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#in the background. but i just know i'm going to have to fold and put away my clothes and UGHGHHH
katierosefun · 10 months
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putting clothes/sheets in the washer-dryer: good :)
folding and putting clothes away/tucking in sheets: BAD
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yawnderu · 9 months
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>Simon doesn't go to clubs, yet he'd do anything for bimbo!reader, even if it's out of his comfort zone. Adding a small dialogue of Simon being painfully brit when drunk from this post because I still giggle about it ejhfehjb
“C'mere, baby.” Your bare feet make contact with the floor as you walk to your boyfriend, who's waiting for you on the couch, a pair of stiletto heels next to him. It's a routine you know too well, putting your feet on his lap before you even realize it while he massages your ankles, offering you a small smile.
“Make sure you don't fall.” He teases and you push him away with your feet, only making him hold them in both hands and push back until your legs are folded, getting up just to steal a kiss from you.
“You rat!” Your giggle rings across the room as you try to push him away again, yet he's too strong to even move until he feels like it, sitting back down and starting to put your heels on, making sure the straps are safely secured before he helps you get up from the couch. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that you walk around in 6-inch stiletto heels with ease, but they were on your wishlist and whatever his princess wants, she gets.
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Simon doesn't do clubs. It's loud, it's crowded, and he looks just about ready to take you back home until you strut to him, a big smile on your pretty face as you pass him a third glass of bourbon. He downs it after mouthing a small ''thank you'', feeling the warmth travel down his body.
“Come dance with me, Si!” You have to scream over the music, taking his free hand before he can even think about it. He reluctantly lets you pull him to the dance floor, despite feeling so out of place. He can't resist denying you, not when you look so happy and excited to be here with him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, your body rubbing against as you dance is almost intoxicating. He looks down at you, brown eyes fully taking in the sight— your hair moving with your body as you dance and sing, a happy smile on your face before you take a sip of your pretty drink. You're the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.
His hand goes down to your waist to support you in case you twist your ankle while wearing your pretty stilettos. He looks down at your lips for a second before his gaze locks on yours, unable to look away. Maybe it's the alcohol affecting his body, but he dares to lean down to capture your lips with his, pulling you closer and allowing your bodies to move together to the rhythm of the music. He pulls away, his hand going up to the middle of your back before he does something really stupid.
“I'm getting us more drinks!” You yell over the music, already walking away before he can stop you. He's used to drinking one or two glasses of bourbon, not four while out in a club, the flashy lights just making him dizzier. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his head, feeling your arms wrap around him from behind, taking the glass from you before you can spill it.
“Thank you.” Simon was never one for PDA, yet he's leaning down to kiss you again, his hand lingering on the small of your back for way longer than it should have. You turn around, sipping on your drink as you grind on him, too used to the clubbing scene to think about how Simon hasn't done anything like this before. Despite his stoic expression, he's actually having plenty of fun, his hand holding onto your waist to support you as you dance.
His attention is focused strictly on you. He loves how you're dancing for him and him alone. You're not dancing like this for other men or flirting with anyone— you're simply having fun with your boyfriend, and despite some of the men looking at you, you're only looking at him.
Simon lasted way longer than he thought, only making you turn around after an hour or so of dancing.
“Tired yet?” He lets your bodies sway to the generic pop song playing in the background, half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open. He drank more than he should— more than he has drank in public, and he's aware of it, yet he wants to bring you home before he's too drunk to be aware of his surroundings. You plant a small kiss on his nose now that he's laying down and he offers you a lazy grin, letting you guide him out of the club.
“Buss me a blem, love.” You raise an eyebrow at his words, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you help him walk, not wanting him to stumble around as you make your way back home. You have the route memorized, unlike him.
“A fag.” He clarifies, making you giggle nervously as you look up at him.
“Why do you want a gay m—” A stifled chuckle comes from above you, looking at the way Simon is trying to hold back his laughter. He's way too drunk for this shit.
“A cigarette, angel.” Realization hits your face as your glossy lips turn into an ''o'' shape, face lighting up when you can finally understand what he's saying.
“Don't have that either. The other one would have been easier to get...” You drag out, fumbling with the keys to your shared apartment before going inside, locking the door behind you. You go sit on the couch and Simon immediately beelines towards you, managing to sit down in front of you and attempt to undo the straps of your heels.
Was the buckle always this tiny? His fingers feel way too fucking big for the strap, yet he somehow manages, softly rubbing your feet to help ease the pain he knows you always feel after wearing them for a long time. His cheek is resting on your lap, your hand instinctively running through his short hair, massaging his scalp with your long acrylics.
“You okay, baby?” God, he could die right now. Your words are slurred, voice becoming even sweeter, your tone laced with concern. He can only manage to nod, trying his best not to fall asleep despite how comfortable your lap is. He can barely register how you get up, dragging him up by the arms— or well, trying. The bastard is way too heavy and tall for it.
“Up.” You say softly, not wanting your boyfriend to fall asleep on the couch. He grumbles before getting up, letting you make him lay down on the couch, making sure he's on his side. He didn't drink enough to throw up, but... just in case.
You disappear into the bathroom, coming up with a wet cloth and a basket full of skincare that you want to use on him. Your drunk brain is absolutely brilliant— wanting to take care of his skin while he's about to fall asleep. You steal a kiss from his lips before running the wet cloth over his face with care, wiping down all the sweat and grease on his skin.
His brown eyes focus on you as you start to massage a cool liquid all over his face, massaging it in circles with the pads of your fingers, careful not to poke him with your long nails.
“I love you.” It slips out of his lips before he can even think about it, looking away from you. You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down, anxiously waiting for something— anything. He flinches in surprise as your arms wrap around him tightly, small giggles of relief and happiness escaping your lips.
“I love you too, Si.”
Bimbo!Reader Masterlist
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disneyprincemuke · 9 months
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bother figures * fem!driver
being the designated baby sister of the grid by default is never as easy as you think it would be
pairings: alex albon x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver
warnings: ugh annoying men
notes: this is hardly funny but like i've had to take inspiration from my bother-less life rn so i'm like rly going through it rn LMFAO and it's almost 5am here but as far as i'm concerned, it is night time somewhere so teCHNICALLY i'm not late to an update!
(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)
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in the almost empty room, she sits in the corner seat as she taps away on her phone a message to reply to her siblings' group chat. she had arrived early for the driver's briefing and decided to take solace in the corner with a cup of hot chocolate.
she was enjoying the peace and serenity with the soft chatter in the background as she tried to lock herself in for the race weekend. that was until she felt a presence looming behind her with an aura she couldn't possibly ignore.
she slowly lifts her head up with a mean glare. she turns her head and meets max's blue eyes and sly grin. "what'cha doin'?"
she puts her phone on her lap as a scowl replaces her dead expression. "what do you want?"
"what are you doing?"
"does it hurt you when you see me and like... not do anything to annoy me?"
"yes, actually. i like talking to you."
"i just wanted to talk to ciara."
"now you can talk to me."
"but i don't really feel like doing that."
"why not? i'm here in front of you and not behind a phone screen. where's ciara?" he looks around, then at her with a beaming smile. "oh, would you look at that? not here."
"because she isn't an f1 driver."
"still not here to talk to you and provide you the joys of interacting with somebody face to face."
"max."
"(y/n)."
"times like these i remember you've got a younger sister."
"what's that got to do with anything?"
"you've mastered the practice of being annoying growing up, obviously. you're such a pro at it."
"how can you say that?" max cries, hand on his chest to feign hurt over her words. "i'm not annoying. please take that back!"
"you realise you made me stop my conversation with my lovely sisters because you saw me sitting alone."
max reaches out and pinches her cheek, grinning when blood rushes to her cheeks. "you were just looking a little lonely. just wanted to make you feel a little accommodated to, that's all."
she stares at him, lips pressed together. "okay, that's actually pretty sweet. i kinda feel bad now.”
“and you should!” max frowns, folding his arms over his chest. he leans back into his seat and rests one leg over the other. “you’re mean, you know?”
“i’m an oldest sister.”
“i’m an oldest brother.”
“i have three younger siblings that made me wanna shave my head bald.”
“that’s kinda crazy.”
“i know,” she sighs tiredly. but she smiles slightly. “but it’s kinda nice. with oscar and logan taking over those responsibilities growing up, we never had a moment of boredom at home.”
“cute!” max smiles. “if i lived with you growing up, you might’ve actually run away for good.”
“i could run away for good now if you’d like.”
“seb wouldn’t like that.”
“you’d have to deal with it. i’ll leave a note on my team’s fridge with your name on it.”
“you need to put the reason underneath. if not, your team will think you’re just naming the most handsomest driver on the grid,” max shakes his head in disappointment. “don’t wanna give off the wrong idea, you know?”
“if you say ‘handsomest’, it doesn’t need a ‘most’ before it,” she says, lips parted slightly at the atrocious grammar. if there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s most definitely the reigning world champion making simply grammar mistakes. “you should get more sleep.”
“i do! i slept like 10 hours last night!”
“somehow i find that hard to believe with the bags under your eyes.”
“what are you two bickering about?” a hand lands itself on the back of her chair. carlos stands next to her with one hand on his hip. “i could hear you from the hallways.”
“damn, you should really keep it down, max,” she chuckles, sending him a shocked look before she clasps her hands together and rests it on her stomach. “you’re too loud.”
“i’m sure he meant you. you like… swallowed a mic as a kid,” max scoffs. he looks up at carlos. “tell me she was louder than me.”
carlos sighs. “you were loud on the same level, i believe.”
"see? i told you."
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"you're moving in with logan?" alex's jaw drops, the tiktok video no his phone left to play on repeat as the younger girl dropped the news that logan's moving into her apartment. "mate, what?"
she looks up at him with a confused stare. "what?"
"i thought you said you didn't want people talking about you like that?" alex asks, raising an eyebrow. "people will definitely talk if you move in with a man."
she presses her lips together. "you've got a point, i suppose. but logan's my best friend. we've been talking about moving in together forever! since i was 15!"
"i'm just looking out for you, kid. you should really think this through," alex sighs as he slumps his shoulders. of course, he knows just how close she and logan are on a day-to-day basis. but people tend to be quite ruthless with women and he just can't see this going any other way. "you know how people are."
she sighs, shaking her head. "i don't know. i just don't think people would pay attention to that aspect of my life. i still deserve to make decisions that wouldn't be at risk of scrutiny, right?"
she takes a step forward towards alex. she hadn't exactly thought of the public implications that this would cause her. all she knew was that they'd talked about this for years and were ecstatic when logan shyly brought up their conversation from years ago.
"that's the basic that we all hope for," alex frowns. "but you know how people are. you've seen how they treat you just being here. imagine the chaos."
"maybe i'll just keep it under wraps and hope for the best," she suggests with a small smile on her face. "that could work, right? i don't wanna have to put down something i spent forever talking about."
"if you can keep it under wraps, i applaud you," alex smiles, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "and i thought you've had enough of men - why are you still moving in with one?"
"to save money, really," she smiles. "and with kidnapper and stubby at home... i think living with another person is best."
"but doesn't logan like dogs more?"
"yeah, but kidnapper's taken a very weird liking to him. he doesn't wanna admit, but i know logan really likes kidnapper a lot."
"typical logan, really."
"you'd be surprised how much feelings that loser's holding in."
"oh?" alex smiles mischievously. "tell me more?"
