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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART NINE

previous chapters | welp. hey everybody, it's been a little while since this updated, huh? those who follow me will know i haven't been having the best time lately and had to put this fic on hold for a little bit. but finally an update is here, and i'm so excited to share it with you. thank you so much for being so patient and lovely. i also wanna give a huge shoutout to han @swiftispunk who's been there for me relentlessly throughout this rough period and who kept encouraging me whenever i thought this would never get written. i couldn't ask for a better writing buddy & friend, ilysm. i hope you guys like this chapter and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: joel is taking you away for the weekend, which only means one thing: your v card is going bye-bye. rating: 18+ explicit warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, tummy bulge, oral (f receiving), catholic guilt, panic attacks, phone sex, mutual masturbation, lap sitting, lingerie, fingering, there is so much goin on pls lmk if i forgot smth word count: 25k (what the fuck) ao3

It's crazy how one weekend can change everything.

After days of feeling like shit and wanting - or forcing yourself to want - absolutely nothing to do with Joel anymore, you'd wound up naked in bed together. An ironic twist to the men ain't shit mantra you and Tasha had been trying to live by for the past forty eight hours. You'd laid with your head on his chest, exhausted and sated, listening to his and your own equally haggard breathing slow to a quiet thrum of background noise. You'd kissed the spot above his nipple, soft and warm against your lips as he carded his fingers through your hair and peppered kisses all along the crown of your head.

"So you're taking me away, huh?" you'd asked him in the heavenly afterglow of your orgasms, still tangled together under the sheets.

He'd smiled sleepily, squeezed you tighter in his arms and pulled you in as close as he could, "I'm takin' you away," he'd promised quietly, "Just you n' me. Gonna make this right."

Unbeknownst to him, everything had already become right again the moment he'd walked through the bedroom door.

Tasha had come back about an hour after you'd finished, roused you both from a quick nap by knocking quietly at the door and saying, "Hate to bother you guys but we gotta be out of here by four and the place is a disaster." Looking down at the mascara stained pillowcase beneath your head, you'd known she was right.

A few hours later you'd stood at the airport once again, arms wrapped tightly around Tasha as you buried your face in her shoulder and thanked her over and over again for everything; for being there, for listening, for understanding, for texting Joel, everything.

"You're gonna make me cry," she'd mumbled in your ear, hugging you back just as tightly, "Please, I just did what a good friend does."

You'd hoped she knew that she's the first good friend you've ever had.

Just before she'd headed to her gate, she'd pulled something out of her purse and handed it to you discreetly, palm down. You'd glanced downward to see a little blue package, thin and rectangular.

"Start taking these tonight," she'd said softly, "Take one every day at the same time. Promise me."

"What is it?"

She'd rolled her eyes, "Oh, you sweet summer child."

You know what birth control is. You're not that clueless. You just.... haven't really seen it before.

Now, having a pack of it in your possession, in your bedroom of all places, hidden in one of your dresser drawers beneath socks and underwear... it somehow feels more scandalous than the bikini. More scandalous than Joel's flannel beneath your mattress. More scandalous than those short little dresses folded in a bag in the back of your closet.

Birth control means sex. If your parents found your clothing purchases or Joel's flannel you could probably get away with some kind of lie, an excuse. But if they found this.... you don't even want to think about what would happen.

Take one every day at the same time. Promise me.

You pop out a pill quickly before shoving the package back into your dresser, then hurry to the bathroom with it tucked in your palm, clasped tightly between your fingers. You take it quickly with a handful of water and then stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, eyes bright. You're expecting to feel an ounce of shame, some guilt creeping in - but you don't. Instead, you find yourself smiling, face going hot when you think about the reason why you're taking these in the first place.

"Dinner's ready!" you hear your mom call from downstairs, and you yank yourself away from the bathroom mirror before your thoughts can get any more X rated.

She hadn't said anything to you when you got home, but then again you hadn't really given her a chance to. Now you shuffle into the kitchen and take a seat at the table, eyeing her quietly and wondering if the silent treatment is over. Your father comes in from the living room before you can find out, taking his usual seat and giving you a stern look.

"I heard you spent the weekend with one of your college friends," he states.

You stare at him for a second, unsure what to really say. You settle for a shrug, "Uh, yeah. Just had a girls' weekend at an Airbnb."

"I'm just curious why you're making time for friends you'll be seeing again in September when there are people here you've barely even said hello to," he raises an eyebrow, squaring his shoulders, "You said the other week you'd be volunteering again, didn't you? Doing more things to better yourself?"

"Well, I helped out at Sunday School," you offer with a grimace, but you already know it's not enough.

"I'm not talking about helping out here and there every now and then," he shakes his head and eyes your mother as she walks over with two plates of dinner, places them in front of the both of you without making eye contact, "You need a weekly activity, something steady, right dear?"

Your mother's gaze flits to yours quickly as he says this and you know exactly what she's thinking without her having to say it: do not mention the guitar lessons. But what the fuck are you supposed to say? You get that she doesn't want your father knowing until your little "plan" has bore a little more fruit, but it isn't fair that he still thinks you need some kind of weekly activity to attend when you already have one. Or, at least, a cover for one.

Maybe your mother can solve this problem for you.

"Well, actually-" you begin, only bluffing, but she bangs the water jug on the table before you can continue.

"I'll work on it with her, don't worry," she says quickly, shaking her head at you as discreetly as she can, "We'll figure something out together."

As usual, your father is oblivious to anything amiss. He just nods and extends his hands to start the prayer, "Sounds good."

Dinner is the usual boring affair, barely any conversation to be had as your father scarfs it down and heads to his office, leaving you and your mother sitting at the table in silence. You poke absentmindedly at your broccoli, thinking about Joel - he wants to see you again tonight, maybe talk about some stuff, and you're not really sure how to feel about it yet; you want to know more about his ex wife, his daughter, want to understand him and his life a little better, but it also scares you a bit. Hearing about his relationship with another woman - a woman who clearly still has a prominent position in his life - it's gonna be a lot to take in.

He also wants to talk about taking you away - a much less scary thought.

"So, you had a good weekend?" your mom asks quietly, and you look up in surprise - you'd thought the silent treatment was still ongoing.

"Yeah, it was nice," you reply - simplistic and not a very true answer, but it's not like you can tell her about anything that happened.

"What did you do?"

You shrug again, "Just watched movies and hung out, talked about how our summers have been going," you take a bite of broccoli and hope she won't press it any further.

"Did you go to your lesson on Saturday?"

You nod quickly, swallowing and doing your best to keep eye contact, "Yep, I learned some new chords." Bullshit. "Mr. Miller is a really good teacher." Less bullshit.

She doesn't say anything else right away and you manage to completely finish your meal before she drops her fork and turns to you with a sigh. "I know what you're thinking and no, I still haven't told your father about it. I already explained why-"

"Because you don't want him getting involved before I've made progress, I know."

"So have you? Been making progress?"

Oh, the things you could say in response to that question. "I think I have. He's, um... he's been very interested in the hymns."

"Which ones are you learning?"

Oh fuck.

"It's a surprise," you say quickly, flashing her a fake smile, "Don't wanna jinx it, ya know?"

Her brows furrow but she doesn't question it, nodding slowly and taking a deep breath as she grabs both your plates and walks to the sink. You sit there for a moment, not wanting to get up until you know for sure the conversation is over.

"So it's working, you think?" she finally asks, turning on the tap and rinsing the dishes, "You're helpin' him?"

You swallow, thankful she's not looking at you as your hands ball into fists against the wood of the table, "Yes," you lie quietly, "Definitely."

"You need to teach me a hymn," is the first thing you say to Joel that night as you walk through his front door, passing right by him without so much as a hug, "Or two. Two hymns, maybe three, I don't know."

"Hello to you too," he says with a chuckle, shutting the door and walking over to you to wrap his arms around you from behind, "S'wrong? You alright?"

You have to admit, being wrapped in his arms certainly does make the anxiety ebb away. You close your eyes and lean back into his grasp, sighing deeply and trying to ground yourself as best you can. Ever since that conversation with your mother you feel like your brain has been working on overdrive, reminding you over and over that you're so fucking behind on what you're meant to be doing to keep this façade intact.

"I'm just stressed," you mutter, "My mom asked about the lessons and I didn't know what to say and now I'm all up in my own head again as usual."

You feel him tuck his head against your shoulder, squeeze you tighter, "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, breath so warm against your ear it makes you shiver, "We'll find a couple easy ones and I'll teach you. You can borrow my guitar too, practice at home."

"My dad still doesn't know," you sigh, "She's waiting for me to have some sort of breakthrough with you to tell him."

He snorts, "And what exactly does this 'breakthrough' look like?"

"I don't know, a pool of golden light? Heavenly angels singing praise?"

He chuckles against your skin, pressing a kiss there, "Well, that'll be easy. That happens every time I make you come."

You feel your cheeks bloom with heat, lips tightening into a bashful smile as he pulls you in closer and noses your ear once again, scruff tickling the skin there. You hum contentedly, pretending for a moment that your parents aren't involved on the sidelines of this relationship, that their opinions don't matter and there doesn't need to be any sort of ulterior reason for your being here - then you remember that you're going to have a whole weekend to pretend that's the case, and you smile wider.

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his torso and peering up at him. He's so handsome as usual, hair messy, eyes brown and deep. It's impossible not to lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips, so of course you do, eyes closing as you melt against his mouth. He kisses you back just as soft, rubs your back gently as he holds you close.

"I'm so sorry, angel," he murmurs quietly against your lips, and you find yourself pulling away to look at him in confusion.

"For what?"

He shakes his head, eyes sad, "For everythin' I put you through this weekend, all that added stress," you go to interrupt but he brings one of his hands up to gently press his finger to your lips, stopping you, "Don't tell me not to apologize. I did wrong by you. I wanna fix it."

You swallow, remembering the woman at the bar - his ex wife, remembering the way he'd smiled before he kissed her, the way those soft brown eyes looking at you right now had looked directly into hers as well...

Your stomach twists uncomfortably.

"I meant what I said, about tellin' you everything," he murmurs, "I want... I want you to know me, ya know? I..." he breathes deeply, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours, "God, I'm not good at this."

"Good at what?" you whisper, and you feel him shrug in your embrace.

"Just.... bein' open."

You pull back a bit to peer at him again, feeling your stomach unclench when you see that unsure look on his face, the worry lines prominent on his forehead and those plump lips downturned into a frown. He's still afraid he's lost you, you can tell.

"Well, I wanna hear what you have to say," you murmur, "I do wanna learn more about you. But it's okay, Joel. I'm not heartbroken, not anymore."

He winces at your words, "But you were," he closes his eyes again, "You were heartbroken, baby. I hurt you. We... she -" he cuts himself off to sigh, "She didn't know about you when she kissed me, alright? I hadn't told her, and that's on me."

Oh. You didn't know that.

"Why... why didn't you tell her?"

"Because I was a coward," he says immediately, "I didn't... I wasn't..." he takes another deep breath and pulls away from you, unlocking himself from your embrace to grip your arms in both his hands, "Okay," he breathes, "I'm really bad at this, darlin', forgive me if it comes out weird."

You're not sure what he's about to say but you can feel your heart beginning to beat faster in your chest as he stands there looking at you, brow furrowed as if he's completely out of his element, and you suppose he is.

"I haven't... god, I don't wanna scare you but..." he chews his lip for a moment, lost in thought, "I just... I meant it, when I said that I think about you all the time. I really, really meant it."

You stare at him for a moment, processing his words. What is he saying? That he didn't tell his ex wife about you because of how much he thinks about you? How does that make sense? You silently curse yourself for your naivety, your inexperience with relationships. You're sure if Tasha was here she'd be able to tell you exactly what he means.

You're about to ask him to elaborate when you suddenly catch a glimpse of something on the mantel of the fireplace, something that you can't recall ever seeing before. Your eyes go slightly wide and he notices immediately, following your gaze.

"Oh," he says quietly, "Um, yeah, I... I put up some pictures."

His grip on your arms releases when he realizes you want to get a closer look. You make your way over to the fireplace with careful steps, eyeing the framed photograph in front of you as it slowly comes more into focus.

It's Joel - a much younger Joel. You're not sure how young, but there are no signs of age on his face, skin smooth and bare and hair trimmed neatly beneath a baseball cap. He's standing behind a swing, pushing an adorable little toddler in front of him, a big smile on her face as she kicks her chubby legs high into the air.

You stare at it for a long time without saying anything, warmth bursting through your chest the longer your gaze flicks from him to the baby, the baby to him. There's something in her brown eyes, something recognizable, and you realize it's because they're his eyes.

You're looking at his daughter.

"What's her name?" you finally ask, voice soft.

"Sarah," he replies - he sounds close behind you but he doesn't touch you, doesn't make any move to embrace you again, just lets you absorb the information in your own time.

"Sarah," you repeat quietly, thoughtfully, "How old is she there?"

"Few days before her second birthday," he says, and you swear you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, "Installed that swing set in the backyard for her as a present, but I couldn't wait 'til her birthday to show her - I was too excited."

You smile at his words, feeling fondness flood your thoughts as your gaze falls back to the much younger Joel. He looks a little like the boys you've seen at college, extremely handsome but inexperienced, naïve, maybe even a little lost... kind of like you. You squint your eyes a bit, as if staring at him will help you figure out exactly how old he is.

"I'm twenty in that one," he answers for you.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you finally turn around to look at him, a look of shock prominent on your face. "But... that would mean you had her -"

"When I was eighteen, yeah," he gives you a wistful half smile, "Remember that 'trouble' I told you I got in right outta high school? The mysterious thing I did that got me disowned?" he gestures toward the photo with a light chuckle, "Well, there she is. Little Miss Trouble, Sarah Miller."

Your brow furrows. You remember what he'd said on his back deck that day, the way he'd stopped himself from revealing too much. He'd been so close to telling you, and yet...

"Why didn't you just tell me then?" you ask softly, "That day in your backyard, you... you coulda told me about her."

His smile fades into a frown, eyes going downcast, "I was afraid," he admits softly, "I didn't... I didn't want this to end so soon. I didn't wanna scare you off."

You feel a pang in your heart, a sensation of sadness that bubbles up within you as you peer at his melancholic expression, the shame in his eyes. He really thinks you're five seconds away from running out the door, leaving his life for good and forgetting this whole thing between the two of you even happened. You can see it in his expression, the way he's standing like he's small, the same way he'd looked last night when Tasha had tugged you out of his house and into a cab.

You make your way toward him, palm outstretched as you reach up and press it to the side of his face. His gaze comes up to meet yours, watery and sad and - god, he's beautiful. So, so beautiful.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper honestly, shaking your head and smiling softly, "Not before you teach me at least two hymns."

His frown breaks into a grin and he rolls his eyes, the tears spilling over a little bit as he sniffs and tries to pull himself together. You just bring your other hand up to fully cup his face, turning his head so he's looking directly into your eyes.

"I mean it, Joel," you breathe, and you think you're starting to understand what he meant, "You say you think about me all the time, but... I think about you all the time. I can't stop thinking about you," your voice quivers a bit and you feel tears begin to sting in your own eyes, "Even when I was trying to force myself not to think about you, I couldn't do it."

You thumb his cheeks lightly, feeling them tighten under your palms as he smiles again. You can't help but lean forward to brush your nose against his, closing your eyes.

"I think... I don't know, I just feel like-"

"I know," he interjects softly, "I feel it too, angel. Scares the hell outta me, doesn't even seem possible to feel it after such a short length of time, but I do."

You open your eyes to peer at him again, "Is that why you didn't tell her? 'Cause you were scared of how you feel?"

"Yes," he murmurs, "I knew if I told her... if I let myself really feel what I've been feelin'... I'd have to face the fact that I'd been dishonest with you, that I hadn't been showin' you my true self, ya know? And that's... that's always been hard for me." He takes a breath, "She was real sad that night. She... she was comin' on strong, cause she really needed somebody. And I almost gave myself to her, you should know that. I don't wanna lie to you."

It hurts to hear it, but at the same time you're glad he's telling you, glad he feels safe to express himself the same way you do with him.

"We weren't... we weren't official or anything," you mumble, eyes casting downward.

"No, we weren't," he agrees softly, "But it still wouldn't've been right, angel, not for you and not for me. I didn't want it, I just... I just felt for her, ya know? We've been doin' this thing so long, it can be hard to say no, especially when it's someone you care about."

"But you did."

He nods, "I did. And then I told her about you and she understood."

You peer up at him again, unsure, "She understood? Really?"

He smiles, "She understood, sweetheart. She's a good person, I promise. But I also promise that I don't feel things for her the way I used to, not anymore. And our arrangement is over." He blinks away a few tears, locking his eyes with yours again, "Do you believe me?"

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You find that you do believe him, don't even question a word of what he's saying to you. It should probably scare you to trust him this much, to wholeheartedly sense nothing but earnestness from his demeanor and words, but it doesn't. It feels good to hear him say these things and to know that he means it, that he's finally being himself.

"So who are you then, really?" you ask softly, "Who's this whole other Joel Miller I've been missing out on?"

He laughs lightly, bumping his nose against yours, "Well, darlin'... he's old and he's boring, keeps to himself, works too much..." he takes a breath, then meets your gaze again, eyes soft and tender, "And he's fuckin' crazy about you."

His words embed themselves into your brain almost immediately, sending tingles up and down your spine as your arms come up to wrap around him and pull him into a kiss. He seems surprised by your response but only for a moment, then wraps his own arms around you and pulls you in as close as he can, cradles you as he kisses you back with that familiar warmth and safety you've always felt with him.

He's fuckin' crazy about you.

You find yourself moving the two of you toward the couch and he lets you, your legs tangling together as you shuffle over to it. You slowly settle onto it together, him sitting pretty beneath you while you situate yourself in his lap, a leg on either side of his thighs. You don't stop kissing him, whimpering softly into his mouth when his hand stills firmly on your back, holding you close.

"What're you doin', babygirl?" he breathes against your lips, voice dark and husky - he already knows the answer.

You don't reply, just deepen the kiss and grind yourself down into his crotch, feeling his already half hard cock press against you through your shorts. You whimper again, pulling back to look at him through lidded eyes.

"Huh?" he asks softly, his own eyes already dark and unfocused, "What're you doin', sweetheart? What d'you need?" He bucks his hips up with his words and you gasp, clinging to him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. "Need my cock, don't you, baby?"

You nod even though he can't see you, close your eyes and whisper, "I need it so bad."

"Need it deep inside, huh?"

You swallow and shiver, grinding down against him again in response. He holds you firm in his lap and brings his lips to your ear, trails his fingers up and down your back.

"I'm gonna give it to you, baby, I promise," he murmurs, voice gravelly and low, "Gonna fill you up so good, have you cryin' on it."

You whimper again, squeezing your eyes tighter and imagining how it'll feel to have his enormous size spreading your insides, pushing into the deepest parts of you. It's almost too much to bear, too much to imagine as you whine into his shoulder. You want it now, but you also know that now isn't the right time.

"I- I started taking birth control," you whisper, clinging to him tighter.

He seems to freeze beneath you for a moment, and then his hands move down to squeeze your ass, drag you slowly down the length of him - now fully hard - as you whine again.

"Good girl," he whispers, pinning you to his cock through his jeans, "That's- fuck, you're such a good girl."

You keen at his praise, whimpering into his shoulder as he drags you back and forth along his cock, the denim rough against your bare thighs. You think about what you'd both done together earlier today, the way it felt to have his entire length thrusting through your folds, the head catching on your hole every so often. The way it felt to have the wide tip pressed just enough inside of you, warm and pulsing.

"Take it out, please," you moan softly, pulling back to look at him again, "Wanna feel it. Please, Joel."

He groans at your words, nods quickly and adjusts you carefully in his lap so he can tug down his zipper. You watch as he reaches inside and pulls himself out, and your mouth immediately begins to water as soon as you catch sight of the dark tip, already wet and leaking. Without any hesitation at all your hand moves downward to wrap around his shaft, holding it in your palm.

"This was inside me," you whisper, the words sounding wonderfully filthy in your mouth as your thumb traces his throbbing tip, remembering how it had felt pushing against you.

"Yeah, it was," he murmurs. He's watching you closely, looking up at you with a lustful expression as you touch him, "Felt so good inside you, baby. Wanted to push all the way in so bad, fill you up."

You shiver, "Why didn't you?"

"'Cause I wanna take my time with you, angel. Wanna fuck you slow, get you used to it," he groans when you start to slowly stroke him up and down, eyes not leaving where you're touching him, "Gonna have you beggin' for it."

Without much thought you reach down and start to tug pathetically at your shorts, wanting them off. The angle is awkward and you can't move them properly, something which he notices right away, eyebrows going up.

"You wanna rub on it again, sweetheart?" he asks, his hands going immediately to your waistband.

You nod furiously, desperate whimpers escaping your lips as he eases you up a bit to pull them down. You bend your legs to accommodate his movements, lifting from his lap for just a moment as he tugs down both your shorts and panties, leaving you bare. He wastes no time in pulling you back down again, both of you letting out simultaneous gasps as his cock slips perfectly against your center, wet and waiting.

"Joel," you whine, burying your face in his shoulder and letting him begin to drag you back and forth on his cock again without any clothes in the way. It feels so fucking good, both of your most intimate parts touching and rubbing in sweet and filthy harmony while you cry into his shirt. One of his hands snakes up your back, holds you firm again as he helps you move.

"That's my perfect angel," he murmurs in your ear, voice shaky, "Thaaaat's my pretty girl, so wet for me. Always so fuckin' wet."

"Can't help it," you sob into his shoulder, feeling your stomach tighten every time his warm cock rubs up against your clit, "Can't help it, Joel, feels so good. You make me feel so good."

"I know," he moans in your ear, "I know I do, baby, I know."

It doesn't take long at all for your orgasm to hit you, a high pitched whine clawing its way out of your throat as you frantically grind against his cock and then still as the waves of pleasure wash over you. He rubs your back, holds you close, lets you feel all of it before pressing a finger to your chin and gently turning your face to look at him.

"Yep," he breathes, assessing your expression, "there's that pool of golden light. Heavenly angels singin' praise. You hear 'em?"

You laugh shakily, still overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock continuing to pulse against your pussy. He keeps holding you there without moving, letting you come down from your high, allowing the moment to stay soft and peaceful as he watches your face. Your eyes are tired - you're still not fully recovered from your busy weekend and he can tell.

"You look sleepy, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "Want me to carry you up?"

You shake your head quickly, "No, I still gotta make you come. Just gimme a minute."

He chuckles, "You don't gotta do anything, honey. You know that right? Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever."

He really is too considerate for his own good, but there's absolutely no way you're gonna leave him hanging like that. With a sly smile you shake your head again and lift your hips up a bit, bringing your hand down to wrap around his cock again. His jaw goes slack, eyes still staring into yours as you start to stroke him again.

"I wanna make you come," you correct yourself, leaning forward to press a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth, "I want..." you drop your gaze bashfully, trying to let the dirty talk flow naturally like his does as you play with his cock, "I want you to make a mess on me."

"On you?" he asks, clearly surprised by your sudden boldness, "Where, baby? Where d'you want me to make a mess?"

With your other hand - slightly trembling - you pull your shirt up and palm the swell of your belly, just above your mound. He groans, low and lustful.

"On your tummy, baby?" he murmurs, "You want me to get your tummy all messy with my cum?"

You nod, biting down on your lip and pumping his cock faster, eyes coming back up to meet his gaze again as you get him off.

"Want it to drip down onto your pussy, huh?" he continues, brows drawing together in pleasure, "'Cause that's where it belongs, doesn't it?"

You nod again, "It does, Joel," you whisper, "It belongs there."

"You want me to come inside you this weekend, babygirl?" his voice is strained, so close to edge and you moan at his words, eyes still locked onto his, "Yeah, you do, don't you?"

"I do," you whimper, the truth stumbling from your lips before you can even really process it, "I want it so bad, Joel. Want you to fill me up."

With one last groan his eyes roll back and he starts to come all over your stomach, exactly where you'd wanted him to. Holding him in your hand while he comes is a brand new experience - his cock pulses and twitches within your grasp as he makes a strangled noise and brings his hand up to cover his face, overwhelmed by the sensation. You bite down on your lip and watch as his cum paints your skin in thick spurts, warm and thick.

"Fuck," he finally mutters after a moment of heavy breathing, bringing his hand down from his face to look at you again with a sated expression, "You're filthy, baby."

You feel your cheeks warm, eyes going down to where his cum drips down your belly. His gaze follows yours and he smirks, reaching forward to carefully thumb a bit that's trailing dangerously close to your pussy and pushing it up and away from where it shouldn't go - yet, anyway.

"In more ways than one," he murmurs softly, then meets your gaze again. Despite the depraved circumstances you still can't help but feel shy, head tilting away from him as you smile sheepishly and slip out of his lap, pretending not to hear the embarrassingly loud squelch of wet skin against wet skin. You see him grin in the corner of your eye, clearly still fond of your bashfulness.

"I'm gonna need a shower," you say shyly, eyeing your discarded shorts on the floor.

"Go shower, darlin'," he says, still seated on the couch with his legs open and his softening cock peeking through the open zipper of his jeans, "I'll get my bed all comfy for you."

At the mention of his bed you find a little bit of the anxiety from earlier return in the pit of your stomach, twisting uncomfortably. He notices your reaction immediately, a frown settling into his features as he assesses your expression.

"What is it?"

You avoid eye contact, biting your lip and awkwardly tugging your shirt down over your thighs so you're less exposed, "Um, I know nothing happened, I know you didn't... but um, did..." you grimace, "Did she..."

He stands up immediately, tugging his zipper as he goes and reaching you in a single stride, arms coming up to touch your shoulders. You look up and see him shaking his head, brown eyes softly searching yours.

"She wasn't in my bed, honey," he murmurs quietly, "I promise."

The anxiety settles, and you believe him.

You cuddle together in bed for a while after your shower, not really talking but just basking in the feeling of being together again after such a shitshow of a weekend. You're warm and comfy in one of Joel's band t-shirts while he lays beside you, spooning you from behind and pressing soft kisses to the exposed part of your neck every so often, his bare legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets.

Part of you still wants answers, wants to learn more about his relationship with his ex, but another part of you doesn't feel ready yet, doesn't want to ask those questions or face those truths. Your mind is running a mile a minute as you lay there without saying anything, brow furrowed as you weigh the pros and cons in your head.

"D'you wanna talk about it, angel?" Joel finally asks, almost like he can sense exactly what you're feeling, his arms tightening around you. Your eyes close and you sigh deeply, squishing the side of your face into his pillow.

"Talk about what?" you mumble, but he's not buying it.

"I know you have questions," he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck again - grounding you, reminding you that it's okay to be yourself here, "There must be a thousand flyin' around that beautiful head o'yours. And I want you to ask 'em."

You sigh again, quieter this time. He squeezes you and reaches up to pull some of your hair back from your cheek and push it behind your ear, stroking it gently. He presses a small kiss there and noses the space beneath.

"You still feel safe with me, right?" he whispers.

At his words you immediately turn in his embrace, a look of shock forming on your face, "Of course I do," you breathe, "Joel, I've never felt safer with anyone than I do with you."

"Okay, okay, just checkin'," he smiles at you, eyes soft and sleepy, "You just seem... somewhere else. And I know why," his smile turns sad again, "And I hate that you're feelin' this way, darlin'. What can I do?"

You shake your head and reach your hand up to palm the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek tenderly, "You... you can tell me where it is you're taking me this weekend." It's a cop-out and you both know it, but as usual he doesn't push it - you'll talk about your feelings in your own time.

He turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand gently, "Dallas," he murmurs, "Hotel room's booked."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Dallas? But that's hours away, isn't it?"

"About three or so," he shrugs, "You ever been?"

"Couple times when I was a kid. Why Dallas?"

His arms tighten around you and he leans forward to lightly brush his nose against yours, "I told you, I wanna take you away. Not just twenty minutes or an hour; I want you to forget about all the shit you're dealin' with here for a little while," he kisses the tip of your nose gently, "What better place to do that than another city?"

The thought makes you smile. He's right; getting as far away from your parents as possible definitely sounds like a more than appealing opportunity. You've been to Dallas before but not since you were a kid, experiences that have pretty much clouded over at this point, what with all the restrictive rules you'd had to face.

"I feel bad..." you suddenly whisper.

His expression falters, "Why, baby?"

"'Cause what if I don't wanna leave the hotel room?" You smile slyly and his grin comes back in full force as he pulls you closer, presses loud kisses along the side of your face as you giggle.

"Who said anything about leavin' the hotel room?" he chuckles, then reaches over you to grab his phone from the night stand, "Plus..." he scrolls through it for a few seconds then turns it to face you, "There may be a more specific reason I chose Dallas."

You peer at his phone, see the image of a poster staring back at you: DALLAS GOSPEL MUSIC FESTIVAL. The dates correlate to this upcoming weekend. Your jaw drops, eyes going wide as you turn back to his suddenly cocky expression - he's beyond proud of himself.

"Joel Miller," you gasp with a grin, slapping his arm playfully, "you're worse than me."

"So the whole thing just sounds really cool," you lie to your mother the following day, showing her the poster for the festival you'd printed out, "They're also doing group worship in the mornings and there's some other events happening between the shows, like bible trivia." Kill me now.

She raises an eyebrow, assessing it further, "It's an awfully long drive to Dallas on your own..."

"I like driving, it's peaceful."

"And aren't festivals known to have drugs?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, "It's gospel, Mom. I don't think anyone'll be handing out drugs. Plus," you point to the little anti-drug symbol in the corner of the poster, "it's not allowed, see?"

She still looks skeptical, bringing her gaze from the poster to your face, "But you've never wanted to go to something like this before. Why now?"

"I'm just-" you smile as earnestly as you can, "I'm really enjoying my lessons with Mr. Miller. I'd like to go see some professionals perform, get inspired, that kinda thing. I think it'll help me with my technique." Technique, sure. Not as if you've played his guitar more than once at this point.

She grimaces, "It seems an awfully big thing to keep from your father..."

And whose fault is that? "You could tell him I'm visiting another one of my friends?"

She nods slowly, thoughtfully, turning her head to look down at the poster again.

You hate this. You hate how much you're lying. You hate how much she's lying. But more than anything, you hate that you have to lie in the first place. You hate that you have to ask permission, as if you're not a grown adult woman with her own agency. None of this sneaking around and coming up with covers and excuses would even be necessary if your parents just allowed you to be yourself under their roof. The whole thing is so fucked.

"Promise you'll let me know when you get there, and text me every morning and night," she finally says, eyes meeting yours again, "And promise that you'll drive safely."

Relief floods through you, along with that all too familiar guilt, "I promise."

The rest of the week passes smoothly, albeit a little slow. Your mother gives your father some kind of excuse about this weekend that seems to appease him, something about a bible study group. You try not to think about how many stories you're weaving together at this point, all of them piling on top of each other and twisting and turning into even bigger and badder lies. It's truly becoming a giant mess, but all of that doesn't seem to matter whenever you think of Joel, of this weekend...

Communication with him is so different now - in the best way. No more short and brief responses, no more wondering what he's thinking or worrying he's no longer interested. You text every single day and talk on the phone in hushed whispers almost every night. You've noticed that he's able to call you earlier now, has stopped going to the bar after work with his crew, but you don't mention it to him. He hasn't been back since last weekend, something that makes you admittedly feel a bit of relief.

You text him on Wednesday afternoon from the parking lot of the grocery store - you've been helping your parents out a bit more now wherever you can, spending your days cleaning the house, doing chores, fulfilling to-do lists, etc. It's the least you can do for essentially stringing them along through the worst web of lies imaginable. This trip, however, you'd caught a glimpse of Bethany in the baking aisle and almost had a heart attack, rushing to the self checkout and scanning all your items before she'd gotten a chance to see you. You haven't spoken to her since the incident in the church bathroom and you don't intend to ever again if you can help it.

almost ran into bethany at the grocery store ahhh!!!! i hate this so much. just wanna leave already and forget about all these people :( miss you. hope your day's going better than mine 💕

You sigh to yourself as you pull out of the parking lot, but your sad demeanor is quickly replaced with a grin when you feel your phone vibrate in your lap. At a red light you look down at it, warmth flooding your cheeks.

Soon, angel. Two more days and it'll just be you and me. Can't wait to treat you the way you deserve. I know just the thing to make your day better, call me tonight x

That night he whispers filthy things in your ear while you finger yourself, face buried in your pillow, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Your face is hot and your lower half is bare against the sheets, sticky and soft. You're imagining how his cock will feel inside you, buried to the hilt, pulsing deep and wet and warm. The thought is almost too much to bear - you've been physically incapable of thinking of anything else lately.

"Wanna feel it in my stomach, Joel, just like you said," you whine into the pillow, tears stinging your eyes as your pleasure nears its peak. "Please, please."

