#nine i want to hug him and give him kisses :(

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Mr. Walz

Featuring Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz

Back in the late ‘90s, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, and now Vice President Kamala Harris’ running mate, was a high school teacher and football coach in rural Minnesota. I attended Mankato West from 2000-2004, having Walz for 11th grade history. Being gay at the time, I initially expected to hate Walz, because he was a football coach and a hunter. But he was accepting and really friendly with me; with everyone really. He’s genuinely the goofy teacher that was in the hallway greeting every kid every morning, giving high fives and fist bumps. He and his wife, also a teacher at the school, provided vital support during my formative years. And to be honest, I thought he was cute.

He was in his late 30s and about 21 years my senior at that time, about my height, which is just shy of five foot-nine. He was chiselled like most middle-aged men with a gut. He dressed conservatively, usually a short sleeve solid colored shirt with a tee shirt under it and trousers which seemed to be a few sizes too small. I couldn’t help but find myself staring at his tightly held manhood, which showed a clear outline of his thick cock. That bulge had me daydreaming during our meets and school outings. I would jerk-off with this image in my mind every night.

After graduation, I didn’t see my ex-teacher again until I attended a campaign dinner in Falcon Heights, Minnesota. He instantly recognized me, smiling broadly and gave me a big hug. We’re talking 20-something years ago, and to have your 10th-grade geography teacher remember you after all of that time, it means something. I couldn’t call him Gov. Walz, because he will forever be Mr. Walz.

We talked a bit then, and a couple times throughout the evening. He asked me about what I was up to, if I was dating, the usual chit chat. I was so giddy to see Mr. Walz that I confessed that I had a crush on him in high school. I told him I thought about him every night when I jack off. How I use a big carrot up my ass, and pretend it was his dick. And I told him I knew he would never like me, that way, but I had to tell him.

Surprisingly, he suggested I should come over to his hotel, later, placing his hotel room card on the edge of the sink right next to me.

"Wait here, I'll have an agent escort you to my room in an hour." He said before leaving. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one had, so I quickly grabbed the key.

Sure enough, an hour later, a secret service agent escorted me to his hotel. The journey upstairs was unbearable. Reporters to dodge, people for the agent to nod away. By the time I got to Mr. Walz’s room, I was afraid he’d think I wasn’t’ interested, but when I entered the room, he was ready and waiting. The lights were dim, Mr. Walz was in a hotel bathrobe, and he’d ordered porn on the television.

"Is this what you really want?" I asked.

"More then anything." He replied.

I made the first move, leaning in to kiss him and as soon as our lips met, his arms went around me. Quickly, he started unbuttoning my shirt, unzipping my pants, and basically tearing my clothes off as he moved his tongue around inside my mouth. His hand was on my hard dick, feeling and testing the size.

"Oh, yeah." He moaned, as he ran his hand down my tender, sensitive cock before squatting.

With his mouth at my crotch, he ran his tongue up all seven inches, before gently pushing me towards the bed. On the bed, our bodies melded into one. His hard dick was teasing mine, as once again, our tongues found the other's mouth. Hands everywhere, as we hugged and rocked each other. Kissing my way down his chest, I left a trail of saliva all the way to his cock. Taking him in my mouth, I began to suck while I swirled my tongue around his boner before he started thrusting into my throat, making me gag. I guess he got pretty turned on by what I was doing to him as he turned me around and put us into 69 position.

As Mr. Walz took my dick in his mouth, I took his dick in mine. I worked on it with such skill that he began moaning deep inside his throat as he sucked my dick. And he could really suck; he knew how to please a man. I began to feel him starting to breathe rapidly and shake. I knew he was going to explode soon. I was getting close as well.

Wanting Mr. Walz to fuck me, I quickly seperated, and rolled off the bed leaving him laying there completely naked with a huge hard-on. Hurrying to my pants, I pulled a tube of lubrication out of his pocket before I bounded back to the bed. After telling him I wanted him to fuck me, I tensely watched as Mr. Walz applied the lubricate to his cock, knowing the pain I was about to feel. I couldn’t help but thinking back to my high school years when I first saw him. I had always wanted Mr. Walz to fuck me since then. Now was the time.

“You got a nice tight asshole.” Mr. Walz told me as he rubbed some of the KY onto my asshole.

He lifted my legs and stared me straight in the eyes as he guided the head of his cock to my ass. As soon as his dick made contact, he immediately thrust all 8 inches into me. I gasped loudly, so loudly in fact that I’m sure the people in the next room heard.

“I’m going to really open up your asshole.” Mr. Walz called out with a wicked smile on his face as he slowly started fucking me.

Noticing each time the fat head of his cock passed my hard prostate, pre-cum would squirt from the tip of my dick. He reached down and scooped it up with his finger, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean.

"Oh, man, that's good." He said, as he scooped up more, but I pulled his finger to his mouth, and sucked it in.

We smiled at each other before he leaned forward and kissed me deep, our tongues caressed each other, sharing my pre-cum. Then as we kissed he sent his cock plunging deeper into me. I arched my back as I was forced to take more cock deeper into my ass than ever before.

“Yes, fuck me, Mr. Walz.” I found myself saying when he broke our embrace, “Give it to me, Mr. Walz. Make me yours!”

And he did just that. Mr. Walz started fucking me hard and fast. I took each of the strokes of his his old manhood willingly. I wanted to give him total pleasure and I could tell from the far away look in his eye that the old man was as lost in me as I was in him. I knew he was getting close, and I didn’t want to stop him, so I didn’t say a word about pulling out. Having only had sex with his wife for all those years, he didn’t think of it either. Soon he was filling my ass with ropes of cum, and I felt it filling me up.

After we got off and caught our breath, he looked at me and we both started laughing and telling each other how glad we were that we'd just met up today.

[rintoki]

please never stop talking about kaveh /gen 🫶🏻🩷🫂

OK IF YOU SAY SO HHEEHEHEHEHEHBDEH

I LORVVEEE AND MISSSS UUUUUU 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

LOOK AT HEEEEEMMMM

SOBBINBBBGTTTT HES JUST A LIL GUYEEEEE 😭😭😭😭

BLORBEST BLORBO HES SOOOO SQUISHYYYY

[preqwells]

imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.

simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.

every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.

he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.

it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.

“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.

…that was it?

you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.

“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.

[sttoru]

‘and if i only could, i’d make a deal with god, and i’d get him to swap our places. .’ — kate bush

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x wife!reader. fluff to angst (no comfort). spoilers chapter 261. reader’s pregnant. major character death. mentions of blood, death. nicknames ‘pretty, sweets’. not proofread bcs i couldn't through the tears. i cried nine times writing this so.. good luck! wc: 3.6k

“he’s kicking again,” satoru chuckles excitedly. he’s been clinging onto you ever since you got back from your doctor’s appointment. your baby boy is growing up healthy and there don’t seem to be any complications.

you smile and rest back against the velvety pillows. you’re enjoying the affection you’re receiving, the kisses and nuzzles against your swollen tummy makes every bit of suffering worth it. your husband is going to be an amazing dad, that you can tell.

“hey, little guy—don’t give ya mommy a tough time,” satoru huffs and gently taps the side of your stomach that was last kicked by the unborn baby, “that’s my wife, y’know?” you giggle at the scene in front of you and close your eyes, relaxing your body.

a comfortable silence hangs in the room. satoru’s warm hands cupping and rubbing your round stomach add to the tranquil atmosphere. the weight of your husband’s head presses onto the front of your plump belly—ear pressed against the stretched skin as if expecting to hear your baby boy talk.

after a while, you open your eyes. you hear a sniff and then the usual silence follows. you look down at satoru settled between your legs, hugging your waist and resting his cheek on your tummy. he’s awfully quiet and you’re unable to see his eyes because of his bangs.

“toru, everything okay?” you carefully ask. your voice comforts him for the next couple seconds, before his muscles tense up once more. satoru tries his best to seem unaffected by the many thoughts scurrying through his head.

“mhm,” your husband nods and forces a small smile. though, he can’t keep the facade up any longer. the longer you’re pregnant, the more worried he gets about a certain something; something that’s been bothering him ever since.

it’s the reason why he doubted even having kids in the first place.

“i—well. i don’t know, sweets,” satoru sighs. a deep sigh that shatters the mask he’s had on for so long. his brows furrow and his eyes dart from one place to the other. his fingers stop their movements on your stomach. they curl around the material of your shirt instead; showing a clear sense of vulnerability.

satoru seems. . . afraid, yet also angry. perhaps at himself, perhaps at the world. you don’t utter a single word. if there’s anything you want, it’s for your husband to speak about his inner turmoil freely. you’re the only person who he can have such emotional conversations with—the only person he can be himself with.

the real gojo satoru.

not the strongest.

that’s why you’re not surprised when satoru opens his mouth to confess the inevitable to you. “i’m scared,” his voice cracks. it’s a faint change in tone, but it is noticeable to you. you’ve been his lover for long enough to notice every minuscule thing.

the white-haired man lets out another sigh. you brush his soft bangs out of his eyes and instantly notice the sudden weariness in them. normally, those beautiful blue eyes shine brightly, yet that light has now dimmed.

you pat his head and satoru immediately leans into your touch. you allow him to process his own emotions and words before speaking up.

“scared?” you ask quietly and carefully, giving your husband space to explain.

satoru nods. there are a thousand thoughts running through his mind. all those thoughts he’s tried to suppress since the day you’ve announced your pregnancy. maybe even before that—at the day of your wedding.

he’s sat down with you a few months into the marriage, to have the talk about kids. he seemed to be delighted to have children with you, however there have always been some dark and hidden thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

the sorcerer has chosen to ignore them for the longest time. he’s been trying to convince himself that he has nothing to worry about. you’re going to be fantastic parents and your children are going to be extremely loved.

the day you surprised him with your pregnancy, was like a dream. satoru cried - which he rarely does - so it was an emotional night for both of you. neither of you could wait to meet your child—happy with whatever gender.

despite all of the optimism and enthusiasm, satoru’s struggles with his inner thoughts have not yet ended. he doesn’t want to bother you with it. you seem so content and he does not want to ruin that at all.

but even the strongest without limits has to reach a breaking point.