"nice try," she scoffs with an eye roll. "i'm not spilling the beans about logan's love life. that's lore you've got to unlock the longer you race with him. just hope he's feeling friendly enough to share, yes?"
"so true," alex frowns. "but what if he's not friendly enough? means you are my only source for material to piss him off with. so, 'fess up!"
"can't betray my best friend like that, i fear," she frowns. though, her smile grows slowly. "but i can be bribed."
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a scowl carves her face as she stares at the roll-in whiteboard with pictures held up against it with sesame street magnets. she sinks into the plastic chair she's given and tilts her head at the men gathered around her.
"and that's why i think you should get the same car as me," lando says simply, recapping the marker in his hands. he turns to her with a proud smile after his presentation.
her lips part. "so that we can matchy and..."
"and fuel rumours," lando repeats. "i'm involved in too little drama this year. it's always 'no wins' this, and 'no podiums' that... i want more."
"that's not a very good argument," she answers slowly, confusion contorting her face that almost makes alex laugh. "i said that i want an easy car, not a supercar. i've made that clear to almost everyone on the grid, yes?"
"yeah, but like," lando whines, throwing his head back as he stomps a foot into the ground. "seriously? you can't do this one thing for me? i'm asking you a favour!"
"to spend big money on a supercar i have to drive like it's made of glass!" she laughs dryly, hands thrown in the air in disbelief. she looks around at the men that have forcefully pulled her out of her garage and put her in this private room, in this plastic chair when she could've been taking a power nap. "is this what i'm here for? you lot are trying to convince me to finally purchase a car?"
"as per logan's request," alex shrugs, sipping on his juice box. "he said you've been putting it off all year. the season's about to end."
"and you listened to that nonce?" she cries, pinching the bridge of her nose. "you guys are absolutely unbelievable. i can't believe i'm wasting my time here!"
george, sitting next to her with a picture in hand, points at the whiteboard timidly. "i really put in a lot of thought about a car you should get," he says softly, looking slightly disappointed that she's caught on a lot faster than they predicted. "can i at least show it to you? i don't have to present."
"aw, george," she sighs, shaking her head. "it's not another supercar, is it?"
"it's not, i promise!" he perks up with a small smile on his face. he turns to lando with a small scowl. "only lando did this presentation with his best interests in mind. alex and i took the task seriously - just hear us out!"
she looks between george and alex, contemplating if the brit is telling the truth. instead of getting up like she had initially planned, she leans back into her seat. "fine. if it's anything like lando's, i'm leaving immediately. i don't care who has yet to present."
"but this ferrari looks so pretty," charles frowns, turning the picture in his hand to show it to her. "it's matte black and all. i thought we could match."
"that is also a supercar."
"he's presenting last, so i really don't care what he says," george mutters, shoving lando away from the whiteboard. he picks up a big bird magnet and pastes his picture between lando and max's proposal. "so, i think you should get this super cute toyota car."
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taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts
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junkissed · 1 month
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too hot to handle
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member — junhui x gn!reader genre — sfw, fluff, comfort word count — 1k synopsis — dinner in bed is nice, but sometimes things get a little spicy. warnings — mentions of food and eating, reader doesn't eat/like spicy food (the title is a joke this is not smut it's not even a teeny bit suggestive. just pure fluff !!) notes — requested by @onlymingyus — so actually i am a big fat liar nsjdghf i randomly felt motivated to write jun fluff today bc i miss him so here's a little drabble from my inbox :-) my requests are still closed and i'm still on hiatus-ish, but i hope you enjoy!
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the sound of loud slurping noises pulls your attention away from the tv as you lay in bed, tangled up in jun’s side with a bowl of ramen on your lap.
“you're doing that on purpose, aren't you?”
“doing what?” he mumbles through a mouthful of food as he looks up from his bowl, half a noodle still hanging between his lips before he swallows it up.
you stare at him for a moment. the look on his face is so cute that you can't tell if his ignorance is feigned or not, but does it really matter? you're going to let him get away with it either way. “nevermind,” you answer after a minute, and he shrugs and happily goes back to finishing up his dinner.
you stretch your back and relax into the pillows, and automatically jun lifts his arm so you can settle into his side. he always adjusts so you have a comfortable place to lean on, even if it hinders his ability to eat. your elbow rests on his hip as you lay against him, propping yourself up to balance your own bowl.
the tv plays quietly, a new drama that the two of you have been watching together the past few weeks. but it's just background noise; it might as well have been muted, because you'd stopped listening to it a while ago. it's the first night in too long that you've been able to spend time with jun uninterrupted, and you'd much rather focus on him. with both of your busy and exhausting lives, lazy evenings and dinner in bed have become few and far between lately, so you savor every moment you can get with him.
he slurps his ramen again, and now you're sure he was doing it on purpose because this time he does it much quieter than before. you can't help the smile that makes its way onto your face as you bring a spoonful to your own mouth, shaking your head in enamored fondness.
you lean your head back against his shoulder to look up at him. you don't know how he does it. how he manages to make you fold when he's not even trying.
he flashes you a grin when he sees you staring and he slurps from his spoon, this time making it clear he wants you to know he's doing it intentionally. you laugh softly move your head down towards the screen again, but he hums out a little noise and you pause to glance back up at him.
“wait a second,” he says after swallowing the broth in his mouth. he puts down his spoon and uses his free hand to tilt your chin up towards him, two gentle fingers guiding your cheek.
you follow his eyes as he stares down at your lips, and for a second you think he's going to kiss you. but instead he brushes his thumb across your lip, wiping away a stray piece of carrot from the corner of your mouth, and you feel your cheeks flush with heat.
“is that all?” you say, and he lets out a little hum in disagreement as he stares at you. you lick your lips reflexively under his gaze, your eyes never leaving his. the dim light from the tv makes him look even prettier, you think, studying the fuzzy outline of his features in the darkness.
“mmm… no, i think i missed a spot, actually.”
this time he leans down to kiss you and you crane your neck up to meet his lips, breaking into a smile as you feel him press against your mouth. your eyes flutter shut at the familiar movement of his lips moving with yours, so natural and warm and tender like it's the easiest thing in the world.
he pulls away after a second and sighs, settling back against the headboard of the bed and adjusting you in his arms. distantly you hear the drama's theme song playing in the background as the credits of the episode flash across the screen, but you don't care about following the story anymore.
at this moment you're more concerned with the biting warmth spreading across your lips, so you wipe the back of your hand against your mouth, and he lets out a little whine. “hey, why’d you do that?” he pouts. “don't wipe off my kisses. you're making me sad.”
“because you're burning my mouth! your ramen's too spicy for me,” you tease as you pout back at him, reaching across him to set your own half-empty bowl on the nightstand.
he grabs your wrist before you pull back and brings your hand up to his mouth. without having to ask you sigh, knowing what he wants, and you swipe your thumb over his lips even though there's nothing there.
“there. all gone, no more spice,” he hums with a smile and he gently releases your hand. you let your arm fall onto his lap, resting across his body and curling around his waist to pull him closer to you. “now come here and let me kiss you again, i have to replace the one you wiped off.”
you groan and pretend to roll your eyes, but you don't hesitate when he leans back in to capture your lips again. the heat is easy to put up with; you don't mind his spicy kisses, if it means you get to have moments in bed together like this.
“i'm gonna make you brush your teeth before you kiss me next time,” you grumble, but it's not hard to tell that your threats are empty.
jun just giggles and presses his lips against you once more, this time on your cheek by the corner of your mouth, because it's clear you're not serious nor upset. the days of being grossed out by each other have long since passed, and you'll gladly take a sloppy kiss from him any day. “love you, too.”
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i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!
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joelscruff · 1 year
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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART NINE
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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.
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ckret2 · 6 days
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@marsupials-of-mars submitted:
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I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!
Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way
Introducing Professor Locke!
Things about this idea:
-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.
-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.
-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.
-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.
-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.
-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!
-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."
-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.
-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.
-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.
-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.
-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.
-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.
OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.
Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.
Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,
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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 8 months
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Broken Hearts and Valentines Cards.
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Steve sends you a card for Valentine's day, it's just as a friend... Eddie isn't so happy and his mouth runs away with him, which you overhear.
Eddie Munson x Reader, Jealous Eddie, Kinda mean Eddie at the end, sorry 😌 bit of an angsty fic instead of a fluffy Valentines.
❤️
Steve had overheard you speaking to Nancy and Robin about Valentines Day. It was a few days before the big day, and you were mentioning that you hadn't been sent a card before.
"It would be nice wouldn't it? Even to receive just one card, normally it never used to bother me but-'' You trail off, your chatty demeanour soon becoming shyer, hesistant to speak.
"But you wouldn't mind a card from a certain metalhead'' Nancy teases and you nod, then sigh.
"Never going to happen though" you reply, and Steve stays in the background so you don't realise he's heard. Robin catches his eye and must realise he's scheming after hearing your confession.
If you wanted a card then Steve was going to send you one. After all what could go wrong?
...
Valentine ''cupids'' were wandering the cafeteria handing out Valentines cards. The cupids in question were some reluctant and some eager students, they were holding indivual boxes labelled Valentines mail.
Eddie was ranting at the Hellfire table, he dreaded this day and all the bullshit consumerism that came with it.
"I can't stand this shit. It's just another day that corporates use to trick the gullible into buying manufactured shit" he snaps.
"Tell us how you really feel dude" Gareth jokes, then quietens at Eddie's sharp look, Eddie doesn't notice how quiet you've grown, the sad look on your face at his words.
Then something unexpected happens, one of the cupids comes up to the Hellfire table and drops a card right in front of you.
There's a stunned silence, you pick up the card and hold it gently. You've never had a card before... Who sent it?
You open it and smile at the cute picture of a kitten and puppy snuggled up together. Hearts surround them, it's really adorable.
The card is signed from an Admirer, heat floods through your body and you beam. Even if it's from a friend, it's still very sweet and you hold it reverently.
"Who sent it?" Jeff asks curious, he peers over your shoulder. ''Ooh an admirer" he teases.
Eddie frowns "Why not just sign who it's from then?" his big brown eyes narrow at the card. You tuck the card into your bag and shake your head.
"It's romantic, or just being sweet. People can be sweet and not have a motive Eddie" you point out to him.
Robin passes you and grins in delight.
"I'm glad you got it! Steve will be pleased, he was like an anxious mother hen this morning" you blink surprised, oh.
"Harrington sent it" Eddie yelps and Robin nods to you, beaming.
"Mmm, overhead you saying about Valentines Day, got it in his head to send you a card" she explains.
"That is so sweet" you beam, remembering to thank Steve next time you see him. Meanwhile, Eddie was still quiet, which with him was never a good thing...
❤️
Family Video was one of Eddie's favourite places, he loved finding new horror movies that he hadn't seen yet, along with D&d and playing the guitar, it was one of his favourite things to do to pass time.
Steve was working today with Robin and Eddie discreetly watched him. Dustin sung Steve's praises and Eddie had gotten to know Steve, knew he was a good guy-better than Eddie ever thought. Rich, goodlooking and the chick's loved him but he was a genuine nice guy.
So Eddie couldn't explain why he was so angsty at the thought of Steve sending you that card. Did he like you as more than a friend and wanted to ask you out or something?
"Hey Steve, what's the deal with you sending that card?" he blurts out. Steve raises an eyebrow, folds his arms across his chest and frowns.