"You will, babygirl," he gasps, voice low and shaky as he tugs at his cock and groans on the other line, "God you're such a good girl beggin' for it like that. Ask me again, honey, ask for my cock."

"Please, Joel," you try to keep your voice quiet but it's so hard, your fingers plunging in and out of yourself at the exact speed you wish he was fucking you, "Please, Mr. Miller. Please give me your cock."

He lets out another groan, "Oh god, baby, I'm so fuckin' close. Ask me for my cum, angel. Ask for it real pretty and polite."

His words send you over the edge as your hand stutters against your pussy and halts, your whole body trembling as you fall face forward onto the bed. Your skin ignites with even more heat as you shut your eyes tight and whisper, "Please gimme your cum, Joel. Want your cum."

You hear him inhale sharply and then exhale even louder, can almost see the white of his cum behind your lids, dripping all over his bare stomach. You can feel your own slick dripping down your inner thigh, staining your sheets. You wonder if your mom has noticed how often you've been changing your bedding lately, but part of you can't really bring yourself to care.

You try to imagine what it would be like for him to pump you full, for his release to leak out of you, what it would look like, feel like... The thought makes goosebumps rise all over your flesh, especially when you remember that he'd already asked if that's what you wanted. In the heat of the moment you'd said yes, and even now you find that you still do. You have been taking your little pill every day at the same time after all, a fact he's very much aware of.

You turn over in bed and snap a quick picture of your bare pussy, wet and used. It's the second time you've done it this week. You send it without saying anything and smile when you hear him groan again on the other line.

"Perfect little pussy," he whispers, and you can hear the pout in his expression.

"It's yours," you murmur sleepily, feeling yourself begin to drift as you bury your face in your pillow again, "It's all yours, Joel."

The only issue that inevitably pops up is the driving arrangement. To your parents knowledge you're traveling to Dallas alone, so leaving in your own car is a vital detail. You want to ride in Joel's truck though, but you're not sure it's feasible with the amount of eyes on you, the questions your parents will ask if your car stays in the driveway.

"That's easy to figure out, darlin'," Joel reassures you over the phone the next morning, "Lemme make a call to my brother, I'm pretty sure he's got a spot in a garage he ain't usin' right now."

You grimace at the thought of someone you don't know doing you a favor, "He won't mind?"

Joel snorts, "Tommy? Not at all, angel. Don't you worry."

You've only heard him talk about Tommy once, that day on his back deck when he'd told you about his upbringing. You'd been under the impression that they didn't have a very good relationship, what with being compared to each other their whole lives. Maybe you'd been wrong about it. You've certainly been wrong about a lot of things. You file it away as another question to ask once you finally work up the courage.

You have to admit, it feels really good to have someone take care of things like this, telling you not to worry, handling everything that's difficult. You've been carrying such a load of bullshit for your entire life and knowing that Joel's in charge this weekend just makes you feel safe. Protected. Cared for. You feel like you could ask him for anything and he'd somehow make it happen for you, something you've never really experienced before. Your parents have always been hesitant to spoil you despite their wealth, had rarely ever taken you on vacations that weren't undercut with the promise of learning or preaching. Your desires and needs have always taken a backseat to appearances, standards, bigger goals. You've never really felt you could ever relax with them, ask for things, be yourself.

It feels so fucking good to have Joel Miller.

Your parents have already left for the day when you climb into your car on Friday morning, tossing your travel bag in the backseat and switching on the ignition with a smile on your face. You and Joel have it all figured out - he'd talked to his brother and there's indeed a space for you to park your car in for the weekend. Joel surprised you even more by taking the day off, so you're meeting him at the garage in about an hour's time. Before then, though... you think another shopping trip is in order - for one specific item in particular.

The lingerie store doesn't seem as scary this time around. Last time you hadn't even been able to step foot inside, but this time you're more prepared, ready for the skimpy mannequins and uniquely shaped underwear. You're still not really exactly sure what you're looking for, but you don't panic this time when a salesclerk walks over to you with a smile and asks if she can help you. She's probably around your mom's age, something you're not sure makes you uncomfortable or not.

"Um, yeah," you say awkwardly, unable to make direct eye contact, "I was wondering if you have anything...um... like..." you try to find the words, heart beating a bit quicker in your chest, "Something cute? But sexy too, but, um, not too sexy, if that makes sense," you feel your cheeks warm as you babble, thinking of the spiked bras and crotchless panties you'd seen last time, "Just something not too crazy, something pretty but still... still sexy." God, how many times did you just say the word sexy?

The woman just smiles and nods without any ounce of judgement whatsoever, "I know just the thing, sweetie, follow me." Well, despite being around the same age, your mother would certainly never call you sweetie. She'd also never go lingerie shopping with you either; the very thought is laughable.

She leads you to a section full of floral themed sets, brightly colored and soft, lacy and delicate. Your eyes widen a bit at the selection, the options in shapes and sizes, colors and transparency, boy shorts and g strings. You have to admit that you could see yourself wearing pretty much anything here - it's right up your alley, and you're pretty sure it's Joel's preference as well.

"As you can see, we have a big range," the salesclerk says with another smile, "Some of them are more simple than others if that's what you're looking for," she picks up one of the sets, blue and frilly with little forget-me-nots embroidered over the nipples, "This one is very popular, and comfortable too, speaking from experience."

You nod, analyzing it carefully and trying your best not to picture the salesclerk wearing it, "Thanks, but I'll, uh, just have a look myself, if that's okay?"

"Of course!" she puts the set back down and tosses you one last smile, "Take your time, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything."

Being around your parents so much this summer has really messed with your psyche. You find it odd to encounter people like this, people your parents age, Joel's age, who clearly have no qualms about dressing sexually. It's almost the way you'd felt when you first got to college, the culture shock of taking ownership of your own body and doing what you want with it, not constantly wondering if you're going to go to hell for showing too much skin. It reminds you yet again of your own naivety, everything you've been missing up to this point.

But also... everything you're going to experience this weekend. That is why you're here, after all.

You end up picking out what you believe to be the prettiest set. It's white and transparent in certain places, edged in pink and covered in little embroidered flowers, purple and yellow and green. The bra has buttons in the center that you're not sure actually work or are just for show... though regardless, you imagine Joel slowly fingering them while you peer up from below on the hotel bed, a thought that makes your cheeks burn. The panties are cute and look easy to slip on and off but there's an odd third component, just as pretty with straps that lead to nothing. You furrow your brow, staring at it.

You could ask the salesclerk what it is but you really don't want to embarrass yourself. Instead you take a picture and send it in your group chat:

buying lingerie, what is this?? help!!

Of course, Tasha is the first to reply:

IT'S A GARTER BELT, BABE. HOLDS UP STOCKINGS IN A FUN SEXY WAY. SO BUY STOCKINGS. also that's cute as fuuuuck. ur gonna give the old man a heart attack

You stifle a laugh and shove your phone back in your pocket, picking up the entire set and walking to the cash. You grab a pair of sheer white stockings in your size and slip everything onto the counter, still avoiding eye contact as the salesclerk from before walks behind and starts ringing everything up.

"Find everything you were looking for, sweetie? Did you want to try any of this on before you purchase?"

You shake your head immediately, "No, that's okay." The thought of trying any of this stuff on in a public place is definitely still a little too much outside your comfort zone.

The clerk nods and turns the card reader to you with a smile, "That'll be a hundred and fifty eight dollars."

You're pretty sure you've never looked more shocked in your life.

why is being sexy so awkward and expensive?

welcome to my life sister

158 DOLLARS FOR 3 SCRAPS OF MATERIAL

that's it, let it all out

The garage Joel gave you the address for isn't too far from the mall, hidden down a few side streets where you feel confident your parents will never accidentally come across it. With a significantly emptier wallet, you pull into the parking lot and spot Joel's truck, smiling when you see him get out to wave you over. He's wearing one of your favorite flannels - green and black, similar to the one you keep under your mattress - and another band t-shirt underneath; you've lost track of how many he has at this point.

"There's my girl," he says as you pull up beside him with the window rolled down. He leans against your car, tips his head in to kiss you gently, "Find it okay? Directions were clear?"

You can't help but roll your eyes with a giggle, "I just typed it into the Maps app, Joel. Didn't need all the rights and lefts."

He chuckles, "Follow me, I'll show you where to park it."

You inch along behind him as he leads you into the relatively small parking garage and gestures to the right. There's an open spot between an RV trailer and a pick-up truck.

"Those are both Tommy's," he says with a sly smile, "So feel free to scratch 'em up if you want."

You roll your eyes again and carefully pull into the space, being sure to avoid any of the encouraged scratching. It's a comfortable fit and you grab your things from the backseat before climbing out to meet Joel behind your car.

"Hi," you say quietly, peering up at him with a soft smile, not caring that you already had your introduction a few minutes ago. All you can think about now is the time that stretches out in front of you, an entire weekend of just you and him.

"Hi, angel," he murmurs, and you feel his hands come up to squeeze your arms, pull you in close, "Ready to get outta here?" You nod excitedly and he gestures toward the garage entrance, "Then let's hit the road."

Three hours on the road passes much quicker than you thought it would. You remember road trips with your parents as a kid, traveling miles in random directions to witness supposed "miracles" or visit religious sites. Before he'd joined the police force your father had been a pretty prominent presence in church groups all throughout the southern states, and by proxy you and your mother had too. You can't really remember much of the experience other than having to constantly be on your best behavior, put on a perfect front no matter what. It was exhausting. Not to mention the only music you could listen to had to be pre-approved by your parents. You'd sit in the back seat with perfect posture, mouthing along to songs about God while you stared longingly at the kids in cars passing by, screaming songs that were forbidden to you at the top of their lungs.

You tell Joel about it. The first twenty minutes or so of the drive is spent unloading your past road trip experiences, something you genuinely hadn't planned on doing. But talking to him is just so easy. The words fall from your lips without any hesitance whatsoever, no fear that he'll ask why you put up with it, why you didn't stand up for yourself, those questions you'd been asked by people at college whenever you mentioned your upbringing. He listens attentively, reaches over and picks up your hand to place it on his thigh, squeezes it reassuringly.

"I'm just rambling now," you finally say with a shake of your head, "The point is, this is my first road trip without all those rules, you know? So it's just... I'm just really excited."

"I get it, honey. And I'm glad I can give you this experience," he turns to look at you with a crooked smile, "Among others." Your cheeks warm.

As usual, he commands the space he's in. He's so big and broad in the front seat, one large hand on the wheel while the other caresses your fingers, thumbs your palm. His forearms are thick and freckled, lined with veins and little nicks and cuts here and there from work. The grey in his scruff reflects light in the sun, sending little twinkles and glimmers into your periphery every so often. He's so perfect, sitting there beside you. So handsome. Yours.

"Which band is that?" you ask him, genuinely curious as your eyes trail down to his t-shirt. You can't help but assume that it's some kind of metal band, what with all the skulls.

"This?" he tugs at it, eyes falling to where you're looking, "Grateful Dead."

"Oh, cool."

He smiles sympathetically, "You have no idea who they are, do you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

He laughs and squeezes your hand again, then lets go to reach into the center console for his phone. You watch him unlock it and pull his face back to squint at it, eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and the road while he tries to access something.

"I can do it," you offer, and without any qualms he slips his phone into your hand with a smile.

"I- uh- I made a playlist," he says, turning his attention to the road again, "For the trip. There's some Grateful Dead on there, if you wanna hear it. You can add your own stuff to it too, don't want you thinkin' you can only listen to my shit."

You don't know why the concept of Joel making a playlist specifically for your trip is so fucking adorable, but it is. You can't help but smile as you open Spotify and spot it immediately - simply called Dallas. You scroll through it and pick the first Grateful Dead song you spot.

"Wait," you say, scrunching your eyebrows as soft guitar fills the truck, gentle and smooth, "This is Grateful Dead?"

He chuckles, "What were you expectin'?"

"Somebody screaming, maybe? Especially for a song called Friend of The Devil," you turn to him with a shake of your head, "God, you're telling me this is the kinda shit my parents forbid me from listening to? It's literally just some guy."

He laughs again, deep and genuine, "Half the shit parents forbid their kids from listenin' to ain't even that bad. I remember a couple years before my momma died, she told me she'd heard this new singer called Bruce Springsteen, absolutely loved him," he grins at the memory, "Meanwhile she'd thrown out all my Springsteen records when I was sixteen, said they were filth."

"Did you remind her?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I let her believe he really was some new singer she'd discovered. Wouldn't have done any good to rub it in her face. We'd already made peace."

You think about that concept - peace. The very thought of ever having a peaceful relationship with your own parents feels foreign and downright impossible, a feeling that makes you ridiculously sad if you think about it too long. You don't want to entertain the idea of having to say goodbye to them completely at any point, for them to be out of your life entirely because they don't want you anymore. You're glad Joel was able to make peace with his mother, but after years? After his father had passed away? The thought is frightening.

"Now, Backstreet Boys," Joel continues with a wry smile, "that's a band you gotta watch out for. I had to stare at those faces every time I went in Sarah's room for years. Talk about trauma."

The discomfort fades almost immediately, a natural giggle bubbling past your lips at his words. You like hearing him mention his daughter so casually - you're finally in the loop, finally getting to see the real him, hear his unfiltered thoughts.

"Can I... can I ask you something about Sarah?"

His expression changes then, not into one of anger or guilt, but surprise. He nods immediately, reaches back over to take your hand in his, "Of course you can, angel. Anythin' you want."

"Um, how old is she?" You've already done the math in your head, but you want to be sure, want to hear it from him.

"She's thirty eight," he gives you a look, "Does that make you feel weird?"

You shake your head, "No, it doesn't." You mean it. You'd probably find it weirder if she was closer to your age, but thirty eight... a full grown woman, out of the house and living her own life for years. There's something different about that, something that doesn't bring you any discomfort.

"I just wanna say... I've... I've never been with anyone your age," he looks away again, like he's worried about seeing your face as he says it, "You're the youngest person I've been with, save for when I was that age myself." He grimaces, "I don't... I don't go around preyin' on young girls or anything, if you were worried about that. I know the first day we met might've made you think otherwise, but-"

You smile softly as he babbles, "I believe you, Joel. I mean... I can't say the thought didn't cross my mind. I was a bit worried about that this weekend, when I saw you and Sarah. I thought she was my age."

He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head, "Oh, she'd be very pleased to hear that, lemme tell you." He makes a face. "The thinkin' she's your age part, not the part about you thinkin' we were together. She probably wouldn't like that so much."

You giggle, "Yeah, probably not."

"But I do mean it, honey. I'm not that kinda man, or at least I never thought I was," he bites his lip, "You kinda turned my whole world upside down that day, if I'm bein' honest."

You don't really know what to say in response, but you feel pride swell in your chest at his words. You reach your other hand over and place it on top of where you're already entwined, peering up at him fondly, hoping he can sense what you're feeling. The song switches over to something else then, another guitar heavy tune. You recognize the melody immediately, your eyes going wide.

"Speaking of the first day we met," you say softly, hoping he'll recognize the significance - and he does. He peers at you with that beautifully tender expression he reserves only for you, grip tightening beneath your other hand.

"Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan."

"Good ear. You play?"

"Um, not really."

The memory sends tingles down your spine. How was that only a few weeks ago? How have you gone from being the shy and bashful girl at the end of Joel Miller's walkway to the girl sitting in his truck holding his hand on a three hour road trip to another city? Talking about your life, his life, the things that matter? The girl with lingerie and birth control packed neatly in your travel bag?

"I'm still plannin' on teachin' you how to play this," he finally says, smirking, "Don't think you can get off easy just 'cause we're focusin' on the hymns."

You roll your eyes with a grin, "When you actually teach me a hymn, we'll talk."

It doesn't take long to realize that driving with Joel is very distracting. Not only is he so large and broad in the seat beside you, looking gorgeous and charming as he always does, but he also smells fucking delicious. Being in such close proximity to him in a small space, being able to smell his cologne mixed with the sheer scent of him, raw and masculine and sexy. It just reminds you of how it feels to be underneath him, overwhelmed by him entirely, feeling the rough edges of his body against yours.

You've had the windows rolled up since the first hour, turned on the AC once you'd gotten on the highway and let the cool air fill the truck. But now it's just circulating that fucking smell, thick and heady as you watch little droplets of sweat form on Joel's forehead, trickle down his temples. You feel a throb in your panties, a surge of release, and you clench your thighs together.

"You okay, babygirl?" he asks you softly, reaching over to place his big hand on your bare thigh - of course he'd noticed your change in demeanor immediately, "Need to stop somewhere and use the bathroom?"

His hand on your thigh just makes you clench tighter, makes you lean back lazily in your seat and let out a quiet whimper. You turn and look at him the exact moment his gaze reaches your face, reads it, tries to make sense of what you need.

"What is it?" he murmurs, hand slowly rubbing your skin, "What's got you makin' sounds like that, huh?"

You whimper again, already fully decided on what you want. Your hand goes down to grip his, move it upwards to the crotch of your shorts. His jaw slackens, eyes going dark.

"Need your pussy touched, baby?"

You nod, feeling heat flood your cheeks at his words. You watch as he assesses the road in front of him, the lane beside him. He chews the inside of his cheek and seems to settle on something internally. He keeps his eyes trained ahead while his hand fiddles with the zipper on your shorts.

"Unbutton those for me, pretty girl," he says, voice suddenly low, and you don't need telling twice. You practically tear your shorts open and allow him to reach his hand inside - it's so big and warm, hairy knuckles and callused fingertips slipping past the band of your underwear. Another pitiful sound falls from your lips as his index drops to your entrance and immediately slips inside.

"Joel," you whisper, tilting your head back and closing your eyes as he pushes knuckle deep inside you, filling you quickly and easily.

He doesn't say anything, just prods a second finger against your hole and slowly pushes it alongside the first. You take him so easy now; it doesn't burn the way it did those first few times, and it certainly helps that you're also soaking wet, practically dripping through your shorts.

"That's it," he murmurs softly beside you, other hand still on the wheel while he monitors the traffic around him, "That feel better, baby?"

"Y-yes," you breathe, looking down again to watch the lewd actions happening in your lap, watch the way his hand moves back and forth in your shorts as he pulls his fingers in and out of you.

"Just close your eyes and relax, angel," he tells you gently, "I'll take care of it."

You do as he says, letting yourself relax as best you can while he continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers. Another song starts playing, something low with a steady beat that he suddenly sets the pace to, speeding up as you open your legs a bit wider and moan softly. His thumb finds your clit and circles it, making you whine.

"Shhh, it's okay," your hear him say beside you, working his fingers, "It's alright, babygirl. Gonna give you what you need."

You moan again at the images that flood your brain, the thought of being underneath him in only a couple hours time, the feeling of his cock pushing inside, filling you up in just the way you've been aching for. You imagine his heavy breaths, hot and sticky against your skin. The smell of his cologne, his sweat. The coarseness of his pubic hair against your bare pussy. You writhe in the seat and tighten your thighs together, another whine slipping from your mouth.

"I got you," he murmurs, and he does. It doesn't take much else at all for you to climax, and he gets you there quickly with a few more circles of his thumb, the stiffness of his fingers, his name slipping past your lips as you come.

You lay loose and pliant in your seat for a moment, eyes still closed. He goes to remove his hand from your shorts but you stop him, reaching down to hold his wrist and keep his warm hand inside. He cups your pussy gently and just holds it, the palm of his hand sitting firmly atop your throbbing hole, rhythmically pulsing against his skin.

"Just keep it there," you whisper, chest heaving, "Please."

"Christ," he grunts under his breath, and you open your eyes to look at him, see the flush of his skin as he looks at you with desire in his eyes, "You were right, babygirl. I don't think we'll be leavin' that hotel room."

You like Joel's playlist a lot. After stopping into a gas station to clean up a bit, you sit in the passenger seat while he loads up on gas and scroll through it on your own phone, liking certain tracks that have stood out to you. His musical range is very broad; there's a lot of artists on it that you've never heard of, but you're not sure if that's just because of how sheltered you've been or because he's so much older than you. You choose to believe it's the latter - you hate thinking about how much you've missed out on. He'd said you could add some of your own songs but the thought makes you feel embarrassed; you haven't really had much time to form your own music taste, have spent your college experience so far just listening to whatever's popular since you couldn't when you were younger. You wouldn't even know what to add.

You scroll back up to the top of the playlist and tap Joel's profile out of curiosity, wondering if he has any other public playlists. You smile to yourself when you see titles like BBQ, 80s Tunes, Good Solos, Acoustic, Oldies, Angel.

Hold on...

Angel

You stare at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the icon but making no move to actually press it. You suddenly feel like you're invading his privacy somehow, like this isn't something he'd want you to see, not unless he said you could. With all the strength you can muster you hit the back button and return to the Dallas playlist, tapping a random song and locking your phone.

Joel gets back in the truck, oblivious to your discovery. "Gettin' closer, darlin'. You excited?"

You smile, warmth bursting in your chest, "Can't wait."

The conversation drifts here and there throughout the rest of the drive, both of you asking and answering questions back and forth about your lives, your pasts, your interests, your dislikes. You learn that Joel really likes music. You've known this, of course - it's not like it's some huge surprise - but hearing him talk about the artists he likes, the instruments, the melodies, the lyrics... you can hear the passion in his voice, the adoration for his favorites, the infatuation with certain lines and words. He loves music.

"Why aren't you a musician?" you ask him, genuinely curious, "Like, this really seems like something you should be doing professionally."

He chuckles at that, shakes his head, "Knowin' a lot about somethin' doesn't necessarily constitute a career in it," he shrugs, "I mean... I can't say I never thought about it. To be honest, when I was a teenager I did dream about performin' live, recordin' an album, all that jazz."

"So... why didn't you?"

He tilts his head with a half smile, "I think you're forgettin' the part where I became a dad right outta high school."

You wince, "Oh. Right."

He laughs, "S'okay. I mean, I still probably coulda done it. But there was a period there in those early years where I stopped playin' altogether, so it kinda just... slipped my mind."

You frown, "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

He takes a breath, thoughtful for a moment as he tightens his grip on the wheel and squeezes your hand at the same time, like he's preparing himself - or preparing you.

"Well, uh... Sarah's mom, she left." Your lips part in surprise but you don't say anything, giving him a few seconds to collect his thoughts again before continuing, "She, uh, she had really bad post-partum depression, lasted a really long time. Of course, at the time, that kinda thing wasn't really talked about very much. And on top o' that we were both living with her parents since I'd been kicked out and we couldn't afford to go anywhere else. Even when we finally managed to move out they stayed in our business."

"And her parents... were they...?"

"They were strict, yeah," his jaw tenses, "They were... they were very hard on her, which made it worse. And she never wanted to be a mom, ya know? She was only seventeen when it happened and it completely uprooted all her plans. She'd wanted to get outta Texas, go to California or New York, get away from her parents and all the bullshit." He sighs, shaking his head slightly at the memory, "But livin' where we did, abortion was outta the question and her parents were our only option."

He's not looking at you but you can see the pain in his expression, the regret. A wave of sadness washes over you as you watch him talk about this particularly difficult part of his past, a part you'd been curious about ever since last weekend but had been too afraid to ask about. You're not really sure what to say.

"They made us get married," he makes a face, "And I mean, it's not like we weren't in love at that point, 'cause we were. She was my high school sweetheart and I loved her so much, I wanted it to work. But she was so unhappy. So distant. And when Sarah was born it was like she was gone. The Mish I knew just completely disappeared." He finally looks at you, expression apologetic, "That's her name - Mish. Well, Michelle, but she hates Michelle. God," he sighs exasperatedly, "I'm sorry, darlin', I shouldn't be ramblin' on about this."

You shake your head quickly, pulling your hand from his grip to lay it on top of his and squeeze, a comforting gesture, "No, Joel, don't apologize. Tell me. I wanna know."

He peers at you, hesitant, "You're sure?"

"Yes. I... I wanna know you, if you'll let me." You squeeze his hand again, reassuring him quietly.

So he tells you. He tells you about getting his first real job in construction, working the latest hours possible to earn as much as he could to get the three of them out of Mish's parents house and into their own. He tells you about Sarah being born, how he'd never felt as happy in his entire life as he did when he first held her in his arms, how she was a light in the darkness for him, lit up the room with her killer smile and big brown eyes. He tells you how he'd woken up one morning to a note from Mish, telling him that she couldn't do it anymore, that she had to get out before the situation swallowed her whole. He tells you about how his little brother Tommy, the one you'd thought he disliked, the golden boy, started skipping school to take care of Sarah when Joel couldn't - not because Joel asked him, but because he'd wanted to help.

"They say it takes a village," he says with a soft smile, "But for me, I had my brother and that was enough. It was like the past however many years of that godforsaken rivalry our parents pushed on us hadn't even happened."

"This coming from the person who asked me to scratch his truck an hour ago," you tease, and he just laughs, peering over at you with a genuine smile and tears shining in his eyes. There he is, the real him.

"Mish, she uh-" he clears his throat, "She came back, when Sarah was a little older, but then she disappeared again, same story. We found out later that she was dealin' with a whole lot more than post partum. I won't go into the details but once she got on the right meds, started therapy, she came back to us. Took a little while for things to settle - we tried on our relationship again, but we realized we just didn't fit, it was never gonna work." You squeeze his hand again. "She stayed in our lives though, became a good mom to Sarah, that's what mattered most."

"And you were just... you were just alone, through all of that?" you ask quietly, "I mean, I know you had Tommy, but... that must've been so hard." You can't even imagine dealing with all of that, find it difficult to comprehend the fact that Joel had become a father when he was younger than you, had to drop all his dreams and desires and start living entirely for someone else. "Didn't your parents ever try to reach out at all? Didn't they want to know Sarah?"

He sighs, eyes on the road, "My momma did, I know she did. But my father wouldn't let her, and she did as he said, no questions asked."

You can't help but picture your own parents, the way your mother bends over backwards to police herself around your father, the way she's taught you your entire life to do the same. The way she can't even talk to him about what's really going on - or at least what she thinks is going on - for fear of him winding up in control of the situation, making the decisions for her.

"I wonder if my mom would still wanna see me if she knew what I've been doing," you say aloud, unable to keep the thought to yourself. "Or if my dad would force her to shut me out."

Once again your hands swap places, Joel wrapping his fingers around your palm and gripping it tightly. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't give you any words of reassurance, and you know it's because he can't.

A soft kiss to your right cheek, then your left. Whiskered and warm. Your eyes flutter open and you see Joel leaning over the center console with a tender smile on his face, brown eyes peering down at you fondly.

"We're here, baby," he murmurs.

You blink a few times, confused. Only moments ago you'd been listening to music, chatting about your degree and answering Joel's questions about your other life, the one where your parents aren't in charge. He'd been so attentive, so interested in learning more about you. You vaguely remember a song coming on, slow and melodic, and then...

"I fell asleep?" you ask blearily, sitting up a bit.

"Out like a light," he says with a smile, "Had to skip all my heavy metal."

You roll your eyes and peer out the window, confused by the darkness beyond.

"We're in the parking garage at the hotel," he clarifies quickly, leaning back into his own seat, "Ready to check in?"

You nod and yawn, opening the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch your arms above your head. It feels good to be out of the small confines of Joel's truck, even though it was nice while it lasted. He follows suit and walks around the side to grab the luggage from the back.

"You brought your guitar?" you ask, watching as he picks up the long black carrying case and slips it over his shoulder.

"That I did," he replies with a wink, "Gotta get that lesson in, right?"

You feel heat bloom in your cheeks and avoid his flirtatious gaze, moving toward the truck bed to grab your bag. He gets to it first, picks up both his bag and yours and carries them easily in both hands, walking over to meet you on the other side of the truck.

"I can take mine," you offer, "That's a lot to carry."

He just chuckles and shakes his head, walking in front of you, "You ain't liftin' one single finger on this trip, sweetheart."

Walking from the darkness of the parking garage to the suddenly blaringly bright sun of Dallas is disconcerting at first, but certainly not unwelcome. Your eyes squint against the sunlight, focus on Joel's broad back as he walks in front of you with all the bags, guitar case swinging from his shoulder. God, he looks good carrying all that, big hands gripping the handles of the bags as he saunters ahead. That's yours, you remind yourself yet again, he's yours.

You're so distracted by how good he looks that you barely really take notice of the hotel until you're pushing past the doors into the main lobby, and that's when you freeze in place with your jaw practically on the floor.

What the fuck?

When Joel told you he'd booked a hotel, the only thing you'd really pictured in your mind was the room itself. You'd imagined a pretty sizeable room with a big bed, an ensuite bathroom and maybe a balcony if you were lucky. You've never really spent much time in a hotel before, especially nothing fancy or expensive. When you'd traveled with your parents you usually stayed with family friends or other parishioners; they hadn't wanted to expose you to too much luxury or wealth. It's hypocritical now when you think back on it, considering the large house your parents live in, the pool, the cars, the boat your father wants to buy. They'd had money to throw away on those things but couldn't splurge on a hotel room every once in a while? Couldn't treat you to something you really wanted?

Now you stand in an absolutely gorgeous main lobby, all marble floors and bright greenery, glints of gold and crystal and diamonds everywhere you turn. You suddenly feel like you've walked into a European country - how the fuck did you drive three hours from Austin and end up in a place like this?

Joel is stalling a few feet in front of you, that cocky smile in full view as he watches your reaction, "Ain't too shabby, huh?"

You're still staring with wide eyes at the sleek floors, the glittering fountains, the fucking bell-hops wearing those silly little outfits. You turn back to Joel with a shake of your head, mouth open.

You barely register the checking-in process, too mesmerized by your surroundings to pay attention. A bell-hop loads up your bags onto a luggage cart, the clerk hands Joel a key card, and you're still in complete awe of what you've just walked into as you follow Joel almost robotically to the elevator without speaking.

This is too much, you want to say.

How much did you spend? you want to ask.

The room itself is fucking beautiful, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the city below, a sight you already know will look gorgeous when the sun goes down and the buildings are lit up. The bed is huge, much bigger than you'd anticipated, with a giant flatscreen TV on the wall overtop a confusingly high-tech looking fireplace. There's a comfy looking couch and an ensuite to your right, and a fucking balcony, just like you'd hoped for. You stand in complete silence in the doorway for a solid minute until the bell-hop is gone and Joel has to nudge you forward a little to shut the door.

"Say somethin'," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling his face in your neck.

You shake your head again, eyes still wide, "I- I don't even know what to say."

"D'you like it?" his voice is muffled in the warmth of your neck, lips pressing a soft kiss there as his arms squeeze you gently, "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

You swallow around the lump in your throat, close your eyes through freshly stinging tears and lean back into his embrace. "I'm thinking that.... that I can't believe you did all this for me."

He kisses your neck again, slow and sweet, "Of course I did, angel. S'what you deserve."

You open your eyes and look down to see his big arms holding you tightly, feel the firm warmth of him at your back, smell that heady and delicious scent of his cologne. This isn't some dream you're having, some weird and sinful idea you came up with in your head; this is real. You're really here, standing in a beautiful hotel room with the most beautiful man you could ever imagine. You feel so safe.

And now you have an entire weekend to show him how much that means to you, a thought that sends a chill up your spine when your gaze rises back up to the bed. There it is. That's where it's going to happen.

"So... what's the plan?" you ask quietly.

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your ear before pulling back and spinning you around in his embrace, peering down at you with a soft expression. "Anythin' you want," he says with a smile, "You're in charge."

You can't help but feel yourself pout a bit, "What if I don't wanna be in charge?"

He leans down and brushes his nose against yours softly, "Well, then I'd say..." he's cut off by a sudden gurgling sound, and your eyes widen when you realize it's your stomach - you haven't eaten since this morning. He laughs lightly, pulling back to assess you fondly, "I'd say we better head down to the dining room and get some food in you."

You grimace, even though you know he's right. "Spoke too soon."

While you enjoyed the thrill of the hotel surprise, part of you wishes Joel had told you what kind of place this was so you could have packed accordingly. You definitely didn't pack anything super elegant or fancy, although you had packed all the dresses you'd bought a little while ago, the ones you'd tried on in his kitchen and haven't had an opportunity to wear since. You assess your options now, bag open on the couch, fingers trailing through the different fabrics. The little pink bag with your new lingerie still sits tucked into the side, and you wonder if you should wear it underneath whatever you choose to wear for dinner. As usual, you're not really sure how this kind of thing is supposed to work.

You settle on the pink one; you know from past experience that Joel's certainly a fan of that color on you. You take it into the bathroom along with the lingerie while he rummages through his own clothes, oblivious.

"Okay," you whisper to yourself as you stand in front of the mirror and tug off your t-shirt, then shorts. You stare at yourself in your underwear and bra for a few seconds, then carefully peel them from your body and reach inside the little pink bag. You'd already cut the tags off - no going back now.

