#They also talk the same so it was just a thought I had throughout the whole movie

[phoward89]

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader, DILF!Crassus Snow

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, smut, oral (f rec) , p in v, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

This is the Crassus x Reader ending AKA ending 2.

It's kinda long.

Masterlist

Ending #2-Crassus

Coriolanus disappeared without a trace. Or at least that's what it felt like. Truth was, a couple of weeks after graduation he boarded a train to 8 as a peacekeeper grunt. Coriolanus received a conscription letter and was shoved off by his father General Crassus Snow.

Against his will.

Without Coriolanus by your side you fell into a depression. Yes, you received letters from him and the occasional phone call, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't physically around, like he's always been, and it hurt.

It hurt so much.

So goddamn much.

You felt so alone…

You thought that you were doing good job of hiding your hurt, your depression and loneliness. But you weren't.

No.

Crassus noticed it right away.

And he tried to swoop in and put a smile on your face by asking about your day or by suggesting you read a certain book in the library, but it never worked. Nothing worked to put a smile on your face.

The only time a faint smile appeared on your face was whenever Crassus handed you a letter from his son while shifting thru the mail after coming home from work. You'd always snatch it from him with a smile on your face. One that never quite reached your eyes.

You cherished Coryo's letters. He always complained about District 8 in them, but he’d also write a few lines about his feelings towards you. Always told you to wait for him; that he'd figure out a way to return to you.

Crassus, as cold and unfeeling of a man as he was, never kept his son's letters from you despite the fact that the middle-aged man wanted you as his next wife. His future First Lady. And why didn't he keep them from you?

Because he wanted to woo you away from his son’s affections. Crassus wanted the knowledge that he pursued you, courted you, and gave you somebody to confide in all the while Coriolanus was sending you letters that were borderline love letters.

Crassus wants you to pick him over his son, not because he made you, but because you want to.

Because you want him.

And having Coriolanus thousands of miles away serving in 8 would definitely help out with you picking the older Snow…

Out of sight, out of mind as they say.

“Petal, a letter for you from my son.” Crassus announces, holding the letter up for you to see as he stands in front of the fireplace shifting thru mail while you sit on the sofa watching CapitolTV.

Grandma'am was out visiting the neighbor, Pluribus, so it was just you and Crassus inside of the penthouse.

“Oh, thank you.” You thinly smile, rising from the sofa to go get your letter from the tall, stoic man that you've come to appreciate since you began living in the Snow's ancestral home.

Crassus knew that now was his chance to snatch you away from his bratty son. That now's the time to woo you. And how does he know?

By the thin, forced line of a smile on your face and the tight tone of your voice when you thank him for his son's letter.

“Y/N, I see how much you're suffering. Perhaps you'd like to talk about it with someone who's been deployed throughout Panem?” Crassus remarked, his voice low and thoughtful as he hands you over the letter.

“I'm fine, Crassus.” You lie, fingers brushing while taking the letter from him. “I don't need to talk about Coryo's deployment in 8, but thank you for the offer.” You assure the man towering over you while looking at the letter you're holding.

“You're not fine, petal.” Crassus tells you in a low, deep, all knowing tone.

It's unsettling since Coriolanus had told you the exact same thing one night before he was shipped off. He told you that you weren't fine; in a similar tone and manner that his father had just used on you right now.

You never noticed it before, but were Coriolanus and Crassus truly mirror images of each other?

“You haven't filled out your University admissions packet, so I surmise that you won't be attending. I also noticed how you sulk around, wasting your life waiting for a ghost.”

The packet was still untouched on his mahogany desk in his study. It was due weeks ago. Now that it's early September and the fall semester's starting soon, well, Crassus knows that it's too late for you to select a major of interest to study. That you won't be attending the University.

That doesn't bother him. In fact, Crassus prefers for you to be home with Grandma'am all day. You're a very beautiful Capitolite girl and in his mind you're better suited as a socialite. He's sure in time you'll get used to staying home and doing lady things all day such as luncheons, shopping, tea parties, etc.

“I-” You began, but your protest died on the tip of your tongue when Crassus cut you off with a blunt, “You can deny it all you want, but you fill your days moping over my son's absence.”

Of course, he saw right thru your facade. Crassus was a very perceptive man, a cunning one as well. He picked up on things that most people would overlook.

“You need to find a hobby to occupy your time; keep your thoughts off of things.” Crassus tells you knowingly. As if he has first hand experience in the matter.

Well, maybe he did.

“A hobby?”

“Yes.” He nods. “My mother has her rose garden; my late wife had her silly little songs and the piano.” The tall platinum blonde explains. He shifts his weight slightly on his feet while suggesting, “So perhaps you can find something as well.”

“Perhaps.” You parrot.

Maybe Crassus is right? Maybe a hobby will help you during Coryo's absence.

Crassus pecks you on the cheek before patting it and telling you, “Go on and read your letter. I'll be in my study reading my own mail.”

Without another word he walked away from you and into the direction of his office, a pile of mail in his hands.

You decided to take Crassus' advice and find a hobby to take your mind off of Coryo's deployment. After thinking about it, you realize that Crassus is right. You need to focus your energy on something else and since you're not in the best mindset to go to University (going to University was Coriolanus' dream; he wanted you to attend with him) a hobby is necessary.

At first you try your hand at gardening. You spent some time with Grandma’am in her rooftop rose garden, but you weren't a natural green thumb like she was. In fact, gardening seems to frustrate you.

Coriolanus was the botanist that thrived under Grandma'am Snow’s gardening lessons. Well, he did when he was still living in the Corso penthouse before he was conscripted into the Peacekeepers.

Anyways….

And since you weren't classically trained on the piano like Crassus' late wife, Demeter, you had only two other options for a hobby. Sewing or baking.

You weren't too handy with needlework and didn't want to bother Tigris with sewing lessons, because you knew that she'd start talking about Coryo. You couldn't handle that. The kind hearted young lady always meant well when she brought up Coryo, but it was a sore topic for you.

So, that left baking as your only hobby option.

But you had an old recipe book of your mother's from her native 12, so at least you had something to work with. You didn't have to bake blind without recipes.

Most of the recipes were for cookies. A couple for cakes, but mostly various cookies. Oh and bread. Lots and lots of bread.

Apparently, District 12 really loves their bread.

And on top of reading your cookbook you've been watching a baking show:

The Great Panem Bake Off

It's a baking competition where the best amateur bakers in all of Panem compete for a title and prize money. You began watching it for baking ideas and ended up writing down the recipes of the goodies that the judges liked.

After a few weeks of reading your mother's old recipe book and watching the baking show on CapitolTV, you decided to bake a batch of classic and simple sugar cookies.

So, one late afternoon while Grandma'am was tending to her magnificent rooftop rose garden you're in the kitchen hard at work baking a large batch of lemon zest and vanilla bean sugar cookies. Thankfully, living in Capitol City, Panem, you're able to procure the ingredients easily for your cookies.

You're so engrossed in making your cookie dough and baking off the tasty treats that your mind doesn't even focus on the missing member of the Snow family. Not once does Coriolanus cross your mind. No, the only thing crossing your mind is measuring out the ingredients and adding them to the bowl; mixing until firm and smooth. You're too busy letting the cookie dough chill and timing it to think about sulking over your best friend.

And when it's time to roll out the sugar cookie dough and cut the cookies out with a cutter, well, you can't even imagine thinking about anything but getting the cookies stamped out and onto the cookie sheet pan. A sheet pan lined with parchment to keep the cookies from burning and sticking (a tip you saw on the baking show).

You're so scared that if you leave the kitchen your batch of cookies will burn, despite having a timer set. So, you sit at the kitchen table reading a book that Crassus had recommended a few weeks back; waiting for the cookies to bake. Between the mouth watering aroma of fresh cookies filling the air and the intriguing plot line of the book you're reading, you're mind's too preoccupied to drift off to a melancholy about Coriolanus being gone.

Infact, it seems that Crassus was right about a hobby keeping your mind busy and off of things you can't change.

His son serving as Private Snow over in 8.

When the timer goes off you put on your floral printed oven mitts, which match your frilly apron, and pull the cookie sheet out of the oven. After setting the pan on the counter, you transfer the sweet treats to a cooling rack before rolling and cutting out another batch of cookies to place onto the sheet pan and back into the oven.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, reading your book while waiting for the cookies to bake whenever you heard the front door open accompanied by the sound of Crassus' shoes echoing against the marble floor.

Crassus was home and all you could think of was getting his opinion on your cookies. Being a first time baker, you're afraid that they wouldn't be good. Even tho you followed the recipe religiously and everything seemed to turn out, you're still scared that your first foray into baking won't be successful.

So, you set your book down on the table, quickly rise to your feet, and grab a cookie from the cooling rack that's on the counter.

When you rush out of the kitchen, freshly baked cookie in hand, you see Crassus is starting to cross the foyer. He stops when he sees you, nose sniffing at the air, as his icy blue eyes take in the excited smile on your face.

From the smell wafting from the kitchen paired with the frilly floral apron you're wearing, the general concludes that you've taken up baking. He thinks it's good that you found something to occupy your days with.

Crassus is a tall man, even taller than his son, so he towers over you as you stand before him. Before he could make a comment on your new hobby, you grab him by the shirt and yank him down to your eye level- only to shove a freshly baked sugar cookie into his mouth.

“How is it? Do I need to tweek anything?” You ask, watching Crassus try not to choke on a large mouthful of cookie.

The middle-aged man’s large hand comes up to his mouth to pull the cookie out while he chews on the piece that's nearly choking him. You look at him with such innocence and patience while awaiting his verdict on your first attempt at baking cookies. Oh, and how your doe eyes has Crassus' knees buckling.

The cold, hard former soldier can't help, but to feel like a schoolboy again as you watch him chew his large mouthful. Oh, how embarrassing to feel like that over a young pretty girl shoving a sugar cookie into his mouth and looking at him like an angel sent from the heavens while awaiting his judgment on the sweet treat.

For some reason, swallowing down the cookie takes more effort than it should. Perhaps Crassus' throat feels tighter, as if it's closing up on him, because of the near intimate position you're in. Your face is mere inches away from his as he's hunched down into your space with your hand still tightly fisted into his shirt; keeping him in place.

Oh gods, how the man's mind is drifting off to dirty places…

“It's good.” Crassus finally answers after what feels like an eternity, but in reality was only a minute.

“You really think so?” You ask, genuinely surprised, as the icy eyed man in front of you just stares at you as if you hung the moon and stars.

A look he hasn't given anyone in a very, very long time.

“Yes,” He nods. “It's very good, petal.”

You're so happy that Crassus likes your cookie; that your first attempt at baking as your new hobby was successful. Honestly, you were scared that they wouldn't turn out. But it seems that you had nothing to worry about.

Without saying a word, you let go of Crassus' shirt and rush back into the kitchen to check on your latest batch of cookies. Crassus just shakes his head, clutching his briefcase his one hand and his half eaten cookie in the other, as a ghost of a smile slowly appears on his lips.

It seems like your innocence and warmth might be melting the cold Snow.

After the day you shoved a cookie into Crassus' mouth; nearly choking him, he's become your official taste tester for anything that you bake. He doesn't mind, in fact Crassus enjoys your baking. He has quite the sweet tooth even if he denies it.

Grandma'am enjoys when you bake chocolate treats and even Tigris enjoys your baking. She prefers your puddings. The warm hearted girl stops by from time to time to visit Grandma’am and you always give her some baked goods to take home.

All in all, your depression has dissipated and your mind's occupied with baking. You don't feel a heavy dark rain cloud over your head anymore, but instead you feel as if the sun’s shining down on you. You feel so much lighter, as if a weight has been taken off your shoulders.

And over the last few months you've grown closer to Crassus due to your baking. You looked forward to greeting him every evening when he came home with something you baked, asking him to taste it and tell you what he thought. And Crassus would always tell you that your sweet treats were good, great even.

That man loves everything you give him. From cookies to brownies to puddings to cakes to breads, he enjoys them all. Hell, he even has you pack some up for his coworkers at the Ministry of War.

Yes, cold and stern General Crassus Snow brought in baked goods to work to share with his coworkers. Honestly, he did it to brag about your baking skills. To show you off. To claim you as his in a way because women just don't bake for any man, they bake for their man.

And Crassus Snow views himself as your man.

He's been obsessed with making you his for a while; now he's succeeding in doing so.

But you don't mind his obsessive tendencies towards you. In fact, you welcome them because at least you're not lonely with him around.

And talk about being lonely, you found out from Crassus that his son, Coryo, was anything but lonely while off serving in District 8. His contacts told him that Coriolanus had taken up with a local district girl; had been with her for a while too.

Hearing that made you feel incredibly stupid for promising Coriolanus that you'd wait for him. Here you are being true blue to him while Private Snow's out fucking some district whore from 8. You wonder what she has that you don't have. Is she prettier than you? Maybe she's smarter or something? You dunno, but it hurts that he's cheating while you're waiting faithfully for him.

Aside from being hurt, you're pissed as hell. How dare he do this to you! Who the hell does he think he is? You're a proper Capitolite girl, you deserve better than what he's giving you.

Safe to say, you're a bit salty about Coryo's extra curricular activities in District 8 while serving as Private Snow in the Peacekeepers. Fucking bastard…

But at least you have your baking to help you thru it. Baking and Crassus' friendship that is.

But one day while you're baking cookies for the Yule holiday, the phone rings and you answer it only to be met with the one man you really don't want to talk to right now.

Coryo.

He tells you about some Elite Officer's Exam he took and you confronted him about his district whore. He denied it; even told you he loved you and wanted you to join him in 2 as soon as he got settled there- after passing his exams and officially being transferred that is.

And if that wasn't enough to turn your world upside down, a breaking news alert appeared on CapitolTV that would shatter Panem's heart.

It's late at night and Grandma'am’s asleep in her room while you're in the living room watching an old detective noir movie with Crassus. You're on the sofa, body softly nestled into Crassus’ side while his arm’s loosely slung around you, whenever the movie was interrupted by a news break announcing the death of President Ravenstill due to his ill health.

You're shocked to say the least. The very least. A president dying in office without a successor had never happened before in Panem's history. Normally, a president would step down if deathly ill or eldery; an election would be held to name a successor and the incumbent would pass over the baton.

President Ravenstill’s death turned the system upside down and on its head. So much so, that you ask the middle-aged man your sitting on the couch with what's going to happen to Panem now that the president’s dead. The platinum blonde man explained that the Senate would rule Panem with the help of the ministries and the late President Ravenstill’s cabinet.

Crassus also surprised you by announcing that he’s going to enter his name has a presidential candidate under the Old Guard political party. He also made a remark about how when he wins you'll be baking in the grand kitchen of the Presidential Palace. That you'll even be giving the palace bakers some of your recipes.

Everything feels so surreal; your entire day feels like a dream. A winter’s dream that can't be real, but in fact it's real. It's very real.

And to top off your day; mark the night as unbelievable, Crassus placed a hand on your chin only to tip your head to the side and capture your lips with a kiss.

A firm, but passionate kiss that caught you completely off guard.

You weren't expecting him to kiss you, but it only took a few seconds before your brain and body got on the same page and you're responding to his kiss. Your hands wrap around his neck as your lips press together. One of his hands goes to your hip while the other tangles in your hair.