“yeah,” satoru speaks up, his voice hoarse. he kisses your belly button, hoping his child doesn’t pick up on his distress somehow. your husband closes his eyes as he places his forehead against your tummy, praying that the heavens above hear his pleas, “i don’t want our kid to inherit my cursed techniques. at all.”

your hand doesn’t stop stroking satoru’s hair. you don’t flinch at his words, nor do you immediately discard his worries. in all honestly, you’ve shared the same feelings before getting pregnant.

you know how satoru’s treated by the jujutsu society. it’s dehumanising how he’s seen as a weapon of some sorts. a weapon that could solve all problems—one that cannot rest until its duty is done.

you despise it. you’ve told satoru about your hatred for the toxic society, even going as far as asking him to move to a different country without telling anyone. you’re sick and tired. you can’t recall the amount of times that you’ve cried alone, in the bathroom, after you’ve seen the state your lover comes back home in.

the white-haired man always seems so tired. his eyes and head hurt because of them overusing his cursed techniques. there are even days where satoru doesn’t put his blindfold or sunglasses off at home.

and when you try to talk to him about it, satoru simply assures you that ‘he’ll be fine’. you believe him in the moment, but you don’t know for how long you’ll be able to keep that trust.

you’re letting him break, slowly yet surely, right in front of you. he’s working himself to his demise. it’s nothing out of the ordinary to not want the same for your child.

though, you’re sure that it’ll be fine even if your baby boy inherits satoru’s techniques. that’s because you two are going to protect him with all you have. no one is going to treat your child like a weapon—not while the both of you are still alive.

“i don’t want our child to take over the burden i carry,” satoru continues. his brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he’s already thinking about all the possibilities that can follow with the birth of your son.

he can hide his child from the world, but wouldn’t that be too restrictive? he can keep an eye on him every second of the day, but wouldn’t that be overprotective?

you notice satoru’s internal state of panic increasing, so you quickly cup his face. you lean down and press a firm kiss against his lips, to which he instantly responds. his breath hitches and he sits up on the mattress, deepening the kiss as his hands hold you by the back of your head.

he needs this—you—more than anything else in the world. if it wasn’t for you, he’d have lost his sanity long ago.

you pull back after a good minute and pant. you chuckle as you notice the slight pout on satoru’s lips. he never seems satisfied with just one kiss, which is adorable. you coo and pepper his face with small pecks, “aww.”

it’s comforting to the sorcerer. he closes his eyes and his mouth forms a small smile. you’re doing an amazing job at calming him down. satoru’s muscles relax and he finds himself nestled between your legs soon enough.

you realise that he’s still somewhat afraid for the future of his child by the way he’s playing with your shirt. his head lays on your chest and his long fingers trace shapes on your exposed skin.

“i know, honey, i know,” you murmur against the top of his head. you massage satoru’s scalp gently, nearly making him purr because of how incredible that feels. you stare at the ceiling and continue your little talk.

“i’ve thought about all of it too,” your fingers find his undercut, playing with the little hairs. all you can hope for is that your partner stresses less about the outcome of your pregnancy.

if you can do one thing for him, it’d be that. reassuring him that you’ll both do your best for your child will surely put him at ease. your husband has enough to worry about anyway.

you want to share that burden. you don’t want him to carry the world on his shoulders alone—he’s got you for that now.

“but i think that our son will be fine. why? because he’s got you,” you smile and kiss satoru’s forehead. it’s his favorite type of kiss and it works wonders when you comfort him. his ocean eyes regain their sparkle, both because of your unconditional love and trust in his parenting skills, “our boy will grow up fine and protected because he’s got you as his amazing dad, yeah?”

satoru takes some time to let your words sink in. your trust in him is a beautiful thing. of course, he’ll protect his kid no matter what. both you and his kid will be safe for as long as he’s alive. you’re going to be a happy family—one that he’s always dreamed of having.

he isn’t going to raise his child to be the strongest. he isn’t going to raise his child as an heir to the throne. he isn’t going to raise his child as his legacy. he isn’t going to raise his child as a tool.

his son will have a normal childhood and he will guarantee that. satoru will give his kid what he didn’t have as a child himself;

unconditional love and support for whatever his son wishes to become.

satoru raises his head and leans in to kiss you, hugging you to himself. he adores you so much, you’re all he needs to feel like he can do anything and everything all at once.

carrying the world on his shoulders so you can live peacefully in it is all satoru does it for.

“heh, damn right. i’ll be the best husband and dad ever.”

. . .

but in the end, your dreams are just dreams, right?

an escape from reality, that’s all dreams really are. all those times you’ve sat together to pick the furniture you want to place in the nursery, to paint the room a baby blue, to buy clothes and toys, diapers and carriers, to giggle about the places you would love to visit as a family, to think about possible baby names, to joke about whether your son will say ‘dada’ or ‘mama’ first — all of it were naive, hopeful dreams.

perhaps you were too caught up in them to realise that reality will hit when least expected.

satoru and you have lived in your own bubble—your own little fantasy world where tragic fates does not exist. no one in this planet would suffer if life worked that way.

no one on this planet would have to pick up the phone and have their world shatter, their dream bubble pop. to have all hope lost in the span of a second.

grief is a scary thing. it’s devastating and it will consume you whole. you don’t realise that until you experience it firsthand. losing someone close to you will break you in half. it’s a punch to the gut.

especially if it’s your husband. someone you considered your partner—who’s promised you to be together forever. maybe those promises were also a part of your fantasy.

maybe they were also but a beautiful lie.

your footsteps feel heavy. you don’t have any energy left in you. every drop has been drained from you the moment you heard the news over the phone. your eyes and head hurt, both feeling like they’re going to burst. you don’t want to accept any of this.

the faces of the people around you are a blur. they’re all holding their head low, their hands gathered in front of them to show respect. no one speaks—all the room is filled with are your sobs. the loud cries you let out in hopes that they wake you up from this absolute nightmare.

you drag your feet to the examination table in the middle of the room. tears continue to blur your vision, though surely, you can confirm the outline of the body laying underneath the blanket.

how could you not recognise the person you thought you’d spend eternity with?

it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. . .

“satoru.” your voice is barely audible. your hands are shaking and your face is stained with endless streams of tears. you stand at the side of the table and you instantly curl your fingers around the edge.

seeing that face from up close hits different. usually, it’d have your stomach fill with a feeling of delight, yet now all you feel when looking at it is unimaginable dread.

the blood on the corners of his mouth. the blanket that’s hiding whatever is left of him from below the waist. the dull eyes that once stared at you with hope and love. those dried lips that normally shone with a layer of gloss.

god, it’s awful. you don’t want this to be true. you’re still waiting to be woken up by your husband. so he can hold you close and hug you, whisper sweet nothings and reassure you that he’d never leave you alone in a savage world like this.

your shaky fingers reach out to his right hand. his skin feels cold and his hand doesn’t hold yours back. your breath hitches and you let out a long, devastating cry. it sounds like a scream for help as your body crumbles—falling to your knees whilst you tightly grip your lover’s limp hand.

“no, god no, please!” you cover your mouth with your free hand, nearly hyperventilating from pure pain. you feel like your heart is going to give up on you. it’s breaking into a million pieces, as does your future. you can’t live without him—you can't do it.

satoru is the sole reason you’ve held out for so long. you were each other’s support system. you can’t do any of this on your own. you can’t breathe properly—your body doesn’t let you.

not until you feel a hand on your back, rubbing it gently. you can guess that it’s shoko, but you’re too distraught to even pay attention to her. you lift yourself up by holding onto the edge of the table, your legs shaking. you sniffle and sob uncontrollably.

you reach out to touch satoru’s lifeless face, as gentle as you always do. you flinch when you feel just how cold his body is—the usual warmth that would comfort you gone, nowhere to be found. you don’t get a reaction from him when you touch his cheeks.

it only serves to remind you of the tragic events that unveiled. you’re still in denial, but the moment feels real. your brain is slowly yet surely processing the information. though, you don’t want it to. you want to live in a world where you grow old with your husband.

where your child is going to grow up with a father figure at home.

“satoru, come back to me.. to us, please,” you beg and beg, hoping he smiles and sits up, telling you that it’s just one of his silly pranks again. when none of that happens, you feel yourself become more hopeless. you hunch over him and cup his face. the same face that would light up whenever you’d touch it.

you hiccup and wail, unable to breathe. you rub his cheekbones with your thumbs, settling your forehead against his. your tears fall underneath his eyes and slide down his temples, making it seem like he’s crying with you.

you wait for satoru to respond, but he doesn’t. there’s an eerie silence on his part and you’re panicking. you need him to comfort you, but he isn’t there to do that anymore. you’re left alone, all alone.

“i can’t do this without you—we can’t do this without you,” you stammer between sobs. you can’t go through life, knowing satoru isn’t going to be there for you. he isn’t going to come home anymore. he isn’t going to cuddle you to sleep anymore. he isn’t going to experience what it’s like to have a family of his own. he isn't going to be able to hold his child and to play with him.

you blame life for being unfair—always taking away the people who don’t deserve it. satoru hasn’t done anything to deserve this. he just.. existed. his fate of becoming the strongest, decided at his birth, is what has lead to his death.

you continue to sob to yourself. you refuse to acknowledge anything or anyone else in the room. you’re solely focused on your husband. or rather, what’s left of him.

remembering how excited satoru was to spend the rest of his life with you and your future children pains you all the more. he’s been stripped from a normal life. you’ve tried your hardest to give him that said normal life, yet your hopeful dreams have gotten you nowhere.

you wipe your tears away for the first time in a while. your grief is making you delusional—disoriented to the point you try to make yourself feel better. you force a smile and hold tightly onto satoru’s limp hand, trying to speak through your quiet sniffles.

“o-our boy is gonna be born soon,” you chuckle bitterly and place satoru’s hand on your belly. it’s gotten bigger over the months and you’re already eight months along. he was so close to meeting your child—so close. yet his tragic destiny did not allow him to.

you hope he’s been happy with you for as long as he lived. you hope you’ve somewhat relieved him from his misery for as long as he lived. that burden he carried, the world he carried on his shoulders. . . it doesn’t seem to want to detach from him. even after death.

you press a deep kiss against his forehead. satoru’s favorite spot to be kissed at, you remember. you wish he feels it in the afterlife; wherever he may he. as long as he’s in a better place now, one that treats him well. this current world has been too cruel on him. it doesn’t deserve to home someone like your husband.

“i wish you were here to see your son. to see our baby grow up, you'd be so proud, honey,” you kiss satoru’s forehead again. it’s all you can do stop yourself from losing it completely. you know satoru would tell you to be strong, for his sake. for your unborn son.

“i’m going to tell him all about you, ‘kay? i'm going to tell him about how awesome his dad was,” your voice breaks for the nth time. you’re still in the first stage of grief, though you try to seem strong in case satoru is watching from somewhere.

that’s what he did when he was the one going through a tough time. he’d act brave and fine, putting on a mask to make you worry less, telling you all kinds of reassuring words while he was suffering internally.

now it’s your turn to safely send his soul off to the afterlife. to let satoru pass away in peace, with him knowing that you’re going to live on for him and for your child. it’s the least you can do at the moment.

you put on a brave face, staring into his lifeless eyes, smiling through the unbearable pain. you’re sure he’s still listening to you from somewhere. satoru’s always told you that your voice is soothing, so you do your best to calm his soul and reassure him that it’s fine for him to rest.