The set fits perfectly, hugging your soft curves and the swells of your breasts, shaping your tummy and accentuating your thighs. You look good, as much as you feel odd admitting that to yourself. It's still been hard to look in the mirror lately and see what Joel sees, to not feel guilty for simply having a body. It gives you a similar feeling to how you'd felt in your bikini, though the lingerie leaves a lot less to the imagination with its transparent material and plunging panty line.

You tug on the dress and then the sheer white stockings, loving the way they stop at your thighs just under the dress and show off a small sliver of bare skin beneath the hem. You decide to leave the garter belt in the bathroom until later, tucking it into one of the cupboards underneath some towels. You peer at yourself in the mirror again, assessing yourself up and down and hoping Joel will like what he sees.

He does.

The second you come out of the bathroom you see him pause, looking up from where he's buttoning up a nice black dress shirt to gaze at you hungrily. His lips part, eyes going hooded as he walks over to you and firmly palms your lower back, pulls you close and trails his other hand up the side of your body.

"Christ," he breathes, almost a growl, "You're so fuckin' pretty."

Without any other words one of his hands suddenly reaches up your dress, grips tight to one of your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening as he thumbs the bare skin just beneath your panties, pulling back to peer down at you with a lustful expression.

"God, I could fuck you right now," he mutters, and the words send a squeak past your lips, a gush of wetness into your brand new panties, "Yeah, you want me to bend you over and fill you up? 'Cause you look positively sinful right now."

You whimper, tempted immediately by his words, at the thought of being bent over the edge of the bed and taken right there without any preparation. But you know that's not how you want this to go; if it was, you'd have already been fucked by him ages ago. And you know that he knows it too, that he wants the same things you want - to take it slow, to take your time, feel everything the way you want to feel it.

It doesn't mean you can't tease him, though. "Would you actually?" you ask softly, voice shaking a little bit in anticipation.

"God, yes, I would," he murmurs, "Just say the word and I will."

You bite your lip, almost genuinely considering it for a moment before your stomach suddenly growls again and you sigh exasperatedly.

He smiles, leans down to press his lips to your ear, "We have all weekend, remember?"

You shiver at the thought.

Dinner is beyond lovely, delicious dishes served on sparkling silver platters in a grand dining room, bottomless champagne which you surprise yourself by indulging in - about a glass and a half - and a live band performing some soft jazzy numbers on a stage nearby. It's so romantic, so dazzling and classy and like nothing you've ever experienced before. Your eyes flicker back and forth between everything periodically, like you can't really believe you're sitting here - but you are.

It feels so nice to sit in a public place with Joel, be surrounded by people who have no idea who you are and no concept of the secret nature of your relationship. It's just normal, easy, no need to be guarded or quiet or pretend you're something you're not. He smiles at you from across the table and you smile back easily without any pretenses, without that nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to be on your best behavior. You can just be yourself.

He's so handsome, dressed mostly in black with his greying curls gelled back a bit, deep chocolate eyes almost never leaving yours. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room, the only one he can see while you trade more stories about your lives, your favorite things, your dreams. You tell him you'd like to write a book one day, not exactly sure what about yet but how you're not sure you'd even have the confidence to actually publish it - he tells you with warmth and tenderness that he'd read anything you wrote, be the first one to buy a copy. He tells you how he's written songs but never played them to anybody before, but he'd play them for you if you wanted to hear them - you do.

Despite the pretty music, the twinkling lights, the cozy atmosphere and yummy food... you can't wait to get back to the hotel room. Your skin is buzzing with anticipation of what comes next, what you both know will happen as soon as you're back behind closed doors. The thought has been sitting there in the back of your mind all day, all week - for crying out loud, it's been there since the day you met him. It's nice to sit and eat and chat and pretend for a little bit like you didn't come on this vacation for a very specific reason, but that reason is becoming glaringly more apparent the longer you sit across from each other, stealing glances and soft touches. You need him. You need him right now.

Your eyes must go glassy, a faraway look in your expression, because a few moments after finishing your food Joel extends his arm to you and squeezes your hand, peers at you with darkening eyes.

"I know, babygirl," he murmurs, calloused fingertips caressing your skin, "Let's go."

As soon as the door shuts behind the both of you Joel's arms are immediately around you again, just like they'd been when you first stepped into the room after check-in. This time though, he presses his body firmly to yours, pushes his groin against your ass and reaches up to pull your hair back behind your ear, other hand flat against your stomach.

"I want you so bad," he whispers, and your whole body seems to convulse in his grasp in anticipation, "Been thinkin' about it all day."

"Me too," you whisper back, like it's a secret. "I'm ready, Joel."

He noses your ear, your neck, your shoulder. You feel him pull back the sleeve of your dress and press an open mouthed kiss to the skin there, slow and wet.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he murmurs softly, "I promise."

You lean back into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he continues to press kisses all over your exposed skin, the rough prickles of his facial hair feeling sinful against your flesh. He grinds himself into you again and you whine.

"You're gonna feel it right here," he reminds you, rubbing your tummy gently and inhaling your perfume, "Right there, babygirl."

You whimper, legs buckling underneath you, "I want it, Joel, Want it now, please." Your thoughts are clouded by the smell of him, the feel of him, and it's only when you feel him start to unzip your dress in the back that you remember what you're wearing underneath.

"Wait," you say quickly, pulling away and turning around to face him, "Wait, just - just gimme one minute," he looks confused and you smile apologetically, "I have a surprise for you first." You reach forward and take his hands in yours, pull him toward the bed and gently nudge him onto the edge, "Just wait there, okay? I'll be right back."

You start backing up to go to the ensuite and can't help but appreciate the way he looks sitting there for a moment, leaning back on his hands while he gazes at you from the bed under his lashes. His legs are so long, belt buckle shining tantalizingly under the overhead light. You watch as he kicks his shoes off, smiling up at you.

"Don't go anywhere," you tell him, still backing up, "Stay right there."

He grins, "Ain't nowhere I'd rather be than right here, baby."

Your skin heats as you turn the doorknob and head into the bathroom, locking it behind you. You try not to think too much about what's about to happen, what you're going to do together the second you open that door again - the thought is so beyond overwhelming that you can already feel goosebumps rising all over your body.

The dress comes off easily and you place it with slightly trembling fingers onto the counter, reaching down to open up the cupboard and grab the garter you'd stowed away. You don't look at yourself in the mirror until it's securely in place, stockings hooked into it symmetrically albeit a little precariously, and when you finally do see yourself - bright eyed and warm, hair a little tousled, anticipation clear as day on your face - you can't help but grin.

You're about to lose your virginity. To Joel.

You take a few steadying breaths in the mirror, closing your eyes and giving yourself a moment to just quietly exist. You press your palms to the counter, inhaling and exhaling slowly, grounding yourself and working up the courage to go back into the room.

And then you hear it - a low buzzing sound, rattling against the solid tile of the bathroom countertop. You open your eyes in slight confusion, looking toward the sound; it's your phone, tucked against the wall, hidden behind the hand towel. Your brow furrows - has it been in here this whole time? You can't remember checking it at dinner, don't think you'd even unlocked it since before Joel woke you up from your nap in the truck.

You reach over and grab it, wondering who could be calling you - and that's when your heart plummets to your stomach.

6 messages. 4 missed calls. All from your mother.

Fuck.

Are you in Dallas yet?

Let me know when you arrive.

What hotel are you staying at?

Text me back now.

Where are you?

Answer the phone.

"Shit," you whisper, "Shit, shit, shit." You scramble to type out a response, erasing typos and re-typing over and over until you wind up with something that you hope makes sense:

sorry!!! i was so tired from the drive and passed out as soon as i got in my room. i'm still half asleep, i'll talk to you more tomorrow.

How the fuck could you forget to text her?! It was the one thing you'd promised her, the one thing you weren't lying about before you left, and it had still managed to completely slip your mind. You stare at the sent message, watching a whole minute go by until her typing bubble appears, slow and steady. Finally, her reply comes in:

I told your father about Mr. Miller. We'll discuss when you get home.

Well, that's definitely not the response you'd been expecting.

Your face scrunches in confusion as you read the message again; you're not sure how it correlates at all to your lack of communication, the breaking of your promise. You suppose she'd been so worried she'd had no choice but to tell your father the "real" reason you're in Dallas - the music festival, and by proxy the lessons with Joel that "inspired" the trip in the first place. That would make sense. It's not like she has any way of knowing that you're actually here with Joel, right? No, that's illogical. You've been careful.

Okay, you know what? Good. This is good. You've wanted him to know all along. One less secret to keep, right? It's a good thing.

So why does your heart suddenly feel like it's on the floor?

You read the message again, and then again.

It's fine. Don't worry about it, it's okay.

You look up from the phone and into the mirror, eyebrows going up when you see yourself. For a moment you'd forgotten where you were, what exactly you're doing in the bathroom of a hotel room in Dallas wearing nothing but lingerie. The stark contrast of the freedom you'd felt a few moments ago and the sudden anxiety you feel now is palpable, eyes going a bit blurry as you assess yourself in the mirror again. You suddenly feel slightly disconnected from the image itself, like the person you're looking at isn't you - it can't be you, can it? Is that you?

Water, you need water. You cup your hand in the sink and turn on the tap, collecting a small pool of liquid there before bringing it to your lips. The action reminds you that you'll need to take your birth control later, a thought that sends another pang of anxiety to your already discombobulated body. Why do you need to take birth control again? Oh yeah, because you're about five minutes away from losing your virginity. To Joel. Your ears begin to ring.

Your hands shake above the sink, water dripping downwards off your hands into the much too fancy basin below. What are you doing here? Who do you think you are? You really think this is okay? You really think everything you're doing, everything you've been doing, isn't going to have major consequences? Your vision blurs.

You shut off the water and shove your trembling hands into a dry towel, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, avoid acknowledging the way you look all together. What the fuck is wrong with you? Who are you? What have you become? Lying to your parents, resisting everything they ever taught you, doing filthy things behind their back?

The sins you've acted upon are against God, you can practically hear your father spitting at you, the behavior you've exhibited will surely leave you with nothing but a one way ticket to Hell.

Your heart pounds in your chest, much faster than normal, much faster than you think it's ever beat. So fast that you briefly think you might be having a heart attack. You clutch at your chest and fall to the floor, attempting to catch your breath and utterly failing to do so, eyes wide and panicked as you practically fight for your life on the marble tile. What the fuck is happening? Not even five minutes ago you'd been totally fine, completely ready and willing and excited, and now you want nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

"J-Joel?" you gasp out, voice echoing against the walls; it's like you're calling out for emergency assistance, a last-ditch attempt at survival. He doesn't answer - you hadn't been loud enough. You take another gasping breath and call out a bit louder, "Joel?"

You hear his voice almost immediately on the other side of the door, "I'm here, baby. You okay?"

You shut your eyes tight, head leaning back against the wall as you pull your legs up to hug against your chest. How the fuck do you even answer a question like that? No, I'm not okay. I'm completely the opposite of okay.

"I c-can't breathe," you practically spit the words out, teeth beginning to chatter.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? Can I come in?"

You don't answer, can't answer. The knob jiggles and you silently curse yourself for locking it, "What is it, baby? What's wrong? Talk to me." You can hear the worry in his voice.

"I don't kn-know" you hiccup, hands coming up to cover your face, "I just... I just g-got really sc-scared all of a sudden."

"Oh sweetheart, that's okay." His voice is calm, soothing, reassuring. "That's alright, honey. It's okay to be scared, that's normal. That's okay."

"N-no it's not," you gasp out, hands still shaking, "I'm- I'm going to hell."

There's a beat of silence, then -

"I think you're havin' a panic attack, babygirl," you hate how muffled his voice is through the door, like he's ridiculously far away, "That's okay, I have those too. I have those all the time."

Your eyebrows go up in surprise, "Y-you do?"

"I do. And I can help you if you let me in, alright? We can get through it together, I promise."

"Y-you won't be m-mad at me?"

"Babygirl," he breathes, the tone of his voice doused in shock, "I'd never be mad at you for somethin' like that. Not now, not ever." Another knob jiggle, "Open up, sweetheart, lemme hold you."

The thought of being in his arms is the only thing that gets you off the floor, legs shaking like a baby deer as you lean against the wall for support and sidestep over to the bathroom door. With relentlessly shaky fingers you manage to unlock it, tugging it open just a little bit. He does the rest.

You barely get a look at his expression - full of concern and tenderness - before you're suddenly being scooped up into his big, warm arms. He lifts you off the floor like you weigh nothing while you bury your face in his shoulder, close your eyes and try your best to focus on the sound of his breathing, the smell of him, the way he feels. Your legs instinctively wrap around him almost like a koala as he carries you over to the couch, sits down while you cling to him in the safety of his lap.

He doesn't mention the fact that you're practically naked, doesn't ask about the lingerie or point out the little wet spot at the front of your panties where only a few minutes ago you'd started getting wet with anticipation. Instead he simply does exactly what he'd said - he holds you. He pulls you in close and rubs your back and squeezes you tightly while you try to calm your breathing, try to disconnect yourself from the panicked feelings.

"You're okay, angel" he whispers to you softly, and you just cling to him tighter, "You're safe, you're alright. Nothin' bad is gonna happen to you, honey."

Except going to hell, you want to say, but you find that your fear is already starting to ebb, being replaced with the feeling of Joel's wide palm against your back and his soothing words in your ear.

"We have all the time in the world to take this step," he murmurs softly, "I don't want you to feel any pressure, don't want you to think you have to do anything you don't wanna do."

You remember his words from the other day: Need you to know that you don't owe me anythin', not ever. But the frustrating thing is that this isn't something you feel you owe him, it's something you want to do - or at least had wanted to do, before you picked up the stupid fucking phone.

"I'm r-ruining everything," you manage to gasp out, tears still flowing relentlessly down your face, "I'm s-sorry."

"You're not ruinin' anything," he breathes, and you can hear the sincerity in the tone of his voice, "That is not the only reason we came here, sweet girl. We came here to be together, get away from everythin'." You feel him press a gentle kiss to your temple, "Now, tell me what's goin' on. What's got you so scared, baby? Talk to me."

You sniff, face still buried in the warm fabric of his shirt as you tell him about the messages, the response from your mom about telling your father, the way your heart had sunk when you fully registered what it would mean for them to really know what's going on. You realize you're getting tears and snot all over him but he doesn't seem to pay it any mind, continuing to rub your back soothingly.

"It's fine that he knows, or thinks he knows - whatever," you sniffle, "But the whole thing is just- it's just so fucked. If they knew what I was d-doing here, if they knew what I was wearing-"

"Shhh," he trails his fingers through your hair as you babble and you bury your face into his shoulder again, feeling beyond embarrassed. This is not how you'd seen this night going at all. "Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweet girl."

Hesitantly, you pull your face from his shirt to peer at him from under watery lashes, his handsome face blurry through your tears. He reaches down and takes both your hands in his, squeezes them carefully.

"Follow my breathing, okay?" he tells you softly, voice barely a whisper. You watch as he closes his eyes and slowly inhales through his nose. You count about five seconds before he exhales through his mouth again, opening his eyes, "In and out, real slow like this."

It takes a few minutes to get into a good rhythm, to feel the breathing exercise really start to work, but eventually you start feeling calmer again, more yourself. As you breathe Joel continues to hold your hands in his, keeping you present, grounded. You open your eyes a few times, almost like you're making sure he's still there despite knowing you're in his lap, and each time you see his beautiful face - eyes closed over with his lashes fanning his cheeks, plump lips under greying scruff, the lines and wrinkles you want to kiss every single one of - you feel a wave of reassurance wash over you, a reminder that you're safe, you're not alone.

Once your heart has stopped beating a mile a minute, you wrap your arms around him again and nudge your head lazily into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed as you hum softly in appreciation. He starts rubbing your back again, soft and slow.

"I don't believe in it anymore," you finally whisper quietly, "I don't. I haven't for a long time. But it's hard to remember that sometimes. It can just... it creeps up on me."

"I know," he murmurs, "I dealt with that for a while too, babygirl. It's a lot to reconcile, a lot to put in the past, I get it."

"I get scared when I think about them finding out about us," you admit softly, "Not because it'll change what we have, but because it'll change what I have with them." You bite your lip "You... you know that better than anybody."

He suddenly grimaces at your words, eyes going up to the ceiling for a few seconds before falling back to you, "I knew it," he grumbles, and your brows furrow in confusion, "I knew I shouldn't've talked about that shit with my parents today."

You shake your head immediately, "No, no, Joel, it has nothing to do with that. I wanted to know that stuff, I wanna know you."

"But it -"

"This is my own thing," you tell him softly, gaze meeting his, "This isn't because of you. You've been..." you smile through your tears, "You've been so amazing, Joel. You've helped me so much."

He brushes his nose against yours again, and with a soft sigh he murmurs, "You've helped me too, sweetheart. More than you realize."

"What d'you mean?"

You watch as he reaches beneath him to pull something out from his back pocket, adjusting you a little in his lap as he does so. He pulls out his wallet, small and brown, weathered around the edges - he's definitely had it for a while. Puzzled, your eyes fall to the tattered inside as he opens it, and you immediately spot something sitting in the compartment reserved for cash - something that catches the light, sparkles under your gaze.

"Is that my crucifix?" you ask quietly.

He nods, slipping his finger inside and pulling out the chain, the cross hanging from his fingertip. "This," he tells you, "has gotten me through two panic attacks of my own this week."

What?

He can tell you're at a bit of a loss for words, confused and surprised. With a small smile he wraps his hand around the crucifix, presses the cross into his palm, then brings it to his lips and presses a small kiss to the metal. The action doesn't make much sense to you, what with Joel being an Atheist and having never shown much interest at all in religion other than how it made you feel.

"But you don't believe in that stuff," you state, suddenly unsure.

He nods, letting his hand fall back down into his lap to touch yours, "I don't," he murmurs, "It's... it's a symbol more than anything." He takes your hand, the cross fitting directly into the center of your palm, "When I hold this, it reminds me of the beautiful girl who trusted me with it, the one sittin' so pretty and perfect in my lap right now."

You can't help but feel a bit embarrassed at his words, painfully aware of the tears drying on your puffy cheeks - you probably look a mess, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Makes me feel less alone," he tells you softly, and you swear you hear his voice hitch on the last word, "Keeps me safe."

You peer at him for a moment, processing his words. You don't really know what to say, beyond touched by the sentiment but still unsure how an object that caused you such pain and frustration could be a light in the darkness for him. How could it have a different meaning than the one it was intended for?

It's like he can sense your hesitance, your questions. He shifts you a bit in his lap, pulling you so close that his nose brushes gently against yours. "You should only believe in somethin' if it feels right," he whispers, "Only if it makes you feel like the luckiest person alive just to experience it, to be in its presence. And angel," he sighs softly, tilting forward so his forehead lightly nudges against yours, "if that ain't me about you."

"Joel," you whisper, fresh tears shining in your eyes. There's nothing else you can really say, nothing that feels right, other than the one thing you've been wanting to say since you arrived, something on the tip of your tongue begging to slip past your lips - but you don't. For now, you just think it, think it with all the warmth and adoration you feel blooming in your chest as you peer at him.

I love you.

You kiss him then, slow. His lips are soft and patient against yours, slightly hesitant, like he's holding himself back - and you suppose he is, considering the situation. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to assume that what was meant to happen when you got back to the hotel room is still going to happen.

But you already know that it is.

You find that you can now notice the fact that your skin is bare, that he's touching you without anything being in the way, one hand cupped against the soft flesh of your hip while the other still squeezes your hand. It dawns on you that you're wearing the lingerie, the special surprise essentially ruined by your outburst. You frown against his lips.

"What is it?" he murmurs, pulling back to peer at your face, assess your expression.

"I...I bought this for you," you tell him softly, and you watch as his gaze falls to your scantily covered form, "Sorry I ruined the surprise."

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as his eyes trail up and down your body in slow, repetitive movements, like he's only just now fully noticed what you're wearing, taking in absolutely every inch of you - every little embroidered flower, every bare patch of skin. He releases your hand to carefully place both of his palms down on your thighs, the naked part between your panties and the stockings. You watch as he fingers the garter straps, eyes dark.

"Dressed up all pretty for me, huh?" he breathes, thumbs stroking your inner thighs as he brings his gaze back up to meet yours.

"I wanted it to be special," you whisper, "I wanted to wear it when you..." You trail off, mouth going a bit dry all of a sudden.

"Do you still want that, babygirl?" he asks you softly, "Do you still want me to?"

You don't even need to think about it, mull it over in your head or take another breath. You've never been more sure of anything in your life.

"Yes," you whisper, an edge of desperation in your voice, "Please." You kiss him again and he sighs deeply against your mouth, grip tightening on your thighs.

"Say it," he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your bottom lip, "Tell me what you want me to do, baby."

You shiver, "Want you to fuck me, Joel," your voice quakes with anticipation, hands balling in his shirt, "Please fuck me."

He doesn't need telling twice; at your words one of his big hands comes up cradle your back again, fingers digging into the soft skin there while his other slips from your thigh and curves around your ass, squeezes. He picks you up again, slips the crucifix into his pocket and stands there without moving as he peers at your face and holds you firmly against his body.

"Please," you whisper again, eyes locked with his as you whimper and buck your hips against him, feel the shape of his half-hard cock rub gently against where you're aching. He looks down without speaking, watches as you pathetically grind your hips, legs tightening around his waist.

"The sweetest girl," he says softly, leaning his face forward to kiss the corner of your mouth, "Already beggin' for my cock, huh?"

You mewl and grind your crotch against him again, already feeling the wetness returning to your panties in slow pulses. He just smiles and finally walks with you to the bed, tilts you downward and lays you out like you're a meal he's about to indulge in, swallow whole. And god, you want him to. Need him to. He pulls back to stand over you, hands going into his pockets as he peers down at you with lust in his eyes.

"Lemme just look at you, babygirl," he says quietly, eyes trailing to your breasts, your bare stomach, your exposed mound and soft thighs. He nudges you over a little bit and then sits on the side of the bed, hand reaching down to stroke one of your arms, slow and gentle, "You look so beautiful."

You lie there, staring up at his face with hooded eyes as you try not to squirm under his gaze. His hand moves from your arm to your shoulder, your shoulder to your collarbone, your collarbone to the space between your breasts. Just like you'd imagined when you'd bought it at the store, he deftly fingers the buttons there a few times, tracing them up and down.

"Pretty," he murmurs, and without warning he slowly slips his hand inside your bra, fingertips brushing your nipple. You whimper again, another surge of arousal dripping into your underwear.

"My sensitive girl," he whispers, brushing it again and smiling when your hips buck, "Are you wet, baby?"

You nod quickly, expression hazy, "Yes."

"How wet?"

Your thighs rub together almost unconsciously, another pathetic sound slipping past your lips, "Really wet, Joel."

He chuckles softly at your impatience, releases your breast and leans down to press a slow and wet kiss to your neck. You moan softly, eyes fluttering closed as his lips trail gently up and down the expanse of your neck, your chest. You feel his hands curve up underneath your back, busying themselves with the latches of your lingerie.

"As much as I could look at you wearin' this for hours," he whispers, "I think theres somethin' under there that deserves my attention." He slips the bra off easily, tugs the straps down your arms and exposes your bare breasts to him, nipples peaked and hard. He immediately captures one in his mouth and starts to suckle gently, hand traveling downward to rest teasingly on your inner thigh.

Fuck, it feels so good. Your eyes roll behind your lids, mouth popping open as you sigh in contentment and just let him play with you. He sucks and licks, nips lightly every so often, travels between both breasts like they were made specifically for him to have in his mouth. Your pussy pulses somewhere below, feeling beyond ignored, and you rub your thighs together again to try to ease some of the pressure. He notices and his hand inches upward to cup you through the material, eliciting a gasp from you.

He pulls off your nipple and you open your eyes to see him peering up at you, eyes almost black, a smirk on his face, "Need your pussy touched again, don't you baby?" You nod, lips turning downwards into a pout, "Okay, sweet girl. I won't tease you too much."

You're very much aware of the fact that Joel is still fully clothed, a fact that you have to admit turns you on a lot more than it probably should. You watch as he crawls on top of you carefully, hooks his legs around you and slowly eases downward, eyes staying locked with yours as he starts kissing his way down your stomach. Your heart rate quickens again, but this time you welcome it.

His fingers play with the straps of your garter as he presses soft kisses to the tops of your thighs, the dips of your waist. You shiver when he presses gentle kisses to your mound, fingers slipping inside the band of your lingerie and carefully tugging it down to expose your pussy to him, wet and aching. He pulls back to look at it, expression one of pure lust as he thumbs one of your lips and pushes it open.

"There she is," he murmurs, "The sweetest little pussy."

"Joel," you moan, closing your eyes and focusing entirely on the way he thumbs your outer lip, caresses it softly like it's something precious and fragile. He dips his thumb further inside and brushes against your folds, sending another thick and syrupy drop of release onto his fingers.

"Look at her pulse, baby," he says, voice husky and dark, "Droolin' for me."

You open your eyes again, watch him lean down and lick a stripe through your dripping folds, collecting the juices on his tongue. You whimper when he swallows and leans in to press a whiskery kiss to your clit, already puffy and twitching.

"She's cryin' for my cock, honey," he breathes, "Been waitin' so long, been so patient."

"Please," you whisper, and his gaze meets yours again, "Please put it in." The words are filthy and full of desperation, your brow furrowing in pleasure as his thumb slowly begins to circle your clit, "I need it."

"I know, sweet girl," he whispers, "But you gotta wait just a little bit longer, gotta let me taste this perfect little cunt first," he presses kisses along your folds, kitten licks past them a bit to slip the tip of his tongue just barely inside your hole. You whine, hand coming down to touch his hair while the other grabs one of your breasts and begins to toy with your nipple, as if on instinct.

He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, hands coming up to grip your waist and hold you still as he starts to eat you out. Just like the first time, it's beyond overwhelming, your eyes shutting tight and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip as his mouth does sinful things to the most intimate part of you. He plunges his tongue inside and buries the curve of his nose in your clit, rubbing it up and down, back and forth, while you whine and whimper above him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and holds his face firm between your legs while he tastes and devours.

"Joel," you keep whimpering, unable to stop from saying his name every chance you get, a reminder to yourself that you're really here with him right now, that he's the one making you feel this way. He barely pulls up for breath, scruff glistening with your release as he pleasures you relentlessly, arm coming up to splay across your belly and push you down into the mattress, holding you firm.

He makes you come easily, but that's no surprise. Just like in the truck earlier, you cry out and toss your head back, body shaking through your orgasm as he sucks on your clit and slips one of his fingers easily inside of you, curves it and makes your body rise up off the bed in pleasure as you shiver and squirm.

"Good girl," he tells you softly when he releases your clit from his mouth, looks up at you with dark lips and messy hair, "That's my good girl."

Only for you Joel, you want to whisper, but you're too blissed out to speak, Only wanna be a good girl for you.

You feel him press soothing kisses around your pussy, finger still slowly pumping in and out as you calm your breathing. He pulls it out and brings it to his lips, sucks it with a deep groan, "God, you taste so good," he murmurs, resting his head for a moment on your thigh and inhaling deeply, "So fuckin' sweet, babygirl."

You remember the first time he'd tasted you, remember how you'd come so hard you'd seen stars, remember how he'd come in his pants. The thought makes you sit up on your hands, look down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you come?" you ask, slightly worried for a moment.

He laughs, pulls his head up and begins to crawl back to you with a smile on his face, "No, not this time. That was a moment of weakness." He cups your face and and looks down at you with a soft expression, "You wanna taste yourself?"

Without any hesitation, you nod. Joel leans down and presses his lips to yours, eases his tongue inside and lets you indulge in your own release, your own special flavor. You've never really tasted anything like it before, unsure how exactly to describe it - you're not sure you'd really call it sweet, but it's not bad by any means, just... different.

"Good?" he asks.

You shrug, "It's... interesting."

He chuckles, pulling his face back, "How're you feelin'? You wanna stop?" You look up at him like he's crazy and he laughs again, putting his hands up, "Okay, okay, just askin'."

"I want-" you cut yourself off, feeling blood rush to your cheeks, and he peers down at you softly.

"What d'you want, babygirl?" he murmurs, "I'll give it to you."

You reach up to tug at the collar of his shirt, finger the buttons there, "I want this off," you breathe, "Want all of it off."

He nods slowly, eyes hooded as his eyes fall to your wet lips, "Okay, what else?"

"Want you to fuck me," you whisper again, as if he doesn't already know. Your hand reaches downward to carefully cup the long shape of him through his pants with trembling fingers, "Want it inside."

He reaches down, covers your hand with his and squeezes softly, "You want what inside, baby? Words."

"Your cock," you whisper, edged with a whine, "Want your cock inside me, Joel. Please. No more teasing."

He smiles softly, "Okay, baby. No more teasin'."

Watching him undress sends tingles all throughout your body, lips parting as he undoes the buttons of his shirt and tosses it to the floor, reaches for his belt buckle and slowly starts to unfurl it. He keeps his eyes on your face, watches your expression as you bite your lip and assess the way his cock juts out underneath his pants, begging to be taken out and touched, played with. The thought makes you sit up on the bed, lean toward the edge and dig a few of your fingers into his waistband, pulling him closer.

He watches as you slowly move forward to mouth his cock through his pants, lips parting and stretching around the big shape. You sigh in contentment at the feeling of it pulsing through the material against your tongue, drag your mouth up and down a few times as a whimper gurgles in your throat.

"Thought you said no more teasin'," he murmurs, and you feel his hand come to rest at the back of your head, helping you move. You moan softly around his length and you can practically hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Just need it so bad, don't you?"

You do. You can't count the number of days you've thought about it now, thought about it against your face, your thighs, your pussy. You want it everywhere - you want him everywhere. You've waited so long and you're tired of being patient, of waiting for the right time, the right moment. It's here, it's now, and you're ready.

"Please," you breathe again, pulling your mouth off his clothed cock and looking up at him with wide, almost tear-filled eyes, "Please fuck me, Mr. Miller."

His eyes go dark and the smile fades from his lips, hands coming down to unzip and unbutton quickly as you lay back on the bed and open your legs. It takes no time at all for him to be completely naked, pants and underwear thrown haphazardly off to the side while he crawls back on top of you and starts kissing your neck again, skin rough and warm. Your hands come up to grip his bare back, eyes closing as you let him silently worship you, kiss every inch of skin he can reach.

You can feel the heavy length of him on your thigh, settled there as it pulses and leaks. It's so big, so thick, and you can't help but reach down and engulf it in your small fist, fingers still unable to go all the way around. He groans into your skin, pulls back to look at you again.

"D'you want me to use a condom, babygirl?" he asks, even though he knows the answer - he wants to hear you say it, which you appreciate.

"No," you whisper, "Please don't."

He groans again at your words, reaches his hand down and easily slips two of his fingers inside of you without any resistance. You're so ready, have never felt more ready for anything in your entire life. You know you should be reveling in the moment, taking time to enjoy and appreciate - but at the same time you just want him inside of you already, want to be connected to him in the rawest of ways, complete. You can't wait anymore, you can't. He starts to add his third finger and you whine, wishing it was something else.

"Gotta open you up a little more, sweetheart," he tells you quietly, filling you with all three fingers and slowly starting to pump them in and out, "Want this to feel good for you, don't wanna hurt you."

"I want your cock, Joel," you mewl, tears welling in your eyes.

"Shhh," he kisses you gently, fucks you slow, "I know, baby, I know. Just a minute now, sweetheart. Be patient for me."

"Don't wanna be patient," you're starting to sound like a bit of a brat but you really don't care, the desperate and touch-starved part of you just aching to be filled up, held close, fucked deep. "Wanna feel you in my stomach, please."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, almost a groan as he pulls his fingers from you and drags them against his cock, taking it from you carefully and then pumping himself twice with your release, "Okay, babygirl, I hear you, I got you."

Joel eases himself downwards carefully, hovering over you like he had last weekend. He kisses you again, soft and safe, a quiet reminder that what's about to happen means more than what it seems like on paper, means more than either of you could even articulate. He peers into your eyes tenderly, reaches up to push some stray hairs out of your face.

"I'm gonna go real slow," he tells you, "You tell me the second somethin' doesn't feel right, okay? Promise me."

"I promise," you whisper, hands splaying across his back and pulling him down further so your breasts are pushing softly against the hair on his chest, impossibly close. You just wanna feel him, feel all of him.

When he says slow - he means slow.

You'd felt the tip of him last weekend, were already anticipating the burn and stretch, but this time there's not the same desperation, the same time limit or rush. Now you have all the time in the world, the clarity to take it as slowly as you need to in order to really feel everything, make it count. You feel the shape of his wide head carefully nudge the tiniest bit into your throbbing heat, and your eyes immediately go wide.