You let out a breathy moan at the feel of his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip; asking silent permission to deepen the kiss. Permission that you granted by slightly parting your mouth just enough for Crassus to slide his tongue inside.

Your kiss with Crassus felt different then all the kisses you shared with Coryo- his son. Coryo's kisses always felt so needy and rushed, but with Crassus they're passionate albeit languid. It's as if the middle-aged man has all the time in the world to explore your mouth with his deeply impassioned kisses; to savor your reaction to his tongue tangling with yours, flicking against your bottom lip teasingly.

The way Crassus' lips firmly sweep over yours over and over again sparks a flaming heat inside of you. A need appears unlike anything you've ever felt before and, unable to stop yourself, you're slightly rolling your hips against him in an attempt to ease the growing ache in your core. And when Crassus breaks the kiss so the two of you can get some much need air into your lungs, you're looking at him wit lust in your doe-eyes.

Crassus can't help, but to flip you onto your back and smirk while slotting himself between your legs that have spread open on their own accord. He runs his knuckles along your cheek, only to hold your hip in his other hand. Crassus’ grip on your hip his strong, but sensual, as his other hand trails down your neck. Your chest heaves up and down as you look up at him, pupils blown wide.

“You feel what you do to me, petal?” Crassus asks, his voice low and thick, as he grinds his large cock, that's straining painfully in his pants, against your aching core.

The action has you soaking your panties. Just the feel of his bulge makes you ache, makes your pussy wetter then it already is. His cock, although trapped in the confines of his slacks, feel so large and heavy against your heated core.

“Crassus, please…” You moan needily.

"Shhh,” Crassus brings a finger up to your lips to shush you. “don’t make a noise, baby.” He dips his head down so his breath is fanning your face and his hand that's on your hip slides under your skirt, his fingertips teasingly sliding up and down your thigh. “We dont want mother to wake up now, would you?" Crassus rhetorically asks, nipping at a sweet spot right below your ear.

“We're really doing this here?” You ask, voice no more than a whisper, against his finger that was still resting against your lips.

Crassus trails his finger down your lower lip, that's bruised from his kisses, over your chin, and down the collum of your neck while telling huskily answering you with a low, “Yes.”

His lips captures yours in another searing kiss, one that shows off his years of experience, as his finger turns into his palm grasping at your breast. You moan into the kiss, your hands burying into his hair and your hips canting up slightly as Crassus toys with the wet patch right in the middle of your panties.

He pulls back from the kiss, only to slyly smirk. “I’m gonna prep you real good for my cock, baby.” Crassus scooted down the length of the couch until his head’s between your spread legs.

Legs that are shaking.

Crassus swiftly bunches your skirt up past your hips before curling his forefingers into the elestatic of your panties. “Lift your hips up for me, petal.” He orders in a low tone that's fire and ice to your ears.

Nodding, you do as you're told- resulting in Crassus pulling your panties off and licking a stripe up your wet cunt. He eases a long finger into your tight pussy while giving your clit a few kitten licks, causing you to wither from his touch.

Crassus' icy eyes hold your gaze as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit expertly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, but you can't make yourself pull your gaze away from his. It's as if his light cerulean eyes have you under a spell. A spell you just can't find it in yourself to break.

Crassus pulls his lips away from your clit with a wet pop. With his eyes still on you, he says, “You're so tight, baby. I'm gonna add another finger, just let me know if it hurts.”, before slipping his middle finger inside of you alongside his pointer finger.

“I'm okay, Crassus. Please, keep going.” You told him, placing a hand in his platinum hair to encourage him to continue eating you out.

“As you wish, petal.” He tells you before going back to teasing your cunt with his skilled tongue while pumping his fingers in and out of your wet, tight hole.

Your breath hitches and you bite back a moan whenever you feel his fingertips curl up against the spongy spot hidden deep inside of you. He grins against your cunt at your reaction to his ministrations.

“Think you can handle a third finger?” Crassus asked, even tho he was planning on squeezing his ring finger into your dripping cunt no matter what your answer is.

He's a very blessed man when it comes to the size of his cock. He's large, both in length and girth, so he wants to stretch you out with his fingers as much as possible. Plus, the feeling of your tight cunt clenching around his fingers is sending all of his blood straight to his hard rock; making it even harder than he thought possible.

“I can handle it, Crassus.” You answer, chest heaving and voice wispy, as you feel a knot tightening in your lower belly.

Crassus wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard, while stuffing you full with three of his long fingers. His ego was soaring as he heard your tiny, strangled moans mixed with the gushing sound your wet cunt made as he fingered you fast and hard while sucking and nipping at your clit. He groaned into your cunt as he felt your hands tightly holding his hair while shoving his face deeper into your cunt.

“Crassus, I'm close.” You tell him, bucking your hips in an attempt to find relief to the feelings quaking inside of you from the feelings of the middle-aged man's skilled fingers stretching you and his tongue swirling around your puffy clit.

Your thighs are shaking around Crassus' head, but he doesn't care. No, not when you're so close to cumming. Hell, he could die with his head crushed by your thighs and he'd die a happy man with your sweet tangy taste on his tongue.

His fingers curl against your g-spot just right at the same time his teeth graze against your clit, sending you over the edge. You cum with a silent scream, bucking your hips wildly.

It was unlike anything you ever felt in your life. You swear, you're seeing stars as you cum.

Crassus groans and laps up everything that you give him. You're messily dripping and all he can do is eagerly lick you clean. Oh, how your taste drives him wild.

He backs away from your cunt, only to look you in the eye while sucking your taste off of his fingers. “Sweetest thing I've ever tasted, baby.” Crassus smirks, his low tone oozing lust. And it has your cheeks flushing and your pussy growing wet- again.

Crassus quickly unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down to his thighs. Your eyes widen as you see the large bulge pressing against his boxers, thanks to the glowing light the TV was casting in the room. You quickly realize, before he even pulls down his boxers, that Crassus’ dick is bigger than Coriolanus’. And that fact makes you both nervous and excited.

Crassus knows that once he enters your cunt he's a goner, that he'll most likely lose control. He's so pent up since his career at the Ministry of War along with his side job as an arms dealer; overlooking his assets in 13 doesn't leave him much time in his schedule to go out and fuck somebody. The gods know that he's always busy doing something.

But between his obsession with you and having your pussy in his grasp, well, he's sure that he's not sleeping a wink tonight. And neither are you.

“Sling your leg over the back of the couch, petal.” Crassus orders while pulling down his boxers; setting his very long and thick cock free to slap up against his stomach. A stomach that's still covered by his shirt. “I need your legs spread wide, as wide as possible, for me.”

“Okay.” You nod, adjusting your legs to spread wide in the way that he wanted them.

“Relax, baby, I'll take good care of you.” Uttered Crassus before pushing his cock into your wet cunt.

You bite your lip and claw at his muscular back as you feel his cock splitting you in two. Yes, you're not a virgin and had a big cock fucking you for a week back in late July/early August, but being stretched by Crassus' cock had you feeling like you're losing your virginity all over again. Clearly, your hole had tightened up after months of not being fucked- resulting in the uncomfortable feeling you're experiencing as the handsome man hovering above you pushes his fat dick into you at a steady pace.

Crassus knows your not a virgin since he didn't meet the resistance of your barrier, so he quickly realizes that you're so painfully tight because you haven't been properly fuck in a long time. Hell, he doubts you've been properly fucked at all considering the last man you most likely fucked wasn't a real man at all, but a green schoolboy.

“You can take it, baby. You took my fingers so well, I know you can take all of my cock?” Crassus praises and encourages you while sinking deeper and deeper into your tight cunt.

And when he's finally balls deep inside of your tight cunt, which is literally stretched to the max, his icy eyes roll to the back of his head and he lets out a tiny grunt.

Crassus gives you a couple of minutes to accommodate his size before he's pumping his cock in and out of your pussy at a steady, but deep pace. One of his hands is on your hip while the other’s resting on the thigh of your leg that's strewn over the back of the sofa. Your arms are wrapped around him, hands on his back, as you feel the veins of his cock gliding against your inner walls as he fucks into you- making you mewl.

“Remember, we can't be too loud.” Crassus reminds you, his deep voice a whisper that sending butterflies fluttering deep inside your belly.

“I’m n-not being t-too loud.” You protest, falling over your words and trying not to moan as you feel Crassus' cock hit your g-spot.

Your nails dig into his back and he triumphantly smirks. Oh, yes, you're enjoying this as much, if not more, then he is.

“Keep it that way and I'll reward you by letting you scream on top of your lungs when I fuck you in my room within the next half hour.” Crassus tells you, his husky voice dripping with dominance, as he fucks into you even harder.

You can't believe your ears. Crassus wants to fuck you again- tonight! And in his bed!

Something about that revelation does something to you; has you cumming around his cock while choking back a moan that wants to bubble out.

The feel of your tight cunt clenching around his cock along with the feeling of you creaming it triggers off Crassus' orgasm. He cums, painting your walls white with his seed, while kissing your lips feverishly to keep himself from moaning and grunting too loudly.

Fucking Crassus Snow wasn't just a one time thing. In fact, it was something that occured regularly between the two of you. So much so that you took to sleeping in his bed instead of in your own room.

You doubt that Grandma'am knew what was going on between you and her son. She never brought it up; never gave you odd looks either. In fact, she seems to smile every time she sees Crassus peck you on the cheek before taking off to do something, greeting you, or sending you on your way.

Plus, as time went on, Grandma'am seemed too occupied with Crassus' campaign for the presidency to pick up on anything happening in the penthouse. Whether that be lingering interactions between you and her son or your own building anxiety.

And of course Crassus was too busy with both his campaign and his work at the Ministry of War to notice you growing more anxious. Or at least that's what you thought.

But Crassus is a very observant man and he truly does notice your anxiety. He just thinks it's due to his campaign; that you're nervous about how he'll do in the primary election that's being held in a handful of months to determine the two presidential candidates that’ll go head to head in the main election for the presidency come November.

He has no idea why you're truly anxious.

Coriolanus isn't Private Snow anymore, but he's now Elite Officer Snow since he passed his exams, or at least Crassus told you that's what he heard from his contact. Crassus also told you that his son's most likely going to bring his district whore with him whenever he transfers to 2.

So, of course you're anxious about what to do when it comes to Coryo. Especially since all calls and letters from the younger Snow have ceased. You can't help, but wonder if he truly does want you to join him or if he really did bring a district whore with him.

A district whore he denied having in the first place.

And then there's the subject of Crassus, your lover and Coriolanus' father. You can't help, but wonder if fucking you’s just something he does to relieve stress since you're around. He's so busy with his career and politics that he rarely spends time with you, unless it's in his bedroom.

Yes, yes, he still taste tests your baking, but know he's having you bake for his campaign workers and volunteers that it feels like he's just testing what you bake to make sure that it's edible for his entourage. It doesn't feel like he's genuinely eating your baked goods anymore.

Unlike Coryo, Crassus has never once told you that he loves you. Hasn't even told you that he cares. At least Coryo claims to love you. If Crassus truly felt something for you, wouldn't he vocalize it?

You go on worrying yourself with so many thoughts of Coryo and Crassus until one day you finally receive a letter in the mail from the younger Snow. Crassus gives it to you, like he always does, before pecking you on the cheek and going to his office to do some paperwork for his campaign.

You read Coryo’s letter, only to discover that he's living at the Nut in 2 and wants you to join him. Enclosed in the letter’s a train ticket to District 2- dated for the following morning.

That letter has you reeling as you shove it along with the ticket back into the envelope. You place the letter on the desk in your room, a room you never use anymore.

You're weighing the words you read in the letter as you lay in bed, waiting for Crassus to join you. But when he finally does come to bed, he makes you forget all about the letter. At least he does for a little while as his body's on top of yours, fucking into your tight cunt with fervent vigor.

But as you're basking in the afterglow of your fucking with Crassus, you can't help, but to wonder what the two of you are. And the nagging question has you asking, “What are we? Do you even love me? Or am I just a stress reliever for you?", as you lay pressed into Crassus' side with your hand on his chest.

Your question starles Crassus. He blinks his pale blue eyes and the hand that's resting on your shoulder starts to rub soothing circles into it. He thought that you already knew what the two of you are, but now he knows he thought wrong. Looking down at you, he gives you the honest answer of, “You're not a stress reliever for me, petal. You're so much more than that. You're my second chance of a woman's love; you're my obsession, baby.”

Right there and then his answer soothes the worry in your soul and you decide to stay with him.

Crassus, not one for being overly affectionate since he is, after all a stern man by nature, decides to move past his love confession by changing the subject with, “Well, petal, I did promise to let you be in control of round 2 if I made a noise first.” With a smirk, he takes a hold of your hips and starts to guide you to straddle his waist while remarking, "We better get you on top, huh?”

And as you ride Crassus all thoughts of that letter and the train ticket disappear forever. It's just a piece of junkmail that you'll throw in the trash come morning.

Crassus, not one for giving up control, gives you the illusion that you're in control as he lets you ride in, but in fact stays in complete control of you by guiding your hips at the speed he wants you to go. He even pulls off his dog tags (he's never once taken them off because once a soldier, always a soldier) and puts them over your head; letting you wear them as you ride him. It's a way of marking you as his, having you wear his dog tags while fucking.

And when he grabs them, only to pull you down for a kiss, he nearly loses his mind whenever you tell him, “You're a good boy, Crassus.”, with your lips ghosting against his as you bounce up and down on his cock with ease.

Your words make him realize that you have a dom side; that you're a switch since you always let him be the dom in bed. It does something to him, makes his cock get impossibly harder, knowing that you can be dominant when you want. That you can say words of praise that sound filthy flowing from your lips in a tone that's a bit more sultry and masterful.

All of those sudden revelations had Crassus losing control. And suddenly, he's telling you, “Oh, I'll show you how good of a boy I can be.”, while bucking up into you at an unyielding and brutal pace causing you both to moan and grunt until you cum together.

You threw the letter containing the ticket to District 2 in the trash. You never told Crassus about it either. You didn't feel the need to since you picked him.

Coriolanus waited for you at the train station all day, only for you to stand him up. That made him angry. He was insulted that you didn't listen to him; that you most likely told his father about the plans for you to move to 2- that his father must've stopped you. Hell, Coriolanus felt like an idiot waiting for you only for you to stand him up.

As he walked home alone, Elite Officer Snow realized that his father had won. That General Crassus Snow had taken you from him.

He also thinks that you're a dumb bitch for not listening to him whenever he warned you about his father having a thing for you.

And a few months later, in October before the presidential elections are held, First Lieutenant Coriolanus Snow is invited to his father General Crassus Snow's wedding.

To your wedding.

Coriolanus didn't want to go, but went only because it'd look bad for his Air Force career if he snubbed his father's wedding. All of his superiors thought that General Crassus Snow, the war hero of the rebellion, was one of the best military minds on the planet. So, he was stuck going.

Coriolanus brought his wife, a pretty little thing from the districts, with him. He has her on his arm, all dolled up in a cerulean blue dress. Her hair's up in some simple updo so you notice the faint scars on her back, from where they pop out from her dress, right away.