"I don't see the problem? I was being a good friend" Steve shrugs and Eddie follows him around as he puts away the videos.
"Do you like her? Is this what it's about?" he demands. Robin, who's listening to the whole conversation is quiet. Until Eddie keeps going on about it and she finally snaps.
Robin rolls her eyes. "Eddie, I'm going to be completely blunt, because you're annoying me right now with how much of a dingus you're being. You're jealous. Sooner you admit it to yourself, the better you'll feel"
Jealous, there was no way he was jealous Eddie scoffs. Robin didn't know what she was talking about.
"Jealous of what? I don't see yn like that at all, she's not my type. She's too into romance, fairytale shit. Nope, no fucking way" he doesn't notice Steve's wide eyes or Robin's furious look.
Confused he turns around, you're standing shock still, looking at Eddie with heartbreak in your eyes.
"Nice to know what you think of me Eddie" you murmur quietly and leave. Robin curses him out as she follows you, leaves Eddie with a horrid sinking feeling in his chest.
Fuck.
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gffa · 5 months
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TALES OF THE EMPIRE wound up being a mixed bag for me, there was a lot I enjoyed but there was a lot that just felt really unfulfilled. Morgan's episodes were very pretty to look at but I couldn't help thinking--the entire time I was watching, even--that Filoni's not great at creating new characters that can carry entire episodes like this, none of this felt particularly necessary or like it was fulfilling a void that I wanted to know more about. It doesn't help that I still think her arc in live action was badly handled, that if she was meant to be a Nightsister from the beginning, her first episode should have dealt with that, instead of springing it on us later, so when filling in the background of her on Dathomir in TOTE, it brings all that up for me again.
Morgan's first episode was so pretty and it was interesting to potentially get more Dathomir lore (even if it's incredibly thin and I felt it was too close to the "we see others suffering in the galaxy, but we don't want to get our own hands dirty by fighting for other people or getting involved in helping others, btw we're morally better for that :)" trope for me personally) but everything on Corvus just felt superfluous to me and I spent time trying to figure out why I felt that way. If they had done her story this way or that way, would I have enjoyed it more? If they had included this or that, would I have thought it more necessary?
And ultimately I just kept coming back to that I don't really care about Morgan Elsbeth enough that I wanted three animated shorts dedicated to her, when I could have had so many other characters get fleshed out better. I appreciated that they were showing two characters on opposite journeys, that Morgan was falling into the dark step by step, while Barriss was slowly clawing her way out of it, but that's about all that I appreciated of Morgan's story (other than the beautiful animation).
But I'm not sure I feel like Morgan's motivations were all that well planned out. It's clear that she's looking for revenge and trying to find a new family at the same time, but it's not really clear why she's working with the Empire or how she thinks this leads her to her goals. Grievous is the one who murdered her village, how does working with the Empire (as the Separatists were folded into the Empire, too) achieve that goal? Who or what is her revenge focused on? Is it that she just wants the whole galaxy to burn, because if her village burned, so should everyone else? I feel like that's probably what they were going for, but that it could have been more coherently written.
Barriss' episodes hit a lot harder, where I'm glad that she at least got an arc, but I feel like it just missed so many marks, like why even have Vader there, I'm all for gratuitous Anakin cameos, he's my trash can man and I'm always excited to see him, but absolutely nothing was done with him, despite that he was looking Barriss right in the face there. Not even a moment of showing the audience, "Oh, his soul is so far into the dark of fear, hate, and rage that he doesn't even care about her anymore." Just nothing there, like there was no connection at all. How do you go to the lengths of putting Vader in a scene with Barriss and then treat it like there's no history between her and Anakin??? So completely unsatisfying!
And then it's another series where other guest appearances would have made sense--Barriss has a whole unfinished story with Ahsoka and you don't include her here? I'm as tired of Filoni putting Ahsoka in everything as anyone else, but here it would have made sense and would have brought that relationship full circle on-screen, Barriss' betrayal of her and her clawing her way back to the light after all the trauma and hurt, there's so much she and Ahsoka would have between them. And then nothing.
Or Barriss' relationship with Luminara, TCW never really got into how that must have felt for Luminara, to have her student betray the Jedi so profoundly, for her to fall to the dark, there's such a well of potential there and it's just entirely ignored. She mentions Luminara once and it was a lovely mention, but there's no sense of resolution or completion to that arc.
I did enjoy her story with Lyn and I try not to compare what the show wanted to do with what I wanted the show to do, but I couldn't help it. During all those scenes, all I could think was that this could have been so much more powerful and complete if it had focus on Barriss' established relationships and characters I already care about, because a new random Inquisitor is just not going to hold the same weight for me as my pre-investment in Ahsoka and Luminara. (On the other hand, with the way they butchered Luminara in the last season of TCW, maybe I dodged a bullet!)
For all that negativity, though, I really loved that Barriss found herself in being a healer again, that she found the light again. That's all I've wanted for my girl!!!! (That and put a headdress on her, ffs.) I legitimately took in a hard breath when she said, "Then you have one more Jedi to deal with." because Barriss is still working through too much to fully come back to clarity re: the Jedi at that point , but when it really came down to it, when she really saw what the dark side really was, part of her still was a Jedi. And the way she spoke of her time as a Jedi, once she had a clearer, lighter head again, was sweet, I was so surprised that we got that much from her, but I'm so glad because, if nothing else, Barriss herself deserves to be in the light again.
The way she was settled into her own skin by the time she confronted Lyn on the icy planet, the way she genuinely wanted to help her, but wouldn't let her hurt innocent children, the way she could sidestep Lyn's predictable moves and could stop the blade with just a hand held out, she found her path and what she wanted to do, and oh it was so lovely to see Barriss finding herself again. I loved so much that her unshakable compassion did reach Lyn, it was such a satisfying arc for Barriss to reach that place after all the people she'd hurt. I loved so much that Barriss getting back to this place does a lot to remind us that her foundation is a compassionate one, even if she was lost to the dark for awhile.
I just wish that there had been acknowledgement of those she hurt, the people that died because of her, the betrayal she stabbed people in the back with, rather than just "sees the dark side is bad, walks away, finds the light again", which goes back to that this feels like a generic story that's mostly impactful because I'm filling in the gaps myself because I already know Barriss as a character, rather than that it continues the story that was previously told about her.
At the end of the day, I enjoyed it and I recognize that I'm being a little unfair in how I'm saying I wanted this, this, and this, rather than digesting what the show itself wanted to do, but when you're crafting two stories that are specifically about showing us the journey of two characters that originate elsewhere, you're drawing on the stories from those other origins--except TOTE decided to only halfway do that. There's a lot to love in these shorts, the animation was incredible, the voice work was incredible, Barriss' emotional journey was incredible and I'm so thankful that they even gave her any kind of compassionate resolution. But the specter of how much the shorts ignored hangs over it too heavily for me to say that they were anywhere near what they could have been imo.
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queenimmadolla · 2 years
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𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞
(dad!eddie munson and mom!reader as young parents)
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more of the penny verse here • eddie edit © @fefemunson!
Summary. . . You admire your new baby girl. warnings: none, just fluff a/n: eddie and reader are about 20 and 21 (i also feel the need to express eddie exhibits Sagittarius traits so i'm thinking he had to have been born in december, kinda close to capricorn cause he looks evil but he's not) and some cuteness before I give you angst with 'Wayne's World'. enjoy! let me know what you think? ◡̈
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“So…how you liking it out here?” You asked, propped on your stomach and resting on your forearms.
  Your daughter, only six days old, stared back up at you, small plump lips parted. She still looked so new and a little wrinkly.
  “There’s not a single thought in your adorable little head, is there?” You stroked over her soft hair—she’d come out with a full head of it—mindful of her delicate head and softspot. Penny blinked once, hard, at the gentle caress, but continued to marvel at you, the big brown eyes she’d inherited from her father were so wide that her forehead was squishing up towards her adorable hairline.
  The television was on, more so for background noise as the volume was very low. Eddie was asleep in the bedroom, he’d taken it upon himself to let you get as much rest as possible—always insisting on getting up in the middle of the night to gather Penny when she became fussy. She didn’t do too much, wasn’t all that active yet. If she wasn’t fussing, she was attached to one of your nipples or sleeping. In the four days since you’d brought her home, she hadn’t done a whole lot of sleeping during the convenient times for her new parents. No, she slept during the day and was up all night.  
  Eddie was so good with her, though. Took the screaming like a champ, it was so fascinating to you that she couldn’t produce actual tears yet but it still hurt your heart to hear her cry. He’d just take off his shirt and hold her to his chest, skin to skin seemed to calm Penny down, and you’d pumped enough to have overnight supplies of milk for her when your nipples were too sore to handle Penny’s nursing, though you didn’t mind when he stirred you from sleep to settle Penny against your breast so she could eat.
  That was about the only time Eddie did wake you. Giving birth had drained you, you knew it was gonna be uncomfortable and take a lot out of you but you hadn’t anticipated the lack of energy you’d have in the days following as well, and you hadn’t voiced it but Eddie knew you. Sometimes, you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself.
  It was surprising when you woke before him, feeling well rested instead of drained. You’d quietly gotten out of bed, careful not to wake him, to check on Penny, and for once, she was up at a normal time, too. 
  Eddie looked exhausted, breathing deep as he slept so you decided it was time to start bonding with your baby more. A little mommy-daughter time.
  After changing her diaper and feeding her, you got yourself dressed and ready, put her in a cute little onesie and folded a blanket on the carpet in the living room to lay her down. 
  You hadn’t realized there wasn’t a whole lot to do with a newborn until half an hour had passed with you two staring at each other, really taking each other in. You studied her and while you didn’t think she had a whole lot of brain processing power, you had a feeling she was trying to figure you out, too. As more than just her food source, anyways. Sometimes her stare would go soft, eyelids looking heavy before they were wide open again as if you’d done something to startle her out, it was kind of funny. 
  “You know, you’re pretty cute but you’re kind of boring,” You teased, fingers trailing down her little side until you reached her onesie covered foot and your ovaries cried at how small it was. You pressed your thumb gently just below her teeny tiny toes and like the little alien she was, they curled in on it in a way she probably wouldn’t be able to do in a few months, newborn flexible-ness.
  “All you heard was cute, huh?”
  Seemingly in response, because of course your daughter knew her cues, she was Eddie Munson’s baby after all, she began to suckle on nothing, lips miming the motion. You grabbed her pacifier and held it to her lips, giggling when she mouthed at it until it was settled and she looked content. 
  You beamed down at her, thumb stroking over the pad of her foot before pressing a kiss to it. And since you were kissing her foot you just had to show those chunky (god you wanted to bite them) cheeks some love, pressing your lips noisily and repeatedly against her face.
  Penny let you have your fun, the eye of her cheek you were focused on forced to squint as the chubb of it spread with the pressure of your kisses.
  You’d been expecting her to smell good, a baby survival mechanism to entice people to want to take care of her, but you had no idea how obsessed with it you’d become. You just wanted to bottle the newborn smell up so you could have it forever. Once you were done kissing her face, your nose trailed up her head to sniff at her hair where the scent was the strongest. You inhaled deeply, very much so exaggerated and let out an even more dramatic sigh before you pulled away to look down at her.
  “I’ve never done it, but you’re better than crack,” You swore.