"You're okay," he reminds you softly, just like he had last time, "You're alright, angel."

Your nails dig into his back and you nod, peering up at him with a look that you hope says, I know, and I trust you, because you do. He kisses you gently and you feel his hand at your thigh, pushing you open a little wider for easier access. The garter strap strains against your legs but neither of you make any move to remove it.

He pushes inside a little further, his whole tip crowding the space at your entrance once again. You make an odd sound, something that comes from the back of your throat, and he freezes.

"Okay?" he asks, and you frantically nod. "That's the tip of me, baby. You got it, you're doin' so good."

"More," you whisper, voice breaking, "More, please."

He reaches his hand back up and locks it into place on the headboard above you, holds himself up as his knees dig into the plush cotton of the duvet. With his other hand he slowly eases more of his cock inside, just a little bit.

"Fuck," you hiss, and you can feel it now - the burn, the stretch. It's not painful by any means, but it's not comfortable either. You make a face and Joel stills, brow furrowing.

"Hurts?" he asks softly.

"N-not really," you breathe, "It's just - it's really thick."

He kisses you again, noses the side of your face and inhales deeply, "You tell me when to move," he murmurs, "You're in control from this point forward, babygirl. What you say goes."

You take a few deep breaths, eyes closed as you hold Joel to you and revel in the way he peppers tiny little kisses all over your face, your nose, your eyelids. Now it's his turn to be patient, and he's certainly much better at it than you are.

"Okay," you breathe after a moment, "Okay, you can move."

He inches in another little bit and your hips stutter, hands trembling against his back. You don't say anything, just grip him tighter and bite down on your lip - more stretch, more burn. But there's something about it, something about the odd sensation of being spread open, that has your pussy suddenly throbbing - and you whine.

"Tell me to pull out and I will," he murmurs in your ear, "We can spend some more time-"

"No," you whimper, shaking your head, "No, Joel. It feels good." You grip tighter to him and tangle your ankles with his, wanting to be even closer than you already are, "Keep going, please."

It goes like that for a while - a continuous push, inch by inch, a whine or whimper, a check-in from Joel, reassurance that you're alright, then the cycle starts again. You quickly grow accustomed to his girth, the stretch getting significantly less and less the longer he stays pressed inside of you. You're painfully aware that this probably isn't the sexiest experience for him, that he'd probably much prefer being able to go deep and stay deep and pound you senseless - and as much as that thought also appeals to you, you know there's no way your body could handle it on the first go.

"M'sorry," you mumble to him quietly during another moment of adjustment, both of you laying still while a little more than half his cock sits patiently inside of you.

"For what?" his eyes scrunch, confusion clear on his face.

"F-for taking forever to get used to it," you admit apologetically, eyes going downcast, "Especially after I begged so many times."

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing, "Do not apologize for somethin' like that, sweetheart. This is about you, not me."

"But I'm-" you take a breath, forcing yourself to be honest, to not keep your worries inside no matter what, especially in such an intimate moment like this, "I'm scared you're not enjoying yourself."

His eyes widen, "Not enjoyin' myself?" He almost laughs, light and soft, "Sweetheart, do you have any idea how fuckin' good you feel?" You shake your head and he leans down to kiss you, moans softly against your lips, "Your pussy's so tight around me, sweet girl" he whispers, "She's pulsin' around my cock, it feels fuckin' incredible."

Your thighs tighten a bit against his waist, center throbbing once again at his words. He groans, and it finally sets in that every throb you feel, every pulsation, every twitch, he can feel it too. Because he's inside of you.

"You're inside me," you whisper, and it sounds like such a dumb revelation but you don't care, lip trembling a little bit as your fingers stroke gently against his back.

"I'm inside you," he echoes, voice soft and reassuring, "M'not goin' anywhere, baby. Gonna take it as slow as you need me to."

He's so gentle, so tender, it makes you want to cry. How did you get so lucky to be having your first time with someone like this? Someone who genuinely wants you to feel good, feel taken care of? Someone who feels beyond amazing? His cock is so big, so perfect; he feeds it to you over the next few minutes, makes you whine and cry out in the dim light of the hotel room, legs trembling and hands coming up to cover your eyes as he finally bottoms out, finally eases himself completely inside of you - and stills.

Full. You're so full. It's the only word that seems to cross your mind, any and all other vocabulary going completely out the window the longer you lay there with his cock buried deep inside. He carefully pulls your hands back from your face and kisses you again and again, murmuring praise.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, "Takin' it so well, such a good girl."

It's not that filthy of a thing to say, but his words do something to you then that you can't really explain. Odd sounds escape your throat, slip past your lips pathetically as you squirm a bit beneath him. Your eyes shut tight, heart beating fast, not a thought in your brain other than the fact that there's a huge appendage lodged so deep inside of you that you can't even think, can't speak.

"I know," he's whispering, carding his fingers through your hair, "I know, baby. That cock is so big, I know, I know," he kisses your temple, holds you close, "So big inside that little pussy."

"Joel," is all you manage to whimper out, toes curling in pleasure, "Joel."

"I know," he murmurs again, and you swear he pushes his hips forward just a little bit more, the heavy shape of his balls pressing firmly against your ass, "I'm in your tummy, baby, just like you wanted."

At his words your shaky hand travels downward to feel your stomach, press your palm against the skin there, and your eyes snap open when you realize you can feel him there - near the bottom of your tummy, feel the long and thick shape of him bulging out from beneath.

"Fuck," you breathe, and his eyes meet yours, dark and hungry, "Fuck, I f-feel it."

His hand comes down and covers yours, helps you move the garter belt out of the way to shape your fingers around the long shape of him. You can feel the fat head pulsing deep within you, pushing against something you didn't even know was there, every throb sending constant gushes of release around his cock. You must be a mess down there, slick dripping down your thighs as you whine again and reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair.

"Ohmygod," the words are almost slurred, garbled, and you're realizing very quickly that talking with a cock inside of you is very difficult. Your thighs squeeze together again and Joel groans.

"God, you feel so fuckin' incredible," his expression is wrecked, plump lips parted as he inhales and exhales, "You're chokin' my cock, honey."

You can't wrap your mind around the fact that this isn't it, that simply having his cock buried deep inside you isn't the actual sex itself. Because how can just this feel so good? How can you feel so close, so full, so wonderful, all from just this?

Joel leans down and buries his face in the pillow, nudges his nose to your ear and whispers, "D'you want me to move, babygirl?" to which you immediately respond, "Yes."

At your okay he slowly eases himself out of you, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt before as inch by inch he leaves your body until just the head sits heavy and waiting at your entrance. He looks down at you, thumbs your cheek, and murmurs, "Who's my good girl?"

You shiver, moan softly, eyes closing again, "I am," you whisper.

Just as slow, he pushes himself back inside, and you cry out and bury your face into his neck, legs shaking.

"Who is?" he asks you again, burying himself to the hilt and stroking up and down your naked body gently with one hand, "Who's my good girl? Tell me again, angel."

"I am," you repeat, a bit louder this time and drenched in pleasure as he slowly pulls out again, leaving you almost empty. "Joel," you whisper, and he pulls his face back to look at you, nipping at your bottom lip and pouting at your already fucked-out expression, "Joel, it feels so good."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, then eases himself back in, brings your hands down to your stomach again to feel the way his cock protrudes lewdly against the skin, "You're takin' it so well."

"I-I've-" you whimper, tears overflowing, "I've n-never-"

I've never felt like this before, you want to say. I've never felt so close to another human in my life. I've never wanted to live in a moment more than I want to live in this one.

Instead, he just brings a finger to your lips, eases himself out again and murmurs, "I know," like it's a mantra, "I know."

You feel him thumb your clit and you can't believe that anything could feel this good, that anything could even compare to the way it feels to have Joel everywhere like this, so deep inside and above and all around, his scent lingering in every move he makes, his hair pressing firm to the softest parts of your body. He's so warm, so safe, and more than anything all you can think about is that thought from before, the one you know now to be absolute - I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He keeps the pace slow, doesn't let go of you or pull away even once. You already know you're not gonna last, not with his thumb rubbing you like that and his cock so unrelenting and huge inside of you, filling you up in a way you never thought possible. You're pretty sure that you've only got one more orgasm left in you tonight but you don't feel worried or stressed out by that fact - you have a whole weekend for more of this, to explore and experience and enjoy.

"I'm gonna come, Joel," you breathe, and you can feel tears stinging your eyes as you say the words, "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come."

"Okay, baby, that's it," he encourages you softly, thumb unrelenting against your clit, "Lemme feel you come, angel. Let it out for me. Give it to me, sweetheart." And you do.

Coming around his cock feels fucking incredible. Your pussy tightens and throbs, releases more slick than you could even imagine, and you feel yourself start to cry, tears flowing down your face as a sob wracks from your throat as you pull him down on top of you. He fucks you through it, groaning in your ear at the way you continue to choke his cock, tight and firm.

"Fuck," he groans, "Fuck, angel, I don't think I can last."

"Then don't," you cry into his ear, eyes shut tight as your body convulses, "Don't wait, Joel. Want you to come inside me, want it so bad."

He makes an unhinged noise, his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little more erratic. Without warning you kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer and letting out another loud moan when you both hear the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. He's so deep. So, so, so deep. Just like he said he'd be.

"Fuck," he mumbles in your ear, "Fuck, I'm comin', honey, I'm comin'." At his words you feel the massive length of him pulse deep inside, your walls constricting around the intrusive shape as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp of pleasure as you feel the warm spurts of his come begin to coat your walls, filling you up.

"Joel," you breathe, and you're pretty sure your nails have broken the skin of his back but he doesn't seem to care - if anything it makes him groan even louder, makes him pull back to look at you and make direct eye contact as he empties himself. You stare at each other, eyes wide, lips parted, and he leans forward to press his forehead to yours as his jaw clenches.

The moment he's finished coming he falls on top of you with his entire body weight, something you welcome instantly. Your hands roam up and down his back, feel the crescent moon shapes lining his skin as you close your eyes and let the reality of what's just happened wash over you, settle into your very being. It's only when you shift a little underneath him that Joel finally pulls himself up to look at you. He's so beautiful, hair a mess, lips red and raw, cheeks flushed, and tears shining in his soft brown eyes. He nuzzles his nose against yours and breathes a long sigh, one of satisfaction and contentment.

"Stay inside me," you whisper. You don't know why it's the first thing you say, but somehow it feels like the most important. Because the idea of him separating from you now after what you've just shared, the idea of not being within his embrace or feeling as connected as you feel right now - it sounds like the worst thing in the world.

"Okay, angel," he murmurs, eyes sleepy, "M'not goin' anywhere."

You close your eyes, breathe him in.

I love you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

The Best Kept Secrets - Jake's Story

dbf!Jake Lockley X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Masterlist - AO3 Link

Suggested reading order - Marc -> Steven -> Jake

Marc's Story - Steven's Story

Had to use Google Translate for some of the Spanish so please forgive me if it's incorrect.

Summary:

You've just graduated college and you find yourself developing feelings for your dad's best friend after your graduation party. Three different versions of the same story all with different boys.

Tags/Warnings (for all three fics):

NSFW, age gap (reader is about 22 - boys are 40), reader is not race-coded, reader graduated college in America but isn't necessarily American, p in v creampie, unprotected sex, dbf trope, oral sex, coercion (sort of on both sides), Jake being Jake, Marc being Marc, Steven being Steven, forbidden relationship, forbidden sex, blowjob, mild bondage, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, car sex, bad puns

Word Count: 8.9k

Spanish Translations (for phrases I don't normally use when writing for Jake):

Estas tan mojada cariño - You're so wet sweetheart

Muy hermosa - Very beautiful

por qué? - Why?

----

You got out of the Uber when it stopped in front of your childhood home. Your dad was already waiting for you by the front door, smiling wide. He came over with his arms out, pulling you into a big hug. You grunted from the tight squeeze.

“Hi dad.” You choked out.

“I sweetie.” He let go of you and looked you over. “How was the ride from the airport?” He started taking two of your bags out of the trunk and walking back toward the house with you in tow.

“Long,” you said with a tired laugh.

“Well, hope you’re not too tired cause there’s a few people here to see you.”

He opened the front door and you were greeted by several relatives and family friends in the kitchen. They all shouted, congratulations! at once, holding up an assortment of beer bottles and glasses of wine. Knowing your dad, the drinking had been going on for a couple of hours before you arrived.

“Thanks everyone,” you said with a big smile, feeling a little shy having all those eyes on you.

You noticed the black and gold, congrats graduate, banner adorning the wall above the table in the dining area. With the initial excitement over, the crowd dissipated and you watched everyone start mingling once again. Your cousins came up to you and started exchanging quick updates on their lives while everyone else chattered around you throughout the house.

“What do you think, huh?” Your dad asked, coming up behind you while you admired the cake in the center of the dining table. He handed you a mixed drink.

“Dad, this is really great. There’s so many people! I really wasn’t expecting this when you said we were having a graduation barbecue. Thought maybe only a couple people would show up.” You looked to see your aunt talking with one of your dad’s friends in the living room.

“You know me better than that. Not everyday your kid graduates college,” he patted your back proudly, “shit, gotta go check the grill. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, you watched your aunt and your dad’s friend finish their conversation. You’d known Jake since you were a kid, but it had been a long time since you’d seen each other. He came over to you and held up his drink as if to say cheers. He still looked overconfident as ever, and you wondered if that would ever change.

“I knew you were smarter than your dad, cariño.” He nudged you.

You chuckled, “that’s not nice, my dad may not be the most academically inclined but he’s good at other things.”

“Yeah yeah, you know I have to give him a hard time, don’t take me so seriously.” Jake sipped his drink and then pressed his lips into a tight smile. “So, what are you going to do now? You’re smart, talented and…” Jake’s eyes raked over you and back up again, “muy hermosa.”

“Jake, Jesus.” You whacked his arm.

He chuckled but persisted with his question, “so, what are you gonna do?”

You shrugged and let out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know. I guess I need to get my resume made up and then I need to start applying for jobs.”

“Tell you what…” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, extending it out to you, “text me when you get an interview and I’ll make sure you arrive in style.”

You looked down at the card.

Lockley’s Luxury Limos and Cars

“Can’t have a pretty girl like you showing up in a plain old taxi cab right?”

You felt your cheeks flush over Jake’s endless compliments. This was the first time you’d really looked at Jake. He’d always just been your dad’s best friend. He was a naturally attractive man. His hair was styled so that a lazy tuft of curls rested just above his right eye. He seemed to have perfectly tailored clothes for every occasion that fit him like a glove, and a suave demeanor that screamed “lady's man” to pull it all together. The way he looked at you now had your stomach fluttering with excitement. You noticed the way he bit his bottom lip and looked you over again.

You cleared your throat, looking away from him.

You nodded, sipping your drink, “thank you very much, that would actually be really awesome, but maybe one of those luxury sedans and not, like, an actual limo.” Someone called your name from outside, interrupting your casual conversation, and you were relieved for an excuse to walk away. “I gotta go, see you around, Jake.”

“You too hermosa.”

After several hours and a few drinks later, you were sitting around the firepit with only your dad, one of your cousins and Jake. Jake was always telling exciting stories around the fire about the fights he used to get into when he was younger. Your father was always chiming in on the conversation to add in the parts of the fights that he participated in. Truth be told, you didn’t really care to hear much about your dad and his friend’s schoolyard fights. After finishing your fourth drink, and feeling sufficiently tipsy, you stood up, ready to go to bed for the evening.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you announced.

“Oh come on cariño, one more,” Jake looked up at you, eyes twinkling in the light of the fire.

You looked over at your dad who seemed like he was starting to doze off, and then at your cousin who was already making his way indoors before you locked eyes with Jake again.

“Uhh…you know it’s probably best that I don’t push it. I’ll end up sick and no one wants that.” You giggled and leaned over, placing a friendly pat on Jake’s shoulder, “goodnight.”

You started to leave, but Jake grabbed your arm and pulled you forward, forcing a gasp from you as he brought his lips to your ear. Jake smelled like leather, tobacco, and a musk that you’d never smelled before on anyone else. It was intoxicating to say the least. You felt like you could get lost in it.

“I’ll be up in five minutes,” he whispered, “if you want company tonight…just put a scarf on your door handle bebita.”

He let go of you and you stood up straight, staring at him in utter disbelief. You almost asked him to repeat himself. There’s no way he said what you thought he just said. That would be crazy…right? His lips curled into a sly smile as he winked at you. Jake’s smile was so fucking beautiful. Why hadn’t you noticed before tonight how good looking he was? This feeling was so wrong…but you wanted him so badly all of a sudden. It had to be the alcohol, that was the only logical explanation.

You didn’t respond to him, not verbally anyway. You gave him a shaky nod as you pulled your arm away and hurriedly made your way to your bedroom. Your mind was racing as well as your heart. You pressed your hand to your chest the moment you closed your bedroom door behind yourself. What was the matter with you? What was the matter with him? He was your dad’s best friend. You shouldn’t have, but you looked in your closet, seeing the array of scarves to choose from…but a moment of clarity pushed through the fogginess of your mind, and you didn’t choose one after all.

Instead, you got into your bed, deciding that the act of doing anything like that with Jake would make you riddled with guilt for the rest of your life. You’d never be able to look your dad in the eye again. You heard Jake come upstairs and stop by your door. You wondered if he was disappointed or not, but decided he can probably get a million other women that weren’t his friend’s kid. He’d be alright, and you would both be able to maintain your dignity. You figured he was probably only acting like that because he was drunk anyway.

At least that’s what you thought, until morning came and you were sitting across from him at the dining table eating your breakfast with Jake and your father. Whenever your dad wasn’t paying attention, Jake’s eyes were on you. He was looking you up and down like you were something to be devoured. You felt your cheeks becoming flush under his watchful gaze. The space between your legs sparked alive and you found yourself pressing your thighs together to quell the ache.

Jake managed to make small talk with your father, not sounding much different than usual, but you couldn’t shake the secret conversation from the night before. You were struggling to figure out how things were going to go back to normal after that. How was he supposed to just keep coming over for get togethers and barbecues all summer now that you two had this weird thing between you?

The moment your father went up to use the bathroom, you took the opportunity to remove yourself from Jake’s watchful gaze. You cleared your throat and stood from the table.

“I’m going to…gonna go upstairs and…” You turned around to leave and felt his hand around your wrist tightly. He spun you around to face him, pulling you in by the small of your back. He stood up so quickly. “J-Jake I didn’t put the scarf on my door for a reason.”

“I know hermosa. I just wanted to give you another opportunity to change your mind, in case you have any regrets.” You felt his erection prodding your abdomen through his pants.

“W-what’s the opportunity?” You asked breathlessly. You shouldn’t have even been entertaining this.

He brought his lips to your ear, just like he had the night before, “you have my number. When you get that job interview, and I come pick you up, if you’re wearing something red…then I’ll know you’ve changed your mind, comprende bebita?”

Jake’s face was close to yours, but with your father coming back down over the stairs he released you. You felt like you’d just run a marathon the way your heart was pounding out of your chest. By the time your dad saw you both, you were sitting across from each other again like nothing had happened. The only difference now was that you were sitting in a puddle of your own juices, and Jake was finally giving your father his undivided attention. This was going to be a tough decision, because no matter how much you cared about your dad…you never wanted anyone so badly in all your life.

----

For two weeks you were on a job hunt. You weren’t always sure if you were looking so hard because you wanted, and needed, to get a job, or if it was because you wanted an excuse to text Jake. You were sure he wouldn’t mind a little text here and there during the time leading up to you asking for a ride, but you were too nervous to message him without a good excuse. The guilt would eat you alive whenever you thought about it. The day before your interview you texted him…

You: I have an interview tomorrow. Can you come get me?

Jake: Of course bebita. What time?

You: The interview is at 10

Jake: I’ll be there at 9:30

When he showed up, you were wearing a sharp looking, business-casual, outfit with your makeup done in a way that complimented your features nicely. You stepped outside and locked the door behind you before making your way up to the sleek black Lincoln. Jake got out, he looked so handsome in his white button down, black jacket and tie. You nearly froze in place, not sure if you should get in the car with him, but you kept walking, stiff as you might’ve felt, toward the passenger's side. He came around and opened the door for you. His eyes trekking over your body didn’t go unnoticed.

“You look very nice, cariño.”

“Thank you,” you said as Jake put a hand on the small of your back, helping you into the front seat.

As he pulled out of the driveway, you started to feel anxious, partially for the impending interview, and partially for the provocative man on your left who kept stealing glances at you. You tried not to pay attention to it, keeping your eyes straight ahead, but you could still see him in your peripheral.

“You gonna tell me where I’m taking you or am I supposed to guess?” Jake chuckled at his own joke, and you sat there feeling like an idiot for not volunteering that information already.

“Oh, shit um…” You opened your glossy white folder full of your materials for the interview. You gave him the address and then sat in more awkward silence.

“You might want to try relaxing before you walk in there. Those businessy types can smell fear a mile away,” he turned down a different street. “No red I noticed, interesting choice.”

“Yeah,” was all you could bring yourself to say.

It was quiet again for the rest of the ride, and Jake didn’t open your door for you when you arrived. You sensed it wasn’t for lack of him being a gentleman, but rather the impression it might give a potential employer to have someone opening your door for you before an interview.

----

Your interview went well and they said they’d call you when they’d made a decision. When you got back out to the car, you specifically got in ass first. You were slow, making sure that he would see a peek of the red thong, that you’d worn especially for him, over the hem of your pants.

After the interview you had gone to the bathroom and adjusted your outfit so the red lace would show when you sat down. It had taken a lot of self talk for you to come to the conclusion that you were desperate enough to do something about this feeling you held toward him. You were soaked through your panties during the majority of the interview, and even as you got back in the car now you felt the dampness of your arousal between your legs. You needed him.

You turned your head back toward him, looking to meet his eye…he noticed. You grinned, bringing both of your legs into the car and closing the door. Jake had a sly smirk curling at his lips while he started to drive, as if he knew you weren’t going to be able to resist him forever.

In a matter of moments, the car was tucked away in an abandoned parking lot and you were in the spacious back seat with your slacks and panties discarded along with Jake’s hat and Jacket. He kissed you hungrily, rolling his hips over you, dragging his clothed erection along your inner thigh until it met with your mound. A moan rumbled through his chest while his hands explored your waist.

He undid his belt, tugging it out of the loops. You expected him to toss it aside, but instead he strapped it around your wrists and secured them to the car door. You tugged your arms forward, testing the security of his restraint, you weren’t going anywhere. Your eyes were wide, not realizing this was something he was into, though it wasn’t all that surprising when you thought about it. Jake always did have a dominating presence. He leaned forward and murmured in your ear about how wet you were, dragging his bare fingers over your slick folds. You shrieked when he pushed one thick finger inside.

“F-fuck!” You shouted, “oh my–”

“You’re so tight bebita, but you can handle more can’t you?” He brought another finger to join the first. You arched your hips into it further, “there you go, what a good little girl.”

The third finger ached as it stretched you out, but eventually any pain turned to pleasured sounds from your lips. You looked at Jake, his eyes kept shifting from your cunt, back up to you. You bit your lip so tight you thought you might break the skin. He looked proud of himself for making you squirm so wildly without even fucking you yet. He started pumping his fingers even faster.

“Oh that feels so good!” You couldn’t keep eye contact with him anymore and you found yourself gasping and panting while you looked up at the car ceiling.

“Who else has made you feel this good cariño?” He asked, curling his fingers now and dragging them over the spot deep inside of you that made you whine. “My wrist is fuckin’ drenched.”

You could hardly speak anymore. You worried for the car door as you were involuntarily pulling roughly on the leather belt binding you to it. Jake looked at you, waiting for your answer. You tried to speak, but only choked cries came out.

“Come on, tell me who else has made you cry this hard in their backseat, who else has made you feel like this?”

“N-no one, Jake!” Your body felt like it was melting into the leather seats while your orgasm closed in.

“That’s it, you’re so close, I can feel your pussy throbbing cariño, just let go for me.”

His words of encouragement were all you needed to let yourself fall apart around his wide fingers. You were screaming pleasured cries while you felt your cunt gushing over him. He was praising you for doing what he asked, saying things like, that’s it and keep going bebita. You arched yourself more over his still pumping fingers, chasing the final high of your release, until it was over, and he pulled out of you with a wet pop.

You watched him spread his three fingers, all webbed by your slick. He darted out his pink tongue, lapping up every bit until they were clean. You watched the display in awe, never knowing any man to do something like that. He smacked his lips and smiled at you.

“Tastes good hermosa.”

Jake leaned over and undid the belt around your wrists so you could move again. You were excited now for more, ready to make him feel good too. You shot your hand out and pressed your palm to the space between his legs. You felt the fabric over his half-hard cock, it was wet and warm.

“D-did you already-”

“You should’ve heard yourself bebita, can you blame me?”

----

You were starting to wonder if Jake was ever going to come back to your house, until your dad was on his way out the door for work and told you he’d received a text from Jake yesterday. Apparently he needed to come over and borrow one of your dad’s tools. Your cheeks grew hot immediately when you thought about it. Your dad left, and you just stood there wondering what you were going to do when he got there.

You could still remember what Jake’s lips tasted like, and what his hands felt like. You still thought about him when you were alone in your room gasping quietly with two fingers plunged deep inside your wet channel. You wanted him, but you were afraid. What if your dad found out? You couldn’t risk it…but maybe…maybe Jake was worth the risk.

No, you said to yourself, shaking the ridiculous thought from your mind.

That was why you hadn’t texted him, or responded to any of the texts he’d sent you. It was the guilt still eating away at you. He’d asked you to meet up twice, and you’d ignored him both times. You hoped that when he came over he wouldn’t be too upset, and that he would understand the position you were in. You felt mentally strong, like you’d successfully convinced yourself that you weren’t going to give in if he tried anything, that all sounded great…until he walked in through the front door a couple of hours after your father’s departure.

If you could comically strip all of your clothes off like Jim Carrey did in Bruce Almighty you would’ve. Jake charged forward, cupping your face in one hand and grabbing your hip with the other while his lips made harsh contact with yours. You moaned into him, slipping your tongue between his lips so you could taste him. You jumped up, wrapping your legs and arms around him, letting him catch you by your rear.

Jake turned, still carrying you in his arms, and pushed your back against the wall, never disconnecting his mouth from yours. He churned his already prominent erection against your clothed cunt desperately. You cupped the back of his head, entangling your fingers in his dark and luscious curls. Jake sounded like an animal the way he was groaning into you.

“Any reason you ignored me for two weeks hermosa?” Jake kissed down your jawline, settling on the soft skin on your neck, just below your earlobe

You whimpered softly, “I-I was feeling guilty about my d-dad.”

You felt the smile that crept over Jake’s lips against your skin. He brought his face back up to look at you, eyes darting between yours. He brushed the tip of your nose with his own, his flirtatious smirk never wavering when he did.

“Thought maybe you’d found someone else, someone maybe younger…someone your age.” He returned his mouth to yours.

You spoke between his hungry kisses, “don’t care about anyone else.”

Despite knowing that you should find someone else to care about, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of anyone other than him, especially not since your time together in the backseat of his car. Besides, no one knew you like Jake did. Jake had always been there to talk to you on the late nights after a family barbecue when you couldn’t sleep and your dad was already in bed. He was there to drive you to prom and then tell you to go ahead inside while he had a “casual chat” with your prom date. He was there when you left for college, making sure you knew how to hold your keys on your keyring in between each finger in case you needed to stab someone. You, fortunately, never needed to utilize that skill.

“I want to feel you this time bebita, let me in hm?” Jake hummed against your mouth.

“Yes, yes–please!”

Jake wouldn’t have the chance to get that far, not after hearing a truck door slam in your driveway. He let go of you, and you immediately went into a panic, realizing that Jake being in the house and not the garage with the tools looked suspicious. Always quick on his feet, Jake rushed to the kitchen and you saw him grab a beer out of the fridge just before the door opened and your dad started walking inside. He smiled at you on his way in.

“Hey, Jake in here?”

“Oye!” Jake said, coming around the corner to the entryway with a beer in hand. “Just saying hi to…” Jake saying your name instead of using a pet name didn’t sit well with you, not since those were the only names he’d been calling you recently. “Just grabbing myself a drink. Didn’t expect to see you!”

“Yeah, forgot my lunch like an idiot,” your dad huffed out a laugh.

After some more casual conversation, Jake left the house at the same time your father did, but not before he winked at you and kissed your cheek while your dad wasn’t looking. The guilt was killing you. It was getting difficult to even look your dad in the eye anymore. When you were in bed later that night, mind buzzing about Jake and your most recent encounter, you made a very difficult decision. You pulled out your phone and texted Jake.

You: Things need to go back to the way they were. The next time you see me, please respect that.

----

You weren’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of Jake coming by to check on you while your dad was out of town for the week. You wondered if he was going to respect your wishes in your text, or if he was going to make this harder than it needed to be. You also weren’t sure about your own ability to behave yourself around him. You’d been spending your nights over the last two weeks trying to stop thinking about that stupid moment you had in the car together, and the stupid moment more recently when he had you against the wall in the entryway of your home. There was no telling how you’d feel when you actually saw him again.

When he finally showed up, it was after dinner. You were sitting on the couch watching some crappy movie about five guys taking down a Columbian drug lord. You paused the movie and turned around to see him standing there. He still had that annoyingly attractive smirk on his face. You felt your heart rate picking up despite your desire to stay calm around him.

“I’m just here to check in on you, don’t worry.” He said, slowly walking to the other side of the couch.

You gulped, and nodded, “okay, yeah that’s…that’s okay.” You sounded like you were out of breath.

Jake sat as far from you as possible on the opposite side of the couch. You pressed play and settled yourself, trying so hard to focus on the movie, but you could feel his eyes looking at you. When you turned your head to confirm, he narrowed his eyes on you seductively. Your brow was playfully furrowed while you looked back. It was as though his gaze alone had the power to make you come undone; you immediately felt an uncomfortable tingling between your legs that demanded attention.

You kept staring at each other, letting the movie run on, completely forgotten in the background. You were trying to keep yourself from giving in, you were trying so hard. Jake inched over, face getting more serious as he approached.

“You look cold bebita, why don’t you at least…just come here…let me warm you up a little…”

You nodded all too eagerly, letting the wall you’d worked so hard to build crumble down as though it were made of mere rubble. Jake just had this way of making you forget yourself so easily.

“Y-yeah, sure.”

You slid over and curled into Jake’s arms, letting him hold you while he leaned back against the couch. There was no harm in him just holding you…right? You were cold after all, so he was just being helpful. Of course there was no way he could possibly help the prodding of his cock inside his pants, that was only natural, right?. As long as you didn’t act on it, then it didn’t mean anything.

You acted on it.

As the movie droned on, not doing much to keep your attention, you became even more slick between your legs, and even more eager to feel his thick cock inside of you. You turned around, leaning your chest on his and looking up before slotting your lips against his hungrily. He still tasted so good, and you hated to admit how much you’d missed him. You let go of your prior reservations in an effort to just enjoy being with him, if only for the night.

“I don’t want to waste any time,” you said, starting to work on his white button down shirt, “why do you always wear this damn-”

He grabbed your wrists, forcing you to look at him.

“No, we’re going to do things the right way this time. Your papá won’t be back for a few days…I’m going to take my time with you, bebita.” His tone was rough with his growing arousal.

He pushed you up so he could stand before lifting you easily in his strong arms and carrying you to the stairs. You held onto him until he got to your bedroom and laid you on the bed gently. You watched him start unbuttoning his shirt himself, but you felt the inexplicable urge to do it yourself. He looked surprised when you stood up and swatted his hands away.

“Let me…please.” You sounded embarrassingly desperate.

Jake gave you a cocky smirk before he leaned in and latched his mouth to your neck, grabbing your asscheeks while you unbuttoned his shirt. It felt like unwrapping a present, there was something so exciting just below the fabric. You finally got to the bottom button and he helped you slide the shirt off his arms. You could see him now, his beautifully broad chest, softly toned abdomen. Every last bit of his body made you want him all the more.

“My turn,” Jake said, pushing you backward to the bed until your knees gave out.

You flopped back, arms falling in a heap above your head. He brought both hands under your shirt and pulled it over your head. Your nipples grew erect almost immediately in the chill of the air. Jake leaned over you, taking one of them in his mouth, cupping the other in his hand and squeezing roughly. You moaned deeply, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him closer. You felt a growl rumble up through his throat. He looked at you from under his lashes.

You let go of his head when he stood upright. He tugged at the waist of your pants and panties, pulling them down over your ankles and tossing them to the corner of the room. Jake was starting to unbutton his pants but you sat up quick, grabbing the waist of them. You looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Can I do it?”