And that's when you knew you made the right choice in picking Crassus. You remember that Coriolanus once told you a story about how he turned a girl in for thievery and helped her leave the town square once her punishment, a whipping, was done. You remember he told you that story when you confronted him about seeing somebody in District 8. But now you know that First Lieutenant Snow was using his charm to lie to you; that he really did cheat on you.

You suppose that he pulled some strings and sent for his district girl once you failed to show up at the train station in 2. You're glad that he's not alone, that he has his district whore- as Crassus refers to the girl as.

You got stuck sharing one dance with Coriolanus, being his new stepmother and all, and he let you know how he felt about you being Mrs. Crassus Snow during your waltz.

“It should've been me marrying you, not my father, Y/N.” Coriolanus told you, his face a mask of indifference as his baby blue eyes blazed with anger. “I can't believe you let him seduce you; steal you away from me.”

Narrowing your eyes at the man that used to be your best friend, you explain your situation with, “Crassus never seduced me or stole me from you, Coriolanus. We became friends while I was dealing with your absence and one thing led to another.”

“He'll never love you the way that I do, my darling rose.”

“Don't talk to me about loving me, Coriolanus. Not when you're married to some district girl.”

“My wife might be district but at least she's loyal to me, is grateful for everything that I've done for her- unlike you who jumped into bed with my own goddamn father.” Coriolanus darkly hissed before storming off, ending your dance and leaving you on the dance floor.

Crassus just raised a brow and asked you what happened once you left the dance floor and returned to his side at the table on the dias- high up on display in the ballroom since you're the newlyweds.

You just told him that you had Coriolanus didn't approve of each other's spouses and that he stormed off after trying to make his wife seem like a better woman than you. Crassus laughed and told you not to pay too much attention to his bratty son. That he's always been full of piss and vinegar when he couldn't get his way.

Crassus won the presidential election by a landslide. One of the first things he did was intergrade District 13 back into Panem. And since the former sovereign nation was a great source of income for Crassus due to his nuke factories there, District 13 was put on a pedestal. They had rights similar to those in the Capitol while the other 12 districts still had to participate in the games.

Yes, your husband kept the Hunger Games. You think it's because they're so popular, but the truth his your husband finds the way his drunken class project blossomed into a spectacle that the Capitolites adore fascinating. Plus, Crassus was a cold, stern man that was a military genius. The president saw the merits of keeping the districts under control by using the games as a lifelong punishment.

At least your husband did improve some of the living and working conditions in the Districts. He told you that that people needed a little bit of hope to keep from rebelings, but also a firm hand to guide them and keep them in line. Crassus said it was all checks and balances.

And when Dr. Gaul approached President Crassus Snow with an amendment that would have all children born in the districts, including ones born on PK Bases, be legal district citizens and registered for the games, well, your husband approved it.

You wondered how your brother felt about that. If he ever married his girl in 12, where he was serving as an officer in the peacekeepers, or if he had a family. You'd never know those answers since he disowned you after receiving your wedding invite. He was pissed about the situation, said some nasty things, and literally disowned you.

You never thought about Coriolanus and his wife, whether or not they had children. Why would you? Coriolanus never wrote, never had anything to do with you or Crassus being his ego was bruised by your wedding.

Talk about children, Crassus had given you three beautiful children. Two sons and a daughter. Javani, Xanthos, and Mara.

Javani was the oldest and he, to your surprise, favored your late father in looks and temperment. Or at least Crassus told you he did. In fact, your husband always chuckles that the only thing Javani got from him is his platinum hair while everything else is from your family's genes.

Xanthos and Mara are Snows inside and out, from dawn to dusk, tho.

And when Xanthos is 18 he's selected to be a mentor for the Hunger Games since he's a very intelligent young man and is in the top 24 of his class. But what made his mentorship memorial and unusual was that, by a twist of fate, his assigned tribute was his nephew.

Yes, Javani Snow’s tribute was Cassian Snow, from District 2. Cassian's the first born child of Major Coriolanus Snow and his wife, a district woman you never bothered to learn the name of.

And, it's sad to say, after seeing Coriolanus' son get reaped and assigned to Javani as his tribute to mentor, you know in your heart of hearts that you made the right decision in staying with Crassus; marrying him and becoming First Lady Snow. Because your children are safe from the games.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @lady-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[2aceofspades]

Me to Two:

Gaw hopefully they make up, yeah...

Fingers crossed 🤞🤞

Perfect opportunity for a lil Acey ramble sesh tho~

Spoilers for anyone who hasn't read EMD! Also this is gonna be long cuz I like to ramble sometimes. All of this is just me rambling my own thoughts and perspectives (:

_______________________________________________

In all honesty, I know I'm personally expecting there to be a lot of unresolved tension between the both of them if they get an opportunity to talk. I mean, I doubt their childhood was filled with apologies and making up and such. Their childhood must have been filled with them being pitted against one another in some ways. Their strengths have been both used and somewhat strained by Draxum to benefit the mission he placed on them. This has probably negatively affected their egos quite a bit, thus exacerbating that brutal sibling rivalry.

From the start, One hasn't been all too kind or honest with Two either. Although, it could be argued that Two's betrayal just stings more because One had spent every little mission making sure Two stayed safe, one way or another. That much is seen through One's internal monologue throughout the story. Two's betrayal also definitely hits more to One's autonomy, which is its own can of worms, of course.

But One also spent his time jeopardizing Draxum's orders for One's own personal goal of taking out Raph and Mikey...thus jeopardizing his and Two's success with their given mission. This must have been a pretty heavy blow to Two, who chose to do and not to do things for One because Two was under the impression that their mission was their sole focus. Thus, their perspectives play a big role in both sides of this broken trust and strain in their relationship as experimental child soldiers and brothers (in arms).

So, maybe Two had a similar perspective and goal. And I think this has been discussed that, on the surface, Two did what he did for the sake of the mission. In his eyes, his betrayal was justified and almost necessary for success. One was threatening their sole mission because of One's personal fears. So, in Two's eyes, shutting down One would thus secure their success. Right? Cuz, at the end of the day, isn't that what they're both going after? Success? It looks different for the two of them, but Two is following orders and One is taking out the experiments that he perceives as threats in order to secure his and Two's ranks in Draxum's command. They're both trying to succeed, both in the things they choose to do and not to do.

Additionally, maybe Two didn't expect One to take it so personally. Both of them were hurt by one another, betrayed by each other. I don't think it was ever one-sided. Cuz how could it be? One was trying to protect Two, but I think the same can be said for Two. He isn't the total bad guy. Their perceptions of each other and of themselves are skewed, off...and it makes sense. That's a major reason why I love this story so much. At least, for me, it's relatable in that way. Because when someone who raises you and is supposedly trying to protect you does things out of fear instead of love, your perception is off. Maybe it looks like love, but it doesn't feel like it.

For both One and Two, they do things out of fear. They were raised to be useful tools; that's how they're perceived by Draxum. Their strengths are useful, even their fear is useful at times. The things they can do are useful and they can be replaced if they are not 'good' tools. So, when something or someone threatens that perception, they do things out of fear of being useless, unsuccessful. It's difficult to not see yourself or others in that same way. That has been very relatable for me, in all honesty. And it's a repeating theme for both One and Two AND Draxum in the story, which makes sense.

Does all of this make what Two did okay? No. It just puts a possible explanation to why he did what he did.

Small circle back, One and Two would both need to take responsibility for the things they did and failed to do and rebuild their trust. Will that happen? I don't know, but I hope so :)

I love thinking up the possible timeline between them though. Both of them have certainly said and done some rather hurtful things to each other. Is that going to be acknowledged by either one or both of them? Mm...I dunno. I hope so, but they'd only really have that modeled from Raph and Mikey. It would be AMAZING if they have that finally modeled by Draxum though. I think that would open a door for all three of them that could introduce some real, nice healing. Will that happen? Again, I don't know, but damn do I hope so.

All in all, I am hopeful for both One and Two. They deserve to just be themselves, not just used as helpful tools, ya know? That's my two cents tho (:

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[sadrockandwaltzes]

Batman and Dream would get on swimmingly.

[s4pphoiduser]

microdosing coming out by macrodosing "ooo i wanna look Just Like Him. HIM. HE HIM HIM HIM. JUST LIKE HIM." like oh look at the broad shoulders and wide, flat chest. oh, oh, so interesting, isn't it? wouldn't it be fun if i were a guy? imagine That!

[drivemysoul]

i wanna send the great war to my fp so bad

[crystallinestars]

How They React to Your Death

My HCs about how I think the Genshin boys would react to your death. I wanted to write Kaeya too, but ran out of steam.

This month has been terrible to me, so I was in the mood for angst. I don't know how well these turned out, but they were fun to think about.

Part 2 here.

Characters: Alhaitham, Childe, Heizou, Kaveh, Lyney, Neuvillette, Venti, Wanderer/Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

WARNING:

Reader has death descriptions. Some are more graphic than others, but I don't get into the nitty gritty details.

Spoilers for the backstories of all the mentioned boys.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Act V of the Fontaine Archon quest in Neuvillette's part.

Childe's part contains mention of suicidal thoughts.

Kaveh's and Venti's parts contain alcoholism

🎧 Alhaitham

Despite Alhaitham’s considerable wealth, no amount of money could cure your Eleazar sickness. His money could only buy treatment that prolonged your life a little bit, but ultimately your many years of battling the illness ended when he got news from the doctors that you had passed away in your sleep.

Alhaitham had accepted the news fairly quickly. He knew your death was inevitable, could see you slowly wasting away each time he visited you in the hospital over the past few months. So it was no surprise to him when the day finally came. The other patients and staff thought it strange how Alhaitham had no visible reaction to the news, but some chalked it up to shock when in truth the Scribe was simply accepting of that fact. There was no use denying something that already happened.

When Alhaitham came home that day, the house felt silent and empty. It reminded him of how the house felt when his grandmother passed away when he was younger. The sensations were similar. However, he did not cry over your death. Instead, he carried on his life as normal, or as close to it as he could now that you were no longer a part of what he considered ‘normal’.

At first glance, people thought that Haitham was unaffected by your death. Nothing about him changed. Not his mannerisms, his quality of work, or his expression. He remained the same reserved, stoic Scribe who had no time for trivial nonsense or extra work. He also never talked about you to others aside from confirming their question if you were truly gone. Alhaitham was like a well-oiled machine that worked efficiently like clockwork, keeping up the same even rhythm.

What they don’t see is how he comes home with the expectation of hearing your voice greet him upon entering, only to be faced with a defeating silence that makes his heart sink. They don’t know that Alhaitham wakes up throughout the night, expecting to find you snuggled up next to him in bed the way you used to before your sickness got worse, and you had to be hospitalized. However, you weren’t there no matter how many times he looked towards your side of the bed, and the Scribe could only sigh and try to fall back asleep while ignoring his aching heart.

No one sees how Alhaitham gets too lost in his books in the mornings and accidentally makes two cups of coffee instead of one due to force of habit. Or how, for once, he finds the silence of his house bothersome without your voice and the sounds of your activities resounding within the walls, and it’s enough to distract him from reading. He could be found reading at the House of Daena and Puspa Café more often from then on.

During his afternoon naps, Alhaitham sneaks back home and cradles your favorite blanket to mimic the sensation of holding your soft body in his arms the way he used to when you joined him for naps. He listens to recordings of you talking with him just so he can hear your voice again. He was glad he made the decision to record your voice at the hospital before you became too weak to speak. It gave him the chance to hear you one more time even if the sound of your voice made his chest hurt so much that he occasionally had to stop the recording to collect himself.

Nobody sees how Alhaitham finally picks up the fiction books you recommended him because they were your favorite. He prefers non-fiction, but these books are the last things he has left through which he could connect to your mind and way of thinking. He reads them all cover-to-cover even if he finds the story lacking or the writing not to his taste. He will learn to treasure each and every word because you once did.

What someone might see, as Kaveh did when he moved in with the Scribe, is a bookshelf filled with a few journals, a thick book with an emerald cover, and an assortment of fiction books that exist nowhere else in the house. Alhaitham never talks about these books unless asked, but their well-worn covers are a sign of frequent use, and sure enough, one can catch him reading a rare fiction book during one specific month each year.

🐋 Childe

You went missing after going out to collect some firewood in the woods near Childe’s home. A search party was arranged to find you with Childe in the lead, and he was also the first one to find your remains. Your body had been torn apart, blood and innards splattered across the snow, no doubt the work of some rifthounds. Usually, Childe would relish in such a gory sight, but not this time. Not when it’s your blood and flesh painted in the snow.

The sight leaves him numb. He’s numb when the search party comes to retrieve you, numb when he sees your parents weeping over your gruesome death, and numb when he takes on the duty of exterminating every rifthound he finds around Morepesok.

He wants to cry too, to grieve for you the way he needs, but refrains. He doesn’t want to appear weak and unreliable when his younger siblings mourn and cry over your death. You were like family to them, and your death broke their little hearts to pieces. Childe didn’t want to burden his siblings further by breaking down in front of them. He needed to remain a reliable older brother who could support them through this tough time, even when his own heart bled and he cried in his sleep when he dreamed about you.

Childe’s underlings noted that the Eleventh Harbinger became colder and more irritable after your passing. Any mention of your name would garner the speaker a harsh glare, and if Childe assumed what said person said about you was disrespectful, he didn’t hesitate to start a fight and beat the other person within an inch of their life. He became violent and unhinged, much like how he used to be when he returned from the Abyss as a fourteen-year-old boy.

Childe knew his behavior was irrational, and it pained him to see even his own family fear him due to his violent actions. He felt restless. Spending time at home among your belongings summoned feelings of longing and sadness, but even so, he couldn’t bear to throw anything away. He lived among the ghosts of your existence, however, it drove him mad with grief.

Childe needed an outlet for his emotions, so he took to fighting monsters and other strong opponents. He became even more reckless in battle. If before, the Harbinger sought out strong enemies to test his mettle against them and grow stronger as a result, now he sought out an opponent that would be worthy of taking his life.

Childe didn’t want to abandon his family. He loved them dearly and wanted to see his siblings grow up to be happy and successful people, but life without you felt so hollow. A part of him wanted to return to his family, but the sense of his family feeling incomplete never left him. You were just as much of a family to him as his siblings and parents were. He had plans to start his own family with you. But now… now, a part of him yearns to reunite with you in the afterlife. He promised he would stay by your side no matter what, and Ajax is not one to break his promises.

🔍 Heizou

Heizou was one of the first to hear about your stabbing that occurred in an Inazuman alleyway late that evening. You were rushed to a doctor to have your wound treated, but the robber who attacked you hit a vital area. Your blood loss was colossal, and it wasn’t long after arriving at the doctor’s that you succumbed to your injury.

To Heizou, the news brought on a sense of deja vu. He’s already lost a friend to crime in the past, and now he lost you to crime, too. The knowledge made him furious and heartbroken. He was angry at the robber for stabbing you just so he could steal some money that you didn’t want to part with, and he was angry at himself for failing to prevent this. After his friend passed away, Heizou swore to nip crime in the bud by discouraging criminals from committing crimes with the threat that he would find and capture them no matter what without fail. But what good did his resolve do if you still died because of an armed robber?

The heartache and guilt he felt ate away at him as the memory of your ashen face during your last few moments haunted him. He lost you. Never again would he get to spend time with you and make you laugh, kiss and hug you, or tell you he loved you.