  “Neither have I and I agree.” A raspy voice responded from behind you.
  You rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder to see Eddie leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, lips curled into a smile and sleep still lingering in his eyes.
  “You know, it’s really hot when you linger in doorways like that, but it’s also kind of creepy, Eddie.”
  The sleepy look quickly morphed into a mischievous one, “You think I’m hot?”
  “So, that’s what you’re gonna take from that? You already know I think you’re hot. Exhibit A,” You gestured down to his baby you’d popped out less than a week ago. 
  Eddie laughed and joined you on the floor, lips pursed in exaggeration once he was settled. You were all too happy to lean in, pressing your lips firmly against his. It was clear he’d just been expecting a quick peck when he let out a sound of surprise before you felt the curve of his smile which in turn made you smile.
  You felt so doped up on love; you had Eddie, who you thought would be the greatest love of your life, and now you had the baby you two made, proof of your love (an accidental one but still) and also proof that you could be wrong, since she turned out to be the other great love of your life. Despite the late nights, sore nipples and how peeing was somewhat of a chore while your stitches healed, life was bliss.
  “Mmm,” Eddie hummed when you pulled away, eyes still closed and that smile still plastered on his face. Then he groaned, head dropping. “These are going to be the longest six weeks of my life, I just know it.”
  You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you sat up and carefully lifted Penny. She was so doll-like, ugh, you loved her so much. You turned her in your grasp, a hand cradling the back of her head and neck while your other supported her bottom as you pressed her cheek against yours, the both of you facing Eddie.
  “But isn’t this worth it?” 
  There wasn’t any humor behind the reply he rasped out, his features morphing into the tender expression that always made you feel breathless, like you were important to him, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
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slippinninque · 5 months
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🫣🍑Private Dancer🍑🫣
Or: You discover another half to the secret you thought you were keeping
Fontaine x blackfemreader
Warnings: MINORS DNI, cursing, use of the n-word, mentions of smoking/weed, P-in-V, mentions of insecurity, long fic
Truth was, you were a secret shaker.
A tentative twerker. An apprehensive ass-thrower. Your waist whined when being perceived directly and not in a good way. Not only did you decline to throw ass in public, you will also turn away any offers to catch it.
When you were alone, though...
You learned chorography to your favorite sounds, bounced around your living room as you folded clothes. Recorded dance challenges and deleted them a few hours later. You were your very own Stallion behind closed doors.
It took only a handful of awkward encounters and an asshole ex-boyfriend suggesting you 'stand to the side' for you to be determined to find your rhythm.
Looking up tips online and went to any beginner's classes you could find in the area. Ballroom, salsa, the pole--it all helped you understand your body outside of what it looked like. It was about what you trained it to do, what you wanted it to do.
Investing in a really good floor length mirror was the last puzzle piece you needed to really find your beat. From there on, you and the mirror were lovers.
Only your small circle of friends knew. That was thanks to enough years of trust and tequila, leading to wild nights at house parties with the radio cranked high.
You eventually learned that it was nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like it kept you away from fun or being included in the antics. If you went out with the ladies, you hyped them and kept a cute lil' two step. You held the title of Camerawoman with pride and your background cackles were famous in the group chat.
The booty wouldn't boogie with anyone else around and it's been that way for years.
It was your own little secret. No one had to know everything and you babbled enough as it was. If anyone cared to stare hard enough to a deserted, dark corner of the house--then maybe they could catch a glimpse.
The sway-snap of your hips, falling beautifully with every beat that you heard. How your hair gleamed, the way your smile swelled with the change of the songs.
Your entire body sang a song.
At least, that's what Fontaine thought when he first spotted you.
Of course you never knew he saw you. Even after the reciprocated confessions and hot-n-heavy honeymoon phase, you thought you went unseen.
Fontaine took your secret for his own, delighting in your shadow shows on the rare occasions you came out to play.
Fontaine could wait and if you had to feel alone to feel secure, then so be it. He used his admiration and desire to touch you, to be a proper witness.
Just being near you was more then enough, it would have been ungrateful to be so greedy.
------
You screamed when you saw him standing there.
The earbuds went off into the wilds of the kitchen, one skittering beneath the fridge.
Fontaine's eyes were popped wide but didn't seem remorseful for scaring your soul to the heavens.
"I thought you heard me when I came in." Fontaine hung up his keys before going in search of your earbuds. You watched after him, mortified.
You were just really into organizing the lower pantry. Lost in shaking your ass with one hand braced on the red potatoes and the other searching for the brown potatoes to put them back in their proper spot.
When you turned to grab the few 'taters that eacaped, you saw your man standing a few feet away from you with his arms crossed and head tilted.
How long has he been here?
Oh god, you have never danced for him. You have never danced in front of him--you weren't even serious. There wasn't a problem with you shimmying to the beat in his lap at a function or waving from your hips up while riding in the car to some jams.
This was different.
"Hey, hey--whatcha curling up for? C'mon now, I already know you can move."
"It-- that, um, I-I'm not that good, so, y'know..."
Fontaine pocketed your traumatized earbuds and kissed your hands until you inched them away enough for him to see your worried gaze. He tutted quietly, taking your hands into his and kissing your knuckles.
"What matters to me is what makes you feel good, baby." His voice rolled into a purr as he continued, "Lucky me that you look so fine when you do."
You wriggled as your shyness battled against the excitement of having Fontaine looking at you the way he was.
"So I don't look.... awkward? Do I have enough stuff to make it look good?"
"Wasn't nothing awkward 'bout how you were throwin' that, trust me."
Fontaine's hands went down and grabbed two handfuls of your ass. His palms were warm and wide as he kneaded, bringing you even closer to him as you went to your tiptoes. He hooked his chin over your shoulder with a happy little hum, distracted by you but only for only a moment more.
"Hold up, whatchu mean by 'enough stuff' ?"
You shrugged and decided not to answer. The truth of past insecurities felt redundant and you rather liked the way Fontaine was making you feel at the moment.
Fontaine grunted, giving you another squeeze before pulling back a bit to look into you square in the eyes.
"Look here-- I'm in love with all this right here, so I'm rockin' with you regardless of what you can make it do. Don't matter if you think you ain't got enough, shit, it's enough fo', me. Understand?"
His words worked out the few kinks in your heart, aches you grown used to and ignored when they flared. You nodded more confidently and only then did Fontaine lighten his hold on you, nodding back.
No telling how long Fontaine was standing there and if you never turned around-- you would have been none the wiser. How many times has he been there? Letting you have yourself, taking only a moment for himself as he had that smile on his face.
It was the same smile he had when he took away the shea butter to rub you down himself. Or similar to the smirk on his face when following after you to the bedroom after you talked a bit too much shit.
Your shoulders dropped as you fully relaxed into his hold. The burning embarrassment in your stomach churned into smooth, seamless and leaving you suddenly eager.
"So, tell me what a nigga gotta do to get a private dance from yo' pretty self?"
His hands helped themselves to another handful, this time spreading to touch between your legs. There was promise in his eyes and you knew you only needed to say yes.
You twist away from him enough to pluck your phone from the counter, sliding through a few songs before settling on something with drums and bass. The speakers pulsed and you began backing Fontaine out of the kitchen and into the living room.
He let you push him to sit in the recliner and he made an appreciative sound at the way you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. It evolved, going deeper until you pulled away with a protesting noise from Fontaine.
"That's the only touching you gonna get from me right now."
"Oh, word?"
"You're going to distract me enough as it is." You said, stepping away from him and stretching your arms over your head.
"Bold as hell to call me a distraction." Fontaine's brows rose as he leaned back to make himself comfortable, "Lookin' at me with them eyes..."
His eyes hooked onto your hips. You stretched, teasingly bending over and holding onto your ankles as you gave a cute lil' shake, looking over your shoulder coyly .
"What can I use to look if it ain't my eyes?" You asked, "How am I supposed to see you?"
"Don't worry 'bout what you see back here, act like a nigga ain't even here."
"Oh, that's impossible now. You still make me feel so shy..."
Fontaine snorted and your gave a giddy smile in return.
What you wore was actually perfect. Tiny shorts and cami, perfect for when you were bounding around to clean house. Just what you needed for you to do a little Bend n' Snap for your man.
The music changed and you looked over at him in surprise, he held your phone but watched you with a mischief. Reaching for the little, polka dotted stash jar you left on the coffee table to pull out a blunt to wag at you.
"Go on, show me what you got fo' me."
Waiting until he fired up, you sauntered closer and tied up the front of your already teeny tank. Fontaine's eyes honed in to your nipples, distracted as he took a drag. When his fingers crooked, you leaned in enough and pursed your lips.
Fontaine blew a strong stream that you breathed in and held. You held as long as you could before releasing the smoke a final time into the air.
Fontaine's blunts were no-nonsense, where he still rolled with leaves rather than the papers you preferred. It felt like a straight shot to the head, the smoke lifting all the chatter in your mind to leave you swirling in electric eagerness.
Without further ado, you showed him what you could do.
Your hands braced on your knees, clasped above your head, went down to touch your toes. You rolled your stomach and snapped your hips mouthing the words to Fontaine as you fully felt yourself. You extended your arms and tried to be as dramatically sexy as possible. Touching all of Fontaine's favorite places yourself, pushing up your breast and skimming your hand between your legs for him to see.
Fontaine was a chaotic DJ as he flipped through your playlist. He went from instrumentals filled with nothing but baselines and adlibs, to Glorilla to Megan Thee Stallion to Trina. Whistling at every peek of cheek and nip, calling out to see the 'pretty lady' when you coyly fanned your legs at him from the floor.
When you got down on your hands and knees, you felt a smack against your cheeks hard enough to snap your illusion. You leaned onto your forearms, ass up in the air, and broke into laughter as more bills rained down. It was like a confetti canon was let off or someone hit the Golden Button for you.
"That felt personal." You said over your shoulder at where Fontaine sent another fan of bills into the air, "You tryin' to tell me something?"
"Yeah--to bring that ass over here so I can get my hands on you," Fontaine patted his thigh, "Thought this was gonna be a lap dance..."
"Private does not mean lap." You sniffed. Honestly, you weren't sure because you've never been to a strip club but with the way he was throwing bills--the living room was cosplaying as a VIP section at King of Diamonds.
You took your time in coming closer, wondering if you could skip on singles before Fontaine snatched you right up when you were close enough.
"This is too much! When did you even have time to take out all these damn dollars?"
"I been waiting on this, baby. Shit, I woulda threw gold if it ain't' hurt..."
You laughed and looked around at the singles carpeting your floor in disbelief, it's like you had a new rug installed! There were dollars all overt the coffee table and even some fluttered over to coat the entertainment center. Was there a dollar up in the light fixture? Was that a fire hazard?
Fontaine's teeth nipped at your earlobe, turning your next remark into soft moan. His hand ran up to cup your neck, breathing you in with a hungry hum.
His voice was all smoke and honey, "This is all well an' good, but I think I'm feeling a certain type of way..."
"Is it the horny way?"
Your cheekiness got you mean little pinch to your sensitive nipples. Jolting only pushed you closer to his greedy hands. It was his turn to touch. He plucked and twisted your nipples, making you mewl and melt into his touch. You ground down into his lap where you felt he needed you most, making him sigh into your ear.
"Gonna be the death of me, ain't ya?" Fontaine husked, "Here lies 'Taine, bust so hard he went on to glory. He leaves everything to his pretty-booty havin' lady."