Jake huffed out a laugh, “why are you so interested in undressing me yourself hm?”

“I just want to…”

You trailed off while you started on the zipper, he’d already taken care of the button. You brought the zipper down, to which you heard Jake hum when it slid over his cock. You were more excited than you could put into words to finally see it, to hold it in your hand. In a swift motion you brought both his underwear and pants down to his thighs, and you had to flinch back to avoid being hit in the face with his member. It was massive.

Jake laughed, “careful you don’t poke out your eye hermosa.”

You took it in your hand, feeling the weight of it and reveling in the size. You lapped the bead of precum leaking from the slit. He tasted delicious. In dire need of more, you stretched your lips over the girth of him, bringing yourself over the length as far down as you could go. A deep, strangled groan left his lips, inspiring the arousal between your thighs to grow. You touched your fingertips to the swollen nub between your legs.

“Mm, si bebita, así,” he said in a rough tone, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you further over his cock.

You gagged, and choked on it, bringing both hands up to hold his hips for stability. Jake snickered while fucking your throat, groaning when you swallowed around his thick girth. You felt your eyes burn, realizing it was too much and tapping Jake’s wrist in a desperation to get him to release you. For one more second he held you there, just a little longer than you could handle, before he released you into a gasping mess on the bed.

“Jake I–” you continued gulping down air between words, “I couldn’t breathe what the–”

“Vamos, you did just fine, now on your stomach.” You started to protest but he grabbed both of your thighs and flipped you over as though you weighed nothing, “up.”

He still stood at the side of the bed as he grabbed your hips and pulled your soaking cunt to meet with his prodding thick head. You could feel it pressed against your entrance, he felt so big, so fucking hard. This was going to make a mess out of you, you just knew it.

You cried out when he slid into you, splitting your cunt wide as he brought his hips flush against your rear. You could hear him muttering in Spanish behind you in between moans. His pace was unforgiving and almost painful with how hard he snapped his hips into you repeatedly.

“You’re so wet…so fucking–wet–shit…and tight…ah–damn–cariño.”

You could hardly hear him over the sound of your pleasured whines filling the room, no, the entire house. You’d be surprised if the neighbors didn’t come knock on the door thinking someone was being harmed in there. You started to drool on your sheets, feeling the saliva trickling down and making a mess of your face. Any makeup you had on was burning your eyes now, having washed away with your tears.

“Hermosa, your little pussy is squeezing around me so tight…oh–fuck.” He was grabbing your hips so rough, slamming into you harder. “Looked so pretty, swallowing me like that. Fuck, you take me so well bebita.”

His words were encouraging, making your entire body electrify and the heat pool in your core. You turned your head and looked back at him. His eyes were closed tight and his head was tossed back. You noticed the stray tuft of curls falling just above his eye, clinging there with the sweat beading on his forehead.

It hit you suddenly, the concentrated wave of built up arousal deep inside of you. Your voice was nothing but an airy raspy flurry of moans while your cunt gushed over his thick cock. Based on the way Jake’s hands grabbed onto you tighter, you sensed he wasn’t far behind. His hips came to a stuttering halt and you felt his pulsating girth shoot warm spurts into you, painting your insides white. You thought he would’ve been done immediately, but he sat there, holding onto you with a bruising grip, keeping himself inside of you while he grew soft.

“That…” he pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back before hovering over you on his elbows, breathing heavily, “was worth the wait.”

----

Jake hadn’t stayed with you that night, in fact, you insisted that he needed to go. Your father wasn’t due back for a couple of days but you were far too nervous about getting caught to risk spending any more time with him. You decided that night that it would be the end of it, so when your dad had told you three weeks later that he was coming over for dinner, you froze. It had been a while since you and Jake had been in the same room, and even longer since you’d been in the same room with your father. The pit in your stomach was already forming.

Your phone buzzed on the counter and you picked it up. Joey, the guy you’d met last week at the local coffee shop, was asking if you were still on for tomorrow night. You replied, ‘yes’, and then looked back at the neglected texts Jake had sent over the last few weeks.

Jake: Hola bebita, when’s a good time for me to see you again? - 3 weeks ago

Jake: Giving me the cold shoulder now? That hurts cariño. - 2 weeks ago

Jake: It’s too bad, wanted to see you use that pretty mouth again. - 1 week ago

When he walked into the house, wearing his flat cap and white button down, you felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was still so handsome. It’s not like you expected that to change, but you’d hoped that maybe you would’ve stopped mentally putting him on a pedestal by now so you could move on. But you didn’t, and you couldn’t.

“Hey,” you said nervously as he made his way to the dining room.

“Hey.” He looked at you with that smug smirk, the one that always made him seem like he was up to no good, because he often was up to no good.

The heat rose to your cheeks in a rush, making you feel lightheaded. You looked away from him quickly before making your way to the dinner table. Jake and your father joined you. The small talk was just what you needed; your father asking Jake how business was going and Jake asking about your new job. Jake would catch your eye once in a while, licking something off his spoon seductively while your dad wasn’t looking, or sucking some sauce off his thumb to tease you. It was impossible to look away.

“So, why don’t you tell Jake about…you know,” your dad gave you a knowing smirk.

This could actually work in your favor. Maybe if Jake knew you were going on a date he would finally let it go and things could go back to normal. Maybe.

“Oh! Yeah I’m going on a date tomorrow! I’m looking forward to it.”

You watched him lick his bottom lip and pull it in under his top teeth. You gulped, wondering how he was going to react to this news. He shifted and downed his entire glass of wine in two gulps. You thought it seemed like he put the glass down a little harshly, but that could’ve been your imagination. You swigged your own wine down to help with your nerves.

He hummed amusedly, his eyes narrowed on you, “so, you like this guy?” Jake asked, never taking his gaze off of you.

“Yeah I do,” you tried to sound confident in your answer, “only talked to him a couple of times, but he seems really sweet.”

Jake let out a deep chuckle that sent a chill down your spine. He had a way of appearing so villainous that it made you worry for your Joey’s wellbeing. Jake leaned forward and inhaled deeply. You looked over at your father who seemed to be too preoccupied with his steak to bother with the staredown you and his friend were having.

“Lucky guy…”

Your dad heard that.

“Lucky? Ha! I worry for the kid, she’s gonna eat him up and spit him out, this one.” He gestured to you. “Been saying it all along, she needs someone tough like you.” Your father laughed loudly, “this kid she’s seeing tomorrow ain’t shit.”

“Hm,” Jake’s lids lowered, “like me you say?”

“Mm, someone who doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“Thanks dad, I think I can figure out what I need.” You got up and took your plate to the sink. You didn’t want to discuss your lovelife with him and his friend any longer. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” You left without looking back to see his expression.

You didn’t sleep, you just lay there scrolling through your phone for a couple of hours. Your father had gone to bed almost a half hour before you heard Jake working his way upstairs. You thought for sure he would walk right by your room and go to the guest room, but he didn’t. Jake twisted your door handle and walked in, closing the door quickly while he stepped inside. You sat up and looked at him quizzically, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes.

“What are you doing in here!?” You asked, brows raised in surprise.

Jake was already removing his tie and approaching you with it in hand. He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he wanted from you. He bit his bottom lip and looked at you expectantly. There was no good reason for you to offer your wrists to him like an obedient little thing. No good reason for you to let him tie you up to the headboard so easily. No good reason for you to stare the way you did when he took off his shirt and put his head between your thighs.

“I think you’re going to have a lot of fun on that date, bebita,” you felt his warm mouth as he kissed the space on your panties that rested right over your cunt, “you must be excited.”

“W-what do you mean? Do you want me to go on the date?” You moaned when he tucked his finger in the band where your right thigh was, brushing the back of his index over your pussy lips.

“Si, I think it’s a great idea,” he said, letting the pad of his finger slide between your folds, “I’m very curious to know how it’s going to play out.”

He tugged the waist of your panties, bringing them down over your ankles and tossing them to the floor. He got his face close to your mound again, inhaling deeply. He hummed an approval before touching you again, circling his middle finger over your greedy clit. You arched into him, biting your lip hard with need.

“I just thought…I think we should–fuck–Jake–I’m–t-trying–trying to talk,” you had to press your lips together tightly to keep yourself from being too loud when you whined out a moan.

“Then talk cariño , I’m not going to stop you.”

“I just don’t think we should be doing this, we’re going to get caught and–oh!”

He put his mouth over your mound, sucking and slurping at your folds like a man starved. You were nearly in tears trying to keep yourself from screaming and alerting your father to your secret rendezvous with Jake. You looked down and saw Jake’s eyes narrowed playfully while he made a meal out of your cunt. He shoved a finger into you suddenly, and you managed to hold back the shriek that nearly escaped your lips.

He continued fingering you while he spoke, “I’m interested to know if this boy will make you feel good hermosa. You seem eager to get away from me, I can’t wait for you to tell me if he makes you feel the way I do.”

“It does–doesn’t–oh–m-matter Jake, he’s not my dad’s fr-friend,” you managed to say through gritted teeth.

He brought a second finger in to meet the first. He flicked his tongue over your clit now while he dragged his two thick digits over your walls in a come hither motion. You felt like you were made of nothing but air, your body melting into his touch with every gliding movement. He looked up at you again.

“Think he can do this to you? Think he can make you feel like this?”

“Maybe he can–fuck!”

His tongue was working on you again, moving so fast it felt like it was vibrating over your clit. Your lips were pressed together so tight you thought they might bleed. His fingers were pumping faster, you felt his lips pucker over your burning nub, sucking it between his teeth. You inhaled deeply, squirming underneath him, pulling your wrists against the silk tie holding you in place and forcing the bedframe to creak.

The truth was that this guy, Joey, probably couldn’t make you feel this way. Jake had a lot of experience, that much was clear. He was older, wiser, and something about the way he made you feel had no parallel. You knew in your heart that no man would ever be able to meet the standard he’d set, but you needed to try.

“I can feel you getting close, hermosa, you gotta keep quiet so your papá doesn’t hear you come…hm?”

You weren’t sure it would be possible for you to keep quiet. You wished you were able to cover your mouth with your hand at the very least, but the restraints made that impossible. He looked up at you while his tongue continued swirling over your clit, eyes etched with a bit of humor in the creases. You dug your heels in, pushing your hips further into his mouth, deepening the reach of his hooked fingers.

The overwhelming pleasure melted over your body in a wave. The way his tongue softened when he felt you reach your climax told you how well he knew your body. You felt the burning deep in your core with each strong contraction over his thick fingers. Somehow, you managed to keep your lips sealed against the onslaught of pleasured cries that threatened to escape you.

He pulled his fingers out of you, spreading them to admire your sticky slick and then licking your juices off each one. He chuckled, untying your hands and then walking over to a towel you had laying over your vanity chair. He wiped his mouth and chin with it, along with his hand and wrist. You’d really made a mess of him. No wonder he’d taken off his shirt.

“Did you really mean that? Do you want me to go on that date?” You asked, accepting the towel when he handed it to you.

“Si.” He started putting his shirt back on. “You want out so bad? Go find yourself a good little boy who will make you squirm the way I do cariño.”

His boldness always left you speechless. He gave you a borderline cruel grin as he leaned in and kissed you gently, making your stomach spark with excitement. Every little thing Jake did was so mind numbing. You wondered if you were too addicted to him to actually give anyone else an honest chance at dating you.

“Fine then…I’ll go.”

----

You’d never felt so stupid.

You were sitting inside the restaurant wearing a tight red dress that you’d dug out of your closet just for this loser who couldn’t be bothered to show up. You’d been waiting for a half hour, checking your phone every few minutes to see if he’d texted you but with no luck. How long was too long to wait? In your mind, if someone was interested, they would’ve been there on time, or perhaps even early. You should’ve known better. Maybe this was why Jake didn’t care if you went on this date or not. He knew that most men paled in comparison to himself, and that you’d see that for yourself soon enough without his interference.

The bell above the restaurant door jingled, catching your attention. You looked over and felt a strange combination of relief and anxiousness fall over you.

Jake.

He always looked so cocky, carrying an expression that you’d learned to love and hate equally. He nodded to the host, smirking and pointing in your direction before walking toward you. Jake took his jacket off and put it on the chair behind himself and then pulled it in as he sat. He didn’t say anything right away, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hand while he ogled you.

“Hola hermosa.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You whispered harshly, looking around at the restaurant to make sure no one who knew you or your dad was in there. You relaxed a little when you realized it was safe.

“I came by to see how your date was going,” he flashed a handsome smile at you and brushed a stray curl out of his face. “I’ll be honest with you, you look too good to be sitting here all alone like this. I thought you could use some company.”

You were still feeling anxious about the possibility of getting caught, but the way Jake was eyeing you all over made you feel a spark of arousal between your tightly pressed thighs. The server came by and Jake placed his order and asked for two glasses of wine while you managed to choke out what you would like to eat. When the server left, Jake took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles and then letting both of your hands rest on the table together. You tried to tug your wrist back but he had a strong grip on you.

“Jake,” you hissed, “we could get in trouble if we don’t stop this. I’ve been telling you it needs to end.”

His brow furrowed and he leaned in closer, “you want this to end bebita?” You could punch him for smiling at you like that, “por qué?”

“If my dad finds out, he’ll lose his shit. Your friendship with him will be over, he will probably kick me out of the house and…I mean…can you imagine how much that would hurt him?” A stray tear trickled down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, noticing that some of your makeup came off with it. “Shit. I’ll be right back.”

He let go of you, and you made your way to the bathroom. You’d been in such a hurry you hadn’t heard him sneak in directly behind you. He was already grabbing you, one hand reaching up under your dress to tuck between your thighs and the other nestling around your neck while he walked you toward the sink.

“Jake what are you–oh!”

You gasped when his fingers found their way past the thin barrier of your underwear and to your pulsating, needy clit. Jake swirled his digits over the sensitive nub masterfully while he kissed the soft skin of your throat, his other hand still holding purchase around your neck. He looked at you in the mirror, smiling at you mischievously.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, moaning while he pressed his lips against you even more.

You felt the incessant prod of his cock against your rear. Of course you didn’t want him to stop, but that didn’t mean he should continue. With a large hand he pushed you over the counter, freeing his other hand from your pussy lips in order to lift up the back of your dress.

“I don’t ever want you to fucking stop, that’s sort of the problem isn’t it?” You willingly pulled down your panties to your thighs and then spread your asscheeks out wide for him.

“Oh–estas tan mojada cariño,” Jake’s voice was already like gravel in his arousal.

You felt the thick head of his cock throbbing as he dragged it between your pussy lips. He pushed between them, gliding so easily into your slick walls. You groaned, grabbing the counter for stability.

“No, no, no, spread yourself back out for me. I wanna see how good you look while I fuck you wide open bebita.”

You did as you were told, pulling apart your cheeks for him once again. You felt him reach under your arms to secure his hands around your waist, leveraging himself to hit inside of you deeper. Keeping yourself quiet in that position was nearly impossible. Jake was unrelenting in th speed at which he fucked you.

“Oh–fuck, wish you could see the way your little pussy looks splitting around my fat cock. Can’t–believe–how–fuck–how good you feel.”

The wet sounds of his slick coated thighs slapping against yours filled the bathroom walls. You tried to stifle your cries by biting your bottom lip. You glanced up, seeing him in the mirror. His curls were in his eyes, bouncing against his forehead with every powerful snap forward. He looked concentrated, brow furrowed and lips pursed out while he huffed like he was running a marathon. When he looked up, catching you peering at him in the reflection, his face changed back to the usual smug facade.

“Like what you see? Huh?” He nearly growled out, “oh–feel that cariño? You’re like a damn vice grip, shit.”

Jake lurched forward, extending his right hand out to stop himself from falling. Losing your balance, you had to put your hands out too, grabbing the counter for stability. That’s when Jake took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and making your stomach flutter. He was being so intimate, as if this were more than just a random fling in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant with his best friend’s daughter. You couldn’t spend another day of your life without him, you decided in that moment. You needed Jake, in more ways than just the physical.

“Mm,” Jake leaned in so his lips were against your ear, “te amo bebita,” he said in a gruff tone.

As if he’d said the magic words, your cunt started contracting around him in your orgasm, turning you into a panting mess over the bathroom counter. He wasn’t far behind, cock pumping and stretching you out while he filled you with his hot spend. The bathroom was filled with both of your pleasured moans while you covered each other in your juices. When you were both finished, Jake pulled out of you, letting his cum trickle down your leg.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” he said, wiping his cock and thighs off with a paper towel and buttoning his pants back up. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He leaned over and kissed you before exiting the restroom. With shaking knees, and with equally shaky hands, you wiped your legs and thighs as best as you could before fixing your makeup in the mirror and then stepping back out to the restaurant dining room. You were smiling wide, unable to contain the feelings you were finally letting yourself feel, until you were almost at the table and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your heart dropped through your stomach.

There was Jake, sitting where you knew he’d be…but he was sitting next to…

“D-dad?”

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chiimeramanticore · 2 months

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Part of the Band - Chapter 9 - The Tunnel of Love

Chapter summary: Dook and Beach Bear go to the fair.

A/N:

GUH. HELLO. IM NOT DEAD has it been like.... 2 months since i updated this? whoops. a lot happened irl, some good some bad! my cat sadly passed since last updating, but I also got to go to BBWL since last updating! so... y'know, looking on the bright side of stuff lol i got really creatively blocked after all that stuff, so despite knowing what the next chapters would be, i had no idea how to actually get them out on paper. BUT! I'm back now, and i understand everything so well that these next like. 5 chapters are gonna knock your damn socks off. it's all coming together but yeah uh! tldr thank u for ur patience! thank u for the continued support! i love u and i hope ur having a good day! here's the chapter ✌️

Chapter word count: 1,439

<- Chapter 8 - Chapter 10 ->

Read it on AO3!

The fair only comes to town once a year, during mid-May. Despite its arrival date, many in the area colloquially mark it as the start of summer. Children and their families, teenagers, and adults alike all make their way to the fairgrounds, lured by the sights and sounds of fun. It's the same reason that Dook and Beach Bear find themselves at the fair as well.

It was Beach Bear's idea, obviously. They'd seen a flyer promoting it earlier that week and he'd insisted they go. Dook isn't opposed to it, but he finds himself slightly resigned to the excited whims of his friend as they bounce between the various attractions.

"Haha, hey, check it out," Beach Bear points to Dook's right. He turns to look.

"...The Tunnel of Love?" Dook says skeptically.

"Yeah," Beach Bear says. "I thought those were only in movies! We gotta ride it." He grabs Dook's hand, pulling him toward the ride.

"W- wait, Beach Bear–! What if people think we're..."

"No one's gonna think that!" Beach Bear insists. "Anyone can get on this ride. It's not a big deal."

As he's dragged toward the front of the ride, Dook spots a familiar figure standing on line. A pair of mouse ears.

"B- B– M–" He stutters, unsure if he should call Beach Bear's name or Mitzi. "H– Hey!" He says finally, pointing at her.

He's apparently loud enough when he does, because Mitzi turns to see him. At the sight of the two approaching her, her eyes widen, and she turns back around, attempting to blend into the crowd. She moves behind someone– another mouse.

"Hey!" Beach Bear says now, rushing even more now toward her. "Mitzi? What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" She says back, poking her head out from behind the other mouse.

"We came to enjoy the carnival," Dook says.

"No, why are y'all on line for the Tunnel of Love?" She says.

"I told you," Dook says to Beach Bear.

"Yeah, yeah," Beach Bear says, waving his hand dismissively. "I could ask you the same thing, Mitzi. Who's this, your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he is," Mitzi says matter-of-factly. She gestures to the other mouse she's with. "This is Mick."

"Breaking hearts already, huh?" Beach Bear says. "Aren't you like, ten?"

"I'm twelve," she says. "Everyone who's anyone's got a boyfriend by now."

"You hear that, Dook?" Beach Bear says. "We're falling behind the curve."

"I'm not even supposed to be talking to you," Mitzi continues.

"What?" Dook asks. "Why not?"

" 'Cause," she says. "...'cause Mini's mad at you. And if she finds out I've been talking with you, she'll be mad at me, too."

"Well, why don't you just... not tell her?" He asks.

Mitzi looks at him blankly. "I didn't... think about that," she says.

It's a little weird, speaking to her like this. Dook's never seen Mitzi outside of band practice– never seen her away from Queenie. When she's alone, he finds her a lot more outgoing.

"Mitzi, we've been thinking," Beach Bear says. "You should be in the band with us."

"Wh- what?" She says. "I couldn't do that!"

"Why not?" Dook says.

"Because!" She insists. "How's Mini supposed to not find out I'm talkin' to y'all if I'm in a band with you?"

"What about Mick here?" Beach Bear says, gesturing at him. "Say you're going out with him every week or something."

"But that's lying!"

"It's only lying if someone gets hurt," Beach Bear tells her. "Otherwise, it's just not telling the truth."

"That's still bad," Dook says.

"What, you've never done something like that before?" Beach Bear says. "Just... not telling someone something? That's not lying, technically."

Dook feels like he's being tested. "Th... that's not the same thing," he says. "You don't want her to just not say something, you want her to tell Queenie something that's not true. That's lying."

"Maybe I don't even wanna be in a band with y'all anyway," Mitzi chimes in.

They both look at her.

"You don't?" Beach Bear says.

Mitzi watches them for a moment, serious, before breaking into a reluctant smile. "No," she says, "I do. But I don't wanna lie to do it."

"Well, you're just gonna have to think of something else, then," Beach Bear tells her.

"You can't just talk to Queenie?" Dook asks.

"No," Mitzi and Beach Bear say simultaneously.

"Alright," Dook says.

"Oh, it's our turn!" Mitzi says. She takes Mick's hand and the two hop onto the ride.

Dook frowns. "What do we do?" He asks.

Beach Bear only shrugs in response. "It's our turn," he adds, gesturing to the next open cart.

Beach Bear sits down in the ride cart and Dook follows. The ride continues moving and they enter a dark tunnel, whimsical scenes beginning to pass them by.

"This is dumb," Dook mutters.

"It is," Beach Bear says, "That's the point. Y'know nobody ever rides these to admire the scenery."

"They don't?"

"Nah," he smirks at him. "They do it to get handsy."

"Gross," Dook says. Then, "Are you sure people aren't gonna think we're a couple from us bein' on here?"

"Does it matter if they do?" Beach Bear asks.

Dook says nothing. The rest of the ride passes in silence.

·–—–·

"...Hey, y'know," Beach Bear says in between licks of ice cream, "I'm having a good time here."

"I am too," Dook admits. "Thanks for bringing me here."

"Pshh. I should be thanking you. I've never come to one of these before."

"What, a carnival?"

"Well, like, a fair." Beach Bear takes another lick off his cone. "My parents always told me as a kid they weren't safe, or whatever."

"Well, did ya see how that one ride was shaking?" Dook smiles. "I wouldn't get on that either."

Beach Bear laughs. "But that's part of the excitement! It's a thrill ride!"

Dook laughs, having some more of his own ice cream. "You haven't seen Mitzi again yet, have you?"

"Nah," Beach Bear says. "You don't think she left yet, right?"

Dook shrugs. "You think she's gonna join the band?"

"I dunno. She's a good kid."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning she probably won't lie to her sister about it. Even if she wants to be part of the band."

"You think... you think she's our singer?"

Beach Bear looks at him. "You ever heard her sing?"

Dook shakes his head.

Beach Bear takes a lick of his ice cream. "She's good. She's real good."

"Better than one of us?" Dook asks.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno, I just... Like, can't one of us sing? If we need a singer so bad. She just seems like a lotta work to get her on board with it."

"What, you wanna be our singer?" Beach Bear says.

"I could if I needed to," he replies. "I guess. Can't you?"

"If I asked you to sing right now, you would?" Beach Bear says.

"I guess!" Dook says. "Would you?"

"Would you?"

"I already said yes. You're bein' cagey."

"I'm not!"

"Then sing," Dook says.

Beach Bear looks at him, then looks away, then back at Dook. "Uh... I, uh... I can't," he admits finally.

"Oh," Dook says. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine," Beach Bear replies, quickly bouncing back. "We egged each other on."

"Yeah." Dook turns his attention back to the scenery. The sun has fully sunk over the horizon by now, leaving the fairgrounds illuminated by the string lights hanging from posts and the bright signs above rides, games, and vendors, beckoning fair goers toward them. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafts through the air, and the air is filled with the sounds of guests on rides and games' bells ringing.

Beach Bear stands closest to the vendor they got their ice creams from, illuminated from behind by it. His height has never fully worn off on Dook– he near eclipses the cart on a vertical level. He's leaned forward, forearms resting on the table between them. His body's turned toward Dook, but his head watches the fair, not noticing the way Dook looks at him. It's almost dangerous, looking at him like this. He could simply turn his head back to look at him and Dook would be caught, with a lack of explanation, no less.

Why is he watching him anyway? Dook pries his gaze away and returns it to the fair.

"Aw man," Beach Bear says, pointing towards the fair's exit. There, Mitzi and Mick are walking through it. "There they go."

"Man," Dook concurs. "What now?"

Beach Bear chuckles. "You're gonna have to warm up those vocals, man."

#juno.pdf #part of the band #potb #rockafire explosion #rock afire explosion #showbiz pizza #rae #dook larue #beach bear #mitzi mozzarella #fanfic #fanfiction #these a/ns are copypasted from ao3 so theyre all old lol #this was originally posted over a year ago i do not need condolences for my cat im ok i promise lol

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buriedinthestars-blog · 2 months

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The Littlest Maid

updated this, finally! chapter four is on ao3 here! but i decided to post it here as well

hope you like it!

Niffty had been a pain in the… well, you know.

They all loved her, she was adorable - cuter than any baby they’d seen, even. But she would not settle down.

At Husk’s request, Charlie and Vaggie had taken over - deciding to keep Niffty in their bed, and stroking her hair. Vaggie washed her face while Charlie tickled the girl, eventually just grabbing the girl and hugging her close.

“She’s so squishy!”

Vaggie smiled, walking over to the pair and sitting down, “Yeah, she’s, uh, pretty cute,” She muttered. “Kinda weird, though.”

“How?” Charlie asked.

“Char, she’s a baby,” She sighed. “Like… yes, it’s Niffty, but is it really… her? Does she even remember us?”

Charlie shrugged, “I dunno… my—my dad said he was gonna talk to Alastor about a reverse spell… but Alastor said he already had it covered.”

“Do you think it’s hurting her? Like… is it scary?”

The princess sighed, squishing the baby again to make her giggle, “Babe, I’m sure she’s fine! She’s having fun at least, aren’t you?”

Niffty chuckled and squirmed around in Charlie’s arms, relaxing as the older rubbed her back. Charlie continued, “Let’s just… make this comfortable for her, until… she comes back, okay?”

Vaggie nodded, resting a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

And as she felt a familiar pit form in her gut, she looked to her side. The angel reached out a hand to stroke the other's hair.

Charlie stared back, her face growing red, as her stomach began bubbling.

And everything washed away. Just for a bit.

Niffty wobbled to the door, slapping the wood with her hand. Lucifer trailing behind.

“Honey—gah! Sweetie, careful—BABY!”

The sin scrambled around, his hands shaky and his body weak. He looked behind him, his eyes surveying the room. While Niffty smiled devilishly, giggling. “Lu-Lu!”

Lucifer sighed, taking the girl up in his arms, “Does any… can anyone—ah!”

Lucifer collapsed, causing Niffty to scramble out to his grasp and rush to the bar. Husk’s ear twitching.

“Hus’! Hus’!” The smaller calls, whining while throwing her arms up. Husk sighs, feeling his body tense. The sinner looked to h the left, then looked to the right.

He wasn’t here.

Neither was Rosie.

He smirked, walking around the bar and picking Niffty up, patting her back soothingly.

“You okay?” The cat mumbled.

Lucifer nodded, sitting up, “Can you… take over?”

Husk nodded, though Lucifer only watched as Niffty squirmed in the cat’s arms, grabbing and pulling at his fur. The king cringed, shrinking back.

“Great!” He beamed, scurrying off.

“Buncha’ chumps, huh?” Husk scoffed.

Niffty smiled, babbling a similar verse back, “Bubba’ chuh!”

Husk bounced the girl in his arms as he went behind the bar, Charlie would’ve chastised him for this - ranting about how no baby should be near any type of alcohol.

She was right.

Husk put away his half-finished whiskey - throwing it in the mini fridge below him. He shuddered, feeling Niffty go almost limp against him, babbling incoherently.

And for once, in some altered world, one where it all washed away - Husk smiled, laughed, and hugged, even.

Husk pulled her close, kissing the girl’s head, “Yeah, you should get to bed, Niff.”

The infant only whined, waving and throwing her arms about, angrily babbling. Husk hummed, stroking her cheek. Looking around, he only saw whiskey and different add-ins for what felt like miles, until…

“There’s gotta be somethin’ in that kitchen.”

The babysitter shot up, rushing to the kitchen, unaware of the angel leaning against the counter.

Husk grumbled, shuffling around until he found a carton of milk, shutting the door hastily. A few beads of sweat ran down his face as he searched for a bottle of some kind.

“You know… they’re supposed to have formula,” Vaggie said, finally lifting her head up.

Husk rolled his eyes, “We don’t have any, this is basically the same thing.”

Vaggie opened her mouth to retort - she always had some grumble, some retort, some bone to pick.

But instead, she sighed and closed her mouth. Hell, no one she knew was any better of a father.

Or… whatever Husk was trying to be.

Husk made sure to get a good look at Vaggie, his heart clenching at her shaky body, her eye bags dark - only having worsened since Niffty’s transformation.

“You know how to feed a baby?” She asked.

“Yes. I’m not that fucking dumb, today anyway,” Husk said, pouring out the heated milk.

Vaggie hummed, slinking to the doorway, taking a click look back at Husk.

“You gonna be okay?” Vaggie mumbled.

Husk’s shoulders slumped, though he forced an awkward smile for the other, causing her to chuckle.

Even when she left, leaving her coffee cup behind, it still felt like they were drowning.

He tried to forget Vaggie’s obvious teary eye, how the stress threatened to overtake her.

Yet his lungs felt full of it. Full of every extra weight and crack in the wall, every leak.

The whiskey usually worked.

Husk bounced Niffty in his arms, grabbing Vaggie’s mug and rinsing it out. Eventually grabbing the bottle and walking back to the bar.

Alastor was still at Cannibal Town with Rosie, while Charlie and Vaggie had taken the day in, the princess hoping she could look through a few old books on Niffty’s current condition.

Angel was with Val, to Husk’s dismay.

Cherri had slept in, when had she not?

And, well - Niffty was curled up in his arms, whining and fussing over her bottle.

There were new residents coming in, Alastor had said the hotel's name was only growing in popularity since the extermination.

Part of him was proud of Charlie, proud of all of them.

But part of him wanted to shrivel up and rot. Hide away in the little hole he had been shoved in.

“Baba,” Niffty babbled, lightly patting the man’s arm. Husk flinched, whipping his head around.

“Ah—I’m sorry baby, here you go,” He whispered, nudging the bottle in Niffty’s mouth. The baby suckled greedily, gazing up at Husk as he fed her. Something told him that it was a look of gratitude. He hoped it was.

“Good job, good girl,” Husk mumbled. “You were hungry, weren’t you, sweet girl?”

Niffty gurgled in response, clutching the bottle even tighter.

Husk was glad his presence sufficed today.