His anger drove him to capture the murderer in record time, but hearing the criminal’s subsequent sentence for theft and murder didn’t comfort the detective. No amount of jail time would ever atone for the loss of your life.

After that day, Heizou lost his playful demeanor, becoming somber and reserved. He threw himself into his work, feeling pressured to capture as many criminals as he could in as little time as possible. However, his grief and exhaustion caused his mind to dull and make mistakes while investigating clues. It got to the point where Kujou Sara had to forcibly send him on vacation so he could take a break and properly process your death.

Despite his protests, Heizou knew he wasn’t much use in his current state, so he took this free time to visit your family and mourn together with them. He apologized for not doing a better job of protecting you, fully expecting your parents to lay blame on him for not protecting their child. To his surprise, your parents didn’t blame him at all. They even thanked him for catching the murderer and helping them to feel a little more at peace. Heizou’s interaction with your family helped him feel a tiny bit less guilty about your death.

The experience left him feeling a little less broken, so in the following days he sorted through your belongings in your shared home. He packed away some items to return to your parents, some things he put in storage, and others he gave away that he remembered you wanting to get rid of. A few of your items he kept for himself, one of which was a scarf you mentioned you bought because it was the same shade of green as his eyes which reminded you of him.

Heizou wore your scarf as a keepsake and good luck charm and would hardly be seen without it when he finally came back to work. What once served as your reminder of him, now served as his reminder of you, the person he loved with his whole being. But with the memories of you came the reminder of how you died. Though the memory was painful, it helped Heizou work up the will to keep pursuing his goal of eradicating crime. Even when the case was extremely tough with conflicting clues, your scarf would remind him to not give up, to not let another incident like yours happen again, and Heizou would persevere. He would continue to persevere no matter how long it took because he didn’t want innocent lives like yours to be snatched away so cruelly. Maybe one day, he will see you in the afterlife and proudly tell you all about how he achieved his dream. Until then, he will work hard to be worthy of the title of Inazuma’s best detective.

🍷 Kaveh

Kaveh had a lot of work to do. He was saddled with creating drafts for another large project while also trying to work on the commission for constructing a library in Aaru village for the children. Wanting to help alleviate his burden, you offered to take the finished drafts over to Aaru village yourself so he could focus on finishing up work for his other project. Kaveh tried to object, saying you really didn’t need to trouble yourself on his behalf, but you insisted, expressing your desire to help him finish his work sooner so the two of you could spend more time together again. After some deliberation, he let you go to the village by yourself, confident that you could make the trip since you accompanied him there several times before.

A few days later, Kaveh received news that you had died on your return trip from the desert. When he heard the cause of your death, his stomach roiled. You perished in quicksand just like his father. You died doing something for his sake, just like his father did.

Whatever future plans he was building together with you, whatever progress you made in helping him slowly heal from his trauma, it all came crashing down around him. Your death reopened old wounds Kaveh was only starting to heal from, as well as left new scars that tormented him every waking moment.

The first few weeks, Kaveh couldn’t stand to be in your shared home. It was full of memories of you, and each and every one of your belongings would stab at his heart like a blade. Moreover, the house felt so silent without you around. It reminded him of when his mother left for Fontaine, leaving him alone in a house too big for only him to live in. Now, he was reliving that moment all over again, but it was worse this time because, unlike his mother, he would never see you again.

Kaveh also couldn’t stand to look inside his sketchbooks. The pages were covered in various sketches of you, and looking at them only made the anguish and guilt grow in him tenfold. He blamed himself for your death, attributing it to being his fault just like he attributes his father’s death as his fault too. No matter what anyone says to console him, he will never stop believing it’s all his fault.

Fueled by guilt and self-loathing, Kaveh spent several weeks visiting Lambad’s tavern practically every day. One could even say he lived there since the architect seldom went home. He used what little money he had to buy alcohol, especially of the stronger kind. He wanted to numb the pain in his heart and to pretend that you weren’t really gone from this world. The alcohol helped to muddle his mind until his intoxicated brain conjured happy memories of you together, and Kaveh would mumble your name in a drunken haze. Other times it didn’t help, and Alhaitham, Cyno, or Tighnari could often find a drunk Kaveh quietly crying while slumped over a table and trying their best to drag him home while listening to his drunken babble of self-loathing and regret.

It will take a long time for Kaveh to feel okay again, and even then, he will never be the same optimistic and cheerful person he used to be. You were his muse, the one who made him feel like maybe he was deserving of love after all. But with you gone, he lost his creative spark. His designs no longer held the same extravagant and artistic flair they used to. Now, they’re more tame by comparison. With your passing, you took with you the little bit of joy he felt towards the world, and it seemed more bleak than it used to be when he was with you.

Kaveh refused to seek out love after your death. He’s lost too many people he held dear and has been left alone over and over again. The pain of being left behind and of feeling like he will only bring misfortune to those he cares about, made him seal off his heart. He doesn’t want to let people close to him like that again, and neither does he want to replace you. You were, and still are, very special to him.

Despite numerous years going by after your passing, Kaveh never forgot you, and he didn’t want your memory to be forgotten either. He built an art school and dedicated it to you in honor of being the one who inspired him so much in his creative endeavors. He hopes that your name will live on and continue to inspire future generations of artists long after he is gone from the world.

🎩 Lyney Having grown up in the House of the Hearth with Lyney and Lynette, the twins were practically like family to you. Though admittedly, Lyney and you developed romantic ties rather than familial ones the more you got to know each other. It was no surprise to anyone when the two of you became a couple, and Lynette even encouraged it.

Being a member of the Fatui, you were often sent out on dangerous missions to infiltrate enemy territory and report your findings back to Arlecchino. You were good at your job and had major successfully completed missions under your belt, but even the best slip up sometimes. After infiltrating enemy headquarters, you regularly reported your findings back to the House, however, one day the correspondence stopped. You went completely silent. The thought of you being caught immediately crossed Lyney’s mind, but he was hopeful that as an experienced agent, you would manage to find a way out somehow. You always have in the past, and after having worked together with you during joint missions, he saw first-hand how capable you were. To pass the time, he focused on polishing a magic trick he wanted to show you upon your return.

Days go by, and just as the magician is about to lose his patience and run off to try and find you, news about your body washing up on a riverbank reaches his ears. The heartbreak Lyney experiences upon hearing the news is indescribable. He felt lost, disoriented, and anguished. A part of him refused to believe the facts, but after witnessing the gruesome sight of your corpse, he had no choice but to face reality.

You were dead.

Lyney wondered at length about the cause of your death, and while his own guesses made his stomach knot, the autopsy report he read a few days later made him livid. Numerous torture and abuse marks were found on your body. It seemed that the enemy had captured and tortured you, hoping to force you to spill some of the Fatui’s secrets. Judging by the severity of the most recent wounds, you must have kept quiet because more brutal torture methods were used on you until the enemy figured out they wouldn’t get anything out of you, and disposed of you. Lyney knew how loyal you were to your family. You would never betray them even at the cost of your own life, but in that moment, he really wished you would have treasured your life more. Maybe then you could have survived. Maybe then he would have had the chance to hold you in his arms and tell you he missed you while you were gone. Maybe he would have had an opportunity to show off the magic trick he created specifically for your eyes only. But now, he’ll continue to miss you until the day death comes for him too. Lyney’s initial reaction upon hearing of your torture is overwhelming fury. Lynette had to hold him back from recklessly running off to take revenge against the enemy. It took a lot of reasoning on her part, but eventually, her brother calmed down.

Once his bout of anger passed, Lyney broke down. Lynette didn’t hide her own tears as she held her brother in her arms while he cried. The siblings both missed you dearly and mourned your loss, but Lyney took your death especially hard. He felt broken. One of his most precious people was taken from him in such a cruel manner, and the mere thought of how you must have spent your last few waking hours made him feel horrible.

He was anguished and angry, and the potent concoction of negative emotions weighed down on his heart and mind. Gone was his cheerful smile and outgoing attitude, replaced with a cold and somber frown. His calculative side took center stage. Though his initial burst of outrage passed, he wouldn’t give up on his desire for revenge until the act had been carried out. Aside from the twins, Arlecchino also refused to take your death lying down. You were her precious child, someone she put in a lot of love and effort to raise, and this transgression angered her as much as it angered Lyney. Together with Arlecchino, Lyney and Lynette infiltrate enemy headquarters and make every person a part of that organization pay. The magician ensures that the perpetrators experience the same pain you went through during your torture, and by the time they’re done, not a soul is left alive.

Even after exacting revenge, Lyney barely feels a smidge better. Though your captors have been neutralized and won’t hurt anyone the way they hurt you ever again, it doesn’t satisfy Lyney. At the end of the day, all he wants is to have you back in his life. He consoles himself with pieces of your clothing. Your clothes smelled like you, and Lyney hugged one of your items every night, breathing in your scent and soaking the material with his tears as he quietly cried. It takes a long time for Lyney to get himself together and act like himself again. Though he could easily put on a fake smile for his audience, his heart still aches inside. He misses you no matter how many months go by, and Lynette has her hands full comforting him when he breaks down at night and cries about how much he wants to see you. Lyney would have had an easier time accepting your death if you had passed away more peacefully, but knowing you were tortured to death will forever haunt him.

Once he feels more like himself, Lyney incorporates the magic trick he originally wanted to show you upon your return into his magic shows. He only performs it during special occasions so it would leave a great spectacle upon his audience. It was once made to awe you, but now it awes his audience, and a part of him feels some semblance of catharsis in knowing he could inspire others to feel the same joy you made him feel using just this trick. At times like these, Lyney feels as if a part of you was still there with him, enjoying the show he secretly dedicates in your honor.

⚖️ Neuvillette

You were visiting your friend Navia in Poisson, when the Primordial Sea flooded the area and caused a great catastrophe that took the lives of many of its residents. Neuvillette was aware you were in Poisson when the disaster struck, and he tried to get there as quickly as he could to check on you. He would have arrived there immediately were it not for the pressing matters he had to settle prior. He hoped the Traveler and Paimon would find you and keep you safe since they knew you were the Iudex’s beloved.

When he finally made it to Poisson, to his morbid surprise, he found neither you nor Navia, but some Fatui members helping to mitigate the damage. When he asked about your whereabouts, he was told that nobody had seen you. Immediately, his thoughts ventured to the worst scenario, but he refused to believe in his fears until he could get confirmation. He held out hope that you were alright, and went in pursuit of Navia and the Traveler, hoping that maybe you were with them, or they knew what happened to you.

It wasn’t until he was saving Navia from getting dissolved in the Primordial Sea water, did he catch a glimpse of your face. You were trying to protect Navia from certain death, along with Silver and Meluse. At the time he was too anxious about saving Navia to fully register the implication, but an unsettling thought sprang in his mind that maybe you really were— No, he didn’t want to accept it.

When Navia regained consciousness, Neuvillette asked her about your whereabouts. Her answer pierced through him like an ice-cold lance. With tears in her eyes, Navia recounted how you were helping Silver and Meluse rescue the residents of Poisson when the Primordial Sea flooded in, and how she saw your body dissolve in the water along with her loyal subordinates with her own eyes. The news settled in Neuvillette’s stomach like a boulder, causing it to sink and make him feel nauseous. Dread filled him, but he could only muster a quiet “I see…” and stare off into the distance. He felt crushing sadness, but he wasn’t given time to properly process his emotions and your death until he managed to make it out of the ruins.

That evening, Fontaine was hit by a torrential downpour that lasted several days. The rain fell in heavy sheets, flooding the streets and urging most of the citizens to seek shelter in their homes. Only the Chief Justice had the gall to stand outside and let the rain seep and soak through his clothes.

Neuvillette let the water droplets cascade down his face, imitating the tears he wished to shed as the realization that he would never see you again settled in. It was strange. Though he was on land, each waking moment he was pursued by a constant feeling of drowning. His chest felt heavy as if burdened by a great weight that made each breath he took feel like a herculean task.

Neuvillette felt a lot of emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He was frustrated and angry that innocent civilians had died in the flood because nothing was done to prevent it. So many people died. You died. If nothing else, he wanted to get justice for your and the others’ deaths.

However, Furina refused to provide answers to his questions despite his probing and insistence that now was not the time to keep secrets that could potentially help prevent an even greater catastrophe. That was when he turned to seeking aid from his companions, in the hopes that Fontaine could still be saved. Neuvillette lost and gained many things in those few days. The citizens of Fontaine were freed of their curse, and Neuvillette had obtained a position of complete authority, however, it all came at the cost of the lives of innocent civilians, Focalors’s life, Furina’s mental state, and… your life. Those were great prices to pay, and Neuvillette mourned each and every sacrifice.

Now that he had some time to himself to process his feelings, Neuvillette recognized that what he felt was grief and longing. He wanted to see you at least one more time, to feel you in his arms again. To have you taken from him so suddenly was too painful. He never got to tell you one last ‘I love you’, and he could only hope that his words reach you wherever your consciousness might be now. Fontaine will see frequent rainfall in the coming months. It won’t be easy for Neuvillette to get over your death, and some part of him will always ache and yearn to see you again. But one thing he can do is strengthen his resolve to make Fontaine into a nation that both you and Focalors would be proud of. A nation where tragedies like these will never happen again.

🍃 Venti

Venti liked to climb up on high places like his statue in front of the Favonius church, the rooftop of the Cat’s Tail, or the great tree at Windrise. Today, you found him high up in the tree, absentmindedly strumming a new tune on his lyre. Wanting to surprise the bard, you tried your best to climb the tree as quietly as you could, but right as you were about to pop up and surprise him, the branch you were on snapped, and with a heart-stopping shriek, you plummeted down to the ground.

Your scream alerted Venti. He felt your presence before you even started climbing the tree, but he failed to foresee the danger until it was too late. He didn’t react fast enough to summon a gust of wind to safely lower you down. The sickening crunch of your skull hitting the ground made his stomach roil, and for a brief moment he felt as if the blood in his veins turned to ice. He felt frozen in place.

Snapping out of his momentary stupor, Venti rushed to your side to check on you, but the enormous pool of blood blooming around your lifeless body made him throw up.

Not again. He lost someone he loved once more. The painful emotions of losing you triggered a cascade of memories of seeing the broken body of that one boy he called a friend thousands of years ago. The same boy whose face he now wore as a way of honoring his memory and giving him an opportunity to live out his dreams of freedom through Venti.

Venti felt that same feeling of heavy emptiness once again as he cradled your lifeless body in his arms, your blood smearing the white sleeves of his shirt. One of the bard’s hands cradled your still-warm cheek, and he wept. To have you taken away so easily through such a small accident… it was too much.

Venti didn’t attend your funeral. He couldn’t bear to. However, he forced himself to watch from a distance as your loved ones gathered around your grave. He fully empathized with their grief.

In the following days, one could often find Venti at a tavern. He started with Angel’s Share, but after consecutive days of heavy drinking and drunken ramblings about how remorseful he felt and how you deserved better, Diluc put a stop to Venti’s visits. The Anemo Archon wasn’t getting any better from drinking himself into a stupor until he could barely hold himself upright. It was heartbreaking to see.