“i’ll do my best to raise him, yeah? so you.. you just rest.”

rest was a foreign word to the sorcerer. this world didn’t give him an ounce of peace. he’d either be overworked by his family or the jujutsu society, and if it isn’t work, his inherited techniques were slowly killing his brain and body.

you’re praying that satoru has none of that in the afterlife. you’re praying that he can live a normal life, eternally. so that when you join him one day, you both won’t have to suffer nor share the burden. you can live out your dreams without anyone interrupting.

not even fate.

“you deserve to rest. you really do,” you sigh.

soon enough, you feel yourself crumble again. you burst out in tears once you realise that he’s actually never coming back to you in this life. you bury your face in the crook of his neck and sob loudly, not holding back your emotions anymore. you just can’t—you can’t act brave when your second half has been taken away from you so suddenly.

you hope that you succeeded into sending him off without any worries. you can’t help but continue rambling to yourself, “i’m going to miss you s’much. oh, my baby.”

you lift your head back and stare into satoru’s eyes once more. did he think about you when he was on his deathbed? did he see his life flash before his eyes, including his many memories with you? did he see what could have been?

it’s unfair.

you give him one last bright smile and gently close his eyelids for him, hoping his lost soul saw your face before you did so. with one last kiss on his lips, you whisper your final words;

“please wait for me on the other side, my love.”

[nanamis-angel]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 ♡︎

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ৹ you and megumi have been dating for nine months. you're happy. he's happy. you're perfect for each other. the only issue? he craves affection and he's not sure how to ask for it.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ৹ megumi x fem!reader, shy megumi, fluff, very very slight angst, cuddling, yuji and nobara mention (they share one braincell).

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ৹ 1.4k

𝐚/𝐧 ৹ sorry I haven't written in a while, i'm currently on vacation and haven't been writing. this was in my drafts so I figured I'd post it. I'll be back soon with some more. I hope you enjoy! hearts divider by @/s-h-o-w-y

You and Megumi had been dating for quite a while now. Just two weeks ago, you had your nine-month anniversary together and you were the happiest you had ever been.

The relationship was very low-key. PDA was almost non-existent—the most he’d ever do in public was hold your hand and even then, he kept his hands to himself most days.

Affection was present in your relationship but you mostly had to ask for it. He’d give it to you without a second thought but he rarely initiated any form of affection besides a few hugs or kisses here and there.

To be honest—it bothered you at first as you believed it was something about you that made him not want to be affectionate but then you realized it was just hard for him to show physical affection because he never really knew how. He was an amazing boyfriend—he just had some struggles.

You were fine with this now and it didn’t bother you, knowing that he still loved you very much.

But what you didn’t know was how badly this affected Megumi. His fear of initiating physical affection was eating him alive from the inside out.

Megumi had a lot of emotions—believe it or not—but he didn’t know how to handle all of it so he just shoved it all down where nobody could find it. He never learned how to deal with any of it so it seemed like the only quick solution.

His mother passed away at a young age and affection or even emotion (besides anger, disappointment, or his father being unamused) was not common from his father and stepmother. Growing up he got the occasional pat on the head or a hug from Gojo and his older sister Tsumiki tried her best to show her love for him when she could—but that had ended all too soon.

He would never admit it but he absolutely craved affection—specifically from you. The poor boy was so touch-starved. His heart soared whenever you asked for a hug or to lay down together. And it tore away at his heart how badly he wanted to ask you for love but for some reason, he was scared to do so.

But one thing about Megumi was that he was persistent and he was going to get through this and overcome his anxiety one way or another. After all, you were already his girlfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

Right now, you were on a walk with him, Nobara, and Yuji. Shoko had insisted on the four of you going out and getting some sun and none of you were about to argue with the intimidating school doctor so you all quickly got out there.

You walked alongside Megumi while Nobara and Yuji goofed off a couple of feet ahead of the two of you, not paying attention to either of you at all. Megumi quietly walked with a stoic expression, keeping his hands in his pockets. He had barely said anything but that’s because his mind was racing.

You didn’t mind it at all as long as you were with him. Megumi’s gaze kept flickering down to your hand, which was at your side as you walked. He wanted to just reach down and grab your hand tightly but something stopped him. Why? He had no idea.

You were his girlfriend, he had held your hand before and nothing happened. So why would it be any different now? Anxiety over simple things never made anyone think sensible thoughts. But it was enough to make him nervous to simply reach out and grab your hand.

And the worst part? You had no idea. You simply kept walking with a big smile on your face as the two of you walked together.

Before he could stop himself, he just took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your hand rather abruptly, not saying a single thing as if trying to ignore what just happened.

You were a little stunned—just because it was so sudden. And he had just grabbed your hand rather than lacing his fingers together with yours or something like that so you looked at him with a little bit of confusion. “Megumi?” You asked.

Noticing your eyes on him, he just avoided eye contact, feeling his cheeks heat up for some reason. All he was doing was holding your hand! Well, more like gripping it at this point.

“You don’t have to grip my hand like that, I’m not going anywhere.” You chuckled, trying to make him loosen up a bit so you could intertwine your fingers with his. Really, you were just glad that he was holding your hand and had done it himself.

Megumi didn’t reply but his grip loosened up so you could intertwine your fingers with his, properly holding hands now. You gave his hand a little squeeze and a reassuring smile. To be honest, it was really cute to see him like this but you weren’t going to say anything about it and just decided to leave it as it was.

Holding hands—it was such a simple thing but Megumi’s heart felt like it was racing. He was proud of himself for initiating things but boy was his heart pounding.

But feeling his skin against yours was so nice; feeling the warmth of your hand against his, it was so comforting. Goodness, he loved you so much. He just didn’t know how to say it sometimes.

The two of you held hands until you got back to the school. Nobara and Yuji rushed inside, not wanting to be out in the heat anymore while you and Megumi took your time getting inside. Sometimes you believed Nobara and Yuji shared one brain cell between each other—and they probably did, to be honest.

Megumi’s hand fell from yours when you got inside, which was okay, you were going to sit down to cool off anyway.

You made your way inside and to one of the rooms, walking over to one of the couches. Thankfully you had nothing else going on for the rest of the day so you could just practically pass out on the couch for a little while.

Before you sat down, you looked at Megumi, who was just standing there looking at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” You asked, slightly confused. He had been acting odd all day and it confused you. What was going on?

Again, no reply. Instead, you felt his hands suddenly grab your waist and pull you close to him, his arms enveloping you in a big hug. You stood there stunned for a moment before wrapping your arms around him tightly. It was clear that he really needed this hug.

“Megumi—,” You spoke but he cut you off.

“Don’t say anything.” He said softly, “Just don’t say anything.” He breathed out, not wanting to be asked any questions right now. All he wanted to do was hold you.

With you still in his arms, he moved and sat down on the couch, putting you on his lap and burying his face into the crook of your neck. It was so comforting, so nice. He just wanted to stay like this forever, in the safety and comfort of your arms.

You were still stunned that he was doing this but you didn’t question a thing, continuing to keep your arms locked tightly around him. Eventually, your hand made its way up to his scalp, gently raking your nails through his hair. You could feel him practically melt into your touch and you let out a little chuckle.

“Cute,” You mumbled, your voice could barely be heard.

Megumi let out a little huff and just kept his arms around you, his cheeks warm from embarrassment.

You weren’t sure how long you two were like that and eventually, you had somehow shifted to where the both of you were laying down, still holding each other in your arms. Megumi had practically fallen asleep, comfortably cuddled up right in your arms.

And he would’ve fallen asleep—had Yuji not walked into the room and seen the two of you lying together on the couch. Poor, innocent Yuji who could physically never bring himself to be quiet. “Ooh, Fushiguro! Getting comfortable with [name] there huh?” He said lightheartedly, thinking nothing of it. He really was just teasing.

Within an instant, Megumi was sitting up with an unamused expression, reaching to grab the nearest thing he could, his face pink and flushed “Shut up!”

Yuji was out of that room within seconds, just barely dodging the magazine Megumi had thrown at him.

[arieslost]

MIAMI | ln4

summary: lando won for the first time and i have so many emotions i have to write something I’M SO FREAKING HAPPY

word count: 834

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

you feel like you’re in a dream. walking on sunshine. on cloud nine. all the good, amazing things in the world.

lando has won his first ever grand prix. his first career win. right in front of your eyes.

in all honesty, it feels like you’re floating. you can’t imagine how he must be feeling as the team comes rushing out of the garage to meet him as he parks the car in front of the first place banner.

“come with me!” zak says the moment he catches up to you from the pit wall, immediately reaching for your hand so he can help you navigate your way through the crowd. “he needs to see you front and center!”

you don’t think that’s necessarily true, that he would certainly rather see the team and catch up with you afterwards, but you’ve learned not to argue with zak. you just hold on tight and allow him to guide you to the front of the barrier separating everyone from the top three finishers and their cars.

your throat quickly grows hoarse from cheering as he proudly stands atop the car, and you can’t even hear yourself over the cheers of everyone else around you and in the grandstands.

you would happily go deaf in this moment, because the sound of hundreds of thousands of people cheering for your boyfriend would be the last thing ringing in your ears. if you dreamt this moment up, it wouldn’t even sound this good.

you’re quick to take out your phone and record as lando gives himself a running start to leap across the barrier entirely and into the waiting arms of the mclaren team, who immediately swarm around him, hugging him and patting him excitedly. at some point he gets flipped around, everyone’s hands supporting him from below so the world can see the beaming smile on his face.

you don’t know when they started, but you can feel the tears on your cheeks as he’s placed back on his feet on the other side of the barrier. he’s pulled into enthusiastic hugs by a few more team members, and then he starts calling your name, eyes frantically searching for you amongst the sea of papaya.

“lan!” you yell as loudly as you can, pressing yourself right up against the barrier and leaning forward.

he spots you from over zak’s shoulder as they embrace, his smile somehow growing impossibly wider the moment your eyes meet. your happy tears begin to fall even faster after he hugs andrea and immediately makes a beeline for you.

all the words you want to say to him get stuck in your throat as you throw your arms around his neck. he’s sweaty, but so are you, courtesy of the miami heat, and neither of you care. you yelp in surprise when you feel his arms go around your waist and lift.

“what are you doing?!” you laugh, clinging onto him with all your might regardless.

“i’m not gonna have a fucking barrier between us when i do this,” is all he offers as an explanation before he’s kissing you, cupping your face with one hand and holding the other above his head, his pointer finger extended up to the sky.

you don’t see it in the moment, of course, but you’ll see plenty of pictures of it later.

you kiss him back with equal fervor. it’s definitely not the most perfect kiss; you’re crying and he can’t stop smiling so your teeth knock together a couple times, but that doesn’t dim the passion between you both as you hold each other. the crowd chanting his name fades into background noise when you break apart for air and he rests his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says, over and over. “i love you, i love you. i’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“lan, i’m so proud of you,” you’re in hysterics, laughing as tears continue to fall down your face even while he gently wipes them away. “you deserve this. every single second.”