#age regression #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel age regression #hazbin hotel agere #sfw agere blog #sfw agere #sfw agerecommunity #age regressor #helluvaverse #helluva boss #fanfic

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cerealmonster15 · 1 year

Note

irt your tags (nothing negative, genuine speculation here), i wonder if it's a matter of perspective concerning the notes. like i see what you mean by being more specific in the notes, those are a good place to elaborate further about what's in there. as I see it, the tags are the full list of warnings a la "does the dog die" and other sites like that, while the notes are individual warnings for each chapter + background stuff. i write a lot of multi-chapter fics or vignette stuff, so having the notes be individualized tag specifications helps but I still feel the need to include it in the main tags as a full warning of what this particular fic will contain. like i dont want to suddenly jump someone with a discussion about gender identity in the middle of something, even when it's the most casual conversation and very blase. so instead of the reader coming across a note that says "there's gonna be gender discussion here" when they werent warned previously, i'd rather have a messy tag about gender discussions and then use the note to flag which chapter it is and how it plays out (eg how explicit, its function, etc.).

but that's just me, your thoughts def got me thinking though and its interesting to see how people interpret the archive tags - especially since i know that some people see them both as warning and advertisement

[about this post talkin ao3]

oh huh yeah i guess i didnt really think about the notes as like, extra misc warning spot! i mean kind of- im sure ive seen people use it that way and just not remembered lol. like it seems to me the notes are a much looser optional area - sometimes i dont read them [usually i do tho. i like bonus lore LOL] [but also sometimes i just forget to read even the tags and get jumpscared, but thats all a Me Thing lmao]

but i mean i think thats all super good! i dont disagree lol. having some messy tags isnt bad at all i dont think, within reason. i never thought much about multi chapter fics bc i both dont write them and barely ever read them [i am suddenly reminded one of the few multi chap fics i DO read updated recently and i forgot!!! i still gotta read it!!!]

i know for me i like to use the notes as like bonus thought process rattling zone and also bc i tbh struggle to tag things lol. im pretty sparse in the actual tags cuz i feel like thats where the core info should go, and then i do my "here's my thought process and the various hurdles i ran into every 5 seconds" rambling in the tags before/after lol, bc i figure thats just extra people can skip if they just wanna read the story. and i dont really write much in the way of triggering topics usually so i dont personally have extra stuff to warn about. that's an interesting take on how you use them! and probably very helpful lol. i'll have 2 remember that if i ever try to be brave for a multi chapter fic lmao

#asks #shivasdarknight

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lgbtqiadnf · 2 years

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A Small Secret...(DNF)

If you haven’t noticed I haven’t been writing too much on here, I’ve been writing a new AO3 story and that’s been my main priority another thing; I’m going to be on a hiatus for the month of February! <33 so no fics or updates for a month XP rip </3 OK Here is a DNF dating in secret fic!! Sapnap POV <3 (highly motivated by a fic on AO3 idk the name but i remember it a lot and i really liked it!! It was one of my fave works link for it will be in the comments <33 ) A BIT OF ANGST AND FLUFF :D

Sapnap had been travelling and living with Karl, Punz, and foolish for the past month to get away from George and Dream --Or at least that’s what he told them-- but in reality, he just wanted to get out of the house, Sapnap was had been on the road for 9 hours and all he wanted was to go to bed, cuddling with patches if he could.

It was mid-day and Sapnap had just reached the house, he opened the door to see George and Dream soundly in the arms of each other, Sapnap was slightly confused but he thought it might have been for a picture on Dream's Snapchat to prank the whole of their fanbase,

“Hi!” George sprung up, “Fuck off,” Sapnap groaned, sitting down on the couch, stroking patches, “How was your trip?” Dream giggled at George, who was smiling, “Good. It was better than living here, How was your alone time" Sapnap smiled at patches, who was purring,

"Our alone time was amazing," George laughed, making Dream blush, deeply, "Shut up you idiot!" Dream giggled, pushing George off of him, "It's true, though! You were like-" George was cut off by Dream's hand over his mouth "No! Shut up!" Dream laughed, making George blush,

"Ew..." Sapnap mentally gagged at the two, "I'm leaving before I die," Sapnap got his stuff and went to him, "Come on patchy!" Sapnap kissed patches forehead, "NO! PATCHES!" George screamed as if he was losing his life, "Patches, come on!" Sapnap smiled, indicating her to his room, "No! Don't! Come here!" George got up and started petting patches, persuading her to choose him, "Ok, fuck you! You can't do that!" Sapnap groaned, rolling his eyes and going to his room, slightly sad he could have patches

Sapnap flopped onto his bed, so inevitably tired of the trip, wait... Sapnap thought, getting up and peering from the door crack, seeing George kiss Dream on his jaw but they weren't posing like it was a picture, they were just...There? Are they...Dating? Sapnap was slightly shocked,

"How we'll we tell him?" Dream said slightly concerned, "He'll figure it out, no?" "I don't know, George...We always act like this, it'll be hard for him to know," Dream stared at George's hands which were intertwined with his, "Can we wait a bit?" George closed his eyes, "Of course, take your time..." Dream kissed George's knuckles,

oh my god...

Sapnap slammed his door, They are so whipped! Sapnap couldn't help but giggle at the thought of what the two bad probably done while he was gone, I gotta tell Karl! Sapnap pulled out his phone, calling Karl,

"Karl!" "Hi," "George and Dream are dating!" Sapnap whispered, "Huh?" Karl laughed, "They're dating!" Sapnap whisper-yelled this time, "How do you know?" Karl said with skepticism, "They were flirting and acting like- well- A couple and I went to close my door and I heard them say, 'how should we tell him?' They. Are. Dating!" Sapnap exclaimed, "You should ask before you make an assumption," Karl said in a nerdy tone, "Ok, Karl..." Sapnap said back, also in a nerdy tone, hanging up without a 'bye'

TIME SPEED TO NIGHT TIME >:D(I'm lazy asf and I'm speedrunning this bitch !!!)

Sapnap joined George and Dream, still watching all their moves to spot anything that would tell him in the slightest they were together, but the only thing he noticed is that fact they were practically conjoined at the hip due to the fact, they wouldn't leave each other.

The three stayed up for the night to watch movies, but most of the time George and Dream bickered about the characters and made sapnap bored and go on his phone,

"No, no, no! That's wrong!" Dream rolled his eyes, "Yes! Dream- i watched this movie more than you have! I know this," George explained, "Well, you watched more than me because you weren't paying attention the first time so you watched it again!" Sapnap was slightly irritated at the two, "It's fucking Madagascar 2? Why the fuck are you arguing so much?!" Sapnap hushed their bickering,

George and Dream laughed, "Sorry," George covered his eyes, flushed, "I'm going to sleep," Dream got up, looking at George but when he didn't see his eyes he tapes his shoulder, "Coming?" Dream looked like a lost puppy, "Oh, no. I'm not too tired," George pulled out his phone, "mhm," Dream walked to his room, this was Sapnaps opportunity.

"George?" Sapnap whispered, "What? Why are you whispering?" George raised an eyebrow, "Ignore that, but seriously...Are you and Dream dating?" George blushed madly, ignoring eye contact, "uhm, no? Why? We aren't like that-" George covered his face with his hands, laughing, "Hm..." Sapnap knew that he was lying

A couple minutes later, Georges's phone buzzed, "Who is it?" Sapnap asked, "oh, it's just Dream," George blushed, "Didn't he go to sleep?" Sapnap questioned, "he said he wanted me to come to his room for...Something," George giggled when saying the word, 'something' making Sapnap more suspicious, "for what?" Sapnap asked, "Uhm...OK, fine, Don't tell dream that I'm telling you this...Come here!" Sapnap got closer to George, "Ok... We're dating! We have been for like 2 weeks," George admitted, Sapnap smiled as if he won a medal.

Dream then came out of his room, "Hi," George said flushed, "Hi, I need to come to my room, for a second," Dream said, blushing, "For what?" Sapnap intervened, "I-" Dream tried explaining but his words go caught on his tongue,

"I know you're dating George, what else are you hiding?" Sapnaps tone was accidentally firm, "You're own boyfriend told me, why'd you hide it?" Dream was shaking, slightly, "Oh my god! Dream are you ok? Here, come sit, I'm sorry! I told him because...I didn't want to hide for too long, I hope you understand," George craddled Dream, as Dream slightly smiled, "Oh no, George! Its fine, I'm fine, I was ready, but you told me you weren't?" Dream kissed George on the forehead, "I just didn't want to have secrets," George reassured Dream,

"I'm sorry," Sapnap felt horrible about the tone he used with Dream and George, they had just come out and he was slightly pissed they didn't say things early but that wasn't how he meant to react, "Its ok, we should have told you early! We didn't want to ruin your trip!" Dream explained, holding Sapnaps hand, "No, its fine...It would have been nice and it wouldn't ruin my trip," Dream and Sapnap hugged, giggling at the thoughts.

"George?" Sapnap looked up, George was playing with Patches, "hm? oh yeah, patches knew before you knew," George cooed, "Ok, yeah, you tell her everything!" Dream added, "Yeah, because she won't expose me! Isn't that right, patchington?" George smiled, "If she was human, she was would tell everyone your secrets," Sapnap joined George, "Ok- who do we tell next?" Dream asked,

"your mom?" George joked, "She knows, well she known," George narrowed his eyebrows, "When did you tell her?" Georges frim tone made Dream giggle, "No- Dream, when did you tell her?" George scooted closer to Dream, "I told her on our second date, she asked me where we were going and I told her, she got you flowers but I kinda lost them..." Sapnap laughed, "How the fuck do you lose FLOWERS?" Sapnpa said genuinally confused, "I put them on the dining table and then later they were gone," Dream tried recalling his thoughts,

"Here, tell everyone while I try and find the flowers," George suggested but Dream hold onto his sweater, "I want you to do it with me, I can't just do it alone," Dreams puppy eyes almost swayed George into staying with him, "You can do it alone, just speak on both of our behalf," George kissed Dream, "gross." Sapnap muttered under his breath, staring at his phone,

"Ok, I'll be back," George smiled, dream tried to give George the slight treatment but he couldn't help but crack a small smirk, "Bye," George waited for the two to wave back but only Sapnap did, "Dream?" George said raising an eyebrow, "Dream, are you going to say bye to George so he can fuck off," Sapnap reminded Dream just in case he had forgotten, "I'm not talking to him," Dream blandly responded, h

George jumped a little, but walked off like nothing, "No, George, come back," Dream got up and went upstairs with George, fucking idiots, Sapnap thought of what they were going to do upstairs.

TIME SPEED

Sapnap was in his room, just waking up from a nap, he picked up his phone and got an amazing surprise, "Dnf is real!" Dream tweeted, then a picture of Dream kissing George on the cheek, Then George posted but this time on Instagram, "DNF (Dream n' friends)" The caption wrote and George posted a string of pictures seemingly from the dates they've been on, Sapnap commented on only Dreams knowing it would get more clout, "I'm moving in with Karl..."

THE ENDDDDD!! :D :D :D :D :D :D <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

~Clay (They/it/xe/star/moon :)

#dreamnotfound #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dnf fanfic #dnf fic #dnf fluff #dnf brainrot #dnf is real #sapnap #dream team #dteam fic

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flightfoot · 4 years

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Perspective From Another Timeline

Thanks to my betas @steelblaidd and Izzybusy!

I ADORE @buggachat new Bakery Enemies AU. This idea just kept on swirling through my head, I had to write it! This is set between parts 13 and 14, so after Adrien meets Alya and Nino but before Marinette starts sympathizing with him. AO3

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“You okay?”

Alya shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’ll be fine. I’ve weathered worse than that - we both have.”

Nino grinned at her. “True that.”

Alya smiled at him fondly, remembering Heroes Day. It was a bittersweet memory, with her having been turned against Nino and them both being akumatized.

But they had fought to protect each other as best they could. She’d seen Prime Queen’s footage, how Carapace had struggled to get her to fight against Dark Cupid’s magic, how he’d only given into despair after she’d given into akumatization.

“What did that blast do to us?” Nino wondered. “Everyone else the akuma blasted just disappeared. Why’re we still here?”

Alya’s brow furrowed. “I dunno… hold on, let me check to see whether any new info on the akuma’s been uploaded.”

Pulling out her phone, she tapped on the Akuma News Alert app.

An error message popped up, telling her that she had no internet connection.

Puzzled, Alya checked her phone’s other settings.

No wifi - no wifi even recognized, much less connectable - no cell service, no connection to the outside world at all.

She glanced over at Nino. “Hey, you got any signal?”

Taking out his own phone, he quickly checked his connection. He shook his head. “Not a single bar.”

Frowning, Alya looked around. “Maybe all the cell towers were taken out?”

Everything looked intact though, no sign of any destruction at all.

Something else caught Alya’s eye. “Hey Nino, what time should it be?”

Nino blinked. “Well I mean lunch just started so it should be a little past noon-”

He glanced around, noticing the long shadows and the pinkish-orange of the evening sky.

“-which it clearly is not anymore,” he concluded.

Great. “Guess Ladybug and Chat Noir must’ve taken a while to defeat the akuma,” she said, putting her phone away. “Hopefully my parents aren’t too worried. They like me to text them just after an akuma attack, but right now…?” she gestured to her pocket.

“My folks aren’t as worried,” Nino said. “But they still expect me back home before the sun goes down. They’ll be getting nervous soon.”

Alya let out a small sigh. “So much for playing Super Penguino together.”

“Hmmm…” Nino’s eyes gleamed. “You know… it’s not night just yet. And I’m sure my parents would understand if I was a few minutes late because I grabbed a bite to eat.”

Grabbed a bite to eat? What was Nino hinting at…?

Alya looked around at their location more closely.

Wait… that blast seemed to have carried them to that one park, the one near-

Alya grinned. “I think my parents will forgive me for not calling in if I bring them fresh-baked treats from the best bakery in Paris.”

---

*ring ring*

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the store.

Instantly Alya felt her shoulders loosen up, releasing tension she didn’t even know she’d had. There was just something so warm and comforting about the bakery.

Of course, a lot of that was due to the people running it. Good luck finding more friendly, caring people than Marinette’s parents. Sabine often checked up on anyone who seemed to be struggling or upset (and ready to protect them if they were - Alya had seen the video of the time a TV crew decided to invade Marinette’s privacy), and Tom was basically a giant teddy bear in human form.

But neither of them were manning the counter today.

Instead a young woman stared back at them.

A very familiar-looking young woman.

“Marinette?” Alya asked cautiously.

The woman stared at her for a minute. “Alya?” she finally asked. “What happened to you?” She paled. “Did a new supervillain attack? Is that why you and Nino are younger?”

Huh. Weirdly scared reaction from Marinette. They’d all gotten used to supervillains by now. She’d expect an older Marinette to take them in stride even more than the current Marinette.

Hm… an older Marinette, a different time of day, and Marinette not seeming to know about the latest akuma attack?

“Marinette… what year is it?”

Marinette blinked for a moment. Her eyes widened.

Seemed Marinette understood what she was getting at.

She told Alya the date.

Her hunch was right. “We’re in the future,” Alya breathed.

A wicked grin slowly spread over her face.

Five years was a long time. A lot of things could have happened. A lot of information could’ve come to light.

Like Hawkmoth’s identity.

Or more information on the Miraculous.

But most importantly right now-

She leaned in close to Marinette, making sure to keep her voice down, just in case someone else was around in the back. “So did you ever get together with a certain blond-haired, green-eyed model?”

“Uh… what?” Marinette asked, looking puzzled.

Alya snapped her fingers. “Adrien. Did you and Adrien finally get together? Ooooh, if you did you’ve GOTTA tell me how the confession went! Or, no, wait, don’t tell me, I want to get the deets at the time. Just let me know how long I’ve got to wait, girl!”

Marinette just stared at her, slack-jawed. “Adrien… like ADRIEN AGRESTE?!” she said, her volume rising with every word.

Alya’s eyebrows flew up. “Um… yes…?”

She’d thought that Marinette would be glowing about finally getting together with her crush, or dejected about still not being able to spit out what she wanted to say to him, downcast over him rejecting her, or maybe even infuriated because he mistreated her and they subsequently broke up.

(The last one was VERY unlikely though. After the Felix debacle, she’d learned to have a bit more faith in Adrien’s good nature.)

Shock at the concept of dating him? Not something she’d anticipated.

Footsteps echoed from behind Marinette.

So one of Marinette’s parents must’ve been in the back-

Adrien popped his head around the corner.

Seemed both he AND Marinette had aged well.

Not that Adrien looked all that different. Taller, definitely, maybe with slightly messier hair and… were those earrings? They looked good on him.

“Hey dude!” Nino waved at his best friend. “What’s up?”

“Uh…” Adrien said, scratching the back of his neck.

“WOW those outfits really take the years off, huh?” Marinette said loudly, shoving them out the door. “Make you look smaller than usual. Well we better go talk about plans later okaybye-”

She promptly slammed the door behind them, physically pushing them away from the bakery.

After Marinette had dragged them a good distance away, Alya finally got over her shock, turning around and glaring at her. “What was that about?!” she asked Marinette indignantly, hands on her hips. “You know me, I wasn’t going to spill anything to him. That’s why I was talking so quietly! Why’d you have to do that?!”

Nino frowned, seeming more concerned than annoyed. “Adrien looked really hurt by that. Not cool.”

“There’s nothing to spill!” Marinette protested, gesticulating wildly. “I only met him for the first time two days ago!”

*record scratch*

Two-

Two DAYS ago?!

Ok, hold up.

“Adrien joined our collège class the day after I did! He sits in front of you in class! What’re you TALKING about?!”

“Uh… no…?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, befuddled. “I think I would remember that, even if it was a few years back.”

Alya let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, no kidding. He would be uh, difficult for you to forget. Heck, even if your memory was erased, you’ve got so much stuff revolving around him, I couldn’t see that lasting long.”

Marinette blushed. “Why do you think I have a crush on him?! He’s HAWKMOTH’S SON!”

“WHAT?!” Alya and Nino yelled in unison.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth a couple years ago,” Marinette explained, pulling out her phone.

A moment later she held it up, showing a blog post from the Ladyblog.

Oooh, that’s a nice graphical design. I’ll have to look into updating my site, Alya thought.

Turning her attention to the picture, she squinted. “Hey, can you enlarge the photo?” She asked.

Marinette complied, enlarging it and turning her phone sideways, letting it fill the entire screen.

Gabriel Agreste being led away in handcuffs by the police, with Ladybug and Chat Noir in the background. Ladybug looked satisfied, with maybe a twinge of melancholy, but Chat Noir…

He stared vacantly ahead, seemingly not focused on anyone or anything, a smile on his face - but the most forced one she’d ever seen.

“What’s wrong with Chat Noir?”

Marinette frowned, looking troubled. “I don’t know. He seemed really, really upset when Hawkmoth was defeated. It was a tough battle, bad enough that neither of them have returned since, but that doesn’t explain why-”

She trailed off, lost in thought.

A moment later she looked up, meeting Alya’s eyes.

Immediately she waved her hands around, trying to ward off… something. “I- I mean, that’s what I read on the Ladyblog and what I could piece together from video footage, it’s not like I was there, NOPE. I was huddled in my room the entire time. Not like I have any insight into what Chat Noir was acting like during the battle, not beyond what any other civilian would know! That would be ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” she let out a few forced guffaws.

Alya’s eyebrows flew up.

O...Kay…?

Maybe Marinette had been following Ladybug and Chat Noir during the final battle and hadn’t wanted anyone to know? She’d wondered whether Marinette might have a thing for Chat Noir, but her crush on Adrien dwarfed any feelings she might have had for him. Plus it’s not like Marinette would actually know Chat Noir, unlike Adrien.

Thinking about Adrien…

“He must’ve been devastated,” she murmured. Marinette looked at her questioningly. “Adrien, I mean,” Alya clarified. “Having your father turn out to be a terrorist? I can’t even imagine.”

Marinette buried her face in her hands. “Not you TOO,” she said, her voice muffled.

Nino slowly started edging his way behind Marinette.

“What’s your problem with Adrien?” Alya asked. “Did he do something?”

Marinette glanced away. “Not… exactly… I just… I’m afraid that it might all be an act. That he might’ve been helping Hawkmoth secretly, and… and even if he wasn’t before, that he might just be biding his time, waiting until he figures out who Ladybug and Chat Noir and then BAM!” she slammed her fist down on her other hand. “He takes them out, steals all the Miraculous, frees his father and rules Paris FOREVER!”

Alya reached out towards Marinette tentatively. She collapsed into Alya’s arms.

Hugging her tightly, she sang a soft nonsense song, rubbing small circles in Marinette’s back.

She’d done this a few other times since she’d met Marinette, though she’d never thought she’d do it underneath these circumstances.

Whatever these circumstances actually were.

Did everyone have amnesia or…?

“Do you have any big memory gaps?” Alya asked once Marinette’s breathing had calmed down. “Especially from five years ago?”

Marinette shook her head.

She’d shelve that theory for now then. More likely it was…

“An alternate timeline, huh?” Alya said.

Marinette looked up at her questioningly.

“That’s what I think this is,” Alya explained. “I WAS thinking that maybe there’d been some sort of mass amnesia, but if you don’t have any memory gaps - and trust me girl, with how involved you were with Adrien, there WOULD be memory gaps - that seems unlikely. I’m betting this is some sort of alternate universe, one where Adrien never got to go to school.”

“I still don’t get why you think there’s something between me and Adrien!” Marinette said. “I mean sure, he’s pretty, but did I really fall for him just for that?”

Alya shook her head. “Actually, you hated him at first. Chloe’d been bragging about how he was her friend, and with that on top of you catching him trying to remove the gum Chloe’d planted on your seat and mistaking it for him PLANTING the gum… well… both of us just assumed he was a spoiled rich bully, just like Chloe. Luckily that turned out not to be the case.”

“How’d that misunderstanding get cleared up?” Marinette asked. “And how did your Marinette jump from that to crushing on him?”

Alya grinned. Marinette had ranted about this moment to her SO. MANY. TIMES.

“School let out later that day. It was raining and Marinette had forgotten her umbrella, so she hung back a moment, long enough for Adrien to approach her. At first she looked away from him, not wanting to acknowledge his greeting. But then he told you - told her I mean - that he hadn’t done it, promised that he’d just been trying to take it off with such sincerity that she had no choice but to believe it. He opened up to her, even though she’d been shunning him just moments ago. And finally he gave her his umbrella, just because he could. Because it was the kind thing to do. She’s been a goner ever since.”

The Marinette in her arms looked away. “I can see why she might have developed a crush on him. But I still dunno whether I trust him.”

“I don’t know whether I have anything that could convince you on that,” Alya admitted, “especially since this is probably a different timeline, and for all I know he could be evil here. Just make sure that you’re judging him on his own merits, okay? Not who he’s associated with. Not his fault he has so many crappy people in his life.”

“I’ll… take it under consideration,” Marinette said reluctantly.

Marinette looked from side to side. “Where’d Nino go?”

“Oh, he snuck back into the bakery several minutes ago.”

“WHAT?!”

---

Nino opened the door to the bakery, letting out a small sigh of relief. He really wanted to check in on his best friend, and judging by Marinette’s behavior, she wasn’t exactly keen on him or Alya chatting with Adrien.

Thinking back on what he’d just heard, he frowned.

He wished he could say that he’d never have suspected that Gabriel was Hawkmoth.

That he didn’t think Adrien’s old man could ever be capable of such evil.

But he knew better.

The guy threatened to withdraw Adrien from school and isolate him from everyone else at the drop of a hat, paid little attention to his son when he was at home, and was a very negative influence on his life in general. He might have been grieving, but… so was Adrien. He needed the only parent he had left.

And instead Gabriel had chosen to respond by becoming a supervillain and terrorizing Paris, endangering his own son in the process.

He really wished he’d gotten to hit Hawkmoth with his turtle shield more. At least he got to relish the smack he got in.

“You’re back!”

Nino looked towards the voice.

Adrien walked closer to him, a tentative grin on his face. “I didn’t think you’d return so soon!”

“I had to come back to talk to my best friend,” Nino said.

“Best friend?” Adrien asked, blank-faced.

Oh, right. According to Marinette, Adrien hadn’t joined their class. She hadn’t even met Adrien until recently.

Had some sort of memory-wiping akuma attacked? Wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Do you know who I am?” Nino asked, pointing at himself.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… well I know you’re friends with the Ladyblogger and Marinette, and… sorry, that’s it.”

He looked really apologetic, like a dog who’d ripped up a bunch of toilet paper and acted guilty about it once caught.

Hm. If it had been a memory-erasing akuma, maybe he could jog Adrien’s memory…?

And even if it wasn’t, he wanted to let Adrien know that someplace, somewhere, people cared about him. If Marinette’s reaction to him was any indication, he’d need that reassurance. Being looked at with suspicion, having people run from you just because of who your dad was, thinking that you might’ve been involved in his crimes… he couldn’t imagine.

“You joined our class the day after Hawkmoth first attacked,” Nino told him, pulling out his phone.

Adrien shook his head, looking confused. “Uh… no? I wanted to, I REALLY wanted to go to school, but Father-”

He cut himself off, looking away.

“Marinette said the same thing,” Nino told him. “That you hadn’t enrolled in our class, that she’d only met you recently. I don't know what that’s about, whether everyone’s memories were wiped, or an akuma messed with the past, or what.”

Come on, come on, where was it- ah!

He clicked on a photo, one taken a few months ago, holding his phone up so his friend could get a better look.

Adrien squinted for a moment. His eyes widened. “That’s-!”

Nino nodded. “Our class photo. The official one, anyway.” He chuckled. “I liked our unofficial ones better.” Swiping to the side, he showed the new ones the class had taken at the park.

Adrien’s jaw dropped more with every new photo. He let out an involuntary bark of laughter at the one of himself, Nino, Kim, and Juleka posing. “I- I always wanted to mess around like that at photoshoots,” Adrien said. His voice trembled slightly. “But I wouldn’t be able to get away with it. And that’s mostly fun when you can share it with friends, at least share the picture, and I- I couldn’t. Chloe wouldn’t have appreciated it, and L-”

He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Luka?” Nino asked.

He didn’t know why Adrien would know Luka and not anybody else, but he seemed the most likely option.

“Uh…” Adrien scratched the back of his neck, looking away.

Hm, he’d have to see if he had- ah!

“You played in Kitty Section too, with Luka, Rose, Ivan, and Juleka.” Nino explained, clicking on the video.

Adrien’s hands shook as Nino handed him the phone, watching the mini-concert.

“I- I was allowed to- I got to-” Adrien’s voice quavered.

“Not at first.” Nino grimaced, remembering how bummed Adrien had sounded when he called him. “Your old man said that Agrestes were soloists, and that we were all bad influences.”

“HE was the bad influence,” Adrien said. A current of anger, of venom ran through his voice that Nino had never heard before.

“Well I already knew that, even before finding out he was Hawkmoth,” Nino said, making a face. “Dude needed to chill out.”

Adrien snorted. “If he had any ‘chill’ he wouldn’t have decided that becoming a supervillain was the best way to heal my mother.”

Oh.

So THAT was why Gabriel had done it.

He’d just thought it was standard ‘I’m an asshole and want to rule the world while being a jackass to everyone in my life’ behavior.

(He still wasn’t going to rule out that being a factor.)

Nino put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder sympathetically. “At least he’s gone now and you’re free, right?”

“Right,” Adrien said. He didn’t meet Nino’s eyes.

“Not you TOO,” Marinette had said, burying her face in her hands.

As if she found it exasperating that Alya sympathized with Adrien. As if she had expected differently.

Those worries she’d voiced as Nino had been tiptoeing away, about Adrien helping Hawkmoth, about him lying in wait, biding his time… Marinette probably wasn’t the only one to have that concern. And with Adrien’s face being as well-known as it was...

“You AREN’T free, are you?” Nino asked, eyes wide.

Adrien sighed. “I was as surprised as everyone else when I found out who Hawkmoth was. That someone who’s caused that much harm, that much trauma to this city, lived in my own house.” He clenched his fists, digging into his jean’s fabric. “I could barely believe it… no… I didn’t WANT to believe it.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I- I only remember snippets from right after his arrest. The police chief talking to me. Riding back to the station. It’s all a blur. Everything felt like I was processing it underwater. It was all so blurry and muffled. Even- even then, though, I could feel everyone’s accusing stares.” “I understand why, don’t get me wrong,” he cut in hurriedly. “Who wouldn’t be suspicious of the son of the terrorist who’s been making everyone’s life miserable for the past four years?” Adrien almost panted with exertion, his eyes wild. “And- and it was happening in my own house! Underneath my nose! I should have KNOWN! I could’ve stopped this!”

Reaching out, Nino pulled his friend into a hug.

Adrien stiffened for a moment, before melting into his embrace.

“It’s his fault, not yours,” Nino murmured. “Remember that, dude. He was the adult. He was your parent. Your ONLY remaining parent. I’ve met the guy. And I’ve heard you talk about what he’s like. If you had investigated more?” Nino shuddered, thinking about the disproportionate punishments the bastard had enacted. “And knowing he was HAWKMOTH on top of that? I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Yeah, maybe you could’ve ended things sooner. Or maybe he would’ve hurt you more before you had the chance. I’m just glad you survived.”

“I-” Adrien’s throat sounded tight. “I’m- I’m glad I survived too.”

They stood there for a moment, Nino feeling Adrien’s breath go in-and-out, his heartbeat racing, until it gradually started to slow.

*ring ring*

Adrien and Nino broke up their hug just as Marinette burst through the door, Alya on her heels. She skidded to a halt in front of Adrien - but not quite in time, sending her careening towards the floor.

She never made contact.

“Woah!” Adrien shouted, catching her in his arms.

Nino detected a hint of pink to Marinette’s cheeks before she abruptly sprang to her feet.

“So, uh,” Marinette said awkwardly. “I’m guessing Nino talked to you about some stuff. I mean, of course he talked to you about stuff, because that’s what talking is about. What- what I mean is, what were you two talking about?”

“I wanted to show him how much we care about him,” Nino told her. “Especially since with this… amnesia?”

“I think it’s an alternate timeline,” Alya said.

“Especially since in this timeline,” Nino continued, “it really doesn’t seem like he had anyone.”

“I had a couple other friends,” Adrien told him quietly, giving a melancholic smile. “But I lost contact with them right after Hawkmoth’s defeat.”

Noticing Nino’s frown, he hastily added, “they didn’t abandon me or anything! They were online friends. One moved somewhere without internet reception, and the other... we never knew each other’s names. But we talked all the time. We chatted, laughed, defeated villains together…”

“In the video games we played, of course!” he added after a moment. He chuckled fondly. “We played as a team. Together, we were unstoppable, no matter what our opponent threw at us.”

Adrien swallowed. “But in the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat, with all the turmoil, with everything that happened… I lost my means of contacting her. I- I don’t know whether I’ll ever get to see her again.”

“We’d promised to meet up after Hawkmoth’s defeat,” Adrien said. His voice cracked. “That- that once it was safer in Paris, we’d finally tell our names.”

His eyes dropped to the ground. “Instead, we lost each other. Maybe for good.”

“I know what that’s like,” Marinette said. She sounded strangely distant. “I had a friend like that too. I cared about him. A lot. Maybe… maybe even as more than a friend.” She said the last part haltingly, as if she’d only just admitted it to herself. “He- he wanted to know who I was. For me to know who he was. But- but I couldn’t do that. Not in Hawkmoth’s Paris. I already cared for him so much it ached. If I was closer to him than that- if I’d accepted his rose- I’m- I’m afraid Hawkmoth might’ve used the strength of those feelings against me. That I could’ve gotten akumatized, or he might’ve, and if we knew who each other was, knew WHERE the other one was… I just… I couldn’t accept that we might be sent to hurt each other.”

“We talked while the final battle was raging,” she continued. “He seemed really upset, more angry than I’ve ever seen him before, but… also kind of sad. I wanted to know what was wrong, but there wasn’t really time to press him. And after that battle he just… disappeared. I knew there was going to be some sort of disruption, but- but I’d thought we’d have more time to talk beforehand, that we’d be able to exchange new contact information. We were cut off before we had the chance.”

“I- I think of him every day,” she said quietly. “Wondering how he’s doing. He was always so positive, no matter what life threw at us. I hope that wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he hasn’t lost that positivity, that optimism, the ability to see the best in the world and in others.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to know you cared for him so much,” Adrien said, giving her a warm smile.

Marinette blinked, giving herself a small shake. She turned to Alya. “I dunno whether you’ll remember any of this after the Ladybug in your time restores anything, but on the off-chance you do, is there anything you need to know?”

“Oh!” Alya pulled up some footage. “You told me who Hawkmoth was, but what about Mayura?”

“Mayura?”

“Who?”

Alya snapped her fingers. “You know, the Peacock Miraculous wielder, the one summoning the sentimonsters! Did she not exist in this universe?”

She pulled up part of the fight against Mayura, the sentimonster Ladybug, and Hawkmoth.

The video ended, she took another glance at Marinette and Adrien.

Marinette seemed to be in shock, staring straight ahead.

Adrien frowned, thinking. “I’d wondered for a long time how Father managed to hide his supervillain activities from Nathalie, considering she was around him most of the time. I thought maybe she was just really good at never asking questions.”

He grimaced. “Looking at that? I’m betting she didn’t ask questions because she already knew the answers.”

“You think Mayura’s Nathalie?” Alya questioned.

He nodded. “Unless something’s different in your universe. My father doesn’t have a lot of associates, and the way he acted around Mayura there, how he was willing to pass up a chance to fight Ladybug for her Miraculous in exchange for catching her… the only people I can think of who he’d do that for are my mother and Nathalie, and mom…” he trailed off.

“I- I didn’t even think about that,” Marinette said guiltily. “I remember reading something about Gabriel having a secretary, but I didn’t think about her much beyond that.”

“Maybe you could ask this universe’s Alya to post something on the Ladyblog, telling Ladybug and Chat Noir she has a lead on who Mayura is?” Alya said. “I mean, I know they haven’t shown up in ages, but maybe that’s just because they haven’t had reason to.”