Even after being banned from the Angel’s Share, Venti would visit other taverns in the city and rinse and repeat. He so badly wanted to numb the pain in his heart and forget the awful memory of your lifeless body. Only after several bans did Venti finally stop coming to the city altogether. He disappeared for a while, and nobody was able to find him. Only after many weeks did the bard suddenly pop up in the town square with his lyre in hand.

During his absence, Venti wrote a few songs as a way to cope with his grief, and after a while, finally felt well enough to play them. As a bard, he was well-known in Mondstadt for playing cheerful and beautiful tunes, but this time his melodies were melancholic, even sad. They listened to him sing about a love he can no longer say ‘I love you’ to anymore, someone he can no longer forge new memories with and can only carry on in his heart as a memory. The music he played captured the attention of every member of the audience and touched their hearts so deeply that they, too, could feel the sorrow the bard was trying to convey through his melodies. His pain became their pain, too. The heartache was so profound, so raw and crippling, that many people couldn’t hold back from crying.

Venti wasn’t playing the songs to earn money or share his sadness with others. He was playing them for you. He hoped that his feelings would reach you wherever you were and that your memory wouldn’t fade away even if he remained the last person alive who knew of your existence. His songs will keep your memory alive in the hearts of the Mondstadt citizens, never to be forgotten.

☂️ Wanderer

You have been fighting chronic sickness for months, but despite the treatments, each week you seemed to get worse and worse. Neither the doctors of Sumeru nor even Nahida herself could figure out a cure for your condition. You were bedridden with barely any strength to move. Wanderer took responsibility for nursing you back to health by helping you get to places you needed, cooking all your meals and feeding you, as well as getting your medicine and administering it.

Despite his efforts, you could tell you wouldn’t last long. While you still had the strength to talk, you apologized to him for being forced to part from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, with a frown pulling at his lips. “Rather than talk about such nonsense, use that energy to get better instead.”

He didn’t want to face the facts, to accept the reality that you could disappear from his life. But then came a day where you no longer opened your eyes when he called your name, nor stirred when he tried to shake you awake. Your body was cold and stiff and so unlike what he was used to seeing you as. The life you possessed was gone in all senses of the word.

Something in Wanderer snapped that day. Falling to his knees, he let out a guttural scream that tore at his vocal cords. He unleashed a wail that carried all the anguish and misery he’d been keeping bottled up inside for hundreds of years. He’s lost so many people he cared for in the past. Each time he met someone he grew attached to, fate would always tear them away from him, and you were no exception.

He cried bitter tears in the privacy of your shared home, cursing Fate for doing this to him over and over again. He was angry and heartbroken. Though he lacked a real heart, the sensation in his chest felt like something inside him broke into a million tiny fragments. As if sharp needles pierced through his non-existent heart and caused him to scream until he lost his voice.

He wanted revenge, but how can one get vengeance against Fate itself?

You were gone, so cruelly torn away from his side despite his best efforts to keep you alive. You were the little ray of light that never gave up on him no matter how cold he was towards you or how much he pushed you away, and helped him heal little by little. You accepted him in his entirety and wormed your way into his non-existent heart, so how dare Fate mock him like this? Wanderer truly felt as if Fate was purposely torturing him by taking away all those whom he held dear.

Helpless and anguished, Wanderer reverted to the days when he used to be Scaramouche, the sixth of the Fatui Harbingers who was infamous for his callousness and mercilessness. His roiling emotions spurred him to repeat these spiteful acts against anyone who got in his way. It was the only way he knew of how to vent these overwhelming emotions that made him feel like he was choking on his grief.

It took Nahida’s interference to calm him down and get through to him that you wouldn’t want him to be like this. The Wanderer you fell in love with wasn’t such a hateful person driven by negative emotions, and though he was loathe to admit it, the God of Wisdom was right.

Having quelled the initial burst of wounded anger, Wanderer would think more clearly about what he should do from now on. He could keep all your items, photographs, and letters, but they would never replace you, only help preserve some of the memories attached to them, which a puppet like him had no need for. He won’t forget even the smallest thing about you, not as long as he’s alive.

Wanderer becomes a regular visitor of your grave, taking care of it so your name won’t be erased from the gravestone by time too quickly. He would frequently bring your favorite foods and flowers and place them in front of your grave, before taking a seat next to it and staring off into the distance without saying a word. He did this mostly at night so he could stargaze, just like how you both used to when you were alive.

Even centuries later, when everyone who knew you took their memories of you to their graves, Wanderer will remain to watch over your final resting place, unwavering in his devotion.

🐺 Wriothesley

You accompanied Wriothesley on another one of his swims out in the open waters surrounding the Fortress. Since you weren’t a vision holder, you had to wear a diving suit to breathe, unlike your beloved Duke. You’ve had these private little swim dates a few times before, so your guard was down when you swam through some jagged areas of the Fortress’s scaffolding. The shoulder of your diving suit caught on a sharp edge of metal and tore a hole in it. The tear was fairly large, and you panicked when you felt water rush inside your suit. Wriothesley was quick to freeze the hole and pull you up to the surface to get the suit off of you, but by the time he did, it was too late. You had inhaled too much water and were unresponsive. Wriothesley tried to keep his anxiety at bay and utilized all the CPR knowledge he learned from Sigewinne to try and save your life. He breathed air into your lungs and did chest compressions with enough force to hear your ribs crack, but even after 30 agonizing minutes of trying, you wouldn’t wake up.

Wriothesley had no choice but to accept the fact you died. Wriothesley doesn’t cry for you. He’s no stranger to death. His exposure to it in his younger years made him all too aware of how easy it is to die, and that death came for all without exception. As a result, he was able to accept your death a little easier than most, but it doesn’t mean he made peace with it. The staff and inmates at the Fortress all said Wriothesley looked the same as usual even after your death. He kept up his laidback yet intimidating demeanor and busied himself with the variety of work someone in his position was required to take care of. Only Sigewinne could tell that Wriothesley was not alright despite all the strained smiles he gave everyone. The bags under his eyes grew more prominent by the day, a clear indicator he wasn’t sleeping well. She saw how he threw himself into his work, barely taking any time to rest properly, as if wanting to keep his mind busy from the horrible memory of seeing your corpse. Though he tried to mask it, in truth, your death affected Wriothesley deeply. He had frequent nightmares about watching you drown and being unable to save you, and they would keep him up at night. He usually awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding from intense panic and dread until his mind cleared, only to be replaced with a stone-cold reality that made the feelings of guilt come rushing back. Out of habit, he turns to your side of the bed to seek comfort in your presence but seeing it cold and empty served as yet another harsh reminder that you were gone. Wriothesley can’t sleep after his nightmares, so he opts to work out or fuss over his gauntlets to distract himself from his feelings. It takes all his self-control to keep a lid on his emotions and not become the angry, irritable mess he knows he will be if he’s not careful.

When he makes tea, Wriothesley accidentally makes two cups out of habit. One for you and one for him. Even weeks after your passing, it was still a difficult habit to break. For the first while, Wriothesley would even stop drinking your favorite tea blend because it reminded him of you. Rather than enjoy the flavor, all he tastes is bile in his throat. The flavor of your favorite tea makes him nauseous because it makes him think about how you will never taste this again or have another tea date in his office.

There was one occasion when he tried to drink your tea shortly after your death. He thought maybe the flavor would remind him of the happy times he shared with you, but all it resulted in was a broken teacup from the force of his grip, and Sigewinne fussing over his cuts and burns. He didn’t drink your favorite blend for a long time after that, only being able to find enjoyment in it again many years later when the startlingly clear memory of your death didn’t hurt him as much. Wriothesley felt lonely without you. You were the friend and confidant he told his deepest and darkest secrets about his past, the comfort he sought after a difficult day, and the soothing presence that made him feel accepted for who he was without all the embellished titles. But after your passing, the Fortress of Meropide seemed cold and gloomy, as if devoid of the warmth it once had that made him call it home. It was as if your death snuffed out the little ray of warm sunshine he felt when spending time with you.

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I think I have a potentially controversial opinion on Aziraphale and the ending.

So one of the things that made me smile so, SO much, was THIS:

That PURE ABSOLUTE UTTER JOY.

We have not seen ANYTHING like that from demon Crowley. We've seen him be drunk and silly, we've seen him be amused, but we've not seen this.

Now, let's consider what we know about Heaven:

It's never fully populated. ALL of the shots are completely devoid of angels, except for a few, who are almost always just getting somewhere and never really talking to each other.

Where I thought the archangels were a tight clan, it really looks like they're super catty and prone to jealousy. No doubt they would stab each other in the back happily if it came down to it. How much of Heaven is like that, if even the archangels all hate each other?

Aziraphale already has a nervous disposition when he meets Crowley. Is he perhaps an angel that NEVER fit in? Is he familiar with being ostracized by his peers? Just how lonely IS Heaven? Crowley seems to be a pretty powerful angel, and HE doesn't even know that it's all getting shut down in 6000 years -- it's like no one talks to anyone.

Aziraphale, during their whole meeting, looks absolutely smitten. At one point, Crowley goes, "Look at you! You're gorgeous!" and Aziraphale looks over with happy surprise, just before realizing he's not looking at him but rather at what he's created. And then, when Crowley starts going on about making suggestions and asking questions, Aziraphale is IMMEDIATELY concerned and doesn't want him to get into trouble.

Aziraphale is hooked on this angel, and I cannot help but think that this is perhaps the first angel who has ever WELCOMED Aziraphale into his company.

He is hooked on this angel, and the way Crowley smiles is with the light of all the stars he's just created, and it's infectious and it brings a smile to Aziraphale's face as well. And then this angel shields him from the oncoming falling stars.

He is hooked on this angel, and then this angel goes and joins the Great Rebellion, and becomes fallen himself.

"You were an angel once," Aziraphale said, softly, at the bandstand. He remembers.

I think it's reasonable to guess that Heaven has never felt so warm as it did in the presence of millions of exploding stars, next to the (arch?)angel that may perhaps be one of the few (only?) to pay him any positive attention.

I think it's reasonable to assume that Heaven was not the same after Crowley fell. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Aziraphale had wondered about the angel, wondered if he was okay. I would imagine that Aziraphale keeps that picture of pure, angelic, unbridled joy somewhere inside of him.

So, really, is it any surprise that threaded throughout EVERY interaction, Aziraphale has this deep-down feeling that Crowley is good? Would it be any surprise that Aziraphale, an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can (which isn't always), feels that if HE is still an angel, then what was done to Crowley was a great injustice?

I think it would make sense that we are shown "before the beginning" not just because it is fun, but because THIS is the foundational context for everything Aziraphale thinks Crowley is, everything Crowley enjoys. I think he remembers this moment and wishes he could live there forever. With Crowley. The two of them with this happiness, forever.

But nothing lasts forever, as much as he wishes it did.

I'm not saying Aziraphale was right with what he did to Crowley at the end of s2. There is a lot I think he did wrong. I think he held onto this picture so tightly, he didn't realize that Crowley had long since let it go, and painted a new one with Aziraphale with all the shades of grey he picked up as he sauntered (or plummeted) vaguely downward (into a pool of boiling sulfur).

I don't think he was right, but I do think he is understandable. I think there was a lot of selfishness, but also some misguided selflessness too. I watched that first scene with angelic Crowley and my heart actually broke a little, because I thought, "What a shame this joy was taken away from him."

I think Aziraphale is trying to right the injustice he feels has been done. But I also think Aziraphale doesn't realize that Crowley can never go back. The concept of falling never crossed Crowley's mind when he suggested that he ask a few questions, and he will NEVER get that kind of innocence back. And Aziraphale doesn't understand, because Heaven has clearly always just been that way for him (he is already aware of the danger of asking questions).

Crowley does not want to go back because he can never go back. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could build a universal machine that would crank out stars for eons and eons. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could make some suggestions and ask some questions and co-create with THE Creator.

Crowley understands that, and Aziraphale doesn't. But I can understand why Aziraphale would want to try. And I think it's all because of this:

[joelscruff]

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.

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[sexydoffyman]

Weird request but how would TF141+König and Alejandro react to meeting an orphan around 15 years of age who's like extremely talented in engineering, mathematics and physics, like they could build a rocket if they had the materials ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It can be HC, whatever you want! I was thinking maybe said orphan got in trouble with the government for unknowingly building some sort of weapon, maybe it was stolen? Twist that however you wish.

Just ignore this ask if you wanna <3

A KID?

genre: action

characters: König, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick

A/n: expect a lot more mistakes. Also thinking this needs a second part.

It’s been 6 years now since the war began. You were left stranded. All by yourself. Left on your own by everyone. Living was hard, but you pulled through. You learned how to do a lot of shit since you were there only with yourself for some time. Building stuff. That was your biggest interest.

You were constantly making things. New weapons mostly. You were always moving, never staying in one place for too long. You got brutal throughout the years you were alone. You took the uniform of a dead soldier. To blend in. You were mistaken for a recruit and pulled inside a helicopter by a military dude.

The military was a great provider of food and healthcare. So you just went along with everything they threw at you. Your knowledge of building shit helped out a lot. And even when some dude figured out you were a kid he let you stay.

The same dude put you in a task force with a man he trusted. You were cautious of everyone in there, but at least you had some people who you could trust a bit.

You picked up how things work from the years of pretending to be a soldier. Pretending to be an adult was getting easier and the task force you were assigned to found a place in your heart.

“There’s gotta be a way.” You finally snapped out of thinking about life before the war. You thought that the military would be a great cover. But now all your hope of making it out alive hit zero. You were stuck and with gas slowly filling the room that you and the others were in you knew your chances of survival were low.

You sat in the corner of the room. You had given up a few minutes ago already. The others were still trying to figure something out.

Suddently you felt something inside of you snap. You were not gonna die today. It must’ve been the panicking of the rough men infront of you that made you have that feeling. You started to search for a solution.

You found a small vent. It was too small to fit a grown man in, but you were not a grown man. You took off your gear and crawled into the vent unnoticed by your team.

You finally got to use the skills you gained. You crawled through the vent and dropped down from the ceiling right on the other side of a door that the rest of your team was trying to open. You managed to get inside some kind of an electrical system. You cut some wires and reconnected some other ones. The door opened with a space in between the doors just a centimeter big.

Grabbing a metal piece from the electrical you prayed the door open. You were met with the looks of your crew. You looked down and put your hand above your forehead to block your face. By now all of them realized that you weren't of age.

You ran into the room to grab your gear while your team gave each other a disgusted glance. “We need to get out of here ASAP,” you said as you walked away from the room. Price grabbed you by the shoulder to stop you. You turned to him with your mask on now.

“How old are you?” he was looking at you worriedly while he said that. You didn’t know what to answer and so after a few stutters you answered “Classified” This only made them feel more curious.

It has been days since that mission and nobody brought up the fact that you were a kid. You did notice that Price stopped shouting orders at you and started just saying them in a normal calm tone. Soap was making more small talk with you than usual. Ghost was staying closer to you, knowing you might not be able to fend off an enemy. Gaz was making sure to double-check your gear.

When you teamed up with Mexican special forces and met Alejandro you were given tasks that you’d be on with multiple people.

When you were stranded from the team, finding your way to a spot they could locate you at, you met another dude. Austrian and huge. Big dude. He was your enemy, but it didn’t take him long to find out that an adult dude would have a little more strength than you did. He forced your mask off and found out that you were in fact a kid.