“i love you so, so much. thank you for not giving up on me,” he says, his words so sincere that you could fall to the ground right here and now.

“stop making me cry more!” you exclaim, hands covering his as you reach up to wipe your eyes. “don’t you have the top step of a podium to get to?”

“can i bring you with me?”

“absolutely not,” you giggle, pulling him into another tight hug.

“alright, but i told will to get you on his shoulders so i can see you perfectly while i’m up there.”

it doesn’t click in your head why he would bother telling you that until you’re on will’s shoulders and lando is spraying his champagne down at you from the top step with surprising accuracy. and when he finds you after it’s all over and kisses you again, you decide that champagne is your new favorite taste in the whole world.

note: i don’t even care that i’m posting this late or if this sucks it doesn’t matter it needs to be posted today i am so happy for him i’m still crying oh my gosh I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I’M SO HAPPY LANDO NORRIS IS A GRAND PRIX WINNER

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dividers by @/saradika

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[sun-snatcher]

Wish. If u give me a Part 2 of your Gambit fic with ❛ we'll just have to make do.  ❜ where they both make it out of the Void together I will kiss u on the mouth rn I PROMISE u. Or a hug. Whichever works. PLS I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM🙏🏼😫

♧ ⎯ ‘LIMBO LOSERS’ CLUB

summ. The TVA extends an olive branch. Wade’s Universe becomes home. Above all, you’re just thankful you’re not alone in this Multiversal mess. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established in #WELUCKYFEW) w.count. 1.6k a/n. Shirtless Channing + romantic hand tension. That's it. That's the tweet. ( Continuation of this imagine! )

YOU SURVIVE ALIOTH.

That’s the first surprise.

The second? 

The Time Variance Authority want to help, now. 

( Granted, it’d mostly been Wade who did the gruntwork of sending Elektra and Blade back to their Universes, but he had hit a wall when it came to you and Gambit considering you two were— according to him: “A coked up version of being homeless. Universe-less.” )

So here you are, a stray of the Multiverse, standing on the platform of a mid-century aestheticised monitor room somewhere outside the constraints of time, trying not to double over from the vertiginous aftermath of being thrown through Wade’s weird orange warbling door of space. 

TemPad, he’d called the device. Or… something. You’re half-sure you have a concussion, to be honest.

Alioth had done a number on you. 

Remy’s concerned.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Wade says, mask rolled up to his nose. (There’s a spoon and plate of key lime pie in his hands. You’re not even sure where he got it from.) “Where did Gambit come from? How come he just spawned into the MCU’s metaphysical Backrooms?”

“Candidly, he is a unique case.” 

Remy pulls his gaze from you to Hunter B-15.

“You, Mr. LeBeau, are the prime example of a Variant that’s borne from a timeline decaying just as quickly as it was formed. A rare type that fades instantly without unnatural interference, because an Anchor failed to develop.”

One of the CRT screens zip to a retro rubber-hose animated diagram: rapidly branching roots, ominous red flashing, and then an immediate blink into nothing. Talk about dramatic effect.

“Your Universe falls in the rare category of those that never managed to come into fruition; but sometimes— incredibly rarely— remnants just like you manage to slip through, and instead of ceasing to exist… Well, you automatically end up getting spit into the Void.”

A pause.

Then, from behind, Wade bursts into a cackle.

“Ha! Wow, she basically called you a discontinued fucking nobody,” he wheezes. “You’re quite literally the equivalent of a failed movie pitch that’s been forgotten on the floor of Feige’s writers’ room.”

Screens flicker. 

Your breath hitches. 

Versions of different Gambit’s play out in the monitor-wall, all alike and yet different in their individual realities. Some have black eyes. Some have top-hats (“Ah, that’s 2009 Origins,” Wade muses. “Do all Variants of you just have a beautiful face? I mean, it’s kinda unfair—”). 

Some look like identical copies.

[EARTH-TRN2922].

It’s… your timeline. 

Your friends in the Mutant war. Your Remy whose cards are scattered on the floor, blood in his hands, with you crumbling as you reach ou—

The Nine of Hearts in your pocket is impossibly heavy. You turn away to steel yourself. 

( “Yeah, okay, enough lore recap. Jesus, you guys are more of a dick than I am; Read the room and turn that shit off,” Wade chides a passing agent. He gets it. He’d lost Vanessa once, too, and he’s not quite sure even he can relive that pain. )

“Mais non, y’not makin’ no sense t’me,” Remy says, confused, “I’ve got memories; means I’ve got history jus’ like my Variants. How y’gon’ explain that?”

“Gaps of memories you have— knowledge of places, people, events— that comes from fixed synchronicities shared in your Temporal Aura across all your Multiversal Variants.” 

She’s met with slow, owlish blinks. Wade waves his hand in lazy dismissal.

“Forgive them. They didn’t watch Loki Season One or Two. Not that it matters, anyway. People barely understood what was going on.”

A sigh. “There’s no way to put this gently, Mr LeBeau,” B-15 concludes, tone dipping into something sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to say is that: you don’t have a Universe to go back to, because it never existed.”

She purses her lips as she catches his torn gaze. “I’m sorry.”

And that— That pisses you off.

“I’m… sorry?” you parrot, stepping forward. “That’s all you can say after everything that’s happened to us? His existence began with the Void, and my Universe was pruned by your agents. Innocent lives gone because your people decided they wanted to play God once upon a damn time—!” 

“Pump the hate breaks, you stray,” Wade calls. "Why'd you think I brought the both of you here?"

You reluctantly withdraw.

“I can’t bring you home,” B-15 supplies, matter-of-fact. “But I can find a compatible timeline for you. For both of you. A safe do-over, if you will.”

Wade’s smile is coy.

The ‘Merc with a mouth’ has a home surprisingly… cozy.

Albeit a little tumbledown and messy with its wallpaper-torn brick walls and creaking hardwood floors— but, it’s charming. Lived in. He has a life here in this rickety two-bedroom apartment; framed photographs of friends and snatches of livelihood sit across dressers and are pasted against his magnet-crowded refrigerator.

Reminds you abit of your home, too.

“Listen,” chirps Wade’s voice, somewhere down the short hall to his room. “My advice? Save yourself the identity crisis and brain aneurysm. All this multiversal horse-crap was created just so that Marvel can write themselves out of any corner. Just sit there and be sexy for the readers, okay, Magic Mike?”

You’re halfway towards them when the doorbell rings. 

“Ooh! That must be the pizza I ordered. Or Blind Al. Or Logan.” Wade pops out to sidle past you with a wink and a whispered: “Who knows, really? This is just the part of the story where I conveniently disappear so you and Cajun Tatum here can share a moment.”

You don’t quite understand— but you’ve learned to not bother attempting when it comes to him.

Your knock is soft against the doorframe. 

“Hey.”

Beside a lone corner of the bed, Remy turns to look over his shoulder. 

He’s fresh out the shower— faded towel tied around his waist, brown hair still damp and dripping water down his bare chest. His old clothes have been draped over a desk chair. 

You try not to stare, but—

But. 

He’s handsome. Devilishly so, with the bruises sweeping across the flex of all his stupidly lean, corded muscles.

You always had a thing for roguish-looking men.

“Hi,” he says, knowingly. ( It’s a dulcet croon, if anything. Cheeky bastard. ) “Y’okay? Got y’self cleaned up.”

Remy watches you gather yourself with a quick clear of your throat, pull at the sleeves of the scratchy hoodie you’re now wearing that’s practically swallowing you whole. 

You look rested. At ease. 

…Pretty.

“Yeah. Showered. We don’t smell like ass anymore, that’s for sure,” you say, making a face.

And then you’re nodding over to the black-and-blue contusions blooming over his skin. “You know, I’m sure there’s something frozen in the icebox for that.”

“Icebox?” 

You smile. “Yeah, that’s what you guys call it in Louisiana, right?”

“That we do, chèr,” he laughs. But it’s ducked down, quiet. Thin. “ ‘Least, I think so.”

You follow his downcast eyes to a small stack of folders— TVA files he easily thieved (unsurprisingly) from under their noses the moment he stepped foot into the room. 

He’d skimmed the manila dossiers: Absolute Points. Anchor Beings. Variant Anomalies. Some names he’d recognised and some he didn’t, most stamped or blacklisted. 

Pietro Maximoff. Edward Brock. Loki Laufeyson. 

Remy LeBeau.

Some part of you crumples. It’s one thing to not be able to return to a Universe, and another to not have even had one. 

“S’funny,” he chuckles dryly, picking his casefile up with a distant look, “My memories… I thought I’d done gon’ left a whole life behind me the entire time I been stuck in the Void— Friends. Family. An’ turns out the Void’s all I had.”

“Feels like…” he shrugs. Tries to piece his unmoored thoughts into something more cohesive. He’s never felt so horrifically adrift his entire life— whatever ‘entire life’ could mean for him now, anyway— not even when he'd been marooned in the barren wastelands of the Void.

 “Feels like I ain’t real. Hell, I don’t know what is real, anymore, chèr. I don’t— I just don’t know. I don't know anythin'."

You shake your head in disagreement nigh instantly. 

“No, no.” Pushing off the doorway, you cross the threshold with gentle admonishment lanced over your features. “You’re here. You are real.” 

The room is small. The distance you share is… close. Just enough that you catch the scent of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo; Just enough that you can slide the documents out of his hands.

His fingers brush against yours. 

He wonders if you’d felt the kinetic trill of energy run through him at the contact.

“Can I be honest, Remy?”

You look up at him. 

“Mais oui, chèr. Y’can always be honest wit’ Gambit.”

You wave your hand at the TVA files. “I’m scared as shit being in a new Universe,” you blurt, truthfully. “This second chance means… a new life. New path. New everything. I don’t know what that’s like either and frankly, I am not prepared for this at all.”

You pause for a breath. “But for what it’s worth? I’m glad that you’re here. That’s… That’s about the only thing that I know.”

Then, as if dwarfed by the sheer vulnerability in your words, you take an awkward step back as you shrug. “And if you don’t feel the same, well. You and I, we’ll just have to make do, regardless.”

The sudden retreat is painfully endearing. Has him letting out a bright laugh that warms something nestled deep in your ribs.

“I’m glad I got you too, chèr,” he grins. 

“Yeah?” You flash a smile, having found your way back to the door.

Remy’s eyes fall to your face— tarrying. He follows the flutter of your lashes, the slope of your cheek, the curl of your lips. 

“…Yeah.”

Your idling, fond gaze sears him like a low-grade fever. 

The thrum buzzes in hands, again.

Your Gambit really was blind, he thinks, just as you slip away and disappear around the corner.