Marinette winced. “I… really don’t think that’s it… plus Ladybug and Chat Noir never said that someone was helping Hawkmoth. Mayura never appeared, at least in public. I don’t know what we can do about this right now, especially without proof. Maybe if Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared, but…”

She sounded doubtful. Alya was beginning to think that the final battle was even worse than Marinette had alluded to.

She hesitated a moment, before turning to Adrien. “I- I think I owe you an apology. I thought you might’ve been helping Hawkmoth, but… well… I was just judging you by who your dad was. You’ve been nothing but sweet and kind.”

Adrien smiled at her, though it was slightly strained. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. A lot of people in this city have suffered at Hawkmoth’s hands. I don’t blame them for being scared, or angry at any reminders of him.”

“That doesn’t make it RIGHT,” Marinette said heatedly.

Nino nodded. “Dude just because something’s done to you it doesn’t mean it’s justified, or that it shouldn’t be made better. Like with your old man forbidding parties. I didn’t let that stop me from bribing your bodyguard into letting me and the other guys throw a party at your place for you!”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It kinda escalated though. I think half the guys at Paris were partying in your room by the end!”

Alya gave Nino a sideways look. “And ONLY the guys because they ditched us girls while we were planting trees with a lame excuse. Seriously if you’d said you wanted to throw a party for Adrien while his dad was away, you could’ve just told us!”

Nino winced. “Yeah, my bad. At least we got to have fun there for a while before the akuma attack.”

“Akuma attack?” Adrien asked, eyes wide. “But I thought you said Father was gone!”

“He was- OOOOOOOH.”

“Yeeaaaah I don’t think he was actually gone,” Alya said. “You threw a ‘secret’ party in Hawkmoth’s house, WHILE he was still at home.”

Adrien gaped at Nino. “How’re you not DEAD?!”

Nino chuckled. “Lucky I guess?”

*twinkle twinkle*

A familiar red mass flew towards Alya and Nino.

Adrien’s eyes widened.

“Behind the portrait!” he blurted out, just as the two of them were enveloped by the ladybugs, spiriting them off to whence they came.

It was silent for a moment.

“Do you think they heard?” Adrien asked Marinette.

“I hope so,” she said, looking off in the direction the ladybugs flew.

She turned to him. “I was planning on setting up some hang out time with Alya and Nino later this week. If you’re not busy… would you like to join?”

His smile told her everything she needed to know.

#bakery enemies au #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #marinette dupain cheng #buggachat

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akitaauthority · 3 years

Text

TFP If You Ship...

Ultra Magnus

I would also like to warn yall, I do roast the shit outta these ships and you. Some of y'all are nasty and need to be told/reminded, and some of you need to stay far the fuck away from me. Aight? Aight lets begin.

MagOp/OpMag/Magnimus/ Ultra Magnus x Optimus Prime: You pretentious bitch. You absolute fucking- I have no fucking words to describe how beige you are. You 're personality is plain oatmeal. Message me. I want to beat your ass. You prolly like them for the fact that they can relate to each other, and because of their importance to the war. But I hate you cause you also have more content. Fuck you. May your cereal turn soggy before you can eat that shit, may your drawing tablet get so hot in that one corner that you can fry bacon on that bitch. Fuck you.

MagMeg/Magatron(ew)/ Ultra Magnus x Megatron: you eat mayonnaise with a fucking spoon. Y'all saw that one scene with them on Darkmount and was just like "hm, but what if fuck?" and ran with it. You went to Ao3 expecting kinky shit, but all you got was stuff for IDW Megs and Mags and honestly baby, its gon' be okay.

Matchet/Ragus?/ Ultra Magnus x Ratchet: Yes we get it, the old man can dom now shut the fuck up. If taking your S/O to the nursing home as a date was a ship it'd be these old crotchety ass bitches. But, but, on a more serious note this ship can be so therapeutic for both mechs. These two were there way before the start of the war, they lived through it, and they knew Optimus all throughout. I imagine Ratchet would tell Magnus about Orion before his ascension to the primacy. I ain't ever been more depressed scrolling through a tag though, y'all broke bitches need whatever the fuck UltraScreen is having.

Magbee/Ultra Bumble/Ultra Magnus x Bee: I ain't ever seen two same heighted Cybertronians in a relationship, always one of'em gotta be spike suckin' height.

UltraJack/ Ultra Magnus x Wheeljack: Listen, listen, both these mechs love their solitary time and it can create so much angst, SO MUCH. Magnus feeling he must uphold his duties and Wheeljack having a mindset similar to a pirate. His spark belongs to the stars AND Magnus, but the stars will always come first. But bitch this is Ultra Magnus. We horny. We know Wheeljack is a fucking brat, and Ultra Magnus is his Dom.... baby we nasty. We nasty and there is no fucking denying that shit my GOD.

Ultrabulk/ Ultra Magnus x Bulkhead: Listen man as crazy as this might sound, I think this could work. Just like any other ship with Bulkhead you are fucking STRUGGLING though dude, you got like 5 fics you keep coming back to. You cry at night, knowing, and praying, that the gods will smile upon you and bless you with an update. You know you struggling when you only got three fics that have this ship as the focus. If y'all ban together I'm sure you can scrounge together like three pieces of fanart and a lint roller between the four of you.

UltraScream/ Ultra Magnus x Starscream: I don't see how anyone could hate this ship. Like, they literally work as really good foils to each other. You've got Magnus who is loyal as fuck, very militaristic??? And very much involved with the safety of his team. He's described as recklessly brave. Starscream on the other hand has a lot of character to work on and Magnus could help him along with that, and he can teach Magnus self preser- fucking-vation because Mr. "gets fucking chomped by a predacon for another bitchass Autobot" needs it. You're fuckass wants someone to save you, or you want to go absolutely apeshit. You are the mom friend everyone is worried about.

Ultracee/ Ultra Magnus x Arcee: Huh?? I mean like....Okaaaayy?? I mean good for you. This ship makes me feel the way that you feel when someone offers you candy you don't like, but you wouldn't mind eating it so you do. To be honest the people who ship this definitely see diamonds in places others wouldn't expect, but like you're so fucking unnessecary oh my god. Like you prolly add weird ass comments to other peoples statements, ain't nobody out here asking for an echo. Sit down.

UltraShock: ya like'em thicc don't you commanding officer Ultra Magnus? Anyway maybe y'all could team up with UltraBulk shippers and add a pile of used soda cans to the pile. Y'all are ghosts, do you even exist on this plane. My guesstimate on how many people actually ship this forreal is like 5.

Ultrawave/MagnusSound/Magnus x Soundwave: Listen if the Ultrabulk shippers are starving y'all ain't even corporeal. I show up to this ship with a fucking ghost talk box and some heat sensors, and like one boombox tryna see if GHOSTS even inhabit this bitch. Y'all aight? Are y'all good?? HELLO IN THERE (hello in there) (hello in there). Yall really go all out for the goth shit. Prolly hidin' in the shadows of my house waiting to strike.

Ultrascreen:

You, and I mean this in the most (derogatory) way possible, are a fucking

HOE

Literally looked on AO3 saw nearly NOTHING BUT kinky MF PORN. The oooonly plot y'all got is exactly how long Ultra Magnus can deny Smokescreen an overload. Why every time it comes to Magnus people make this by the books vanilla bitch the kinkiest one. YES I love subverting expectations but can I PLEASE get one fic where he sputters because his partner says a bad word. These two are the main ones who get this treatment, and baby I ain't complaining, but please. Please just- please sir I-I a-ah!

Ultradown: The UltraBulk, and UltraWave shippers come here every year, at the exact same location, at the exact same time, all for this ritual. The UltraWave shippers take out a boombox, some energon candies, and a supersized Cybertronian false spike. The UltraBulkers begin to sing the incantation to summon their fallen comrade: https://youtu.be/m9We2XsVZfc. They must do this once every year, they must battle the UltraDown shippers, though most would say they are a myth, the UltraShock and UltraWave shippers know better.

MagnusOut/KnockMagnusOut?/Ultra Knockout: Listen its not as horny as Smokescreen but the constant tension is definitely there. Knockout is just as horny as the depressed, RE-pressed ass Magnus fans and can you really blame him? Boyfriend? Dead. Magnus? kinky. Hotel? California.

/If I missed any let my gay ass know. Sorry if this ones lackluster, but some of these ships don't even really seem to have a fanbase?? Remember that these are TFP ships y'all.

Also I better see more Bulkhead content after this. Do you all have a problem with truly thicc bootyful babes or what?

#Ultra Magnus #transformers prime #TFP if you ship #Ultra Magnus x Optimus Prime #Ultra Magnus x Megatron #Ultra Magnus x Ratchet #Ultra Magnus x Bumblebee #Ultra Magnus x Wheeljack #Ultra Magnus x Bulkhead #Ultra Magnus x Starscream #Ultra Magnus x Arcee #Ultra Magnus x Shockwave #Ultra Magnus x Soundwave #Ultra Magnus x Smokescreen #Ultra Magnus x Breakdown #Ultra Magnus x Knockout #valveplug

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phoneboxfairy · 2 years

Text

Dance of Stars chapter 4 update (Nalu smutfic)

TWO YEARS LATER IT’S FINALLY UPDATED

AO3 link to the beginning - https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918666/chapters/54782566

Later that night, shortly after the pair got home and were laying in bed.

“Natsu? Can we talk about something?” “Sure. What’s up, Luce? Are ya feelin’ okay?”

“Well...yes and no. Something’s kinda bothering me. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She bit her lip, feeling a little uncertain. Natsu met her eyes, squeezed her hand, smiled, silently encouraging her to go on. Whatever it was, he would understand....at least, she really hoped he would… “It’s about my dance tonight. It was fun but I didn’t really feel comfortable showing, you know, everything.”

“You know you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. Keep your panties on if that’s what ya want.”

“I know, but you were so enthusiastic about it. I didn’t want to let you down.”

“It’s fine. Listen,” He took her hand, gently massaged her palm with his thumb. “Your feelings are important to me, much more important than sex.” “More important than sex, huh?”

“Can’t be horny if you’re not happy first.” Natsu flashed a cheesy grin, one that made Lucy feel so much better.

It also made her dissolve into giggles.

“Good point.”

“Duh it is.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her forehead. “I gotta admit I’m glad you’re, y’know, keepin’ them on.”

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Cuz you’re mine. I love ya, and I love knowin’ I’m the only one who can see and touch all of you.” His alpha male side was showing, complete with a growl. Gods, Lucy loved seeing that side of him.

“Wanna know what I love, Natsu?”

“Sure.” “You, dummy. I love you.” She nuzzled her nose against his, gave him a sweet kiss that he was happy to return. That kiss led to countless others, and eventually another round of unbridled passion that left them feeling exhausted yet certainly satisfied.

As they fell asleep Lucy smiled. She couldn’t wait till this silly dancing gig was over, couldn’t wait till they were married, couldn’t wait till she could call this amazing man her husband.

Soon, so soon…

~~~

As always, the nights passed quickly. One night, maybe two months later, there was a knock on Lucy’s dressing room just as the pair were finishing up getting ready.

“It’s me. Mind if I come in?” “Sure, Cana.” The door swung open and she walked in, carrying a rather large envelope and a sneaky grin.

“Yo, Cana! What’s up?” “I have a little surprise for you guys.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Both were curious. Natsu squeezed Lucy’s shoulder as Cana handed her the envelope. “And...what’s this?” “This is your combined earnings so far.”

“Cool. Did you take our club fees out, or did you want us to?” “Neither.” Shock replaced curiosity. Lucy’s eyes widened. Natsu just stared, incredulous.

“Wait...what do you mean ‘neither’? All dancers have to pay the fees, right? That’s what the paperwork said...” “Not if the dancers in question have been bringing in record breaking crowds. I didn’t even have to talk Bacchus into it. Trust me, you guys deserve every jewel in this envelope.”

“And how much is that?” Natsu finally spoke up, voicing the question Lucy hadn’t dared to ask.

Cana told them exactly how much. Natsu’s jaw dropped. Were it not for his comforting hand on her shoulder Lucy might have fainted. Tears of utter joy were threatening to stream from her eyes uninhibited.

“Holy shit.” “That’s...over triple what we needed for the wedding. Honeymoon and all.” Sniffle. Natsu pulled her into his arms just as the tears started to fall. “Oh my god Natsu…we did it.” “I know, baby.” Forehead kiss. “All because we took a chance.” “I couldn’t have done it without you…” Tender kiss. The two were very much lost in their own little world.

At least until Cana cleared her throat and got their attention.

“Do you guys still want to dance? We don’t want to delay your wedding or anything.”

The lovebirds exchanged glances. Natsu quirked his head, and Lucy nodded, all smiles.

“Sure. How about two more weeks? We can at least finish up this month.”

“Perfect!” Cana grinned, then glanced at her watch. “Oh shit. I’ll let you finish getting ready.”

True to her word she left, shutting the door behind her. Lucy turned her attention back to finishing her makeup… although Natsu couldn’t help noticing the wicked glint in her eyes.

“Natsu?” Airy, casual tone.

“Yeah, Luce?”

“What do you say we make tonight interesting?”

Huh?

“Interesting?”

“Yeah. Like a little wager between lovers.”

“I’m listening. What kinda wager?” Big grin.

“Let’s see who earns more. Whoever wins picks dinner...and dessert.”

She licked her lips, letting him know exactly what manner of dessert she meant. Not that there was any doubt.

“Sounds tasty. Let’s do it.”

“I thought you’d like that. Now, let’s go, love. Our adoring fans are waiting.”

~~~

Natsu wanted Lucy to win. It wasn’t really an act of self sabotage. She was more creative, especially in bed. Her idea of dessert was bound to sate his appetite.

He went through the motions of dancing as usual. And as usual he kept his eyes on her performance from across the room.

Slow, sultry, sensual. She knew how powerful she was and worked it to her full ability.

He knew this routine, knew the denim shorts beach bum look was one of her favorites…and one of his too.

He didn’t know she planned on spicing it up.

She worked her hips, emphasizing her ass with each motion. Unbuttoned, the little shorts fell to the ground.

Natsu kept moving, trying to think of anything other than how hard she was making him. Their eyes met. She winked and licked her lips.

Lucy sauntered over to the edge of the stage where a pitcher of water sat. She picked it up and poured the water over her, making shirt cling to skin. Then she loosened her bikini top and let it drop. Lithe fingers caressed the bounty of her tits, taut nipples perked under the wet fabric. She arched her back and moaned.

Natsu damn near tripped off the stage at the sight.

Needless to say Lucy won the bet that night.

Back in their dressing room they exchanged a rather steamy kiss. Natsu moved to get dressed but Lucy stopped him.

“Sit down.”

“Uhhh…okay?” He sat. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. And as for what’s up…” She got on her knees in front of him and stroked over the impressive erection threatening to peek out from his robe. Giggled. “I think we both know the answer to that. Not that I can blame you.”

Holy shit.

“Does, mnn, does this count as dessert?”

“No, no, love. This is just an appetizer. Something to whet your appetite for now.” Her voice was a sensual purr. She disrobed him then gripped his length. He exhaled. She giggled. “Such a hungry dragon…”

“Starving, my queen.”

And so their feast began.

Much later, back home, the lovebirds cuddled together once appetites for food and pleasure had been sated.

“So, tomorrow…” Lucy began, fingers feathering over Natsu’s tummy. “Want to have another bet?”

“Sure, if that’s what ya want.” Right answer. Her hand shifted lower, stroked his length. He growled. “Fuck that feels incredible…”

“I know what’ll make you feel even better.”

Slow inhale, slightly shaky exhale as he tried to keep his thoughts in order. Of course, right now, his thoughts concerned a certain blonde.

She climbed on top of him and rubbed against his growing need. He growled, holding her where she was for a moment, feeling just how wet her little kitty was.

Then? Then she mounted him, engulfing his cock with her sweet slick need. She arched her back and mewled.

Fuck, he loved how responsive she was, loved that she loved him, loved everything about this amazing woman…

Flash forward two nights later. Their little wager had continued, with Lucy managing to win every night so far. On the second night they made it fun, playful. Natsu had repeatedly flashed Lucy from across the room. Lucy had responded by flinging her thong at him, somehow managing to land it on his arm even from a distance.

Last night, though… last night Lucy had played downright dirty. Somehow she had convinced Cana to get involved in her performance…although Natsu suspected that the brunette hadn’t needed much convincing.

It was all an act, but the girls hammed it up. Cana reached over, frisky hand perilously close to the blonde’s panties. Lucy swatted the hand away and shook her head, saucy expression on her face.

Damn right, that’s mine.

Everything happened so fast. Natsu flipped and kicked his pants off, turning around right in time to see Lucy untying her top. She squeezed her tits, making a point to lick her lips and wink at him the moment their eyes met.

Then…gods, then she kissed Cana and he promptly lost his mind.

It was an act.

Not real.

But Holy shit. It was fucking hot. Hotter than the flames that circled him, burning away his clothes to the delight of his very appreciative crowd.

She pulled away and whispered his name, two sweet syllables he somehow heard over the raucous explosion of customers.

“…he’s one lucky guy, Lucy.” Cana grinned once they had made their way backstage.

“And I’m lucky to have him. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“Any time!” She waved and walked away just as Natsu caught up with Lucy. No verbal response. Instead, he pulled her into a passionate kiss that evolved into a quick yet delicious romp in their dressing room followed by another more intense session once they got home.

At this point he wasn’t concerned about winning the wager. What mattered was that Lucy was very much enjoying herself, which inevitably led to Natsu getting to enjoy her as well.

They had both finished their last dance of the night. Natsu was waiting for Lucy backstage, like he did every night.

That’s when trouble arrived in Jenny form, barefoot and clad in an outfit with more sequins than material.

“Well hello, handsome.”

“Yo, Jenny. I’m waiting for Lucy.” He stepped away from the stairs, thinking she would make herself scarce.

She didn’t.

“That’s a shame. A man like you is wasted on a little girl.” Jenny moved closer, made a show of reaching out to touch his bare shoulder. “I could make it worth your while…if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He brushed her unwanted hand away.

“And what do you think you’re trying to do with my husband?!” Rage made her voice tremble a bit, eyes dark, not even trying to sound calm.

“Well I was trying to show him a real woman, but I guess he’s not into that.”

“He already has a real woman! Go hump a toilet or something!” Before he could even think of anything to add she grabbed his hand and took off at a frantic place, only stopping at their dressing room.

“Uh Luce? Are you okay?”

“No, no I’m not.” She sank down on the couch, a few tears running down her cheeks. He sat next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I…don’t know why that bothered me so much. It’s not like she’s going to steal you away from me or anything.”

“Not in a million years, babygirl.” Gentle, not exactly chaste, kiss.

“I have an idea. Are you up for a naughty little prank, love?”

“Sure. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see. Follow me, and play along.”

She led him down the hall, through an open door, and into what had to be Jenny’s dressing room. Then she sat down on the counter, spreading her legs, gesturing for him to come over. He did…albeit hesitantly at first.

“Uh, Lucy…?”

“She should be back any minute. Play along.” To demonstrate she arched her back and let out a very convincing moan. Natsu got the hint. He couldn’t help grinning as he mimed thrusting. “Mmm, just like that, yesss…”

Footsteps.

“Fuck, so perfect, Luce. I wanna fuck you all night.”

“Do it. Don’t stop, Natsu. Ohhh…o-ohhhh!”

At that moment Jenny walked in. She took one look at the raunchy performance taking place on her vanity, blushed, and stammered something that sounded like “well played, little girl” before grabbing a towel and running to her shower.

Natsu and Lucy didn’t stick around. They went back to their dressing room, changed back to their regular clothes, then went home.

“What do you want to do tonight, love?”

“Wait, you’re askin’ me?”

“Yup. I think my amazing husband deserves to be in charge.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” He growled, certainly approving.

“I want to get used to thinking of you as my husband, considering how soon the wedding is.”

“Fair enough. I’m in charge tonight, huh…”

“Yeah…”

“Good. Lay on the bed.” She did as she was told, curious to see and experience what he was up to.

Usually when they got home from the club they enjoyed rather wild sex, the result in part of adrenaline from their performances. Tonight, though, tonight was different.

Tonight Natsu took his time and explored his beloved Lucy’s body in a manner that could only be defined as worship. He worked her up into a sweet frenzy. Each motion was punctuated with kisses and murmured affections. Foreheads touching, fingers intertwined, breathing nearly in sync. Making love, pure, simple, sweet.

Afterwards they showered then cuddled together under soft sheets and a comfy blanket. It was ritual, habit, done so often it could be seen as mundane. But neither complained.

No matter how busy, no matter how crazy life could be, they always had those sweet little rituals to look forward to.

And who knew? Maybe their shared future would include more sweet little rituals. Lucy sure hoped so...

#a dance of stars #nalu smut #nalu smutfic #finally i updated this thing #chapter 5 should be ready by 2030 lmao #work in progress

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thishintoflove · 3 years

Text

A Sweet Package - BobaDin Week Day 5: AU

Pairing: Din Djarin / Boba Fett

Rating: General (no warnings aside from mild swearing)

Summary: Boba has to deal with an unwanted package at his front door. Luckily, the hassle turns out to be worth it when he meets the package's true owner.

A/N: Here, have some tooth-rotting fluff because these boys deserve it! (ﾉ☉ヮ⚆)ﾉ ⌒*:･ﾟ✧

Also available on AO3

“Ouch, shit, god dammit,” Boba swore as he stubbed his toe.

He shifted his keys to his other hand and leaned against his apartment door as he bent down to rub his toe, glaring at the offending object.

The damn package was in the wrong place. The worst part? He hadn’t even ordered anything recently.

It had been a long day, he was tired, and he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with unwanted shit outside his door.

Boba was inclined to just let it sit there, but he had to move it out of the way if he didn’t want to repeat this stubbed-toe incident tomorrow. As he glanced down again to shove it away with his foot, he noticed that the package had actually come to the correct place, but it had come to the wrong person.

It was his address, but he was certainly not the “Grogu Djarin” to whom it had been addressed.

He’d been living here for almost three months and he hadn’t received any other pieces of mail. Surely there was a forwarding address set up for this Grogu Djarin? The outside label had a personalized message that read, “To Grogu. I love you to the stars and back, little one. Happy Birthday! Love, Dad.”

Ah shit. He was going to have to do something with it.

Boba did not want to be responsible for a kid missing out on his birthday present. Grogu Djarin would probably be expecting his package-- what if this was his only birthday gift? Another closer look at the box revealed a “Perishable: refrigerate after opening” label. Damn, he certainly couldn’t just keep the package and hope that the father in question would come by and collect it. Given its size, weight, and postage markings on it, whoever had ordered it had spent quite a lot on getting it sent.

Boba sighed and bent down to carry the package inside. As he set it down on the kitchen table, he saw that there was no return address, just the information from the company that had sent it. A bakery. A well-known, quite expensive bakery.

He had a very clear picture of what was going on now, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. Boba’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t his responsibility, technically… But the thought of a little boy not receiving his birthday treat, from his father no less, was enough to soften his heart.

He couldn’t get the vision of this unknown man telling his sad child that he wasn’t getting a birthday cake this year out of his head. It was terribly sad...

Oh great. He was on a mission now.

Boba had to get the cake to this child. He needed a plan. Returning to sender would be useless at this point, so he had to find out the current address of Grogu Djarin’s father.

He grabbed his phone and typed up a quick message to his landlord and leasing agency.

"This is Boba Fett from apartment fifteen. Do you have a forwarding address for the previous tenants? I’ve received a time-sensitive package for them."

After sending the message, Boba ambled around his apartment and tried to find something to take his mind off the Problem sitting on his table. He took some cold noodles out of the fridge for dinner and listened to a voicemail from Fennec that mostly involved her complaining about a recent customer.

Right when he was about to dive into invoices from work, his phone buzzed with a message from his landlord. It contained the former tenant’s email address.

He scratched the back of his head as he considered how to compose the email. He figured keeping it formal was a safer bet. He didn’t want this guy thinking he was some kind of creep. Boba hummed to himself as he typed out a message.

"Hello. I’m the current tenant of your previous apartment and I’ve received a package addressed to you. It says “perishable” on it so I figured it was important. Let me know how you’d like to proceed."

He leaned back in his chair, assuming that it would take a while for Grogu Djarin’s father to respond. But it didn’t. Within five minutes, his phone chirped with a response.

"Thank you! I was wondering what happened when it didn’t arrive today like it was scheduled to. It was my own fault for forgetting to update my address when I ordered online. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Thanks for letting me know what happened."

Boba frowned as he read the response. The man obviously wasn’t expecting anything from him. That was a good thing, but Boba still felt guilty. Perhaps the man was too polite to ask anything of him? He decided to dig a little deeper.

"The package is a birthday cake, right? I recognize the bakery on the label. Do you still need it?"

"Yes, it’s a cake. It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow. All the kids in his class are obsessed with this bakery but we’ve never been, so I decided to order from them as a surprise. I’d offer to come pick it up but my son’s already in bed and I can’t leave him alone. Thanks for letting me know what happened to it. You can get rid of it, or enjoy it yourself if you want."

Boba sucked in a breath and considered his options.

"Are you still in the city? I could bring it to you."

"I couldn’t ask you to do that."

"It’s no trouble."

"Okay, then yes, thank you! I can’t tell you how much that means to me. My address is ---"

Luckily it wasn’t too far from Boba’s apartment. No more than twenty minutes. He could handle that.

He sent back one more message affirming that he was on his way, and then he gathered up the package and his keys. So much for a relaxing night. He had to be up early as usual, but the warmth in his chest almost made up for it. Hell, he felt like some kind of personal Santa Claus. Fennec would say that his actions were “good karma”, but deep down Boba knew he was doing it for the little boy on the label. He knew what it was like to have a disappointing birthday as a child. Boba wouldn’t allow another child to experience that if there was something he could do about it.

Twenty minutes later he was standing in front of an unfamiliar apartment door, double-checking his email to make sure he was at the correct address. He knocked gently, since it was late and the kid inside was likely asleep.

After a brief moment, the door opened to reveal a tall, disheveled man. He was fit and looked only slightly younger than Boba, but his hair was a mess and there was... flour? Yes, flour, spilled across his shirt and sleeves. His brown eyes immediately widened in recognition and gratitude when he realized who was at the door.

“Hey,” Boba said awkwardly, hefting the package in his arms, “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yes, thank you!” the man exclaimed, opening the door wider and stepping into the threshold, “You really have no idea how much this means to me. My son’s going to be very happy tomorrow.”

“I figured,” Boba replied, handing over the package. He allowed his eyes to run over the man’s features again. He was a mess, but cute. Very cute. And he was clearly a caring father. It made Boba want to be nicer than usual.

“You didn’t have to come all this way. Can I pay you, or give you something to thank you-”

Boba just held up his hand and shook his head.

“It’s no problem, really. I wanted to. As soon as I saw the ‘happy birthday’ message, I thought oh shit, I gotta get this to them. I hope your son enjoys it.”

“I’m sure he will. You really did me a huge favor. We moved a few weeks ago and my head’s still all over the place. Finally got a two-bedroom,” the man said, then quickly shut his mouth when he realized this might be unnecessary information.

“Congratulations,” Boba replied, giving him a wry smile. The man blushed and shifted the package under one arm so he could reach out and shake Boba’s hand.

“I’m Din by the way.”

“Boba. Nice to meet you.”

He knew he could walk away right now, but something about the man in front of him was magnetic. Boba was jaded enough at this point in life to not believe in stupid romantic fantasies like love at first sight, but there was something about this man that seemed special. His eyes captivated Boba’s attention, and he found that he wasn’t ready to end their conversation just yet.

“Were you trying to whip up a last-minute backup cake?” Boba asked, gesturing to the flour he spotted on Din’s collar and neck.

Din gave a humorless chuckle and shook his head.

“Just cupcakes. And it was going terribly. I uh, can’t bake to save my life,” he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Boba hummed and tilted his head. Should he…? Yeah, he was going to be honest with Din.

“Well, I can.”

Din’s brow furrowed and he gave Boba the most adorable confused look. “Huh?”

“I can bake. Actually, I bake quite a lot.”

“You do?”

“Couldn’t tell just by looking at me?” Boba tossed back sarcastically, but he grinned to show the man he wasn’t truly offended, “Yes, it’s my job. I own a bakery.”

“Oh! That’s amazing! And you… came all this way to deliver a cake from a rival bakery?”

“I’ll be honest, when I first saw the package at my door I was ready to dump it in the trash, but your note changed my mind. They’re overrated, but they’re still pretty good. I’m sure your son and his friends will love the cake.”

“I’m inclined to believe you, seeing as you’re an expert and all.”

“But now you’ll have to allow me to get some free advertising out of this deal,” Boba replied, his grin widening, “If you’re interested in trying some real delicious, authentic stuff, come by my place with your son sometime. It’s over on the West Side. I promise I’ll make something that’ll blow this cake out of the water.”

Din’s eyes sparkled as he nodded, “I think that’s a fair deal. It won’t take much to convince my son, he has a massive sweet tooth.”

“Fantastic. It’ll be worth the trip, just wait and see.”

They smiled at each other like they were in some kind of damn rom-com. Boba knew that he was probably wearing the same goofy-grin as Din but it didn’t bother him. So what if he appeared soft? It was near-midnight on Wednesday, there was no one else in the apartment hallway to see them anyway. Even if there was, Boba couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Well… have a good rest of your night,” he said to Din, taking a step back. He had to leave before he did something really stupid, like lean in for a kiss with this overly attractive stranger. This wasn’t actually a movie- it wasn’t like there was a soft-rock ballad swelling in the background.

“Thank you again, Boba,” Din replied, his voice brimming with sincerity. He gave Boba one last soft smile as the man started to step away, “And I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

“I look forward to it.”

As Boba walked back down the stairs, he couldn’t get the stupid smile off his face. Fennec would laugh at him tomorrow when he recounted the story, but he didn’t care. Sure, real-life wasn’t a movie. But this was as close to it as he’d ever come, and you could be damn sure that he was going to savor it.

#bobadin #bobadinweek2021 #my fanfic #fanfiction tag

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another-cancer · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eight: What's a period?

First Previous Next

Masterlist ao3

Summary:

Trouble is brewing back at the order as Marinette learns some awkward information in Gotham.

Notes:

Back from hiatus!

Welcome back friends, with a revised outline I can finally confirm the story to be sixteen chapters! This story has grown a lot from the original Maribat march outline that started it all. Thanks for joining me as we continue this journey.

Updates will be back to the regularly scheduled Tuesdays.

This can also be found on AO3 @another_cancer and Wattpad @another_cAnCeR

Enjoy!

///

Stealing was almost second nature to Marinette. After leaving the order, burglary became her way to survive. With her skill set, it was easy. After all, all, once you kill people to survive there isn’t much that is considered challenging within the realm of crime. It was an outlet for the violent side she developed with the order. One that didn’t cause any real harm. She stole from the rich. They weren’t missing any of it anyway, and half the time that didn’t even notice.

She typically pawned the items off to the strangest people and never to the same one. While she may be dead as Ladybug, Marinette has contacts all over the world. Under false names of course. She was extremely paranoid. The girl could rival Batman in paranoia.

On one particular heist, she had a run-in with another thief. However, she wasn’t quite concerned about her surprise partner when Catwoman was standing in front of her.

“Hello,” Catwoman said with curiosity.

Marinette just stared.

“Quiet, huh, well either way that bag looks pretty full, hope you won’t mind if I take from this place too.”

Catwomen took jewels, that was a lot more noticeable than the stuff Marinette took. It would leave a trail. A trail Marinette didn’t need to be connected to her.

“Please don’t take anything noticeable,” Marinette mumbled.

“What was that kitten?”

She repeated slightly louder, “Please don’t take anything noticeable.”

“But what would be the point of stealing unless to piss off the rich people who live here?” Catwoman asked with a grin, “Unless you’re taking for your own personal gain.”

Mental note: Catwoman didn’t like people stealing for their own gain. Marinette wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“I have kids relying on me, I can’t let this shit trace back to me,” Marinette carefully explained.

Catwoman examined Marinette. Truly taking the girl in by slowly scanning her body. She noticed the slightly raggy clothing she wore. Marinette didn’t wear a mask which made her look like a bit of an amateur to Catwoman. However, when the woman arrived at the house earlier no alarms had been triggered suggesting the girl did a good job sneaking into the house. It was risky, the girl clearly wasn’t new to this.

“You live on the streets,” Catwoman said.

It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement.

She continued, “You’ve stolen before. And you aren’t native to Gotham.”

All statements.

“Correct,” Marinette simply offered in return.

“Fine, let's get out of here and you can explain more to me,” Catwoman said as she headed the way she entered.

Marinette followed. She wasn’t quite sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do. On the other hand, Marinette was confused by the fact the notorious thief ended up taking nothing, had the woman really been so easily convinced by her.