Instead of killing you, he spared you. Helping you locate your tram instead of them having to look for you.

Would you survive the next missions? That you don’t know. But you do know that you don’t have to worry about pretending to be an adult.

[suguruplsr]

Any shoko smut or nsfw headcannons?

shoko smut headcannons!

✰ ✰ ✰ who needs dick when you’ve got a women who knows what she’s doing?

જ⁀➴ idk much about toys so i had to do a bit of research , but my mind went wild with this one <3

,, x fem!reader , mentions of: fingering , oral (both receiving) , toys (vibrating bullet & dildo) , thigh riding , overstimulation , nipple play , cum play , both are switches (shoko more dom) , idk what else

divider from @/benkeibear

shoko for sure loves to take things slow in sex. she’s a heavy believer in foreplay and you may be thinking, “but isn’t lesbian sex just foreplay with toys?” for her, no. she’s going from small kisses and hugs to having your legs around her face. and that’s not even all of it. she’s doing any and everything to have you overstimulated until you’re whining in her ear with breathy moans. on days that you don’t have enough energy to keep up with her, you two have lazy intimate sex. just cuddled up in each others arms, kissing each other softly with a quiet conversation while you two occasionally switch in fingering each other. she’ll get maybe two or three orgasms out of you and then you’ll do the same, softly giggling when she’s moaning in your neck and murmuring in your ear as her thighs clamp around your arm, cumming all over your fingers. then once you start to feel a bit sleepy, she moves down, holding your legs up and whispering something about putting you to sleep with her tongue.

however, there are days when even she doesn’t feel good, tired and just wanting to come home to her sweet baby. and you’re so affectionate, taking care of her not only throughout her night at home but also in bed, fingers softly traveling along her body and pulling away the cute pajama set you got her for christmas. you’re kissing around her neck and playing with her clit, and after your lips latch onto her nipples with a finger entering her pussy. she’s clenching around your finger with a whine, face twisting so adorably as her bangs stick to her face, fingers gripping the sheets. and you’re just in a trance, eyes flickering up to her to watch her expression as you play with her cum, spreading her folds and pressing lightly to let the globs ride out. it’s even more better to see how embarrassed she gets after seeing how your eyes stay on her, a mean smile curling on your face and making her thighs jolt as you play with her clit a bit, smearing it with her cum.

shoko who is surprised when you do introduce toys into your sex life. you weren’t that much a fan of scissoring, considering you preferred dragging your cunt on her thigh, which she adores. so she should’ve been prepared when you welcomed her to sit beside you and browse through the catalogues of toys on some website. for some reason, you have too much curiosity. shamelessly talking about how you want to see her squirm while you rub a vibrator on her clit, or fuck her with a dildo, maybe a strap too? and she’s so fucking red, trying to ignore the throb between her legs and taking the computer away from you, saying, “sweetie, you’re too dangerous. how about you let me pick a few things since you’re open to practically everything.” and then later that night, you’re sleeping beside her while she’s up, scrolling through the lists and finally understanding what you meant. the endless possibilities to what you two could do. and shoko’s never a shameful person, but she is after seeing how there’s over 30 items in her wishlist. but she knows it’s worth it, at least until you get your hands on them.

and you do, well, after shoko has her fun. she’s doing everything the first night you try them out, well, except for helping you with her touch. she wants to save that for later. after making out with her, she’s pining you to the bed once you ask for more, a smug smile on her face as she gets up and walks over to one of her drawers.

“i thought i’d need to use the dildo first.. should’ve known my sensitive girl was susceptible to somethin’ like this..” shoko smiles, her brown eyes stuck onto the way your folds twitch around the small bullet vibrator she teased around your hole, dragging the cum coated toy along your pussy lips. “s’too much sho.. w-wanna feel your fingers instead.” you frown with a small cute pout on your face, trying to reach down to her wrists, only for her to swat it away.

“nuh uh. i still wanna try out that dildo too. weren’t you excited for this pretty girl?” shoko chuckles, cooing softly when her breath hits your clit, making you feel all tingly n’ whiny, biting your lip as she turns up the speed of the bullet. “b-but shoko..” you choke out a moan, throwing back your head as she gives small licks on your clit and making you cum. again. “yea you like that huh.. can’t wait to eat it all out later..” your pussy was like heaven, and she could taste some of your juices on her tongue. but she reminded herself that she still needs to keep the aching of her own curiosity satisfied.. oh she can’t wait to see how messy that dildo’s gonna be.

remember how i mentioned how shoko loves it when you ride her thigh? yea she nearly cums just seeing and feeling how you’re begging like a whore in her lap, visiting her during her break and innocently sliding onto her lap for some kisses, only for your head to be tucked in her neck with your dress rolled up, panties to the side as you drag your cunny along her jeans. and shoko’s eyes are darkened with lust, her stomach twisting in delight at the sounds of your quiet moans. all for her to hear. her hands are up your dress, squeezing and playing with the plush of your breasts until you’ve left a stain on her pants, thankfully black. and if there’s enough time, she helps you cum just once more, holding your waist tight and agonizingly dragging you against her thigh. forcing you to stare into her eyes and tell her how good it is, how nasty it feels to be getting off on her like some slut. don’t worry, after you two started using toys more, she’s sending you off with a kiss and snapping the band of your undies, lazily grinning at the sound of your whimper. “now, go be a good girl stuff my pussy up with that pink dildo. yeaaa, the vibrating one. wanna come home to a sweet mess. ”

shoko who keeps your sex life going way more than any man has. its gotten to a point that shes heard your rambles to your friends on the phone, talking about how you’ll, “never fuck a guy again”. she loves noticing how your thighs clench at the thought of getting home whenever she teases you in public with a whisper in your ear, something about wanting to wrap her thighs around your face. and she keeps her word, as do you. shoko’s so confident in the fact the you both feel equal enjoyment together that whenever satoru makes a joke about how do you two even have sex, the smirk she gives is enough for nanami to cough and slap the giggling male’s back. shaking his head and changing the subject before shoko can rant all about how she makes her lovely girl happy in bed.

[f1boistrash]

i have a name | l.s

a/n: so this is an idea i had after the miami gp and its been stuck in my head so im finally writing it. there is some slight jos slander and reader is max's sister

summary: y/n verstappen drives for f1 academy. they find comfort in a certain american when the media gets too much

Your whole life you've always been Max's sister. You didn't hate your brother for it because it wasn't his fault. You hated the world for being so small minded. You hated your dad for not caring. His words stuck in your head like a broken record. 'You're overreacting Y/N. It's not a big deal. You need to grow up.'

But it was a big deal because why couldn't they be bothered to learn your name. Your accomplishments throughout your career always amounted to 'Max's sister' it was never 'Y/N Verstappen'. You were sure if they could your trophies would say that too.

Going into the F1 Academy you thought it'd be different. You were excited when you got the call. The first person you told was Max and he was even more excited than you, if that was even possible. You were at the forefront of the series, watching young girls across the world become interested in the sport you loved. Something you wished you had growing up.

The driving was great. The team was great. Everything was great except the media. Its the one thing you dreaded stepping into the spotlight more. You tried to develop a thick skin like your brother but it was difficult when you constantly got picked at.

"So, Y/N, great day today. You qualified third. How was it?" The interviewer asked.

"Yeah it was great. Obviously we'd prefer P1 but we're still happy with the result and looking forward to pushing it even more tomorrow." You replied, grinning at your result. It might not be front of the grid but you were still proud.

"Your brother Max had a phenomenal season last year. Can we expect the same this year?" And there it was. Your first interview of the weekend and it only took one question before they asked you about your brother. Normally you didn't mind talking about Max's accomplishments. You were so unbelievably proud of him. It's when they start talking about him when they should be asking you about your race and your season that you get annoyed.

You plastered on your fake smile, hoping no one saw the disappointment flash across your face. "It's hard to say what this year will bring but what I do know is that Max will give it his everything. Whatever happens though I'm still proud of him."

Before anymore questions about Max could be asked your manager made a sign that time was up. You thanked the interviewer and left the media pen. She gave you a run down of tomorrows schedule as you were now finished for the day. Your manager didn't need to ask if you were okay because she knew you weren't. Working with you for a few years meant she had learnt all your tells.

You thanked her for today before parting ways, leaving you alone. The night air was brisk but welcoming. You shut your eyes and sighed enjoying the silence. You were supposed to be meeting Max tonight yet you couldn't bring yourself to move. Not wanting to face him just yet.

It was late and you weren't expecting many people left at the grid. Especially the F1 drivers which was why you jumped when a voice broke the silence. "Y/N right?" Logan said, your stomach fluttered when you looked at him. You have never really spoken to Logan before, only seeing him in passing but you always thought he was cute. He also called you by your name and not 'Max's sister' which was a welcomed surprise, used to his friends calling you that. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine, just wasn't expecting anyone to be left at the track." You told him. You took in his appearance under the setting sun. He was in his Williams uniform, his hair slightly tousled from wearing his hat all day.

"Yeah, I was just heading out. Had to do a few tweaks before tomorrow. What are you doing here late?" He asked.

"Media." You grimaced. Logan laughed, understanding your reaction.

"That bad huh?"

"Yep." You nodded. "Talked about Max the whole time."

The two of slowly started walking towards the car you have rented this weekend. It was one of the few left in the parking lot. "Seriously? That's so shit." Logan said, shaking his head. It wasn't out of pity though, more like anger.

"You get used to it." You shrugged.

"You shouldn't have to though." He told you, pulling you both to a stop. His eyes, looking at you intensely making you nervous. "You were incredible out there today and I'll definitely be watching tomorrow as you get your first podium of the season."

"Wait, you watched qualifying?" You asked, surprised.

"Don't tell my trainer though." Logan grinned, winking at you making you laugh. It was a sound he could get used to.

"Well thank you Logan. It means a lot." You thanked him, coming to a stop when you reached the drivers seat door.

"You have a name, Y/N. Your not just Max Verstappen's sister and I hope you know that." He said, earnestly.

You don't know what came over you but you found yourself leaning up, pressing a kiss on Logan's cheek. "Thank you."

-x-

"You're late." Was all Max said as you walked through your hotel room door. You kicked off your shoes, walking further into the room seeing your brother lying on your freshly made bed scrolling on his phone.

"Don't you have a sim race or something?" You asked, shoving his feet off your bed trying to change the subject because what else can you say? The reason you were late was the slight breakdown you had about the interview and then you bumped into Logan. You couldn't exactly tell Max that.

He playfully stuck his middle finger up at you, knowing you were making fun of him. "How was your day anyway? Excited for tomorrow?"

"Yeah it was good." You lied. You liked that Max was oblivious sometimes because it meant you didn't have to talk about what people said about you. However, you also hated his obliviousness because sometimes you wanted your brother to comfort you. "Hopefully people won't get sick of the Dutch national anthem." You grinned at Max who laughed loudly.

You asked Max about his day and he told you about how confident he was with this years car, excited to see what he can get out of it. He carried on talking as you got out of your team uniform and into some comfy clothes when he quietened down.

"When were you going to tell me?" Max asked when you exited the bathroom. "About what the interviewer said?"

"It's fine Max." You said, avoiding his gaze on you by putting your clothes away. You were afraid if you looked at him the dam would break.

"It's not fine, Y/N." He huffed, his voice raising out of anger. It wasn't aimed at you though, Max would never raise his voice at you. "It was so unprofessional. Not to mention the commentators today couldn't even be bothered to learn your name. I'm going to do something about it."

Max's reaction reminded you of Logan's. You didn't think anyone would care this much. Especially someone who you never really had a conversation with before. You knew it was pointless to ask Max to leave it alone so you didn't bother. "Just please don't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever done that?" Max asked and you laughed. You would run out of fingers if you counted all the times Max did something stupid.

It was getting late and you and Max said your goodbyes, leaving you alone once again with your thoughts. Instead of the video on repeat in your head it was Logan's words. You reached over for your phone and unlocked it, going straight to instagram to find Logan's profile. You hit follow before going to his dms.

Y/N:

Thank you again for tonight.

His response was quick making your stomach flutter.

Logan:

You don't need to keep thanking me Y/N

Y/N:

I know

I enjoyed talking to you tonight

So thank you for your company 😊

Logan:

I enjoyed talking to you too 😊

I hope we can do it again some time

You were sure you were grinning like an idiot but you didn't care. You had fallen for the American and hard.

Y/N:

I would love to ☺️

Good luck for tomorrow Logan 💙

Logan:

Good luck Y/N 😊

[suguru-getos]

࿐ soft yandere neuvillette hcs (f!reader) ࿐

neuvillette being a hydro dragon was always territorial of the things he held dear, whether it was his unyielding love for the melusines, or the love for the people of fontaine or the love for justice and the idea of it for the people. this has never been translated into an intense devotion for a human until he saw you. lawyering up oh so sweetly against one of your friends to defend the defamation case lodged against their business.

it was then — that your eyes lingered with the chief justice. for someone who holds a power so supreme — he sure had kind eyes. standing above all, having the ability to shut the whole opera house in a second with the stern daunt of his voice. he was enamoring too… but you didn’t know how enamored he was of you. for the first time neuvillette was getting distracted during a hearing. how your eyes fiercely spoke along with the entanglement of your words. how exquisite.

you won the case & the happiness which made your smile all the more beautiful with the glimmer of victory dancing all over it. you also got a chance to thank the chief justice, too. to which of course — he’d be kind enough and deny. “please don’t thank me. i am just doing my work here.” still, when neuvillette shook hands with you to depart, his eyes widened with the registering of a weird, twisted feeling inside of him. he wanted to protect you for life, mate with you, wanted to be by your side…

it was one of the weird times when it had been the sunniest after the trials. the people of fontaine were weirded out to find out no rains for the rest of the week. despite of the trials. truth been told, neuvillette didn’t have the time to be upset for anything because now he has someone he was invested in.

why waste time? neuvillette thought to himself, he had never approached anyone yet. so? when he approached your door and knocked with a tender smile, with a bouquet on his hands and a sweet smile just to ask if you’d be so kind for a date, you heartily agreed. heart fluttering throughout the date when he pulled your chair, ordered the same food as yours just so he can taste your likes. asking if you’d be so kind as to give him another date opportunity— kissing your forehead while dropping you home. things were beyond golden.

things started getting a little controlling after a first month or so. as someone who had a few friends who liked to travel, you’d find the chief justice of fontaine not so eager to allow you to move out of fontaine. “inazuma? do you understand how far it is from here?” he had a point, of course… “but one of my friend’s family is there and the vision hunt decree is abolished now and i—” neuvillette doesn’t yell at you, he’s too soft for that. “i believe i didn’t ask for any reply to that dearest. you will be here in fontaine. if you want, i can arrange that your friend’s family come here. they’d be given the most royal treatment-”

neuvillette also quickly shuts down any opportunity for you to be talking to someone unknown. it’s simple? he has met your friends in gatherings and they are intimidated and respectful of your man. the others would take too much of his time in dissection of their personalities. how does he stop you? simple — neuvillette gets needy. he would clutch you in his arms and pout. not wanting to let you go at any cost. “i missed you sweetheart.” you can’t help but give in.

he doesn’t do punishments. it is too heartbreaking for him to see you stressed and distressed of him of all people !! however there was an instance where you forgot to inform him & came back home at 2 am with a bunch of people partying. neuvillette didn’t take that lightly. you know this because that was the first time you were pinned against the wall. kind and tender eyes glowering down and enraged. you couldn’t help but sniffle for hours when neuvillette brought you over his knee for a spanking. he hated it when you cried, it was stormy in fontaine for the rest of the week <\3 why don’t you understand he just loves you so much it makes him lovesick!

to make it up for losing his temper — he would spoil you with so much love. it would get hard to breathe under the undying affection he gives you. kissing your forehead, bringing you your favorite food, letting you feel the freedom you felt taken away, anything and everything. would probably surrender and get on his knees, sobbing if you give him the silent treatment.