His palm flexes open, and shut.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Nine Months

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, light angst, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), breeding, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), mating press

Word Count: 1.5k

With John leaving for an extended deployment, you ask him to leave you something to remember him by while he’s gone.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // summer 2024 collection masterlist

The orders are a brand on the kitchen table. It’s just white paper. Black ink. It’s such a simple thing, and yet it aches every time John brings one home. Some orders are like this—physical. Other times, it’s a phone call in the middle of the night, and John peels himself from your arms to dress and depart with a quick kiss.

“When do you leave?” you ask, wrapping your arms around John’s torso and resting your head against his broad chest.

You don’t dare look at the paper yourself. You want to hear it from your husband’s lips.

“Three days from now,” he replies softly, responding to your touch by wrapping his own arms around you, holding you close to him.

Leaving is always the hardest. It’s the fear of the unknown—of what might happen when John is not in sight. With returns, you know he’s alive and well. The relief is palpable. This is sour. Dreadful. You hate it every time.

John squeezes slightly—a comforting hug. He loves his work, but even he doesn’t enjoy leaving you alone.

Three days.

That is all the time you have with him.

Three days. And then John will be gone for nearly six months. Perhaps longer.

It’s happened before, but you’ve never understood why. There are some things John does not share with you, and the realities of war are not one of those things. Things happen. Plans change. You are aware of this even though it’s utterly out of your control.

You turn your face toward him, and John greets you with a kiss. It’s slow. Tender. And you seek more. John gives them, allowing you all that you wish to consume. They shower upon you like raindrops, and you eagerly catch them with your tongue.

There is a hint of cigar smoke on him. A dash of whiskey. Indulgences he loves but not as much as you.

“John,” you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair.

His response to his name on your lips is a contented groan—one that vibrates against your chest and has you pressing closer to him.

“I want to feel you,” you murmur against his lips. “Feel you for the next few months.”

You want to ache between your legs, to remember him for a bit when he’s gone. Every parting could be the last, and nothing is more urgent that spending time with him as a husband and wife should be.

“A few months?” he chuckles, seeking another tantalizing kiss. “I’ll give you something you’ll feel for the next nine.”

His admission leaves your breathless. You start to pull back, but John’s groan is low and feral as he grasps the back of your neck and hauls you back to him. He claims your mouth, dominating until you surrender to him, melting into his arms.

Hands roam. John is everywhere. Touching. Seeking. You know you’re clawing at him, fingers digging in, but you’re too absorbed in his touch to know where the two of you begin and end.

John’s hands slide over your hips and then circle to your ass. He squeezes hard, landing one sharp slap to the left cheek before he delves further. Clamping down on the backs your thighs, John bends slightly at the knees, and then you’re in the air as he lifts you from the ground. Instinct has you wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, and your heels hook over his ass.

His lips never leave yours as he walks. There is only his taste and the strength of his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs. The kitchen is a distant memory. You don’t remember the hallway at all. There is only John and you—and then your feet on the ground again, John’s gaze a burning thing that turns your insides into an inferno.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, an underlying roughness to his tone.

You fall into the command without thinking as John takes a step back, observing your undressing. While you’re eager for him to be inside you, there is no quickness in the way you reveal yourself to him. But you do not take your time. It is steady, and yet your fingers are on the brink of shaking, the need to have him a buzzing between your bones.

There is a deep ache—a longing that you wish to fill. It burrows and expands until your heart pounds in your ears.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs once you’re entirely undressed.

John takes a step forward, his hand rising, fingers lightly brushing over the curve of your waist and hip to trail over your stomach. His touch is feather-light. A shivering thing. Between your thighs is a slickness. A need.

“On the bed,” he instructs. “Spread those legs.”

Then it is John who is undressing, removing pieces of clothing as you settle back on the bed, sliding backward until you’re comfortable, thighs spreading to show him how wanton you are.

Broad shoulders, strong arms, and a thick chest with brown hair is revealed to you. Then it’s muscled legs and large feet. The last thing to go gives you an uninterrupted view. John is bare and delicious, his cock already hard and jutting.

There is nothing left between the two of you. There is only air. Distance.

John steps forward, one knee resting on the edge of the bed. Between that and the moment his hands brush over your knees feels like an eternity. But it stretches and then comes crashing forward as he slides down onto his stomach and tongues your pussy like it’s his last meal.

With his arms locked around your legs, you are at John’s mercy. He teases and tastes, sliding his tongue into your pussy before swirling up to play with your sensitive clit. Your fingers dig into his scalp and arm, your hips undulating, riding his tongue as your body responds to his attention.

It is a crushing thing—splitting. The orgasm is sharp. A blade across the skin.

You cry out. Come off the bed. And even then, John continues to tongue you through it. The first turns into a second. Or, perhaps it’s the same, and John is drawing it out. Whichever it may be, it is enough to turn your cries into wheezing gasps.

Your breath is retreating. Escaping. The world is spinning.

Everything is overly sensitive. On edge.

You need air. You need calm. You need to come down and have a moment of peace before anything else continues.

John’s hold on your legs loosens, and your legs collapse to the bed. Your chest heaves, and a bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck.

Easing up from between your legs, John guides them open and up, pressing them toward your chest. He settles between, the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive pussy. You whimper, hand reaching between your bodies to grasp him, guiding him to where you want him the most.

John groans, and sinks in.

The stretch is always a shock at first no matter how much he preps you for it.

“That’s it, love. You can take me,” he croons softly, rocking his hips, feeding you more. Inch by inch he disappears. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy. Over and over again.”

His first thrust is a test. The next is not. You are pinned to the bed, and John is over you, his hips snapping against your own. It is loud in the room, eclipsing all other noise.

“Gonna fucking breed you,” he grunts between thrusts. You grasp the backs of your thighs, drawing your legs wider. John adjusts, one large hand planting itself above your head on the bed.

“When I come back, your belly will be swollen with my child.” It’s not a question. Not even a suggestion. “Do you want that, love? Do you want me to fill you up?”

“Please, John.”

He groans loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild. You are pinned. Trapped. Completely at his use and will. It’s a lovely sensation to be under him like this—to allow John whatever he wants.

John’s breath hitches, and then he’s grinding forward. His release bursts from his cock, filling you, making everything slicker and wetter between your thighs. As he retreats, your legs start to fall but John clucks his tongue.

“No, love.”

He snags a pillow. Guiding your hips up, he slides the pillow beneath, and then supports your legs, keeping you elevated.

“Don’t want to lose any of that.”

John keeps you elevated like this for a bit. You think he might be done for now, but it’s hardly the start. Over the course of several minutes, you watch as his softening cocks begins to harden again.

He notices you watching him in that moment. And his grin is knowing.

“Want more?”

There is only one answer. And that is yes.

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[ninii-winchester]

What’s a girl gotta do

Pairing: S1! Sam Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.7k

Warnings : heavily based on s1 ep3 (Dead in the water), mentions of drowning, fluff, no Jess au.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Y/n was driving to Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. An eighteen year old girl went swimming into the lake but never came back, no body found. She figured it might be her thing. She was driving to her destination but she saw a very familiar car parked outside a diner. It was the infamous black Chevy Impala. She should've know he'd be here. She parked her car right beside it and got out of the. She watched Dean walk out of the diner with the car keys in his hands.

"As soon as I saw this beauty I knew an ugly Winchester would be around as well." She commented leaning against baby.

"Y/n/n." Dean exclaimed opening his arms for her to jump in. Y/n hugged her best friend. "What are you doing here?" He asked pulling apart.

"Same as you. You're going to Lake Monitoc too?" She replied. "Sophie Carlton I'm guessing?" he nodded.

The diner door opened again and Sam walked out. The tall boy watched Dean talking a woman, her face was hidden by Dean's broad shoulders. Sam rolled his eyes as he approached his brother but froze when he saw who he actually was talking to.

"Sammy?" Y/n questioned as he appeared behind Dean. She pulled him in for a hug and he blushed slightly. "I thought you were at Stanford?" She exclaimed.

"Yeah i was but we're looking for dad, now." He replied with a tight smile. "And it's Sam." He added remembering she called him, 'Sammy.'

"Is it now, Sammy?" She teased making Dean laugh out loud and he blushed furiously.

Y/n had been Dean's best friend since they were thirteen. They met each other when Dean was hunting with John and Y/n was with her father but she got separated from him. The Winchesters found her, helped her reunite with her father. Dean and Y/n clicked immediately, finding friends your age as a hunter was a difficult task, so the two of them jumped at the opportunity to become friends.

They visited each other frequently, Y/n played with nine year old Sam and was always friendly with him. As they grew up, Sam quickly developed a crush on the older girl. He was blush immensely when she would ruffle his hair or tell him he looked cute. It wasn't often a pretty nineteen year old girl noticed fifteen year old boy, even if she didn't mean it romantically, Sam basked in her attention.

Every time he watched his older brother drag her away for a hunt or even to show her something cool, he felt disappointed, he thought that someday his older brother will sweep her off her feet and she'd be much more interested in him rather than a little boy like Sam.

For years Sam thought he never stood a chance with his older brother in the picture, he thought his brother might feel something for her and he didn't want to break his brother's heart. But his doubts were cleared when Dean once kissed Y/n to get rid of his latest hook up, but he pulled away yelling,

"Never let me do that again. Ew you're like my sister."

Sam thought Y/n might feel something for Dean, thinking he's older and probably a better choice. But after watching her beat his brother into a pulp for the stunt he pulled, Sam felt relieved that it was all platonic. Even then he didn't think he'd ever get the chance to be with her. He thought he'd always be four years behind.

Then, Sam left for Stanford, cutting off ties with his father and brother. He never thought he'd get to see her again. Seeing her again made him feel giddy, the butterflies in his stomach were doing summersaults.

"Alright folks, you can catch up later we have a case to work." Dean said walking towards the drivers side.

"Let me drive." Y/n said to her best friend before he could deny she shot her best puppy dog eyes.

"Good try but no." Dean said getting in the car.

"Fine. SHOTGUN!!!" She stuck her tongue out at Sam before opening the passenger's side door and getting. Sam shook his head with a smile gracing his lips. He wouldn't have fought with her to sit in the front seat, hell he would've fought Dean to let her drive if she'd asked him to. She's got him wrapped around her finger and doesn't even know it.

Sam got into the confined backseat, struggling a bit to fit his long legs in the small space. Y/n placed her get over the dashboard as Dean drove to their destination.

"Hey feet off the dash." Dean remarked tapped her calf, shooting her a glare, one she was immune to. "Y/n/n I will cut your hair in your sleep." He threatened knowing how much loved and cared for her hair. Sam thought she had really pretty hair. And it smelled so good all the time.

Y/n rolled her eyes before pulling her feet off the dashboard, letting out a huge sigh.

