer him but are cut off by another sharp strike. Sebastian watches as your flesh jiggles upon impact, swallowing a groan as you whimper a quiet “Vier.” That one settled deep in your cunt, sparking arousal.
“Gutes Mädchen,” he murmurs, the words not computing in your brain as he brushes comforting circles into your skin once more. “Last one. Make sure I can hear you.” You nod dumbly, eyes closed tight.
He watches as you rub your thighs together, desperate to ease the impending tension in your abdomen. Fuck, he loved it. The way you squirmed, twitched for him as you anticipated the final impact.
This is the loudest yet, the echo bouncing off the walls as you let out a weak cry. Your eyes are welling up with tears, clit throbbing as you fumble your final number. “Fffuh- Fünf!” It was you who was panting now, toes curling.
“So good,” Sebastian murmurs softly, knuckles brushing down the curve of your ass and working them between your thighs before settling his fingertips on your clit. Your legs immediately go boneless, a pathetic sob escaping your lungs as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You remembered your lessons so well,” he praises, and you could genuinely break down in tears. Sebastian had never given you any indication he could act this way, the soft, kindhearted man who handed out beers after race days and cleared up litter that the fans left held a fiery side from his youth that genuinely had taken you and your cunt by surprise.
You loved it.
“Come here,” he whispers, taking you by the waist to help you stand up straight again, minding the way you wince as your skin smarts. He hooks his hands above the underside of your knees, gently lifting you up onto the table. His eyes gaze into yours, a hunger there that makes your stomachs do somersaults like an F1 car hurtling towards the barriers at high speed.
You lay back, noting the way the net stretched across the table bends under the pressure of the crown of your head. You close your eyes, nervous as your panties are peeled from your soaking thighs.
“Look at you, Scheiße,” he whispers, fingertips running through the slick that coats the inside of your thighs. It’s obscene, watching as Sebastian gazes down at your cunt. You expect to feel his fingertips find your clit once again, but instead, it’s something much thicker, colder.
It takes you a second to realize that it is the handle of the table tennis paddle that he’s sweeping through your folds, jaw slack as he watches your arousal collect on the laminated wood.
It brushes your clit, causing your cunt to throb with need. You’ve never wanted to be filled so badly, thighs fidgeting in a wordless attempt to get him to fucking do something. There’s a gleam in his eyes in response, and a mixture of concern and arousal swirls in your stomach as his secret master plan.
Without warning, he slips his index and middle fingers into your slick, right cunt. Your back arches against the table with a pathetic whine, the stretch exactly what you needed. You were so responsive to his touch, Sebastian’s dick throbbing in his pants at the way your eyes rolled back.
“Do you like that?” He whispers, his voice low as you clench around his fingers. They pump in and out of you slowly as you nod, dumb from the increasing pleasure that radiates from your core.
“So good for me now,” Sebastian muses, playful in his observation as he watches your pussy slick up his digits. Long, deep strokes have your thighs shaking within moments, needy whimpers stuck in your throat.
Pleasure mounts between your thighs, Sebastian twisting his wrist so his palm and fingertips face the floor, finding a spot inside you that sets your nerves alight. Your attempt to moan his name comes out in a garbled mess, and your hands desperately grab at his wrists in a feeble attempt to ease the onslaught of mind-blowing pleasure that flows through you.
It’s so good, too good, too much, and not enough at the same time. The noises you’re making are obscene, and Sebastian smirks at the way he’s reduced you to a shaking, sobbing wreck.
“Spread your legs wider,” he orders, his gruff voice laced with a much stronger accent than you usually heard from him. It has your cunt fluttering around him, tight around the ring finger that he attempts to ease inside you.
You do as he asks despite the haze that clouds your mind and vision. That white-hot feeling glows around your body, muscles pulled up so tight and tense you’re afraid your hamstring could snap with the simple action.
A sloppy, wet sound punctuates each thrust of his fingers, followed by a low groan of his own. “That’s it, Schatzi.” He breathes, fingers keeping that brutal pace. “I can feel you’re close.” You garble his name, the last syllable pitching up in a squeak.
It’s too much, vocalizing nonsense as it builds up so high you can barely breathe. You’ve stamen too much air into your lungs and yet you feel like you need more, the tension reaching a peak and threatening to snap-
Sebastian grabs the paddle once more, slapping the flat of the bat between your thighs and connecting with your clit. It cracks through you like a whip, hot and melting and vicious- then nothingness. Suspended. A few seconds pass, holding you hostage in your own body until it plummets, roiling waves of intense ecstasy that borders on being painful, your cunt clenching around his fingers.
You’re squealing, sobbing, tears falling from your eyes and dampening your hairline as you thrash against the sensation, head rocking from side to side as you slur his name. It’s so intense-
Sebastian works you through it, hushing you softly as he helps you ride the overwhelmingly acute sensation. Is there with you for every moment until it’s too much, pushing away his fingers as overstimulation hits you like a tonne of bricks.
Your chest heaves as you suck in air, eyes closed. Sebastian is on you in seconds, smoothing your hair back from your face and pressing kisses to your forehead and cheekbones, and nose. It’s hard not to laugh weakly, exhausted but relieved to be in his care. To have him to hold you.
“I- I didn’t expect that from you,” you whisper through your intakes of breath. You hear him chuckle, pressing another kiss to your temple that was wet with tears.
“I didn’t expect it from myself,” he admitted quietly. “Perhaps there is still a spark of the young world champion in there somewhere.” He muses.
A pause.
“He never left,” you smile weakly, entirely exhausted and thoroughly fucked out. “I could tell you that just from seeing you compete with Lance over a game of fucking table tennis!”
To that, he laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Oh, no. I just can’t have someone younger than me beating me. How would that look?”
“You’re a sore loser,” you grumble, watching him release you in order to kneel at your feet.
Turns out you were the sore loser, the red marks printed against your ass smarting under your touch as Sebastian replaced your panties with a wink.
END
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