"What if I promise to shake somethin' on your grave, would that be better--no biting!"
Fontaine growled something into the mouthful of shoulder he had, shaking his head gently and making you squeal and scrunch up to try and escape.
Still warm from being in the spotlight of Fontaine's attention and the pulsing music, your head swam with delight. It felt like victory. You turned and kissed at the side of his face before your lips met.
Allowing yourself to be admired and seen was like nothing else. Fontaine has always shown nothing but devotion to you but you still felt like he was...just being nice. You were holding yourself back from assumed disappointment but this whole time he's been waiting on you.
Talk about blocking your blessings...
When your grinding became more insistent, Fontaine leaned back with his lip caught between his teeth.
"That's what I'm talkin' about. Show me how you feel."
You looked over you shoulder, holding his hands against your breast as you rode in his lap. Fontaine hissed, one of his hands quickly escaped to clasp around your hips to grind up into you.
Leaning forward enough on your hands, your delicates went directly in his face as you tugged at his pant leg pointedly. Fontaine ignored your impatience and ran a hand over you, from between your shoulders down to the backs of your thighs.
You could hear him popping the button on his jeans and the rattle of his belt.
"How bad you want it, pretty?"
"Bad, real bad."
"'Do anything fo' it' bad?"
" 'Let you do anything to me' bad."
It happened fast after that, Fontaine righted you in his lap enough for him to press into your pussy. The stretch dropped your mouth open and Fontaine groaned at how wet you already were.
LOW started and you bounced to the beat, grinning dopily up at the ceiling at the feel of him hitting all your good spots. Your shorts provided a wonderful friction against your clit from how Fontaine shoved the fabric aside to let himself in.
It felt so naughty. To fuck on Fontaine like you were starved for him to the music rattling your walls. The thrill twisted with desire in your stomach, hurtling you faster and faster to your peek.
Suddenly more bills rained down and paired with Fontaine's laugh, more lust than amusement--it pushed you over the edge.
"That's it, I feel you, g'on and get yo' shit. Can't believe yo' pretty ass was shy..."
Fontaine took over. A bruising grip onto your hips, tipped you back into his chest as he thrust up into you in earnest.
"Puttin' that shit on me heavy, acting like you don't know what you do to me." Fontaine found a few singles that were being crumpled between you and pressed them to your dewy, lower back.
"Shieet, looks better than money. Wish you can see as much as yo' ass feel it, fuck." He gave your ass slap, you called out as you came. It felt like fire shot through you, leaving you reaching for any bit of him to clutch.
Between the music still going and Fontaine handling you so well, the sensations left you gasping. Legs burning and head filled with needy thoughts, you protested when Fontaine stopped your bouncing and maneuvered you until he slid free.
"Oh, show ain't over yet--you feel me?"
You did. Fontaine was heavy and hot where he tapped all over your ass, leaving kisses of wet spots. It filled you with a flash of pride or maybe even possessiveness. Craining your neck, you did you best to get a glimpse but Fontaine hand cupped your neck licked the shell of your ear.
"Yeah, that's you gettin' all over me. Tryna make me messy just how you like it, huh?"
He hissed when you writhed in his lap, ghost riding his dick until he gave you a little push to stand. Your mouth dropped open to whine but Fontaine turned you towards the middle of the room.
"Show me how you want it."
Fontaine held himself tight at the base, his lips lax enough for his gold to wink in the lamp light.
As gracefully as you could--you went down onto your knees before lying back to put your legs in the air. You rolled over in the blanket of dollars, wriggling down your shorts to one ankle until you could flick them away.
Fontaine grinned down at you, kneeling to slot his palm into the arch of your foot, his other hand stroking himself.
He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, eyes fixed to where his dick bumped against your mound.
"Prettiest thing touchin' soil and you think it ain't enough..."
Fontaine moved your other thigh to the side around his hip, leaving you spread completely. You were still working, still giving him a show, but you couldn't bear to keep your hands off of him.
When you hand ran under his shirt, Fontaine tugged it over his head swiftly and much to your delight. The sight of his broad chest and delicious skin made you all the more impatient.
"Hurry up, Mr. Lapdance--the show ends when the music does."
Fontaine's eyes flashed.
"You lucky we ain't meet like that. D'you wanna know what I would do if you showed out like that on a pole?
The image formed in your mind was electric. Pretending to be a little Stallion and running into a hungry handed, greedy eyed Fontaine in low strobe lights.
Not knowing just what he had in store for you as you led him to the privacy booths--intent on earning his attention.
When you licked your lips, Fontaine groaned softly, you smiled at him.
What's another little secret?
"I did take a few classes, if you ever wanna see ahn--!"
Pressing into your heat, Fontaine grumbled something about Home Depot.
"Shouldn't have told me that, now I gotta put a stage in here somewhere in this bitch..."
Drunk on pleasure, you could only cry out as Fontaine chased his thoughts out loud. The change in position, with him looming above you muttering filthy promises--it was too much for you.
"O-Oh fuck, 'Taine!"
He froze to watch your eyes roll close as you shook apart beneath him with a sob. Fontaine lowered himself to bracket you between his forearms to kiss you, swallowing your moans. His hips snapped, lost rhythm and then he was coming with satisfied growl.
That was it. You were dead. Your very soul leaked onto his thighs and the carpet below.
'Here lies me, twerked too close to the sun...'
Fontaine releases a heavy, satisfied hum into your ear as he finally collapsed onto you. It should have been stifling and your knew your legs would be useless for the next while, but all you could do was grin at the feel of the dollar bill stuck to his shoulder.
What a way to go....
------
When the playlist finally ended, the silence found you both covered in sweat and dollar bills. Fontaine rubbed a loc of your hair between his fingers and you rested your eyes--head on his shoulder. Your hand wandering aimlessly across his chest as you began to doze.
He tugged gently to get your attention, "Want you to do me a favor."
"Mn. If it involves moving, you gotta pay me."
Fontaine snorted and flicked away the bill stuck to the thigh you've strewn across him. You shrugged a shoulder with a lifted brow, you got me there.
He continued, "If you can help it...I'd like for you not to hide from me anymore."
The change in his tone had you searching for his gaze and of course it was already on you. Fontaine took your hand in his, turning yours until he held it in his open palm.
"I...okay. I can do that for you."
You weren't ready to talk about the past and trying to make sense of your complicated feelings of being perceived. Something told you that it wasn't the time, maybe it was you hiding again, but at least Fontaine took your words earnestly.
He kissed your hand once, twice before leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he went back to playing with your locs.
"Good..and no more watchin' Baddies. Watching them girls fucks wit' your disposition," Fontaine reached for a handful of bills to sprinkle all over you, "You wanna be a Stallion? Lemme know and I'll give you a ride."
"Oouf you are terrible." You hid your face into his neck, "But once my legs come back online, you're in trouble."
Fontaine patted your ass, "Can't threaten me with good troubles, baby."
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ending notes: thank you so much for reading! It's a long one but the idea wouldn't leave me alone! Might need some tweaking and editing since it's another Before Work Drop lmao! Please tell me what you think and what other things I should try, don't be shy! Comment and reblog please! 💕🥰💜
Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @miyuhpapayuh @cardierreh15 @mcondance @thadelightfulone@mag1calenchantr3ss@cocoeffects@wide-nose-and-wonderful @8ttached@thadelightfulone@hobiesmain@thickeeparker@longpause-awkwardsmile@ms-angiealsina
(Added a more after some slight revisions 🫣)
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ieatkeyboard · 8 months
Text
What Obey Me brothers do for Valentines day
Note: I have a love-hate relationship with Valentines day but it's a really cute holiday! Hope you guys have fun :] Warnings: Sappy love, fluff
Lucifer: - It's cannon he's been in many relationships so I don't think it's his first rodeo - He cleans up your room while you're at work. Washes your bedding+other laundry, makes your bed and folds your laundry, does some vacuuming. -He doesn't go through your drawers or anything just tries to make it a bit neater so you can come home and not worry about cleaning up - He gets you gifts based on things you like. If you like to make jewellery he'll get a couple kits from a hobby store to make together. If you like comfy clothes, he'll customise a set of pyjamas for you, etc. - He'll jot down notes of things you like all January. He makes sure to ask at the beginning of January what your dream Valentines day activity would be in hopes you forget about it over the month - I feel like he wouldn't ask for what he wants but he enjoys doing things together. He's a bit of a sap so he uses Valentines day to show it more. - I feel like he'd be a sucker for roses. Get him white and red roses with a little note and he'll never forget it. - He might get you some little things on Valentines day if it's on a week day and use the weekend to do more. - He'd love make dinner with you but he has your favourite restaurant on standby in case Beel walks in- - Watching movies together in his room cause his bed is bigger, taking your blankets and pillows into his room cause you're spending the night there. -He tears up a little at the end of the night, when you're sleeping in his arms. He hopes this is the most memorable Valentines day you'll ever have
Mammon: - He's a sap but in the "idk what I'm doing" way - Anything he knows about you leaves his brain - He gets you flowers and chocolate and sprays his cologne on a hoodie for you - He'll probably take you for a drive and show you all his favourite places (Spoiler. It's the places you first met, took your first date at, had all your firsts at) - He'll cry remembering how it started. how you ended up in his life and all the things you've been through - He takes you through a drive through and you eat in the parking lot. He has your shared playlist playing quietly in the background while you both talk about your days and your memories together - I feel like he wouldn't need anything. He just wants you - But if you got him a new sweater or watch he was looking at, he'd be extremely happy. - I also feel like he likes sunflowers
Leviathan: - He's never had a Valentine before, he also would be too scared to ask - He'd slip a note under your bedroom door that says "Wanna be my Valentine?" and when you agree he gets really happy but also nervous that you're kidding or are doing it out of pity - After much reassurance you set up plans together - You guys watch your favourite anime together, build the anime figurines Levi's been putting off together, play games, order food - You probably sneak out later to go walk to a convenience store to get snacks and drinks and go fuck around at a park - I think he'd buy your snacks for you and pick up a stuffy for you - He isn't overly sure what you like in the flowers and such department but he tries - I feel like he isn't a big flower person tbh
Satan: - Romantic slut man - He makes you a goody bag. He writes a love letter with references to the books you've read together, makes a kiss print sweater like the ones on tiktok (Got the idea from Asmo sending him stuff of what to do for you), got you the snacks you like, a gift card to the places you like and a lamb stuffy that reminds him of you - He likes lavender for sure - I feel like getting him a nice lavender room spray to help him relax while he reads, a cat stuffy, the book he's been dying to read but is always in use at the library and a new blanket would be perfect for him (I am absolutely projecting, and what) - Making a blanket for with him and watching the movie adaptations to the books you like is everything. Go to a cat cafe to get lunch before going shopping and putting the gift card he got you to use
Asmo: - Oh lordy lord - Bath bomb, rose petals, wine, your favourite show, the kiss print sweater but I feel like he'd do matching pants (You'll NEVER guess where he put the kisses!!!*REAL* *NOT CLICKBAIT*), spa day, a cute lunch and dinner date, SO MANY PICTURES - He wants to spoil you. Give you everything romantic he could possibly think of - He likes lilies. lilys? Idfk you get the idea - He also would love to make stuff together! I also feel like Asmo draws up a little map of all the places you had your firsts and put little Polaroid pictures of those days next to the spots - Taking him shopping and getting to go home, do a little fashion show, try all the new makeup he got one each other, make the teddy bear you got him smell like you, get him new blankets/candles/decorations for his room. He'd be so happy - I feel like as much as Valentines day is the day of love and he'd flirt a lot, he'd keep sex out of the plans (Unless you want it but than after the fact he'll complain about needing to catch up on the other plans he made lol) - He loves you for so much more than your body and especially cause he's the Avatar of lust he want to prove it's not just his sin getting in the way
Beel: - He gets you comfy clothes, snacks, and other stuff you like! If you have your ears pierced or have other piercings he'll get you cute jewellery, get you a necklace to match. If you like cats, he'll get you a sweater with cat ears and a cat stuffy - He worries about getting you flowers because if they smell good he'll want to eat them- - On the note he for sure likes edible flowers like hibiscus, rose, lavender and chamomile. I'd recommend getting him flowers in the way of getting flower flavoured things - He would appreciate ordering food from all the places you've been on dates so you can have a trip down memory lane while eating (He absolutely asked Asmo for that idea) - I feel like he'd ask his brothers and your friends for ideas cause as much as he knows you, you probably admit to like different or more stuff with friends - He asks you to show him all your favourite movies, current and childhood. He wants to know how you became the amazing person he fell in love with - He wouldn't want much for Valentines day. Candy and like I said, flower flavoured things would be enough for him. If you get him anything else please do not make it food related he will chew on it. Getting him new clothes and stuff based off his movie would make him really happy
Belphie: - Blanket, both of the fluffy and weighted variety. Cow stuffy. New sweater. -I would try and steer clear of stuff to make him sleep harder but he's a comfy kinda guy so it's hard - Star themed pyjamas and hair clips. Or bleaching his favourite constellations on a black hoodie. He'll wear it everywhere - I feel like he'd like white roses and dahlias - His ideal date would be getting food, going to the planetarium and talking, listening to music, looking at the stars, etc. And than going home and napping with his new blanket and in his new pyjamas. - He'd get you snacks, a hoodie and shorts that are your favourite colour, get you a new pillow that he'd test out first to make sure it was comfy. - And ofc he'd get you stuff you like. Your favourite perfume, stuff based on movies/shows/anime you like. - He'd get a little sappy and tell you he's so glad your still with him. That you're his
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xhoneygirlxx · 1 year
Text
no but listen okay!! imagine you and eddie have been dating for quite a while but neither of you have said the "L" word yet.