"Oh man, what's a girl gotta do to be loved around here." She spoke dramatically. She grinned at Sam in view mirror, "what do you think, Sammy?" She asked him and his face turned red.

She enjoyed watching him get all flustered and squirmy when she teased him. She thought Sam was cute, not in a chubby little boy kind way, but cute in a charming way. She like his smile, and that messy mop of hair on his head. She wondered how it would feel to run her hands through them.

"How about shutting up, sweetheart?" Dean quipped watching the interaction between his best friend and his little brother.

Dean knows his brother is whipped for Y/n and she has talked his ear off, gushing over his brother. He's all for them being together, in fact he's rooting for them. But if he has to sit through their miserable attempts at flirting or giving each other sickeningly irritating heart eyes when the other isn't looking. He will throw up.

The trio soon arrived at the victim's house. They talked to the vics brother finding out that his sister was a varsity swimmer and it was impossible for her to drown. They asked Will a few more questions before heading to the police station.

After talking to the Sherrif they found out that they didn't find anything in the water, which could've done that, dam is falling apart so the lake won't be here any longer, since they're not getting any money to fix it.

After Will Carlton was found dead, the trio did alot more digging around for a while and found out, that Sherrif and Bill Carlton had a friend named Peter Sweeney who disappeared years back. It become clear that Jake and Bill had a hand in his disappearance. They found Peter's bike buried in Jake's backyard.

It took a while before Jake confessed, that he and Bill accidentally pushed Peter in the lake and they let him drown, so there's no body to salt and burn to put the vengeful spirit to rest.

It all happened too fast when Lucas was being pulled into to the lake, it was Peter. He wanted  Jake to suffer, watch all his loved ones die, just like he did to Bill. Just like, how Peter's mother felt when he disappeared.

They heard Andrea call out for her son, it only took Y/n and Dean a second to jump in the water to save him. The two kept looking for Lucas but he was nowhere to be found. Sam held Andrea back from jumping into the water.

Jake walked into the lake willingly, hoping Peter would take him instead of his grandson and in hopes that after getting his revenge he'd leave his family alone. Y/n felt something pulling her under the water and she felt herself drowning. She could make out a shadow, which looked like a pale little boy. But then suddenly, it let her go.

Dean came above surface with Lucas in his arms. Sam helped the two up and Andrea hugged her son close to her chest. The brothers looked at lake, Y/n should've come up by now. Peter took Jake, it should've been over. But Y/n fell unconscious under the water, intaking too much water in her body and unable to swim back up. Sam immediately jumped in the water to search for her.

"SAM." Dean yelled as he watched his brother jump into the water.

A few minutes later Sam surfaced ashore with Y/n in his arms. He laid her on the wooden dock and knelt beside her, his heart pounding. She was unconscious and not breathing. He quickly tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his, giving two rescue breaths. Then, he placed his hands on the center of her chest and began chest compressions. A few seconds later Y/n shot up with a loud gasp, coughing out water as she sat up.

"Oh god." She wheezed holding her head. "Is Lucas okay?" She asked looking at the little boy. His mother nodded in acknowledgement.

"You okay, Y/n/n?" Dean asked kneeling beside her.

Before she could reply Sam grabbed her by her neck and pulled her in for a harsh kiss. He kissed her like his life depended on it. His lips moved against her with fervour, his heart was hammering against his ribcage. She kissed him with equal force, her hands grasping at his damp hair. He rested his forehead on hers as he pulled away.

"Don't you dare scare me like that, ever again." He breathed heavily, his chest puffing with each breath.

"Drown!!" She chirped with a grin on her face. Sam looked at her, confusing lacing his handsome face. "A girl's gotta drown to be loved around here." She added with a giggle. Dean barked out a laugh at her stupid comment.

"I hate you so much." Sam rolled his eyes but had a huge smile on his face. Sam gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/n's face, and she smiled up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness. They leaned in for another soft, lingering kiss, sealing their new beginning.

[rolanpilled]

BG3 Patch 5 Spoilers

WARNING: BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD!

New content from the ending scene of BG3. This is all from the perspective of a redeemed Dark Urge who romanced Shadowheart and Halsin, and recruited every "good" ally possible.

people at the party: all your companions, scratch, owlbear, volo, and a bard in the middle playing a song (his name is milil)

lae'zel is the only one who isn't here physically, she sent an astral projection instead because she's been busy fighting vlaakith

astarion explains why he ran away (ashamed) when the sunlight hit him, he's become a "hero" who adventures and has accepted himself

(romanced halsin) you can hug halsin, he's missed his friends and you. you can do both the hug and the kiss, it's really sweet. he's turned the shadowlands into a community, repursing reithwin and moonrise towers into homes for people

jaheira's daughter rejoined the flaming fist, she's been working on rebuilding the harper network. the upper city was entirely destroyed by the battle but has been mostly rebuilt. she jokes that you might be a parent soon

wyll gives you a choice between three stories, a stegosaur/dinosaur battle, an impossible lich, or a young dragon. he lost his warlock powers but has been managing the best he can, and has become a RANGER ("a true hunter of monsters"). duke ravengard is commanding the flaming fist and help rebuilding the city, and he's very proud of his son

minsc and boo guard the streets while jaheira is "occupied with harperish manners". they "went to give a tickle" to the zhentarim, then got locked up in a zhentish cell, awaiting execution? idk if i'm reading incorrectly but he seems to be implying that he actually GOT executed but withers brought him back just in time lmfao

gale has become "professor gale dekarios of blackstaff academy, educator of the esteemed school of illusion". tara is with him. he surrended the crown of karsus to mystra, who cured him of the orb in exchange (his tattoo is gone), though his students still think he's explosive (he implies that he uses it as a threat to keep his class under control). he tells his students about your adventures together. he also implies you're welcome to visit his tower

shadowheart (main romance) - the game told me that we settled down together to live a happy, peaceful life on a farm in the countryside. shar still hurts her (if parents are saved), especially when she can sense that SH is enjoying herself, but it's been getting less frequent because she's been "losing interest". there's a new hug and kiss scene for her too, so i'm assuming this is for ALL companions and not just halsin/SH/whoever

withers will speak to you about karlach, explaining that she won't be able to come back. he jokes about her, which is rare for him, and you're given to opportunity to grieve her loss. in "a dozen tendays" (assumedly how long bg3 is), "an entire life was lived, she lived several centuries" (not exact quote).

milil, the bard playing in the center, does NOT want to be there. he's pissed that no one recognizes him (he's pissed specifically that i'm a bard and don't recognize him), i had to pass a deception check to recognize him and he cheered up and offered to change the song he's playing

there's a chest called "Chest of Grateful Words" filled with letters from your allies!

"Official Guild Letter"

"Letter from Barcus"

"Letter from Art"

"Letter from Valeria"

"Letter from Ravengard"

"Letter from Sebastian"

"Letter from Florrick"

"Letter from the Gur" (unascended Astarion)

"Letter from Alfira" (durge, killed quil grootslang)

"Letter from Dammon"

"Letter from Elminster"

"Letter from Nocturne"

"Letter from Voss"

"Letter from Hope"

"Letter from Mayrina"

"Letter from Nine-Fingers"

"Letter from Zevlor"

"Harp-stamped Letter"

Baldur's Mouth Gazette

If you find anything interesting I missed, please let me know.

[joelscruff]

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

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

It's crazy how one weekend can change everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe your mother can solve this problem for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

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

"Did you go to your lesson on Saturday?"

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

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

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

"So have you? Been making progress?"

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

"Which ones are you learning?"

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

Your stomach twists uncomfortably.

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

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

"Just.... bein' open."

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

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

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

Oh. You didn't know that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're looking at his daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's fuckin' crazy about you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Need it deep inside, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shiver, "Why didn't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

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

The anxiety settles, and you believe him.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression falters, "Why, baby?"

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

"I like driving, it's peaceful."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels so fucking good to have Joel Miller.

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

buying lingerie, what is this?? help!!

Of course, Tasha is the first to reply:

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

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

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

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

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

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

why is being sexy so awkward and expensive?

welcome to my life sister

158 DOLLARS FOR 3 SCRAPS OF MATERIAL

that's it, let it all out

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, cool."

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

"Is it that obvious?"

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles, "What were you expectin'?"

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

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

"Did you remind her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, "Yeah, probably not."

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

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

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

"Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan."

"Good ear. You play?"

"Um, not really."

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need your pussy touched, baby?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

Hold on...

Angel

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

You wince, "Oh. Right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

This is too much, you want to say.

How much did you spend? you want to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shiver at the thought.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

Are you in Dallas yet?

Let me know when you arrive.

What hotel are you staying at?

Text me back now.

Where are you?

Answer the phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read the message again, and then again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a beat of silence, then -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But it -"

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

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

"What d'you mean?"

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

"Is that my crucifix?" you ask quietly.

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

But you already know that it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod quickly, expression hazy, "Yes."

"How wet?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he says slow - he means slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hurts?" he asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, breathe him in.

I love you.

[kquil]

JAMES POTTER | 10:44 ⏤KISS CAM

SUM. : you end up on the kiss cam but not with james...

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; hockey player james au ; secretly dating au

LENGTH : 0.7k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

You’ve been in a secret relationship with the James Potter for quite a while now, well renowned ice hockey player. It was a chance meeting actually, a chance meeting that left quite a lasting impression on the both you, several chance meetings happened after that and you eventually found yourself falling in love and happily engaging in a private relationship.

It was a whirlwind, shockingly fast but blissfully pleasant all at once, your feet in the air and flying through the skies, endlessly on cloud nine. Now, it's already been half a year and you haven't missed a single one of his games. It's still taking you a little time to get used to understanding how the game works and its rules but James was quick to assure you that that wasn't important. 

"My favourite part of the game is being able to meet you when its over for a kiss well-done," you still remember his cheeky, boyish grin and the fluttering ache in your heart. All he has to do is flash you that charming smile and you were jelly.

He's such a loverboy, so tender and sweet, a true gentleman but also goofy and ridiculously charming in his own audacious way. His liberal manner of loving meant that you didn't go a day without hearing an 'I love you' or being pulled into a sudden hug or getting a playful kiss on the cheek. In return, you tried to calm his affections but always succumbed to him in the end - like voluntarily free-falling from a skyscraper and always knowing you would land on a thick cushion of fluffy clouds and secure parachutes. 

You've never been so content in your life; naturally your eyes never left James and him you. He loves your timid affections, subtle but sweeter than honey, first unnoticeable but with a slight squint he could almost turn blind from how radiantly you emit your love for him. He's never letting you go. If there is so much as an hint of you leaving him, he's giving his all into making sure you stay, he'll shout and scream and cry and fight, no matter what it takes.