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ toji fushiguro x his favorite customer (revision)

✧ summary toji has a little soft spot for his favorite customer that he can't get enough of.

✧ content warnings reader is a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. chubby!reader and inexperienced!reader. rich girl in her midtwenties, very needy! usage of profanity, standing missionary, oral - m!receiving, doggy style, mixture of praise and degradation kink, breeding kink, unprotected, creampie and squirting, terms of endearment ─ pretty girl, princess, baby, baby girl, etc. softdom!toji with rough, passionate, and filthy intercourse. told in first POV ─ toji's. i got reader calling toji TJ, and i think that’s so cute pls.

✧ author's note happy birthday to my baby daddy toji fushiguro! we've been going strong now for years. just a little something something to celebrate him. this fic has been in the drafts since December. talk about black people time, old sksk. also, if you already seen the original of this fic on tumblr, it's mine lol. this is just a revision, so don't go around saying i copied someone! my writing has changed so i wanted to redo this and add some adjustments. i hope y'all enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. ♡ AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND/OR MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT.

 

 When it comes to women I fuck, I treat them the same because at the end of the day, they pay me good money to stuff their pussy with cock. 

 Don’t really care if they're married either. I usually get the old, desperate broads that aren’t getting any attention from their husbands at home, so it’s my job to make them feel good for the night. 

 I don’t do favorites. 

 I damn sure don’t give discounts. 

 And I definitely don’t get attached. But the moment I met Y/N that all changed. 

 My favorite customer. 

 Never did I expect a younger woman to pay me to get fucked, especially when she looks that good. 

 I’m almost positive she has a line filled with fuckers that’s desperately wanting to know what this tight, wet pussy feels like, yet here I am, living their fantasy. 

 I fucked Y/N once. 

 Then, twice. 

 Then, again.

 And again.

 And again…

 If I didn’t know any better, I’m fucking obsessed with her. Can’t even say it’s just for the money she’s paying me. Probably the best pussy I ever had.

 No. 

 It is. 

 So fucking warm, and she takes dick well, too. I usually give only an hour or two to my customers, but for Y/N? I reserved the whole night to relish her pussy. 

 The perfect fuck to end my day. 

 Those soft, sweet-sounding moans that slipped through her full brown and pink lips, having my previous cum shot staining them had me running wild. 

 But it seems like I’m not the only one who’s sex drunk. 

 Cock is all on Y/N’s mind right now. Whimpering and crying how big I am and thanking me for giving her dick. Tears pricks those chestnut-colored hues and I’m in fucking awe. She’s so damn pretty. 

 “You know how gorgeous you look taking cock like this? Being a good fucking slut for me, princess?” I ask, being met with a nod and her moaning in response. 

 Y/N’s pussy talks to me. Wet noises spreading throughout the room while I have my arms hooked under the fold of her knees, fucking her recklessly to push past any intrusion. 

 She’s jumping with me every thrust I make, causing her tits to bounce obnoxiously. I take one of her nipples into my mouth and suck on them like it’s my last dying breath, hearing that sweet whimper. 

 I belong in Y/N’s pussy, and she belongs to me, too, the way she’s gripping my cock and milking me. All of her cream and wetness drips between us and down my balls, and it feels fucking amazing. Every time I experience her velvet walls, I find myself becoming more animalistic, hungry and territorial over someone who should only be seen as a client. 

 But fuck, something in me says I would go batshit crazy if I ever found out she had other motherfuckers experiencing this. 

 Knowing how she looks when sweat coats her beautiful brown skin. How it feels to stretch her out and make her adjust to you. Just thinking about it makes me pound into her deeper and more aggressively. 

 “Toji, baby, yes. This feels so good,” she purrs. “Like that. Keep fucking me like that.”

 I hum. “Yeah? This is what you wanted, right? Paid me to please this good pussy?”

 By all means, Y/N isn’t a virgin, but she told me she doesn’t have much experience and I can tell by how tight she is. 

 Our sounds of pleasure resonate in the air, and I call her my good girl, praising how perfect her pussy is, to be met with her squeezing me and watery brown eyes. 

 “Toji… Toji… Yes. God, yes.”

 “Keep using your words, pretty girl. Tell me how much you love my dick in your pussy,” I ordered softly.

 “I love it so much. It’s so big, baby,” she tells me, slurring her words because of her lips still being on mine. “You’re going to make me cum.”

 I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “Not yet. Come taste yourself.”

 Without hesitation, Y/N slides down to her knees and starts sucking my dick. I hiss at her swallowing me and the warmth of her mouth. She doesn’t take her time when sucking me off, immediately circling her head and throating me. 

 “Hot fucking mouth made to suck dick, huh, pretty girl?” I firmly grabbed her chin so she could look at me. “Eyes up, sweetheart. Open up your throat for me like a good girl.” 

 Y/N hollows her cheeks and bobs her head fervently on my dick, tightening her lips around me. 

 She sucks dick so fucking good, better than any other woman I’ve been with. And I just know I’m bound to bust quickly if she keeps doing this shit. 

 My hand finds the back of Y/N’s head to grip and I buck my hips deeper into her mouth, ensuring I hit the back of her throat everytime. I’m a fucking mad man when I begin fucking the gorgeous face, especially when she’s looking up at me with those big brown eyes. 

 A spoiled brat, prim and shy, who’s spending daddy’s money to get fucked and folded by an old bastard like me. Think I fucking developed a kink for this type because of Y/N.

 I pumped into her mouth more aggressively until she began choking and gagging on my cock. Drool and precum coating her mouth in the process. 

 Any type of control Y/N tries to take, I push past it because I want to use that pretty little mouth of hers how I want. She needs to get her money’s worth when fucking with me. 

 “Going to fuck my cum deep down that throat of yours, and you’re going to swallow it. Got that?” She nods and I softly tap the side of her face. “That’s it. Keep those lips tight around me.” 

 “Toji, pl—please,” she slurs, causing me to chuckle. 

 “Hm, look at you. Trying so hard to talk to me while sucking my dick. It’s cute.” I slow down my quick thrusts, but replace them with more fervent ones, pushing me and her head down until my cock outlines her throat. 

 My balls grow heavy and obnoxiously slaps Y/N’s chin, a clear indication I’m about to fucking cum. 

 Grunting, whining, gasping like a little bitch for air because head like this has a fucker like me sounding like a broken mess. 

 Blood rushes to my groin and I start getting sloppy, feeling my muscles tightening and ache burning between my thighs. I’m close, so fucking close to filling her mouth with my release, then I can finish fucking that fat pussy. 

 Everything about this damn woman is perfect. Her pussy. How she sucks cock. That fucking chubby and curvy body of hers. A pretty face with loaded cash.

 Yeah, she’s definitely mine after tonight. And I’m talking about anything lovey dovey. Meaning if I catch her being a slut like this to anyone else, I’d kill that fucker. 

 No hesitation. I-

 “Y/N, fuck!” I grunt while cumming in her mouth. This load is fucking heavy, but she’s trying her best to swallow every drop. 

 I groan at the sight of Y/N touching her tits and palming her pussy, knowing how much she’s turned on, too. It’s like the vibrations of her moans pulls more cum out my fucking dick.

 A mess I made on her face, but the joyful lust I see in her eyes tells me she doesn’t give a damn. 

 Good, because I’m not finished with her. 

 “All fours on the bed. Now,” I demanded. “Still gotta fill up your pussy.”

 Perfection is what I think when I see Y/N from behind, arched back, ass in the air and pussy dripping, ready for me to fuck. 

 I force an arch in her back and plunge my cock in her tight little pussy with one deep stroke. Y/N gasps in the air and I take the opportunity to pull her up by the throat and start pounding her cunt. 

 Why the fuck is she so goddamn wet? She takes cock well, bud shit, I abruptly slip out each and every thrust. 

 “Keep me inside that pussy, baby girl. Stop fucking letting go,” I gritted in her ear. She reaches behind her to hold my dick and push back into me with a tighter grip. “Hm, just like that. So fucking good to me, aren’t you?”

 “I need more dick, TJ. Fuck me harder, baby. I can take you,” she moans. 

 Begging for cock she’s already paying for… Shit, I get a kick out of how pathetically sexy she sounds. 

 I repeatedly slammed into her wet cunt, thrust after thrust, pussy creaming even further than before. If it’s one thing I can listen to for the rest of my life, it’s how Y/N sounds when she’s being fucked. 

 My name drips perfectly from her lips.

 Our skin smacking fills the air in the room along my hand striking her ass until I guarantee it’ll bruise in the morning. 

 “Look at this fat ass moving when I pound into this pussy. Fucking beautiful,” I growled.

 “Toji, please. I… I don’t care how much… I’ll pay more. Just keep fucking me like this.”

 I chuckle. “Atta girl.”

 I see why motherfuckers catch feelings when fucking pussy. I almost feel tempted to tell Y/N that I love her while fucking her. She has pussy that’ll make a fucker crazy… Possessive… Jealous.

 I applied more pressure to Y/N’s throat and pulled her against my chest. “You know who this pussy belongs to. Right, princess?”

 “God, yes, Toji. You… it belongs to you.” Her voice comes off as a faint cry and I know she’s on the verge of cumming. Especially with how her pussy is pulsating around me. 

 “Mhm, that’s right. Dreamed of my fucking dick pounding this tight little cunt, now I have you mindfucked. Huh?” I pinch her nipples with my free hand and increase my thrusts. “You’re about to come for me. Aren’t you, Y/N? I know you are. I can feel it. You should see the mess your slutty pussy is making between us.”

 “Fuck, I didn’t mean to, baby. It’s just… you feel good. So fucking good,” she whimpers, bouncing her ass back into me to meet with my thrusts. 

 “Maybe I should have you clean it with your mouth. Hm?”

 I release Y/N’s throat to shove her face into the bed and deepen her arch more than before. My single hand returns to her hips to grip, pulling her round ass back on my cock to kiss her center. 

 Can’t get over how wet—how tight and warm this fucking pussy is. The harder I fuck her, the louder her pussy gets and I grunt, curse underneath my breath at hearing the sound of her muffled moans. 

 I don’t give a fuck if one of us catches feelings after this. Actually, I want her to. I want Y/N to be dick hungry only for me. 

 I want her pussy to smell like I’m the only fucker that’s been running through her. I’m even fucking tempted to breed this pussy just so she’s mine.

 Why the fuck would I want to have sex with any other women after knowing what Y/N feels like? 

 “You take cock like a fucking pro. Look at you gripping me. Look at how this pussy is mine.”

 She spreads her ass cheeks to feel every inch of my dick. “Fuck me, Toji. Harder. Fuck me harder, I’m about to cum.”

 “Shit, me too, sweetheart. Such a perfect fuck toy. Going to fill you all the way up,” I rasped. “Fuck me back. Keep taking this dick.”

 My thrusts are sloppy. I throw my head back and swear into the air and moan her name. My balls grow heavier and heavier until I fucking but and empty my cum inside her pussy. 

 And she’s right there with me, crying my name and thanking me for giving her toe-curling orgasm. 

 Fucking enjoy hearing my pretty girl thank me for giving her cock. She just looks so damn pretty when she cums, too. 

 Dark brown skin sweating. The sight of her ruined makeup with mascara running down her cheeks. Moans sounding like a broken record. 

 Yeah, she’s a perfect fuck. 

 My favorite customer. 

© 2024 tojiscumdumpster Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost (sharing links is okay) anywhere. I only upload on tumblr and you will find some of my work in ao3.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Believing a False Lie

Credit for gif goes to fabiolajyx

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: James takes part in a nasty dare to try and get the get the nerdy and social outcast to date him. He never expected to fall in love though. When Reader hears the truth from some girls at Maxton, she wonders what is true and false, and ultimately begins to avoid James. Will the truth be told and will amends be made?

Warning: Might be some swear words. Bullying takes place. Nothing more than that. the scene with the invitation to Alistair's party is improvised. The pool scene is also improvised.

P.S I got carried away and this really long 😅 excuse any mistakes. I have a sinus headache currently stabbing my skull and I can't take anything yet because certain sinus/allergy meds can effect how well my thyroid meds work.

-----

Y/N was a quiet person. She didn't say much. She took her studies way more seriously than multiple others at Maxton Hall. Some would say that she also went above what she needed to, studying mythology and ancient civilizations. Dedicated her time to be well accustomed to not only national history, but international. If it was within her interest, it did not go unknown by her.

She didn't have many friends, but she did talk often with Ruby Bell and Lin. Y/N was a social outcast and many saw her as that. She knew it. Being quiet and on the sidelines and it was her game, in which she was playing it well. That was until a certain Beaufort stepped in.

He had been dared by Cyril, Alistair, and the others to ask her out on a date. They didn't really care how long that he dragged her along. They just wanted him to do it and then break her heart whenever he was ready.

A sick joke it was.

James was expecting that Y/N might have been smart enough not to go on a date with him, considering her nature and those that she hung out with. Ruby was pretty stubborn and didn't like many of the others that went to the school with them. So he had just about expected Y/N to be the same way.

But she wasn't. And so now the two of them had gone on a few dates, the news oh which spreading around Maxton Hall like a wildfire that was too far out of control to contain. And in the end, James was surprised. Dare he say, even shocked.

James had expected her to be just as everyone had assumed her to be. Nerdy. An outcast. But he only saw someone who was insanely smart and had more to say when you got to know her. She was herself. She didn't try to be someone she wasn't. He surprisingly enjoyed listening to her rambling of whatever topic was stuck on her mind on any given day. Y/N might not have been as beautiful as Elaine or any of the other girls within the school, but James thought that she was gorgeous, nonetheless. Her smile. Her laugh. He had become smitten with her, and every single minute he spent with her, the deeper he was digging his own grave. It was a grave he didn't want out of though.

And as the weeks drew on, his friends had consistently waited for him to dump her. In front of the entire school. But he refused to. James kept pushing and pushing it back until his friends started to tease him about actually liking her. Not that they were far from the truth.

It hurt him at first, that he never did defend her. He stayed silent, but his facial expression was neutral. Deep down he didn't like what they were saying about her. He just didn't know how to approach it. But he knew that he had fallen head over heels for her, and there was nothing he could do to stop his descent.

-----

Currently, the two sat outside the manor that Y/N called home with her parents. They rested sideways on a wooden cushioned swing, James' back against the arm of it and Y/N back against his chest. One of his arms was settled around her waist, while the other laced his fingers with her own. He watched as her other hand flew blindly throughout the air, the hand in his own sometimes joining in the fray before going back to his hand, their fingers interlocking once again.