///

B a c k i n T i b e t

“Masters,” a teenager greeted as they were welcomed into the elders' chamber.

“[REDACTED] you have been called upon by the gods, we hope you will accept the honor and visit them. They will give you a mission that you shall complete.”

Once again the unspoken words being: if you don’t do it you die.

“Thank you, I will visit them immediately.”

No one was ever called upon by the gods. At least no one is normal. In [REDACTED]’s lifetime, they could only remember one person who ever got the chance to meet them. Ladybug. And now Ladybug is dead. [REDACTED] assumed they were becoming the new golden child. Oh, how wrong could they ever be.

///

B a c k to G o t h a m

They were in a warehouse, mostly abandoned. It would be a good place to kill someone. But Catwoman wasn’t going to kill her and Marinette gave up that lifestyle a long time ago. In conclusion, no one was going to be killed, but Marinette’s paranoid brain kept reminding her this would be a good place to kill someone.

“How long have you been stealing?” Catwoman asked seemingly out of nowhere.

Against her better judgment, Marinette replied, “When I was nine.”

“You’re a runaway.”

“Technically an orphan, but runaway also works.”

“You're not even from around here, god the whole system is broken if kids not from Gotham are running away to Gotham,” Catwoman muttered.

“I’m not a kid,” Marinette corrected.

“You look ten, you’re a kid, who is looking after other kids, god that makes it so much worse.”

“I’m sixteen,” Marinette lied, she wasn’t going to give the woman her actual age.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, you’ve barely hit puberty, kid have you even gotten your period yet?”

“My what?”

Shit. She did not mean to ask that out loud.

Catwoman didn’t expect that. Fuck how was she supposed to explain puberty and periods to this girl?

She decided bluntly, “It’s when you bleed from your vagina.”

“That’s natural? I thought-”

It had never been explained to Marinette in the past. She thought something was wrong with her, but then it stopped. It had only happened twice so far, and the bleeding was always fairly light.

“Kid I think it’s time you had a talk.”

Catwoman gave a basic rundown on periods and puberty, she even pulled out some pads and tampons she had stored in the warehouse. By the end, Marinette had a bag filled with period products and a new talk to give some of the street kids.

“I never caught your name,” Catwoman said.

What the hell she had already told the vigilantes mine as well tell the rogues too. It’s not like they would be able to find anything on someone who doesn’t exist.

“Marinette.”

“You’re a good thief Marinette,” she complimented.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve been considering taking in an apprentice lately, you know, try and imitate the bat a bit. And you're the girl who keeps picking fights with Scarecrow right?”

How the hell did she know that. Never mind, it didn’t matter, Marinette had to turn down the offer anyway. She worked alone and wasn’t interested in being a sidekick.

“I won’t be your sidekick, I have things of my own to worry about.”

“Aw too bad, I was really hoping you’d say yes, show that Bat he’s not the only one who can have a bunch of kids following him around, but I get it you gotta keep yourself safe and those kids you said you look after. Good luck!”

And with that, she was sent on her way. What a strange day.

///

B a c k i n T i b e t a g a i n

“Tikki, are you sure about this?” Trixx asked.

“I am sure,” they replied, hushing the other god, “Lila Rossi please approach.”

The teenager kneeled.

“Lila Rossi, you have been called in front of the god due to your mastering of illusions. My chosen Ladybug has managed to gain balance in her soul. Ladybug now holds destruction that rivals creation. You will retrieve her from Gotham City and return with her alive. Do what it takes as long as she lives.”

Lila was stunned.

“But Ladybug is dead.”

“You humans are fools, she never died, I allowed her to roam without informing anyone to see if any of you incompetent fools would notice. However, she has gotten too powerful recently,” Tikki explained.

“I understand,” she stuttered.

Trixx moved to the front of the room, “From this day on you will leave behind the name Lila, and you will become Volpina.”

There was a bright light and then darkness. Volpina was outside the chamber.

“Lila,” an elder started.

“Volpina.”

There was an understanding, the elders bowed down to her, and Volpina’s mission started.

///

“I really don’t like this sugar cube.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on my chosen, Plagg,” Tikki sniped back.

///

Notes:

Next week: Marinette has a couple of stalkers and a backstory that goes further back than she remembers.

#living among the regular people of the world trying to blend in #damienette #ml #maribat #enemies to lovers #ml x dc #dc x mlb

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forabeatofadrum · 2 years

Note

you tagged mentioning reader questions, so here are most reader questions and one writer :) Q, R, X and 6

READER QUESTIONS!! Yeah I love not shutting up about my own writing, but I never really saw an ask game for readers, this is exciting!

Q) Latest fic in your search history?

I assume this is the AO3 history page? Because then it's Back To Start by @aristocratic-otter. Yesterday I was suddenly overwhelmed by the want to reread Simon's coming out scene, because I loved how it was written, so I did.

R) Bookmark, subscribe, mark for later or open tabs?

Subscribe and "adding it to my likes in Tumblr so it gets buried under all the other likes and I completely forget about it until I clear out my likes once a few weeks but anyway some fics have been in there since 2019 oh my god"

X) Ever made a fic-rec list?

Yes, I have what I affectionally call my "fichof", aka my Fic Hall of Fame. I have a fichof for Klaine and for Zimbits, but I also gotta admit that I haven't updated both of them in years. I think the Zimbits one is still pretty great, but I have to go through my Klaine one to see what's on there. Huh, I should make one for Snowbaz too.

6. Without checking - which tags do you think you’ve used most?

WITHOUT checking?? 🤯

God I have no clue. I am so bad with AO3 tags in general. Uhhhh oh wow I actually have no idea. Like, I know I used a certain set of tags for all 3 Paradiso works, but those are only 3 works of the 122 (122?). This question is also difficult, Aralias!!!

#captain-aralias #ask #yeehaw

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chiimeramanticore · 1 month

Text

Part of the Band - Chapter 19 - The Beast

Chapter summary: Dook and Beach Bear visit the family. Dook tries a new food. Beach Bear confronts his past. A/N:

this chapter's title has a double meaning- it's a metaphor for beach bear's family, and also a metaphor for how fucking hard it was to get this chapter out (and also a metaphor for how LONG IT IS??? 5K WORDS???????) i haven't updated in a while, so i missed the actual anniversary, but potb has officially been ongoing for a year! what a ride it's been lol. i've definitely changed and improved as a writer since i started, and i'm very happy to not only have a work that you can really see me grow through, but also to have one that has had such a nice response to it! i wouldn't have written nearly as much of this fic as i have if i didn't have people reading and commenting on it. if you've enjoyed any part of this fic (and god I hope you do if you've made it to chapter 19) thank you, from the bottom of my heart! this has been my favorite thing to make for the RAE fandom (but don't tell the video essay fans that lmao) OK ACTUAL TRIGGER WARNING TIME FOR THE CHAPTER this whole chapter is about beach bear's transphobic ass family! i mentioned it in the last chapter but they are going to consistently deadname and misgender him, and also just generally be kinda shitty parents and people. part of the reason this chapter is so long is bc i wanted to condense it all into one big thing so you could just skip the one chapter! this chapter isn't the end of this arc, but probably the end of all the uncomfortable shit lol. we also touch on dook's drinking issues a little in this one, so if any of this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip! you won't miss anything vital this time, i promise uhhhh i think thats everything? thanks! enjoy the chapter!

Chapter word count: 5,051 <- Chapter 18 - Chapter 20 -> Read it on AO3!

"Hey, Beach Bear," Dook says, staring out the car window.

"What's up?" Beach Bear replies.

"You said the other day you, like, uh... You took medicine, to become a dude, right?" Dook asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Beach Bear says. "I still take it. You've never noticed?"

Dook shakes his head. "What happens if you stop?"

"You go back," Beach Bear says. "In some regards, at least."

"Hmm." Dook slouches in his seat a bit. "So you gotta take it forever?"

"Long as I wanna stay looking like a dude, yeah," Beach Bear chuckles. "I dunno if too much would change if I stopped now, though. There's a lotta permanent stuff, too. I got a whole surgery and everything."

"Surgery?"

"Yeah, to–" he gestures vaguely at his chest, not taking his eyes off the road. "Y'know, get rid of the extra weight."

"I don't get it," Dook says.

"Agh, nevermind."

Dook stares at Beach Bear's chest. "...Hey, do you have to get your name changed, like in a court n' all?" He asks.

"Dook, I'm tryin' to drive."

Dook stares harder at his chest. He doesn't see the issue. It just looks like a guy's chest.

Oh, wait.

"What'd they do with your extra stuff after you got them removed?" He asks.

"Dook, I–" Beach Bear starts, then pauses. "I don't know, actually."

They sit quietly for a minute, both pondering the possible outcomes. Dook doesn't dedicate too much energy toward it, eventually spacing out once again on the long road ahead of them. They've been driving through the same monotonous scenery for hours now. Tall grassland... trees... a house every mile or so... It's farmland, but god if it isn't boring. There's not even any radio signal out here.

"...Beach Bear?" He pipes up.

"Yeah?"

"What're your parents like?"

"Uh..." Beach Bear trails off, thinking. "I dunno how to put it. They're... they're real pleasant, y'know? Outwardly, at least. They put on a real good face."

"How are they with you?" Dook asks.

"They're... I dunno. They're not bad. They're fine parents. They're just... They've got opinions, y'know? Very strong ones. And no amount of talking to them could ever convince them to rethink any of those opinions. They think they know everything." A hint of spite seeps into his voice at the last sentence.

"Mmh. I think I know the feelin'," Dook says. "They think they know everythin' about you, better than yourself, right?"

"Yeah," Beach Bear says. "It's– It's frustrating." He's holding his tongue, for some reason. "It's rough."

"Sounds rough." Dook says.

"And they live in this big McMansion, too," Beach Bear continues. "They act like they've got it made. They act like they're right about everything. They act like they know better than you, and don't you dare try to have a different opinion, 'cause–" He catches himself. "...'Cause... Whatever."

If Beach Bear's already getting worked up at the thought of his parents, he can't imagine what it's going to be like when they're actually there. "You gonna be okay?" Dook asks.

"Yeah," Beach Bear says, sighing. "I'll be fine. It's just a weekend."

After some seemingly endless length of time driving past the fields and farms, they finally arrive at Beach Bear's parents' house. He wasn't lying when he said they lived in a McMansion. The house is vast, with a white brick front and pale red roofing. The shapes of the roofing could be considered abstract art in itself– square, pyramid, conical, square, triangle... It almost looks like the house is trying to grow smaller houses out of it. Dook stares in awe as they get out of the car, Beach Bear's parents awaiting them on the porch.

"Beatrice!" His mother calls, rushing to embrace him. She's slender, with sandy, almost brown fur. Dook almost wouldn't guess she was a polar bear. She's done her face up almost excessively with makeup, and she hikes up her pink dress a bit to reach Beach Bear. She's still a bit shorter than him, though, and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Beach Bear chuckles. "Hi, Mom," he says, hugging her back. "How've you been?" Dook watches her fuss over him, and Beach Bear taking it completely fine. It's like everything he said about not liking them before never happened.

"You're still driving this wreck, kid?" His father says, also moving from his position on the porch to greet them.

"It's the only car I've got, Dad," Beach Bear says. "We're still fixing it from the wreck."

"That's what I mean," he says. "Why keep it? Better to get something new by this point, anyway."

"Ah, that's... I guess it just didn't occur to me," Beach Bear says. Dook knows that's a lie. Why not explain his reasoning?

"And you," his mother says, turning to Dook. "You must be Dook, then?"

"Y- Yeah," Dook says. He holds out a hand. "Dook Larue. Nice to meet ya." Beach Bear's father grips it first, way too tightly.

"Good to meet you too," he says. "Name's Beau."

His mother shakes Dook's hand next. "And I'm Betty," she adds. "We're very happy to have you here, Dook."

Beau is a towering man– taller than both Betty and Beach Bear, and much taller than Dook. Here he was thinking Beach Bear was tall... Beau has gray fur, a strong face, and an equally strong build. Even for someone starting to get up there in age, he's shockingly strong-looking. Dook feels like less of a man, stood next to him. He pats Dook's back– or at least, Dook assumes that's what he meant to do. It's really more of a slap, and it makes Dook near jump out of his skin.

"Well, no point in keeping us all out here," he says. "Let's get you two unpacked."

The group takes their bags from the car and heads inside. The house somehow seems even bigger on the inside– tile flooring, two staircases on either side of the living room, and a fireplace below the TV, propped up onto the wall. Dook continues to feel smaller.

From the top of the left staircase, a ferret pops her head around the corner, waving down toward them.

"Mr. Baxter! The bedroom is finished being cleaned!" She calls.

"Thank you, Margaret," Beau calls back up to her. "Could you take their bags?" Margaret is already on her way down the stairs before he even asks. She moves quickly and smoothly, like she's refined housekeeping down to a formula. She takes their bags, acknowledging the two of them with a nod, before leaving just as quickly as she came.

"You have a maid?" Dook says.

Betty laughs. "Please, don't be ridiculous! Margaret is a housekeeper, not a maid. A maid would live here."

Dook doesn't see much difference between the two. He glances toward Beach Bear for guidance, who doesn't look back.

"Dinner is still cooking," Beau says. "In the meantime, why don't we sit and chat?" He moves toward the couch. Beach Bear and Dook follow, and Betty wanders off upstairs. Beach Bear sits next to his father, and Dook chooses to sit in the chair across from the couch.

"So, Dook," Beau starts. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, uh–" He wasn't really expecting this. "I, ah. I'm Dook, I'm a drummer, I'm from New Orleans–"

"Lousiana?" Beau asks.

"Y- yeah."

"It's a beautiful state," he says. "Do you speak any French?"

"Ah– No," Dook says. "I know some Spanish, though."

"What led to that?" Beau asks.

"Well, I had to choose which language I wanted to take in school, and I couldn't pronounce the French letters," Dook says candidly. Beau laughs.

"Dad considers himself something of a polyglot," Beach Bear explains. "He gets real excited about it."

"Quite excited," Beau says. Dook isn't sure if he's emphasizing the point, or correcting Beach Bear on his grammar. "Still, Dook, me alegro de conocer a otro hablante de español. ¿No es así?"

"Uhh." Dook doesn't speak this much Spanish. "S- Sí. Muy bien," he says.

"Oh, Beatrice!" Betty calls, quickly going down the stairs toward them. In her arms, three books. "I was in your bedroom, just double-checking Margaret's work– not that I don't think she did a good job, of course, I just like to make sure, since you can never be too careful with these things, y'know– it's so important in situations like these when you've got someone important over and–"

"Damn it, Betty, spit it out," Beau says.

"You'll never guess what I found!" Betty finishes, dropping down the books onto the coffee table between the four of them. They're photo albums.

"Oh, god," Beach Bear says. "Mom, no."

"Why not?" Betty says. "If you and Dook are going steady, he's part of the family now. And if he's going to be part of the family, he should see our family memories. Besides, you've been missing long enough that it's started to feel like these pictures are all I had of you! You might need a refresher yourself, y'know."

"Alright, alright." Beach Bear picks up a book and opens it to a random page. "These are, like, exclusively baby pictures of me," he complains.

"What's wrong with that?" She replies, snatching the book from him. "Anyway–" She sits down next to Dook, flipping back to the first page. "–Here's our Baby Bear when we first brought her home from the hospital–"

"Mom," Beach Bear says.

"Would you quit your complaining?" Betty says.

"I don't think Dook wants to see my baby pictures," he says.

"Dook, do you have any issue with looking at our family memories?" Betty asks Dook.

Dook looks between the two of them, unsure who he should appeal to. Beach Bear would hate it if this continued, but probably wouldn't be too angry at Dook himself. Betty might be angry if they didn't continue, and he doesn't know her well enough to determine how bad it'd be. And... well, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see the pictures, too. He shakes his head no.

"See?" Betty says. Beach Bear sighs, but doesn't protest further. He stands from the couch.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he says.

"That's not very becoming language!" Betty calls after him.

"I'm going to powder my nose!" Beach Bear calls back, already halfway to the bathroom.

Betty sighs. "Children," she says to Dook. She flips the page. "Oh, this is her first day of preschool!"

·–—–·

Dook sits at the dinner table, staring down at the array of utensils laid out in front of him. They'd already been served soup, and Dook had to watch which spoon everyone else picked up first. It's silent in the room other than the sound of their own eating, making the whole room feel uncomfortable. At least he's managing. He glances at Beach Bear, sitting across the table from him. His expression is unreadable. Dook hopes he's holding up okay.

"Mr. Baxter," Margaret says, poking her head through the door to the dining room. "Dinner is ready."

"It's early, Margaret, isn't it?" Beau glances at the clock on the wall. "We're still on the first course."

"Yes, sir, but... the meal has been finished for a while now," Margaret protests meekly.

"We're still on the first course," he says again, gesturing to the soup bowl in front of him.

"O- of course, sir, but the meal will get cold if–"

"Margaret–"

"Beau," Betty says, her tone much gentler than his has become. She puts a hand gingerly on his arm. "Margaret, thank you. Please bring in the meal now."

Margaret nods, and disappears behind the door again.

"...Tense dinner," Beach Bear offers.

Both Betty and Beau sigh, but don't answer past that.

It's a moment more of silence before Margaret reappears, pushing a cart of food. Dook immediately recognizes the scent of seafood, but can't place the smell exactly. Margaret places plates in front of everyone at the table. It's an incredibly dark meat, with mushroom and rice on the side.

"Is this...?"

"Seal," Betty says. "It's a delicacy among polar bears... and Beatrice's favorite." She smiles at Beach Bear.

"Yeah," Beach Bear adds. "I haven't had it in ages."

"Dook, you've never had it?" Beau asks. Dook shakes his head, and Beau laughs. "You're in for a treat, then."

Margaret approaches Dook again, with a bottle of wine in hand. She gestures for his glass so she can pour the drink. Dook hesitates. He hasn't had any alcohol since... since his 'incident,' causing this whole mess. He's not sure if having anything to drink tonight is exactly a smart idea.

"I, uh, I really shouldn't," he says quietly to her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Beau says. "You're a guest, have something to drink."

Dook glances toward Beach Bear.

"You wouldn't want to deny their hospitality... honey," he says somewhat awkwardly. Dook had almost forgotten they're meant to be a couple.

"R– right," he says. "I guess I can have a glass, then." He passes his glass to Margaret, who fills it with the dark red liquid. Dook can't deny the little surge of excitement he gets when he sees it pour out of the bottle. What a pretty color.

"So, Dook," Betty says, "tell me about you."

"Well, I–"

"He speaks Spanish," Beau says. "Did you know that?"

"No," Betty says, enthused. "What a cultured young man. How did you meet Beatrice?"

Dook freezes at the question. He knows how they met, but he also knows they'd hate the answer. He hadn't prepared any better of a story.

"We met at a social thing," Beach Bear cuts in. "Remember that youth group thing I mentioned to you on the phone?" Betty nods. "Dook's a counselor for a group a bracket below mine. We had a counselors-only get-together situation, and we met there." He takes a bite of his food. "Very family-friendly."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Beau says. Then, "Dook, I wasn't aware you worked with children."

Dook wasn't aware, either. "I'm... very humble," he says. He stares down at his plate. He didn't even realize seal was a thing anyone ate. It's dark red, almost black. His nose is telling him otherwise, but... he takes a bite. It's unlike anything he's ever had before– and he's unsure if that's a good thing or not. Far too fishy for his taste, he knows. But he know he needs to keep up appearances, so he can't stop eating entirely. Instead, he takes a sip of his wine. It's good– sweet, and not too dry. Dook starts taking bigger sips.

"Mmh," Beau grumbles. "Did you see that story on the news this morning? I swear, they need to bring back actual reporting. This whole thing with–"

"Beau, honey," Betty says. "Not at dinner."

Beau grumbles again, trying to find another topic to discuss. "...Tax season's coming up."

No one knows how to respond– the table falls quiet. Dook finds his glass empty already. He puts it down on the table, picking more at his meal. It only takes a few more nibbles at the meat for Margaret to return with the bottle, offering him more. Who is he to deny their hospitality?

"This is really good," he says to no one in particular as he drinks more.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're enjoying the meal," Betty says. Dook blinks, looking down at his barely-touched plate.

"Right," he says.

The dinner continues in bouts of silence for a while longer– spurts of uncomfortable conversation sandwiched by quiet portions of just eating and drinking. Dook makes his way through about half the plate and a third glass of wine. By then, he's not quite paying attention to the conversations happening around him, more listening idly as he feels that familiar pleasant fuzz come over him.

"So, ah. Mom, Dad, how have things been?" Beach Bear says, if only to break another stretch of silence. "Since I was last here, and all."

"...We redid the game room," Betty says.

Dook's ears perk up. "Game room?"

"Oh, yeah," Beach Bear says. "You'd like it, Dook. We should play a game after this."

"Okay," Dook says, smiling for possibly the first time since they got here. He glances toward Margaret– who moves to open a second bottle.

"And you?" Beau asks, not looking up from his plate. "What have you gotten up to since you stopped talking to us?"

"...Well, uh... Dook and I have been, uh, putting together a band," Beach Bear says.

"Don't tell me you're still doing that music crap," Beau says.

"Beau," Betty says.

"No," he says, "No, this is just ridiculous. If she were a musician, a real one playing real music, I'd understand. But this– this 'rock and roll' thing? There's no class!"

"Dad, I–"

"Is this what you left us for?" He says.

"That's not why!" Dook snaps.

"Dook!" Beach Bear says sharply. "Don't... Don't get involved."

"I... Okay," he says. Beach Bear's right– he's being impulsive. Dook looks to his glass, just in time to see Margaret fill it up again. A wash of shame comes over him. He keeps drinking.

"I don't know what I expected from you," Beau continues. "What did I want? Change? After all this time of you missing?"

"Beau, I think you've had too much wine, honey," Betty tries.

He ignores her. "What did I expect, maturity? Class? Respectability? From you?"

Beach Bear clenches his jaw, but doesn't say anything.

"What other little 'phases' of yours are you not over?" Beau interrogates, standing from his chair and leaning over the table toward Beach Bear. "I swear to God, if I find out you've still been smoking pot, I'll–"

"You'll what?" Beach Bear says. "Disown me?"

Beau opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. Everyone at the table knows Beach Bear is already basically estranged. He sits down.

"...Your voice sounds different," he mutters.

Beach Bear stabs his fork into a mushroom. "I'm still working at the music store, Mom."

Betty laughs, sharp and nervous. "That's– that's great, honey," she says. She stands with her plate. Margaret hurries to take it from her, and only then does Betty seem to remember she's here.

"Excuse me," she says, before hurriedly leaving the room.

·–—–·

"Beach Bear," Dook says.

"I know, it's not what you expected," Beach Bear says.

"Beach Bear."

"Look, I'll teach you how to play, alright? Don't worry about it."

"Beach Bear."

"What?"

"I'm, uh..." Dook shifts awkwardly, the plush carpeting of the game room under his feet making him feel somewhat unsteady. "I'm sorry. About dinner."

"Why?" Beach Bear asks. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"You–" He's still buzzed, which isn't helping him find the right words. "You got mad at me."

Beach Bear sighs. "I'm not mad at you, man. I'm– I'm sorry I snapped at you then. I got stressed, 'cause I thought you were gonna say something about..." His eyes flash to the doorway for a second. "...y'know."

"...I almost did," Dook says.

"But you didn't," Beach Bear tells him. "That's what matters." He stands from the bench they're sitting on. "How are you doing?"

"How am I...?" Dook doesn't understand the question.

"Well, for starters, you were kinda getting through dinner on wine," Beach Bear says. "And I know dinner was... I know my family's..." He makes a sour face, not finishing the sentence.

"I know," Dook says.

"They're... usually better than that. Especially with guests."

"It's been a long time since they saw you," Dook says. "It's– it makes sense if they're, y'know. What's the word?"

"Harboring some emotions?" Beach Bear responds, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah," Dook says, "it's all pent up n' all."

"I guess." Beach Bear doesn't seem happy with the answer, but it's not like there's a better answer out there.

"At least we leave tomorrow," Dook offers.

"Yeah," Beach Bear says. He moves over to Dook's left, toward the billiards table. "You still want me to teach you how to play?"

Dook stands. "Yeah. Show me."

Beach Bear hands Dook a cue before putting all the balls into place. Dook holds it somewhat awkwardly, unsure of the right positioning before settling on holding it horizontally with both hands. Beach Bear finishes setting up the game, resting the stick vertically at his side, and Dook quickly corrects. Beach Bear snickers.

"I'll start," he says. "The goal of the game is to get all of your balls into the holes on the sides of the table. You can only hit the white ball, which has to knock the other balls into the holes. If you get the white ball in the hole, you lose a turn and I get to put it wherever I want. If you get the black 8 ball in the hole before you've done everything else, you automatically lose."

"Which balls are mine?" Dook asks.

"There's the solid color ones and the striped ones– whoever gets one in first gets to claim that type." Beach Bear lines up his cue, hits the white ball, and the group of colored balls scatter. A red striped one lands in a corner pocket. "Looks like I'm stripes. If you get a ball in, you get to go again."

"Sounds like you're makin' up the rules as you go," Dook says. Beach Bear laughs. He lines up again, and hits a green striped ball– which bounces off the edge of a pocket and doesn't go in.

"Your turn, big shot," he says.

Dook assesses the table. There's a solid yellow ball near a pocket, but he's not sure how to actually get it in there. He approaches the white ball, trying to mimic the pose he saw Beach Bear in. After a moment, he hits the ball– or, at least, tries to. His cue is unsteady, and it cants upwards, barely skimming the top of the ball. It rolls forward about an inch.

"You can retry if you want," Beach Bear tells him. Dook moves the ball back to where it started, trying again. This time, he's a bit more powerful, and while he still hits the side of the ball, it moves. It bounces off the wall of the table and lands gracefully in a pocket.

"Damn," he mutters. Beach Bear chuckles, retrieving it from the bottom of the table.

"Looks like I get to go twice again," he teases, placing it back on the table near one of his balls. But his confidence gets the better of him, and he manages to both miss the ball he was going for and land the white one in a pocket again. "Alright, well. Never said I was good at this game."

Dook laughs, taking the ball from him. He isn't sure where to place it, so he just puts it down near one of his balls. "How do you–?" He tries to line up the cue again, still not comfortable with the position.

"Here," Beach Bear says, "lemme show you."

Beach Bear moves behind Dook, wrapping his arms around him to help him into position. His size makes this no issue– he easily reaches Dook's hands and helps him adjust his grip on the cue. He's not fully behind him, slightly off to his left, but Dook can't ignore how it feels to have Beach Bear's whole body lean into him like this. He's so big, and warm, and soft... his fur, while covered by his clothes, still makes him feel almost plush to the touch. Dook would give anything to have this feeling last forever.

"Relax," Beach Bear says. "You're too tense with it."

"Ah– right," Dook says, trying to loosen up. It's hard when they're in this position. Beach Bear slides Dook's left hand forward on the cue, lifting it slightly upward to aim straight at the ball. His right hand clasps over Dook's right hand, pulling the cue back...

Dook's ball rolls smoothly into the pocket.

"We did it," Dook murmurs.

"Yeah!" Beach Bear says, finally pulling away. "Nice job, Dook."

"You did the whole thing for me," Dook says.

"I wasn't the one holding the cue." Beach Bear smirks. Dook flushes, and he finds himself thankful for the alcohol. At least it can serve as a cover for getting this flustered.

"You got real close," he says. "If I didn't know no better, I'd say the fake dating thing wasn't an act." He laughs, trying to make it clear he's joking. Is he joking?

Beach Bear doesn't respond to him directly, just gives him a knowing look. "It's your turn again."

Dook swallows, still unconfident in his own skills. "I, uh. I need help still," he says.

Beach Bear smiles. "Can't get enough of me, huh?" He jokes. "Alright, line up for me. I'll correct you."

Dook finds another ball to aim for and lowers himself toward the table again. It is starting to make more sense for him now, it's just a matter of practice. But he'll never refuse Beach Bear leaning over him and guiding his hands again. Jeez. He's not sure if it's his embarrassment or the wine that's making him feel this warm.

"You're already looking better," Beach Bear says from behind– he's not leaning on Dook this time, but he is leaning very close– he's talking quietly right into his ear. His left hand meets Dook's, guiding his aim. They pull back the cue...

"Oh–!" A voice says from the doorway. Dook hits the ball from reflex, and the 8 ball goes tumbling into the pocket. Game over. Betty stands there, quickly averting her eyes. "Goodness. I didn't expect I'd need to knock."

Beach Bear suddenly straightens at the sight of his mother, and Dook follows. "No need to knock," Beach Bear says. "I'm just helping Dook with his aim. He's never played billiards before."

Betty sighs, though the flush on her face is still there. "Of course. I just wanted to let you two know the room is ready, whenever you're ready for bed."

"The room?" Dook asks.

"Yes, your bedroom. Is there an issue?"

The two look at each other. Are they going to be sharing a bedroom? Did both of them forget to factor this in? Beach Bear shakes his head. "No issue here," he says. "Can you– uh– we should go there, now."

"R- right," Dook says.

"Yes," Betty concurs.

The two hastily put their cues back where they got them and follow Betty to the bedroom. Dook spares a quick glance at Beach Bear, and while he can't tell for sure, it looks like he's blushing, too.

They head upstairs and down a hallway– this place really is a mansion. After a few minutes, they finally reach the room. Betty opens the door for them, and the three file inside.

“M– Mom,” Beach Bear says, a dawning look of horror on his face.

The room is very clearly that of a little girl’s. The walls are covered in a pale blue, flowery wallpaper. The bed, while large enough for two adults, is covered in plushes and decorative pillows- a pink striped blanket covers the mattress. The walls are adorned with flower-themed decorations, crayon drawings, and a few band posters.

“You redid the game room, but… not my bedroom?” He asks. “In like, seven years?”

“Why would we?” Betty replies. “We wanted to preserve what was here. We love you, Baby Bear.”

Beach Bear all but winces at hearing that. What exactly are they preserving by keeping this the way it is? This isn’t Beach Bear at all. Whoever used to live in this room… they’re clearly gone, if they ever lived here at all. Dook looks at the way Betty beams at the sight of the room. She’s so wrapped up in protecting her daughter, she hasn’t realized in all this time that she doesn’t have one.

Betty pats Beach Bear on the shoulder. “Goodnight, honey,” she tells him, before leaving the room.

Beach Bear swallows, then sighs. “I’m, uh–”

“It’s okay,” Dook says, smiling shyly at him. “I don’t mind how the room looks.”

“I’m sorry about her, too.”

“Hey.” Dook nudges him in the arm, stopping himself just short of taking his hand. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. So you don’t gotta apologize for nothin’.”

Beach Bear smiles faintly. “Yeah,” he says. “We… still have to share a bed, though.”

“We don’t have to,” Dook suggests. “I could…” He eyes a plush looking chair in the corner. “I could sleep there.”

“Nah, I’m not gonna make you do that,” Beach Bear says. “We’ll just rough it.” He chuckles to himself, and approaches the bed. “It’s like camping. You gotta put up with tough shit sometimes, but it’s part of the fun.”

Dook follows him to the bed. “You doin’ okay? With everything that’s happened?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Beach Bear says, but Dook recognizes a twinge of that tired tone in his voice.

“...’Least we leave tomorrow,” Dook says.

Beach Bear smiles, the most genuine smile he’s seen from him all day. “Yeah,” he says. “Hope you don’t mind being my boyfriend until then.”

Dook snickers, climbing onto the bed. “Not if you don’t mind being mine.”

“Take your clothes off, you dweeb,” Beach Bear teases, hitting Dook with a pillow.

“Fine.” Dook pulls his shirt off. Margaret’s left their bags neatly opened by the window. Dook goes over to it and pulls out their pajamas. “I’ve never seen you wear pajamas,” he tells Beach Bear.

“Because I don’t wear pajamas,” he says. “I sleep in my underwear. But my parents would–”

“--hate that,” Dook finishes.

“Exactly. Gimme.” Dook tosses them over before changing into his own.

“Well,” Dook says, rejoining Beach Bear in bed. “One more day?”

“Half a day,” Beach Bear says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Dook gets comfortable under the covers as Beach Bear reaches for the light. Teasing each other about dating is fun and all, but the idea of actually sleeping in the same bed as Beach Bear makes Dook’s heart beat at a mile a minute. He’s a little afraid Beach Bear might actually be able to hear it. But there’s no time to question it– they’re already in bed together.

“Goodnight, ‘babe,’” Beach Bear says as he turns off the light.

Dook’s heart flutters. “Goodnight, honey.”

#juno.pdf #part of the band #potb #rae #rockafire explosion #rock afire explosion #showbiz pizza #dook larue #beach bear #also featuring my most fleshed out original characters for this fic whom i hate /lh #fanfic #fanfiction

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