He's impulsive and hot headed, cheeks burning an almost darling pink when irritation furrows his brows and sets flames ablaze behind his eyes. James's eyes right now, however, weren't just a sea of flames but a volcanic eruption. His usual glasses weren't in the way of his eyes, only the small strands of his sweat-drentched hair provided you with some shield to his wrath. You were shocked, in your six months being together, you've never seen him so infuriated but it was then that realised you situation - you were sharing the big screen with a random guy for the 'Kiss Cam'.

The teams were on a break so of course James had seen it and was now blowing smoke fumes out of his ears and nostrils, glaring through the glass and at the guy who was attempting to lean in for a kiss as he skates his way furiously towards you. If the glass wasn't in the way, you feared that James would have beat the man to death beside you. You mentally berate yourself for having realised the situation too late and scramble say that you didn't want to partake in any kiss. You were just about to open your mouth and stop the stranger when the love of your life angrily slams his headgear into the reinforced glass before you in warning. 

"Stay the fuck away from my girl dickhead!" James shouted in anger, his thundering voice keeping the glass shaking as the stranger beside you immediately backed away. Lost in the moment and finding his unusual overprotectiveness overly cute, you step up, kiss your hand and press it into the glass in front of his lips in a pseudo kiss. 

"Thanks James," you smile, staring lovingly into his eyes that have visible softened at the sight of your gorgeous face. 

"Kiss me twice later," you do nothing but nod and he's heading back to group with his teammates once more. You suppose your relationship isn't so private anymore. 

A/N : thoughts, darlings? i know james is typically associated with rugby but i can see him as an ice hockey player too - please someone tell me that they think the same TT_TT

PART 2 | NAVI

[tojisun]

went to the lake yesterday n i couldnt stop thinking about cbf!simon and that lake house while i tried not to drown 😔

(i brought home a rock that looks like a shark tooth!!)

thinking about how, every nine pm, when the sun had set but the sky was still a vibrant blue and the water was colder now, you and simon used to sit by the docks close to the lake house, feet dangling, feeling the breeze tickle your damp bodies.

it’s been a tradition since you two were young, and one that simon didn’t allow to end even when you’re here with your boyfriend.

“can’t he come?” you ask, patting yourself dry with a towel, before tipping your head up to stare at him, eyebrow raised and shoulders slouched in your plea.

simon wants to snarl; he wants to, as pathetic as it is, complain how unfair you’re being—you promised nothing would change even if, when, you two found someone to date; someone to bring home to this lake house. you promised that it’d always be you and him, just like it always was.

(simon’s never brought home partners; he’s never dated anyone seriously; has never entertained anyone long enough that they even learn that his main residence isn’t in the city.

he’s always shrugged them off and came back to you. always you. always placing himself by your feet, aching and desperate, but waiting, torturously patient because for a while you had been the same.

you’ve never truly dated anyone before. they were all flings and talking-stages; always men who fell short or who always hurt you so you end up licking your wounds before summer. you end up fixing yourself before curling at simon’s side, the space that’s always reserved for you. the place that will always belong to you.

then, he came along. boyishly charming and well-liked by your parents, and admirable in the honest love he has for you. simon knew that if he lets this go on, that if he didn’t do anything now, then your boyfriend would wedge himself between you and simon. he fits in so well with your family, so it’s just about time until he’s replacing simon.

until he’s the one who’s a permanent fixture in the home, in your place, by your side; until he’s the one who’s going to have a future with you.

simon can’t have that, of course.)

but you’re in love and beautiful and simon knows how much your boyfriend can still make you happy so he says yes, growling out his agreement before giving out a pinched smile when you came to hug him, all starry-eyed and happy.

simon trembles. he clutches you close and buries his face on the top of your head, breathing you in.

yeah, sure he can come. but—

simon pushes close, his hand falling on your thigh, so dangerously close to the underside of your micro-bikini shorts. then, he laughs, nuzzling his face on your shoulder, pressing his lips deliberately on your skin, not really kissing but not-not kissing too, before flitting his eyes up.

he meets your boyfriend’s angry glare.

good, simon thinks. know you’re not welcome here.

[coff33andb00ks]

Luxury - LN

Part 2 of Hopeless Lando Norris x fem!reader (mentions of reader x Charles Leclerc) Summary: and if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once Themes: none just sex Song: slut! by taylor swift word count: 3949 Warnings: smut, minors dni!, cheating, lando's a bad friend, charles is a bad boyfriend even tho he's not there, reader is a bad girlfriend, honestly the only decent person in this mini series is Oscar, unprotected sex, heaps of praise, and proofreading? we don't know her Notes: again I'm not condoning cheating (unless it's Lando) thanks to those that encouraged me to write this from reader's pov, although I got carried away with the smut. Soooo there's going to be two more parts to this to finish their story <3

You love Lando.

Because he's… Well, Lando. He's become your very best friend. You can talk to him about anything, whether it's work or the shoes you're thinking of getting or the book you just finished, he's always willing to listen. He commiserates over bitchy coworkers, encourages you to just get the fucking shoes, and questions the decisions of the characters you're in love with. He's always up for a game, even if it's three in the morning and he's flying out at nine. He doesn't complain when you show up and bake enough pastries and cupcakes to fill a supermarket, warning you not to tell his trainer when he sneaks a few.

And he makes you laugh. Only he can bring out the ugly snorting laugh that you hate, but you kind of love it because it makes him giggle hysterically.

It's Lando. You don't know how you survived as long as you did before he came, screaming with laughter, into your life.

So, when you began having doubts about Charles, there was only one place to go. You've lived in Monaco with your boyfriend for six months and still haven't made a local friend. Lando's there, and he takes one look at you and lets you in.

And here you are, hugging him after pouring out your worries over Charles' behavior. Because he made you laugh, like he always does.

"If he is cheating, he's a fucking moron. You're not even my girl and I can't find anyone that compares."

Lando's words give you pause and you stare at him. You're used to him cracking jokes. Even if you're having a bad day he never fails to make you cackle until you're crying and snorting – like he just did. This time, though, he's not joking. His eyes aren't dancing with humor, he doesn't have that stupid grin that's not a grin like he does when he's trying to make you laugh.

Your eyes dip to his mouth.

Suddenly, you want to feel his lips. You've felt them on your cheek. Lando is a clingy friend, so it's not new to be this close to him. He's always hugging you, kissing your cheeks, resting his head in your lap, leaning against you when he's drunk. But you want his lips on yours. You're not perfect, you've wondered more than a few times what it would be like to kiss him. Lifting your gaze to his eyes again, you breathe in.

"Lando," you whisper. You can hear the longing in your voice and see it mirrored in his eyes.

You both lean in, meeting halfway, and—

Fireworks.

His breath stutters against your lips, his forehead resting against yours briefly. "Y/n," he gasps. The fingers on your cheek slide into your hair and his lips are on yours again, fully this time.

It's gentle but wild, both desperate and calm. It soothes you and sparks a fire at the same time. Your hands cup his neck, hear his moan echoing yours as your tongues meet. The dance that's as old as time that has you craving more, your secret fantasies rising up while you picture his lips and tongue on your skin.

Lando's arm wraps around your waist and you willingly move closer, craving the tenderness and the heat. His mouth is still on yours and you settle in his lap, pressing as close to him as possible. He's the first breath of oxygen after being underwater. The first raindrops after a dry spell.

You never want this kiss to end.

You feel alive, and right now you can't think about what that means, you can only think of how invigorating this is. Pressing tighter against him you whine, feeling him growing hard in his sweats.

He tears his lips from yours with a gasp, eyes glazed with desire, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips. Digging his fingers into your waist, he presses his face against your neck, nuzzling and kissing. Breathing deeply, like you're his source of air.

"God, Lando," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him and letting your head fall back.

"Please," he moans, both arms around you now, and you can hear the faint whine in his voice. "Please, y/n…"

You nod, tugging on his hair and catching him in another kiss.

"Y/n," he whispers at the corner of your lips, and you can feel that he's holding himself back.

"Yes."

It's barely left your mouth when he's standing, holding you to him. You make a mental note to ask him when he learned to be graceful, because he always trips over stuff or walks into doorways. With your legs around him and your lips on his, though, he isn't, and you don't realize he's gotten to his bedroom until he's lowering you on his bed.

You drag him down with you, half fearful that if you break contact you'll think of a reason to stop. Or he will. And you can finally admit to yourself that you've wanted this for so long, now it's here you don't want it to end.

He moves up the bed, dragging you with him, kiss interrupted by his little chuckle. Pulling back a little, he cups your cheek and breathes your name. He stares at you, reverence bordering on worship, as though he can't believe you're there. "Y/n…" It's a whisper and a prayer and a plea and your racing heart twists and tumbles in your chest.

You say his name the same way, breath catching at the way he melts over you. The gentle wildness, calm desperation, is back, growing frantic while he seems determined to kiss you until you forget everything for him. His kiss grows feverish, breathless gasps whispering over your lips. His hands are everywhere, pushing and pulling at your clothes and you unknowingly mirror his touch, whining when he sits back and rips his shirt over his head.

His eyes are feral, branding each spot of your body he glances at. He squeezes your hips, dragging your shirt up with his blazing palms, his teeth catching his bottom lip as you arch towards him. Your shirt and bra slip away and he presses his face between your breasts, his breath pure fire. Holding you up, his lips whisper over your skin, hand clutching the back of your neck when his mouth closes over your nipple.

Crying out his name, you clutch at his shoulders, squeezing your legs around his waist. He licks and sucks, slow but needy, tightening his hold each time you tremble. Each tiny motion sends narrow flames of desire coursing through your veins, gathering in the pit of your abdomen, twisting and curling like his tongue, until you feel the ache of need. "Lando… Please, Lando…"

You're grinding against him, able to feel how wet he's making you, and you know he can feel it too when he moans harshly and releases your nipple. He shifts, groaning low in his chest as his cock presses against you. "Shit, baby…"

He guides you back down, lips crashing into yours, and his hands tremble as he briefly fumbles with the button of your shorts. His breath fans over your cheek and he deepens the kiss, both of you whining when he pulls back again. Dragging your shorts down your legs, he stares into your eyes, balling them up in his fist and flinging them over his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful," he says softly, staring at you in awe.

The way he said it, coupled with the look in his eyes, made you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. There was something so heartfelt about the compliment that you felt the unexpected sting of tears.

Lando's fingertips trail over your skin, lips moving silently as he traces the dips and curves of your hips and thighs. An ode to you that was unheard but understood. He swallows hard, closing his eyes briefly before raising his eyes to yours again. Leaning down, he gives you a tender kiss. You cup his face then drag your hands down, memorizing his chiseled form, and when your fingertips reach the waistband of his sweats he hums, gently catching your wrists and guiding your hands above your head.

You gasp for a breath as he rains kisses down the side of your neck, scattering them over your chest, his destination clear when he moves lower, nipping gently at your skin. You lift your head slightly and find him staring up at you, eyes greener than usual. He's so beautiful it takes your breath away.