Most people would have probably been disturbed by her insane knowledge of things that were not necessarily needed to be known. But as she sat against him, constantly having to take deep breaths as she forgot to breath during her explanation of the "The Odyssey", he could only look enamored. James watched her lips as she spoke, not really paying much attention to what was being said, a soft smile adorned his face.

"Are you listening?" James broke out of his stupor, his eyes moving from her lips to her own eyes.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"So, you weren't paying attention?" she asked.

"Oh, I was. About fifty percent of the time. I heard about Circe turning some of Odysseus' remaining men to pigs and then he technically got kidnapped, was it?" he asked, searching her face for approval. Y/N smiled, and his heart pounded. He smiled back at her. That smile was everything to him.

"Yea. She kept him for ten years. Then he was finally able to leave. Although, Poseidon still posed a threat because obviously Odysseus killed his son." And Y/N continued to ramble, and James went back to adoring her like she was the only woman on the planet. Elaine be damned. The arranged marriage wasn't anything. It wouldn't be anything. Not if he couldn't have the one currently in his arms.

James leaned his head down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering for a few seconds, before pulling back. His gaze was met with a frozen Y/N, and a smug grin had adorned his face.

"While I know have your attention. I do apologize love, for interrupting your rambling, but Alistair is having a party in a few nights, if you'd like to attend with me."

"Oh, I don't know. My parents have that gala to host in a few nights and I don't know if they would want me around. I can talk to them though?" She suggested. Y/N eyes had widened slightly, growing nervous already at the thought of attending Alistair's party. She knew where she stood amongst the others at Maxton. James gave her a tiny nod, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles.

"Of course. Do what you have to. In the meantime, I should be going. Parents are expecting me home a bit early tonight."

Y/N nodded and stood up first, extending her hand to James as he followed. He looked down at their joined hands, before staring at her face, flashing her a smile as she looked up at him and flashed one back. Yea. He could get used to that.

On their way through the house, James politely bid her parents farewell, before the two walked out to the front where Percy waited for James. They came to a halt next to the vehicle, and as he turned to look at her, he bowed his head down to press his lips against hers. A soft lingering kiss in which she melted into.

"I will see you tomorrow. Let me know whenever you can if you can come to the party."

"Will do, pretty boy." Y/N flashed another smile. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, before turning around and climbing into the vehicle. James watched her in the window of the vehicle, all the way up until she was no longer visible. When he finally turned around in his seat, he caught Percy's gaze in the rearview mirror. James could only smile as he looked away. The two of them both knew he was head over heels for her.

"Not a word, Percy."

------

"James!" Y/N hurried her pace to catch up to James. He stopped briefly, turning around to look at her before he entered the main doors of Maxton, waiting for her.

"Good morning, Love." He grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Good morning, handsome. Oh, I talked to my parents about the party. They would like my help for an hour or two. But after that, I'm free to go. They were surprised that I asked. In fact, I think they were excited." James looked down at her with a smirk.

"You're a goody two shoes."

"Apparently they're hoping for a rebellious stage." Y/N shrugged, smiling back up at James.

"I wasn't sure if you'd get back to me in time about it." James said. His hand settled on the back of her back, guiding the two of them through groups of students.

"Parents have been busy. I wasn't able to talk to them until I left for school this morning. Sorry it's such a late notice."

"No need to be sorry, just glad you can make it." He answered. They appeared outside of her first class for the day. James stared at her with soft smile, receiving one back.

"Have a good day, gorgeous. I'll see you tonight at the party." He mumbled against her lips, before backing away, flashing her a smile. Y/N smiled back, before walking into the classroom.

----

The time for the party came and for Y/N to say that she was anxious, was an understatement. She would be over dramatic and claim that she was fatally anxious about it, even if that was not such a thing.

Heads turned to look at her as she ventured through the house. She cowered slightly, meeting some gazes and avoiding others. Most actually didn't seem to care, while others had glowered at her. Trying to find James through the crowd proved to be just as difficult as she expected. Y/N released a quiet sigh.

Across the room, where Elain was trying to get his attention, James got a glimpse of her as she walked into the room. He wasn't trying to be cliché, but as he stared at her as the array of colors filled and rotated around the room, the world paused for several seconds. She and everything that she was, was his. He couldn't let that go. No matter the dare he had taken apart in. He couldn't go through with it. Now now. Not ever.

His mouth parted slightly, and his cheeks heated up in a blush.

Y/N was a sight to behold and he knew he couldn't part with her, damned what his friends and the rest of Maxton would think.

He pushed past many in the crowd, slowly making his way to her. James kept his eyes attached to her face, drinking her in and drowning in her appearance. As he drew closer to her, his heart hammered faster against his rib cage.

She was his.

James came to a stop behind her at the same time she unexpectedly took a step back. Y/N collided with his chest and she immediately turned around, scared to see who it might have been.

"James" She let out a sigh of relief.

"Hello, love. Finally made it, I see." A teasing glint in his eye.

"Yea. Sorry. My parents held me back a few extra moments to finish something for their gala. But I'm here now."

"That you are." The two stared at each other for several moments, smiles on their faces, before James motioned to the dance floor, and grabbed her hand as he walked past her, dragging her along with him.

The two started dancing, their bodies almost moving at one. The pop song playing decided their moves for them. The two didn't have much finesse between the two of them, but their moves had complemented each other. They stayed pretty close together, never moving more than a foot away from each other at a time. They were smiling and never broke eye contact unless needed. The two of them were enamored in that moment, enjoying the moment as it came to them.

And then the pop song gave way to a slow song, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor, breathing heavily as they gazed upon each other. As the slow song continued, James edged closer, his arms wrapping her waist, pulling her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. The two of them swayed together for several seconds, before James used his hands to twirled her around, now holding her with her back against his chest. Y/N turned her head to look at him as he laced his fingers through hers. They swayed for several seconds, before the moment was cut short by Elain, who thought to "accidentally" dump her drink on Y/N.

Y/N let out a gasp as Elain said a fake apology, catching a glare from James.

Y/N watched as Elain walked away, a pep in her step, tossing a smug look over her shoulder before she was out of sight. Embarrassed, she frowned, turning her head to look at James.

"I'm think I'm done for the night. I should probably get home and change out." James nodded, a hand still settled on her waist.

"I left my coat somewhere. I can go grab it and me and Percy can take you home." Y/N nodded.

"I'll wait for you outside by the pool." And how that was the bad idea, for the moment she got outside and began waiting for James, Cyril caught sight of her. He advanced on her, wrapped his arms around her to help prevent a fight, and begun tugging her towards the pool.

"Cyril! No please!" She begged.

"Aawww. The nerd doesn't know how to swim, does she?" James came back outside just as Cyril got to the edge of the pool with her, catching sight of the moment.

"Cyril! No!" But before James could act further, Y/N was in the pool. She didn't resurface, and others around them just watched. It was Jame's turn to start to panic.

James ran towards the edge of the pool, before diving in. Upon submerging, he could see Y/N panicking. She reached out a hand for him to grasp onto as he swam towards her, and within seconds, they resurfaced. Besides being already wet, steady tears rolled down Y/N's face as she continued to panic. James hushed her.

"It's okay. Breathe. Just breath. I got you."

And as he trudged out of the water with her, he sent a scowling glare towards Cyril, walking away from the party and towards the car.

On the car ride home, his hand settled on her thigh, her fingers finding homage in his hand, before explaining the story of her brother, who was killed in a boating accident years before she started to attend Maxton.

------

Y/N had though things were good and normal, especially between her and James. They were happy. They made each other happy. So when she walked by what she presumed to be an empty classroom and heard voices, she stopped momentarily.

And she wished that she didn't, for the voices were going on about the dare James had taken part in, trying to date her and how he hadn't broken up with her yet.

Her world shattered. Y/N stood in the hallway for several minutes, tears rolling down her face as she thought back to the last few weeks and how happy she was. Not only that, but how happy she was James and how much she thought he had been happy.

Was it a lie? Was everything he felt for her a lie? Was there any truth to any of it.

Y/N refused to go to school the second half of the week. She couldn't confront James, as she wasn't sure how to go about it, but he knew something was wrong. That much was evident from the numerous phone calls and texts messages gone unanswered. Even then, she could tell he was panicking. But she let him bask in it.

Other than her parents, who supported whatever she wanted to do in that moment, Ruby and Lin were the only ones who knew. And they had made it quite clear to James where he stood, and that although he was already an asshole, pretending to love someone was a dick move.

And that's how he found out.

James' heart had dropped into his stomach, wondering how she might have found out. He had texted the guys lately about it. He hadn't even talked to them in person about it for quite some time, although he did get subtle comments made when he and Y/N were seen together. So he had deduced that the only way she could have heard about it, was by overhearing about it from someone else. But in the end, it didn't matter hoe she found out. All that mattered was that he fucked up, and there was no telling if he'd be able to fix it. The thought of that alone sent his heart twisting into knots.

James had continuously tried and tried to reach out to Y/N. She hadn't blocked him, as his texts and calls still went through. He had almost thought she answered one call, but then had changed her mind and ended it before anything could be said.

His world was shattering around him, and he had no one else but himself to blame. James became distracted. Had even turned a bit bitter toward his friends. It wasn't their fault, he should have came clean to her. It still would have caused issues, but then they had more of a chance of being fixed than now.

To say he was scared was an understatement.

James Mortimer Beaufort was completely and utterly, terrified.

James was trying everything in his power to fix things. He sent letters to her humble abode. Voice messages left in her inbox on her voice were amongst these, and he was surprised when never he reached the limit.

What he didn't know was that if there was anything Y/N listened to during that week, it was those. She listened to his apologies as she laid in bed, her breakfast forgotten beside her and tears becoming a river on her cheeks.

She had several questions, still unanswered. All of his attempts to get back with her, even if she never called anything off in the first place, made her wonder if he truly did care. But if he did, why was he a part of the dare in the first place. Why didn't he come clean? Most importantly. Why was she such an idiot?

And when she finally went back to school?

She avoided him like the bubonic plague.

He tried many attempts to get her to stop and listen to him. Most times he was left alone as she avoided him. She would pull her wrist out of his grasp and carry on, as if he wasn't even there. Sometimes though, he hoped that she would listen, as she would stop, turn to look at him, and wait several seconds as tears began to swell in her eyes. Then she'd walk away, only leaving James to wish he had spoken a bit quicker.

And every time he saw her back disappear around the corner, he felt as if he was slowly losing her.

And as the Young Beaufort line was beginning to become a reality, he had less and less time to fight for her. Even without that, he knew he was running out of time, and James couldn't let that happen.

-----

"Is he still trying to talk to you?" Ruby's voice sounded from the speaker of Y/N's phone. She sat on her bed, picking at her nails, a book lying forgotten next to her.

"Yea, he is."

"Didn't you end things?" Ruby asked, and as Y/N sat there and thought about it. She realized that she technically didn't. Did she want to? Did he do it already? It didn't seem likely as he was still talking to her, but maybe it was still part of the ruse.

"Not technically. No." It was silent for several seconds and Y/N wondered if the phone call ended.

"You're serious?"

"Yup."

"Y/N-"

"Don't." She started. Y/N had already gotten enough shit from other students since being back. The bullying had heightened tenfold.

She had an interaction with two girls within the event committee. Y/N didn't care to know their names because she didn't like them anyways. But they had both dumped their drinks on her clothes, prompting her to leave classes early today.

And what made it worse, as she walked away from the situation? She locked her teary eyes with James. He glowered at the girls who had consistently belittled and bullied Y/N throughout the week. James had opted to give Y/N space, but this time, he couldn't.

He had followed Y/N out of the room and quickly caught up to her. He tried to initiate contact, but she could only turn around and shove him away, crying and screaming at him to leave her alone.

"I don't know what to believe." Y/N finally spoke again to Ruby, who continued to listen on her side of the call. "He's doing everything to fix things, but I don't know if it's apart of a ruse to further the rewards of the dare." She explained, her voice cracking slightly.

"Does he sound genuine?"

Y/N thought to herself for several moments.

"That's the confusing part. He sounds completely geuine."

------

And finally, it was the night of the Victorian donor gala. Y/N had stuck close to Ruby and Lin. She had stayed quiet, slowly drinking her champagne as she conversed with a few students and professors.

She would watch the couples down below slow dancing to songs, and her heart ached because even after everything, she had wished her and James were down there.

"Stop thinking about it." Ruby came up beside her. "Be free tonight." Y/N listened as Ruby talked to her, distracting her. Until it wasn't Ruby distracting her, but a certain someone else. Y/N stared past Ruby down to the ground floor, where she could see James looking around. What he was looking for, she wasn't quite sure. That was, until James looked up, caught her gaze, and held it. His facial expression softened as he looked at her, and that was when Y/N knew who he was here for her.

Her.

Ruby saw that she was distracted and turned to see what she was looking at. She looked down at James. James eyes never left Y/N though. Ruby finally turned back to Y/N eith a heavy sigh.

"I think it's finally time you go talk to him." The comment broke Y/N out of her stupor, in which she didn't hesitate much as she slowly started her descent down the stairs.

It felt like forever before she finally ended up front of James.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"I came to apologize."

"What about the Young Beaufort line?" James was surprised that she cared enough to ask about it.

"It doesn't matter in this moment."

"Then if not that, then what does?" She asked.

"You." James barely let Y/N finished asking the question before he responded. Y/N stared at him for several seconds, tears swelling up in her eyes.

"Why?" She finally asked.

"Truth?" He asked. Y/N nodded. All she wanted was the truth.

"I didn't expect to fall in love with you." James explained.

"And how am I expected to believe you?"

"You don't have to. Just, please, let me explain myself. And then afterward, if you want nothing to do with me, then I'll leave you alone. I promise." Y/N pondered what he said, before she finally nodded.

A slow song started to play, and the two looked at each other.

"May I?" He asked. "If this is the last time we are to do anything together, I'd like one last dance." Y/N's heart swelled, although she hated to admit with the circumstance. She took a few steps closer him, allowing it be his cue. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she wrapped her around his neck. The two started to slow dance.

"I don't know where to begin."

"From the beginning." He nodded, in agreement.

"Okay. So, it was a dare." He confirmed. "Cyril, Alistair and the others dared me that I couldn't get you to go on a date with me. I was honestly surprised that you did."

"I don't see the bad in people. You're a good person, James, and that's what I saw. I saw your caring personality beneath everything else and I fell in love with it." James stared at her as she spoke.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I honestly didn't expect to fall in love with you."

"Genuinely?"

"Genuinely." He confirmed.

"Then why didn't you say something sooner? This could have been avoided." He nodded, agreeing.

"I know. I was just scared. I wasn't sure how you would react, so I went on, hoping you wouldn't find out because I didn't want to risk the potential of losing you."

"But you might lose me know." He heart fell. Was this it? James swallowed thickly before looking at the floor in between their feet as they continued to slowly dance. "Hey."

James looked back up at her and in his expression, she could see that he was terrified.

"I never did technically end the relationship." She gave him a small smile. "Sure, things will need to be worked on and trust reinstated, but I'm willing to work through-" James didn't let her finish what she was saying, enveloping her lips into a searing kiss, in which it only took her seconds to melt into it.

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