the two of you are in his apartment, chilling out on the couch. your hair is slightly wet and your skin is still dewy from just taking a shower. you're outstretched, laying back with your legs laying across his lap. eddie on the other hand is leaning back, one arm on the back of the couch and the other slowly rubbing up and down on your calf.
it was the weekend and for once the two of you decided to skip out on the group's night out, opting for some relaxing alone time. so there you sit, in an oversized shirt that eddie bought you from the thrift store and a pair of shorts, glasses perched on your nose, and a book in hand.
eddie decided to put on the tv, flicking through different channels before landing on an episode of family guy. the show is left unwatched though, just background noise for eddie while he looks at you.
your lip is in between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed, and your eyes flit across the pages. you look so beautiful like this, you look beautiful all the time if you ask him, but something about you like this makes his heart pound harder.
and just like that it hits him. he's so goddamn in love with you it's not even funny. never in his life has anyone ever made him feel the way you do. when he looks at you all he can see is spending the rest of his life with you.
he wants to grow old with you, get a cat and maybe have some kids. he wants to do the dishes and cook with you, fold the laundry and build furniture (even if the instructions are hard to read) with you.
you're the person he wants to lay next to at night and wake up with in the morning. he wants to make you breakfast and dinner, drive you around to whatever store you need to go to. he wants to hold your hand until both of you are nothing but soft skin and wrinkles.
it's like a freight train of emotions, happiness and joy, love and adoration. you're the love of his life, the person he wants to take his final breathes with. he'd jump in front of a speeding car if it meant you'd be safe, he wants to protect you and hide you from all the bad things in the world.
he'd work until his fingers were nothing but bones if that meant you were happy. he loves you, god, he's so in love with you. you're his person, his peace, and his heart.
it scares eddie. he isn't going to run away this time though, no. he's going to tell you how he feels, even if it ends with a broken heart. he needs you to know that he'd not only die for you but he'd live for you, and that's even harder to do.
"i'm so fucking in love with you." it comes out like a whisper, like he meant to say it in his head instead.
you hear him though, dropping your book the moment the words hit your ears.
"yeah?" the face you make is so cute, he might die from it.
"yeah." there's no hesitation to his answer and you notice. smiling brightly back at him, your eyes sparkle like the thousands of stars in the sky.
"i'm so fucking in love with you, it makes me crazy." and like music to his ears, his heart burns bright with your admission.
there you sit in the comfort of his living room, the small world that the two of you built for no one else to see. in that moment the two of you signed your hearts away to each other, the deal being sealed by the touching of your lips.
yeah, eddie was in love with you and he was going to be in love with you until his last day.
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is this too much to ask for??? i guess so lmaoaooo
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stormberry-12 · 2 months
Text
faceless // P5: quite the opposite. ~ charles leclerc x reader
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pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader
includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n".
Bold Italics are the past.
Normal Italics are thoughts.
summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”
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"Oh my god!" you mumbled, showing Charles your screen.
"Shit, have you talked to him yet?" 
"No!" you cried, "What do I do?"
"Well, answer it." Charles rolled his eyes.
"Don't sass me." you scoffed, ignoring the soft grin on your boyfriend's face. You picked up the phone on the last ring and brought it to your ear. "Hello?"
"Put it on speakerphone! Put it on speakerphone! Put it on speakerph-" Charles whispered frantically, like a teenage girl gossiping at a sleepover. He finally shut up when you kicked him in the knee, putting the team principal of Red Bull on speaker phone and laying it down on the tile floor.
"-e need to discuss what happened today. I'm sure you've seen some of what's been going on, on social media-" Chistian's voice echoed off the walls.
"Yes," you replied, stealing a glance at Charles who had his legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, staring intently at the phone sitting between you.
"Why is your voice so loud?" Christian questioned.
"Uhm- I'm just in my bathroom" you squeaked.
"Okay... I'm just going to get to the point," Christian sighed. "People only really caught a glimpse of your eyes. We could play this off that they have made a mistake, your identity hasn't been confirmed by us or Formula 1 yet-"
Charles sneezed and you winced, Christian was silent for only a moment, before speaking again with a tone of annoyance, "Hello Charles."
"Hi how are yo-"
"Miss L/N, we will need you to post on social media denying the rumors, and our team will as well. Hopefully, things can go back to normal shortly-"
"About that," you said cutting him off. "I no longer feel the need to keep my identity private anymore. I was hoping to speak to you about it before all of this happened."
"What are you talking about?" by the tone in Christian's voice he didn't seem too pleased about how the call was going. Especially after realizing he was on speakerphone in your bathroom, with Charles sniffling from allergies in the background. You had to admit, this was not the most professional way you had ever answered a call from your boss before.
"I would like to disclose my identity," you repeated curtly and you swore you could see Charles smile out of the corner of your eye.
"If you're worried about people not believing us Y/n I promise you it will all work out. I can hire an actor to do your press, while you stay behind the wheel,"
"No thanks,"
"Those are the only options I have for you Miss L/n,"
"And why is that?" you snapped.
"Because you're a woman," there was no hesitancy to his voice whatsoever.
Because you're a woman.
That made your blood boil. How dare he.
"How dare you," you hissed, Charles had stopped tapping his finger against his knee, staring at you with wide eyes. "We're done Mr. Horner, thank you for your time,"
"What do you mean done?" 
Buddy could not take a hint, "I quit."
Before he could respond you frantically hit 'end call' and slapped a hand over your mouth. You had just quit your dream position at Red Bull Racing. 
Wait, no. It wasn't your dream position anymore. You reminded yourself, working in a sexist environment with no credit where credit was due was not a dream position. You took a deep breath and looked at Charles, he had a content look on his face.
"Oh shit, I just quit my job," you gasped.
"Hell yeah, you did," Charles said pleased, standing up, "C'mon we got to get going,"
"What do you mean?"
"The driver's dinner,"
Right. You had totally forgotten, that was why Yuki and Pierre were carpooling.
"Well, technically I'm not a driver anymore," you mumbled.
"Who cares, everyone expects you to be there,"
"Really?"
"Yep, go get changed," he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and walked out, a ping lit up your phone.
Charlie ❤ has added you to 'GRID BUDDIESSS'
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The car was quiet, trees flashed by as you and Charles made your way to the restaurant. You sighed removing your gaze from the window to look over at Charles, he looked tense.
"Charles?" you squeaked.
"Mmm?" he hummed, eyes staying on the road.
"I need to apologize." you continued, he finally glanced your way and met your gaze, "I was a shit girlfriend, a shit person, and I don't deserve you, you have every right to be mad and never forgive me-"
"Please stop," he cut you off, "You are not shit. You are amazing and I love you more than life itself. I'm not mad at you. I just need you to understand that it still feels weird for me."
"I understand," you whispered.
"And I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have yelled."
It was silent for a few moments, and you felt your eyes well up, quickly dabbing them dry with your sleeve, "I should have told you."
"It's okay, I completely understand your reasoning-"
"You are the person I trust the most, know that okay?" you looked back at him. "Not Redbull, not Horner, not Lando."
He pulled into a parking stall and cut the engine. He turned to you with a small smile, "That means a lot,"
"I love you," you gave him a small kiss.
"I love you too," he responded, eyes shifting down, "How are you feeling, wrist okay?"
"All good,"
"Good, let's go,"
You both went to open your doors, "You know for someone who drives for a living you're terrible at parking," you sighed, trying to avoid hitting the lamppost with the door. You saw him flip you off in the mirror.
"PARKOUR!" you exclaimed, swinging yourself out of the car, using the lampost to guide you.
"Okay, Micheal Scott." he quipped.
"It's Britney bitch-" Charles cackled, grabbing your hand as you walked through the parking lot, swinging it between the two of you like a child.
"Y/N! Wait up!" a voice called from behind you. You turned over your shoulder to face Max Verstappen in his ever-so-plain outfit of skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. At least it wasn't team kit. Charles squeezed your hand before continuing into the restaurant, leaving you with Max.
"Hey Max," You gave him a small smile, knowing where this was going. You hadn't talked to your own teammate about your driving status yet.
"Look, I just wanted to apologize for the crash the other day and-"
"It's okay Max, it was just racing don't worry about it,"
"No, no it's not just that." Max rushed, "I need to apologize for the crash and also for being such a shit teammate."
"You weren't a shit teammate Max," you chuckled lightly, "We never met as teammates."
"I get that, but I still was a shit person. I complained about you to Christian when I knew you were in earshot and I messed with your gear to try to throw you off." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
You recalled all the times you heard Max protest about you to Christian and when you sat outside your driver's room crying because you got locked out, having to pull a Spiderman in the alleyway.
"That was you?" you scoffed, words coming out harsher than intended.
"Y-yeah," He mumbled awkwardly, he shifted his feet beneath him.
"Why?" you asked carefully.
"To be honest, I was a bit jealous." Max started, "I guess I wished I was you. I've always hated all the media and PR of the sport, I think it's stupid. I envied the way you got to just put on the helmet, ignore the media, and do some good fucking racing. I'm so sorry that I ever put you in a hard position,"
That made a whole lot of sense actually. "For what it's worth, being a ghost was not all it's cut out to be. And I should thank you honestly," You explained how if you hadn't been locked out, you wouldn't have bumped into Lando and got some sense knocked into your head. 
"Right," Max chuckled at your story, though he still seemed upset with himself. "You are very talented Y/n,"
"I appreciate it Max, you as well, and for what it's worth we would have made a good team." you smiled.
"Yeah, we still will don't worry!" he smiled back, "Once you're back in the car next season, it'll be so fun-"
"Oh, no Max," you winced, feeling a pang of sadness in your gut, "I don't have a job next year, I was talking to Christian and we didn't have the same vision... so I decided to resign."
"Wait... s-so you're not racing at all?" Max stuttered in disbelief.
"No." you sighed.
"Shit," he looked sorry all over again.
"Don't worry about it Max, honestly. Let's go eat." you said curtly, gesturing over your shoulder at the restaurant. "Come on!" You bumped his shoulder and started walking. You tried to ignore the aching feeling at the thought of not racing.
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The drivers had started to gather around a large table, only a few missing from the grid. You scanned the room as you walked in, Max trailing behind. Charles sat near the middle, his jacket reserving the seat beside him. To his left, you could see Lando, Daniel, Carlos, Pierre, and Yuki settling into their seats. To his right, Oscar and Fernando were making sophisticated small talk with the Mercedes boys.
Well, there is clearly a fun side of the table.
You stood there momentarily, getting lost in the bustle of people around you.
"Mate, don't forget about that video I have of you, and I just want to be clear- shut the fuck up -I will not hesitate to hit that post button," Lando warned, snapping at Danny when he attempted to open his mouth and interrupt him.
"Yikes, that's some aggressive language from little Lando Norris," Max quipped walking past them.
"Shut the fuck up Maximus,"
"Eh, excuse me-" Max sassed back, earning a grin from Lando.
"Guys, be nice!" Carlos scolded, "Nando! How are you doing on those Taylor Swift tickets?"
You shook your head in amusement and rounded the table over to Charles, bopping Lando on the head as you passed him.
"Y/NNN!!!" he sang, making Daniel and the others grin and wave at you. People continued to greet you and Max as you sat in your respective chairs.
The dinner was amazing and for the first time in a long time, you felt at ease, just listening to the other driver's banter. Lando also mentioned that he was leaving Ferrari and rejoining Mclaren at the start of next season. Everyone nodded in approval, cracking jokes that he missed Zac Brown breaking his ribs. You don't think you have ever seen Oscar Piastri more excited in his life. It was going smoothly until the question about race seats came around to you.
"So, Y/n you will race with RedBull again next year?" Fernando asked politely, and you saw Max and Charles tense in your peripherals.
"No, um- I won't be racing next year," you explained softly, feeling the vibes in the room suddenly shift. It was so quiet you would hear a pin drop. Even Yuki and Pierre had stopped bickering at the news.
"Shit," Lewis sighed. You could feel Charls's hand find your thigh, reassuring you.
"What?!" Lando squeaked and you looked over at him with a sad smile.
"It's okay, honestly. It wasn't meant to be and I've accepted that, guess I'm just not sure what I'll do now, racing is the only thing I'm really got at..."
"Well, you're really good at keeping secrets, maybe you should be an undercovah spy!" Daniel exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood and compliment you but it came out as a jab. Pierre slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh and Lando was looking at his plate, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. The rest of the drivers stared at him in shock before looking over at you to see your reaction.
"Sorry, that sounded bad-" Danny panicked, suddenly embarassed.
You just grinned, happy to change the subject, "Maybe I should huh?"
Lando let out a high-pitched laugh at Danny, that he had clearly been trying to hold in, hiding his face in his hands. The rest of dinner went on without a hitch.
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"Where are we going?" you asked Charles breathlessly. He dragged you all the way through the paddock only stopping once the two of you had reached the Ferrari garage. "Charlie seriously, what the hell?"
"Shh, just trust me," you looked at him once again, catching a glint in his eyes that you knew all too well. What was he up to?
You slipped through the tight corridors at the back of the garage, bumping into Charles's team principal in passing.
"Ah! Just who I was looking for-" He exclaimed to your boyfriend, "Come."
"Charles, I'll just meet you in your driver's room?" you said, pointing further down the hallway. Knowing he would probably want to speak with Fred privately before the season started in a few weeks.
"Non, come in," he slipped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his boss's office with him.
"Charles!" you hissed.
"Y/n." he replied nonchalantly, sitting in front of Fred's desk.
"Y/n! Have a seat," Fred gestured to the chair next to Charles, sitting in his own seat. You looked across at your boyfriend who just smirked at you.
What now?
"As I understand from Charles you have no seat next year," Fred started. You nodded, saying nothing.
Fred looked at Charles and then continued, "And I believe you also know that Lando is going back to Mclaren, so we have an open seat!" he smiled at you.
"Congrats," you sighed.
"Y/n!" Charles laughed, looking at you with wide eyes.
"Sorry, maybe it's the accent," Fred laughed along with Charles, "I'm offering you a job Miss L/n."
Oh my god.
"Oh my god!!" you grinned, "Thank you so much! I don't know what to say-"
"You don't need to decide anything yet, I've heard there are a few other teams who want to give you an offer as well," Fred explained. "But I had to reach you first, can't ignore talent like yours,"
You and Charles thanked him once again and you asked Fred a few questions, though you were sure you would have many more when the season started. Then you exited his office, jumping into Charles's arms, he spun you around expressing how excited he was. You both knew there was no way you wouldn't be taking the seat with Ferrari. The day seemed it couldn't get any better, and yet there was still one person you needed to see.
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You ignored the pointed glances as you walked through the RedBull motorhome, it felt familiar yet strange walking through these halls without a helmet on.
Why were you actually nervous to see Ricky again?
Out of everyone at RedBull, he was probably the one you felt closest with, yet you had never talked with him face to face. When you knocked on the open door of his office, you could tell he felt nervous too as he looked up to meet your gaze.
Boxes had been piled up on his desk and all the photos of his family that used to line the walls had been taken down. He was being let go.
He watched your gaze scanning around the room and cleared his throat, "Don't worry about it kid, I'm not sure RedBull was the right fit for me anyway,"
You smiled at him, "Me either,"
He studied your face for a long moment, "You know, I honestly had no idea who I was working with. The driver I pictured under the helmet was way off... in the best way possible," you laughed.
"Aww Ricky..." you felt your eyes tear up, stumbling over to hug him.
"You are the kindest, funniest, most talented racer I've worked for. I can't wait to see how far you'll go, Ferrari is lucky to have you," he whispered.
You pulled back to stare at him in shock, "H-how did you-"
He chuckled, "I got eyes and ears everywhere kid,"
You grinned, rocking back and forth on your heels with anticipation, "Well, you ruined part one of my big news-" He smiled and raised an eyebrow at you. "Look, I don't know what you have planned for next year but, I've already talked to Fred. I could really use a good race engineer if you're up for it,"
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Come on y/n! 
 You could feel the car beneath you hum as you broke smoothly into the corner, speeding up once again on the straight. Repeating these movements over and over like clockwork, as you did laps around the track, maintaining your position in first.
Throttle.
Break.
Turn.
Repeat.
"How you doing out there y/n?"
"Brilliant Ricky!" you replied. And you really were, after you signed with Ferrari the rest of the grid was quick to congratulate you, and so were the fans. You smiled to yourself, you were happy and confident in yourself and your job. Feeling a small sense of pride in being no longer faceless.
"Go kick some ass kid,"
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previous chapter // back to masterlist
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Text
I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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It's not the treatments themselves but the constancy. This isn't just one day, this is the rest of your life. Several days a week walking through those doors, spending hours with a needle in your arm, only to walk away feeling nauseous and dizzy.
The effects only last a few hours, just until your blood pressure evens out, but it's enough to put you out for the rest of the day. With a bandage on your arm, you fold up your laptop and slide it into your bag. What better way to multitask but work while you have the life drained from you. Well, the alternative is hardly preferable, a grizzly, toxic death of drowning in your own waste. You've always been an optimist.
You take a moment before you leave, trying to steady the hazy lines in your vision. You take a breath and leave the office, bidding a quick farewell to Louise, your attending nurse. Outside of the clinic and work, you don't get out much, and much of the latter you can do from home.
You go down the clanging metal stairs to the lobby. As you cross the floor, a man stands by the index of offices, scratching his flopping hair as he glances over. You give a sheepish arch of your brows and tuck your chin down.
"Hey," he stops you before you reach the door, "er, I'm looking for the Wellness Studio? Er..." He turns to you as you stop with your hand on the front door, "Colson's?"
You furrow your brow. That sounds familiar but you really don't know about anything else in the building. You just come here to get your dialysis.
"Erm, I..." you peek out the window and see the sign across the street, red font on a white background, "is that it?"
You point to the moniker that reds 'Colson's' and the man nears to look over your shoulder. He blows out a huff and tuts, "oh god, I must seem like a moron."
"Uh, no..." you push through the door and he catches it behind you, extending his arm over your head.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he nudges your arm as he follows you outside.
"Mhmm," you turn down the sidewalk, set on your path to the station.
"Hey, wait, can I get a name?" He sprints up next to you, "you've been so helpful--"
You look at him, unused to that level of familiarity. You're not exactly that discernable from the brickwall beside you. Your expression must betray your confusion and surprise.
"Just a name," he says as he puts out his hand, "Pete. So, trade?"
You hide your discomfort and reach to shake his hand, eking out your name. You clear your throat and glance around him, not wanting to be rude. You're not quite sure how to gently mention that your train is due.
"So, you come here often?" He stretches his arm out to lean on the brick facade, hand pushing his jacket back as he grips his hip.
You nod and peer around. He's a stranger even if you know his name. You're not very fond of those.
"Am I keeping you?" He asks coolly.
"I just... gotta catch the train," you utter, "sorry, I--"
You go to step around him and he pushes away from the wall, blocking your way, "alright, alright, can I get a number?"
"Er, oh, no," you blurt out in shock, "no, I mean... I don't know you."
He rolls his eyes and smirks, "yeah you do, I'm Pete."
You shake your head and step sideway again. He moves with you. Your chest boils with frustration and a tint of fear. This is why you shouldn't talk to strange men. Especially men twice your size.
"Woah, woah, don't look so scared, honey, I'm not gonna hurt you," he puts his hands down, "I just think you're a cutie. Forgive me for being so forward." He backs away, "don't let me keep you, you go on and get your train."
You frown, uneasy at his sudden appeasment. You swallow and step past him cautiously. You keep your head straight and march down the sidewalk between the passing pedestrians. Their indifference makes you feel even more uneasy.
As you go to turn the corner towards the station, you look back. The man stands amidst the city rush, unbothered by those around him as he watches you, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark red blazer. You shudder and scurry behind the shield of the buildings. You might just ask to go out the back door next time.
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sirenlulls · 1 year
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lovers rock → g. clarkey
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pairing — george clarkey x fem!reader
summary — after one too many drinks on a night out with grace, you know you can always call george
but if you're too drunk to drive and the music is right, she might let you stay, but just for the night. and if she grabs for your hand and drags you along, she might want to kiss before the end of the song...
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you were sat at your pc, legs tucked under you as you edited down some footage for a new video where you heard george laughing on the bed behind you. "what?" you half-pulled your headphones off, looking at him with a small smile and a tilted head.
"have you seen the video joe took of you last night?" instantly your heart sank. "george, please tell me he didn't post that." your boyfriend could barely look at you without suppressing a laugh. "no!" you yelled. "i have an image to uphold, people cannot know i'm a messy bitch."
"it's not that bad." he tried to reason, but with the no-bullshit look you sent him, he just nodded. "okay, it's a bit bad. but it's sweet!" you sighed, setting your headphones aside to lay beside him on the bed. "show me."
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"you! you are my soulmate. i love you!" you slurred with grace's face smushed in your hands while joe and max wheezed in the background, phones out and recording.
"love you too, babes." she laughed. "but maybe it's time we get you home, yeah?"
you nodded mindlessly before perking up with a gasp. "i have a boyfriend! i'm gonna call my boyfriend." joe filmed max deadpanning at the camera before rolling his eyes, sick to death of you and george. you rummaged through your bag before happily pulling out your phone and calling george.
a groggy "you alright?" was the first thing you were greeted with and with wide eyes and your hand covering your mouth, you remembered how late it was. "shit, you were sleeping, i'm sorry." "no, it's okay, don't worry." he was quick to assure you, but when you kept apologising for waking him, he simply asked, "is grace with you?" when you responded, he asked you to give her the phone.
"she's smashed, mate, i'm sorry." she said through laughter as you moved to hug max. "where are you? i'll come get her." grace sent him your location before handing you back the phone. max handed you a bottle of water from his bag while you waited.
after a few minutes, george pulled up by the club you were all huddled outside, immediately going to put his arm around you. "ew! get off, I have a boyfriend!" you squirmed away with a disgusted face before turning around and seeing who it was. with a bright grin, you flung your arms around his neck. "george!!"
your friends laughed from behind you, and george smiled tiredly. "hey." "hi." you grinned dopily up at him, your chin pressed to his chest. he nodded goodbye to the others, you waved dramatically while george guided you to the car and made sure you were strapped in before going to the drivers seat.
while george drove, streetlights flickering over his face, you stared at him, not saying anything. "you okay?" he asked, looking over at you during a red light. "you're really pretty." george huffed out a laugh, smiling. "you're really pretty too." "no, you're like really really pretty. like, are you real? are you an ai?" he threw his head back, laughter echoing through the car and your smile grew impossibly wider. "i can't proudly say i'm real, love." "i don't believe you. you're a liar." you huffed, folding your arms and looking out the window at the buildings you passed.
after a few minutes passed and george hadn't heard anything from you, he looked over and saw you with your face pressed against the window, soft snores falling from your lips. he turned the radio down. when you pulled up the the apartment, george picked you up and carried you in, opening the door as quietly as possible and setting you down on your bed. he went to the bathroom and grabbed a makeup wipe, gently taking off your slightly smudged mascara with a fond smile. he took off your dress and untied your heels, and when you were comfortably cozied up in one of his old t-shirts, he peeled back the covers and pulled them up to your waist, knowing you'd twist to curl into him when he got into bed.
he was right, of course, because the moment he lay down, you twisted on your side, nose to the crook of his neck and arm thrown over his torso. his hand snaked over your shoulder, gently toying with your hair until he fell asleep again. he kissed your forehead, soaking in the domesticity.
it wasn't how he'd planned to spend his saturday night, but if every night got to end with you tucked into his side like that, george was glad to be real.
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reyadawn · 3 months
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Foolish Games - Part 2
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*image not mine, credit goes to owner*
Summary: Reader is a reporter who has been tracking Noah Sebastian, crime Lord and lead singer of Bad Omens. After getting kidnapped during a shoot out at the Red Door, she gets more than she bargained for and is sucked into the life of crime...and where falling in love can be even more dangerous.
Pairings: Noah Sebastian x OFC
Warnings: 🔞+, blood, violence, smut (kissing, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie)
Word Count: 🤷‍♀️😅 (it's a long chapter so buckle up)
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18
Enjoy! 😉❤️
Part 1 can be found HERE
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Noah slowly pulled his cock from my still overly stimulated pussy, our mixed juices sliding down my ass to soak the sheets below us. I was out of breath, chest heaving as I watched him slide back one of his closet doors and it took me by surprise a little that both of them were covered ceiling to floor with mirrors.
I watched as he yanked a solid black t-shirt and black joggers from hangers and quietly got dressed. I moved to cover my body with the sheet, sitting up to reach for a half empty bottle of water on the nightstand and stopped mid-reach when Noah shoved a revolver in the back waistband of his joggers.
He rounded on me, coming over to kneel in front of me as he placed both hands on the side of my face. Even in the dark, his eyes glittered with worry and determination.
"Stay here, pretty girl. No matter what you hear, stay here. This is one instance where you cannot and will not be glued to my side. I can't protect you if you don't follow my instruction, do you understand me? Do. Not. Move. From. Here", he said, voice hard.
"I can use a gun, Noah. I'm not incapacitated", I argued. Noah's grip on my head tightened slightly before steeling me with a look so irritated I would have laughed under different circumstances.
Another singular knock.
Noah released me to go to the bedroom door before quietly slipping out. I let loose the air from my lungs I didn't realize I was holding and scrambled to put my clothes back on, fishing my cell phone from the inside pocket of my blazer. I dialed my sister's number, ignoring the slew of missed calls and text messages, and it barely even rang before she picked up.
"WHERE IN THE FUCK ARE YOU?! ARE YOU OK?! WE'VE BEEN WORRIED FUCKING SICK! WHAT HAPPENED?!", Aubrey screamed, as I held the phone away, flinching.
"Aubs, calm down before you hyperventilate and have a stroke. Are they ok?", I half-whispered, referring to Bay and Tan.
"Yes, you dumb bitch, they're fine. A man named Jolly got them out of the lounge when bullets started flying and they came here to lay low but Jolly got grazed in the leg. Bay and Tan are trying thier best to patch him up. What the fuck happened, sis?", Aubrey explained, voice laced with worry.
"I went to Red Door to have a drink after work not knowing Bad Omens were there. Jolly manhandled me--", I began when I heard Bay and Tan laughing in the background. I shot the phone a scowl. "Look you damn hyena's".
"Sorry, bestie", Tan said, voice dripping with laughter.
"Wait, Bad Omens? I know you've been trying to interview Noah for months now but what were they doing there?", Aubrey asked.
"Apparently, they own the lounge. Not only that, thier headquarters is located directly beneath it and Noah knew I was a reporter for the Marquis. When the lounge started taking fire, he dragged me outside, shoved me into a limo with a couple other guys and drove to this house in the middle of the fucking woods but it wasn't a long drive so I'm guessing we're right outside of town", I explained, keeping my voice at a whisper as I rummaged around in Noah's closet until I located a 9mm under a stack of neatly folded clothes on a shelf.
"Headquarters as in mafia headquarters? That's just perfect. Singers by day, cartel by night. Jesus fucking Christ, sis", Aubrey growled. "Stay safe. According to Jolly just now, men are inside the house. Stay low and be smart. If I find out you took a bullet, I'm kicking your ass off this planet". I ended the call and walked to the window to peek out of the cracked curtain but not moving it.
There were two mid-sized Sedans in the driveway next to the limo. At most, that's eight men. Eight against three unless Noah or Nick called for backup. Obviously, the odds were absolute shit. Taking a deep breath I quietly made my way out of the bedroom, stepping into the hallway. Everything was dark...and quiet. Until it wasn't. I took one step and all hell broke loose from downstairs.
The sounds of gunfire piercing the air was damn near deafening as flashes of light illuminated the dark house. It gave me the temporary light I needed to crouch my way to the landing at the top of the stairs, coming face to face with who I could only assume was this Marcus guys' henchman. Raising the 9mm, I fired a single shot into the man's chest, blood spraying from the wound. He fell backwards, head over feet down the stairs.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!", Noah shouted from below. Ignoring how pissed I knew he was, I continued down the stairs, staying low and out of sight. Coming to the entrance of the kitchen, I quickly looked around before entering, hiding behind the island. I heard foot steps and I slowly peeked around the island enough to see another man in a suit enter on the other side.
CRACK!
I fired another shot, this one taking up residence in the man's belly, blood immediately dripping and spraying to pool on the floor as he hit the ground, unmoving. A hand suddenly latched onto my arm, hauling me to my feet, dragging me down a hallway before I was shoved into a room, the door slamming behind me.
I had no time to respond to Noah before his hands were in my hair, lips crashing to mine in a battle of teeth and tongues. I could smell the metallic scent of blood on him, praying to God he wasn't hurt.
There were no words spoken as Noah grabbed my leggings, yanking them down my legs and over my feet. He tapped my thigh once and I jumped, locking my legs and thighs around his waist. Reaching between us, he swipped the head of his cock through my soaked folds before shoving himself inside me to the hilt in one fluid motion. I cried out at the feeling of being stretched and full, my head hitting the wall, as Noah's lips rained open mouthed kisses down my neck.
"You fucking disobeyed me, pretty girl. Next chance I get, I'm tanning your goddamn hide", Noah snarled, crashing his lips to mine again. I tightened my thighs around his narrow waist, my arms wrapping around his muscular shoulders as he relentlessly pistoned his cock in and out of my dripping pussy. My orgasm was just within reach as Noah snaked a hand between us, rubbing circles over my swollen clit and the dam burst. Throwing my head back, I screamed as my walls suddenly clamped down on Noah's cock, coating him in my release as it dripped down his balls. Noah grunted into my neck as he stilled himself deep within my body to empty rope after thick rope of hot come.
Coming down from my high, I disentagled myself from his hold to slip my leggings back on over my legs. Noah straightened his own clothes before raking a hand through his hair and giving me a pointed look while reaching to his ear.
"Status report, Nicholas. What do we got?", Noah snapped, reaching a hand out to me which I gladly took and letting him pull me to his chest. He, too, was catching his breath.
"We got'em all, boss. Five in total but it's fucking messy. We need Bryan and Davis on clean up. It's going to take several days, maybe a week or two at most to make sure this house is spotless. You're talking black lights, forensic dust, anything and everything brought in to help cover our tracks. Not to mention the show starts in a few hours", Nicholas replied, voice coming through Noah's earpiece that he held in his palm.
I sighed, looking up at Noah who simply responded by kissing my temple.
"Nice work, Nicholas. See that it's done. Call Jolly, make sure he's ok", Noah replied.
"You got it, boss", Nicholas replied. Noah turned to me then before leaning down, giving me a slow kiss.
"Let's go, pretty girl".
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@concreteemo @concreteangel92 @bluestdai @collidewiththesavannah @artificialstardust @amagentarose8 @amourtoken @alloraiona @bloodylullaby @darling-millicent-aubrey @doomhands-jr @dsireland86 @exitwoundsx @fadingintothegrey @iamamatus @iluvmewwwww75 @kaliforniahigh @lma1986 @lilhobgobbler @lolitasangel @lovexsleepyhead @like-a-omen @livingdeceasedgirl @philomenie @sorrowsofsilence @sacredthefran @thatchickwiththecamera @tikosblogg @thisbicc @yarasdead ❤️❤️
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