He hooks his thumbs in your panties and drags them down, scattering worshipful kisses down to your ankles. His lips slide into a playful smile and he lightly tickles behind your knee, grinning when you squeal. The brief lightheartedness eases the tension and you're able to breathe, but the foggy haze of passion doesn't fade one bit. It only increases as he gently spreads your legs, his eyes still on yours.

He's still staring up at you when his tongue drags up your slit, and maybe he kept staring at you but you couldn't be aware, your head falling back with a lustful moan at the sensation. You hear him swallow, his appreciative moan vibrating against your core. He does it again, delving deeper, a soft hum pulsing against your clit.

"Fuck," you gasp, feeling his grip on your thighs tighten when you tried to squirm.

"Lemme take care of you baby," he murmurs. Swirling his tongue over your clit, he teases over and over before giving it a noisy kiss. "You're so wet for me, y/n…"

You force your head up, breath catching because he's still staring up at you. Eyes locked, you can't look away, hands gripping at the sheets while his lips sweep along your slit. The ache inside you only grows, almost painful now as he lifts his head, lips glistening. He licks them slowly and you're in awe at the look of bliss on his face.

"Fuckin' knew you'd taste good," he murmurs before settling more firmly between your legs. He's gentle, hands making their way to your hips while he nuzzles and kisses your clit.

"Please," you whine.

He hums, somehow managing to look innocent, and you watch his eyes darken. Kissing your clit again, he pulls it between his lips, his hand sliding from your hip. Your back arches, his name a ragged moan as his finger teases your entrance and his tongue settles on your clit.

You want to know how he got so fucking good. How he knows what you like when you've never discussed sex with him before. And you think he may be a mind reader because he seems to know just what you want. He keeps his tongue on your clit, licking gently but rapidly, two long fingers inside you, curling and stroking slowly. You're gasping, trembling, hips jerking, heart hammering, still unable to look away from his eyes. The moans of his name turn into whines then whimpers and you feel your body tighten, pussy clenching around his fingers, your breathing stuttering and stopping completely when he curls them deeper, steadily rubbing your spot, and—

"Lando!"

You're cumming, harder than you thought you would. It takes your breath away and you're consumed by exhilaration, your vision going black then exploding with a galaxy's worth of stars. It's too much but you never want it to end, your voice breaking as you cry out to him.

You blink and try to catch your breath, weak but still wound tight. And he's there, softly licking you clean, murmuring sweetly while he crawls up, hands gentle on your trembling body. Shaking hands grab at his biceps and you feel tears on your cheeks when his fingers brush them away.

"It's alright, love," he whispers, lips brushing yours twice before he kisses you tenderly. He curls over you, almost protectively, his voice gently praising you. "Breathe, darling, it's alright…"

"Jesus," you hiss when you can finally speak, blinking rapidly to get your bearings.

"You're so gorgeous when you cum," he murmurs, tracing your cheek with his thumb. His eyes are so soft, practically glowing with admiration. Staring at you as though you're the source of everything good in his world. "You're always beautiful… Like, bathed in sunlight beautiful, you know?" He closes his eyes briefly, breathing slow as his lips return to yours in a kiss that leaves you weak. "But right now, right here…" He sighs. "You're breathtaking."

And you feel breathtaking. Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, adored, worshipped, all the adjectives you'd use to describe the leading women in the romances you read. You never want to not feel this way again. "Lando?"

"Hm?" He's still staring at you like you hung the stars.

"I need you." Your arms still feel weak but you run your hands over his shoulders, leaning in for a slow kiss while your fingers trace down his sides. Long, languid moments pass while you kiss, so caught up in the feeling of being cherished you're distracted, enjoying the soft suppleness of his lips on yours. His palm cups your neck and there's a subtle change, your breath quickening as his mouth slants over yours. Nudging the waistband of his sweats down, you hear his soft hum, miss the touch of his hands when he reaches down to push them off, his hands bumping into yours when you both reach to ease down his boxer briefs.

He breaks the kiss with a little laugh but it dies as your hand cups around his cock. And the sound he makes is the sexiest sound you've ever heard. It's a gasping, whiny moan, and suddenly you need to know the sounds he'll make when he's inside you. Stroking him, you stare into his eyes and see the question burning. You nod, reluctantly letting go, anticipation stealing your breath as he nudges your thighs further apart. He sits back, lightly clapping and squeezing your thighs.

"God, you're hot," you say without thinking.

Lando smirks, squeezing your thighs again. "You think so?"

You roll your eyes. "Fuck's sake, look at you," you tell him, sweeping your hands through the air to indicate… him. Tousled curls, lean muscle, golden tan. You blink, focusing on the necklace he's wearing, lips parting in surprise.

It's the one you gave him for his birthday last year. You don't know why it makes you feel all soft and mushy inside to see him wearing it now. He's worn it plenty of times, but seeing it on him now, on a day you know he didn't plan to see you… It means something to you.

"You can take a photo if you like," he says.

Giggling, you're half-tempted to take him up on the offer, but he shifts, and his cock glides along your slit and your need is back in full force. "Later," you whisper, hips rolling upwards.

"Yeah?" He smirks again, eyes flicking from your face to between your thighs. His hands slide up, thumb whispering over your clit as he leans over you, his other hand gripping the pillow by your head.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you spread your legs wider, meeting his eyes as his cock slowly pushes into you. The stretch pulls a whine from your chest and you hear his gasping moan. He bites his lip but it doesn't muffle the whimper as he sinks into you and you arch, the sound almost sending you over the edge.

"Shit – fuck," he gasps, clutching tightly at your thigh.

"I know baby," you whine, digging your fingers into his scalp.

"Knew you'd feel good," he whispers between noisy kisses, holding your thigh against his hip as he presses as deep as possible.

"You feel better," you pant. It's like he was built to fill you, and when he's over you like this you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, thrilled that it's racing as fast as yours. It's almost perfect, the way he feels in and over you, but you need more. Your body craves all of him and you whisper a plea, feeling a shiver ripple through him.

He begins to move. Slow and tender, holding your thigh and cupping your neck. Breathless, almost sloppy kisses between echoing gasps and whines and moans. Your nails drag over his skin and you revel in the way he practically whimpers your name. His room is soon overheated, sweat beading on your skin and he inhales sharply, dipping his head to lick it from your throat then leans back, fingers dragging down your front.

You arch into his touch and it leaves goosebumps in its wake. So good. The words echo over and over in your mind, falling from your mouth like a fervent mantra.

"Look at you," he moans, resting his hand on your lower abdomen. "You're being so good, taking all of me."

"Fuck," you whisper, shocked that the phrase has you clenching and dripping around him. If he keeps that up you know you'll cum again—

"C'mon." It's a low, breathy groan. "Work for it, baby."

You grab at the sheets then at him, needing to feel his skin as you begin to roll your hips. He matches your pace, his hands keeping you steady when your back arches and you cry out his name.

"Yes, just like that," he whispers.

"Lando—"

"I know, I know…" He leans down, nipping at your bottom lip then kisses you, and you can feel his neediness. "You feel so good, y/n—"

"Gonna cum," you whimper, clutching at his sides then his back, your hips jerking now. Your head falls back, the heat in and around you almost overwhelming and in the split second before you break you hear him whimper.

He wraps his arms around you as you arch off the bed, holding you to him, his hips moving steadily, his voice coaxing you – let it out, baby, let me hear you. You shudder and scream, panting when he drags you upright with him, lips crashing against yours while he holds you. "Don't stop," he begs, an edge to his voice, and his hands slip on your skin, grasping tight enough to leave bruises. "Give it to me again, love."

"C-can't," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. And even though you say it you move, trembling and panting, stars blinding you.

Or maybe it's just the pure desperation in his eyes.

"Yes you can," he murmurs. One hand slips between you and there's giddiness in his smile when his fingers strum your clit and you let out a shout.

"It's—" You curl your fingers in his hair, feel the sweat, hear his heavenly moan. And words you never thought you'd say tumble from your mouth. "It's never been this good – I love it."

His arm tightens around you and you feel his cock twitch inside you. "Me too," he whispers, other hand dancing up your spine and cupping the back of your head, his fingers still steady on your clit. "Love it, y/n."

"Don't stop," you beg, rocking harder in his lap.

Lando whines softly, tongue darting over your lips. "You're gonna make me cum."

You slow, enjoying his little growl. Invigorated by his eagerness, you have a split second of panic because he's not wearing a condom but it's immediately forgotten, your toes curling as his fingers rub harder. And for a nanosecond you imagine being pregnant with his child. "Lan…"

"Need it. This. You." It's nonsense but not really, mumbled against your lips, his eyes drifting closed. "Love it. This…"

"You," you breathe.

His eyes snap open and he gasps, panic flashing then disappearing when you nod. "Not supposed to."

"Can't help it," you moan.

He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. "D'you want to not?"

"No," you cry.

He kisses you, guiding you back down, and it's bliss, it's heaven, it's pure ecstasy, it's everything it's supposed to be. Euphoria wrapped in blazing heat and vivid light. He's whimpering and moaning against your lips, hips flush with yours and straining, and another orgasm crashes through you at the feel of him cumming, his body your new temple, his name your new prayer.

When you can breathe again you wait for the awkwardness. The weirdness. But it doesn't come. He's still tender and sweet, murmuring even more praise. His hands are gentle where they'd been rough, his lips soft on your cheeks. When he pulls away there's a mutual hiss, and you see the smirk of pride when he looks down to see his cum trickling out of you.

"You can take a photo if you like," you joke, watching his cheeks darken as he grins at you.

"Don't tempt me." He leans to give you another kiss. "Be right back."

You nod, humming as he drags the covers over you before he leaves. He goes into the bathroom and you lie there, surrounded by his scent, feeling his sweat dry on your skin, body still tingling from the best sex you've ever had. You sigh, wondering when the guilt will creep in.

It doesn't yet but you know it will eventually.

Lando returns, washcloths in hand, and you're both silent while he clears the drying sweat from your body, eyes locking when he gently cleans your slit. He flings the cloths towards the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed, fixing the duvet over you.

"Y/n?"

You sit up, recognizing the vulnerability. It's rare that Lando's like this. He confesses to weaknesses but rarely ever bares them, and it almost breaks your heart, hearing the worry in his voice. Waiting for him to speak, you watch his fingers pleat and twist then smooth the fabric of the duvet.

"What happens now?" he whispers, slowly lifting his head at the same time as you.

"I don't know," you admit.

He nods, swallowing, and looks away.

"I'll go," you say. Because you can't do this. You can't be awkward with him. Better to just pull away even though it's too late for that. Ripping the bandage off will leave a scar but it's for the best. You'll only hurt him more if you stick around.

You're nearly off the bed when he finally speaks again.

"Stay." It's barely a whisper. The sound of him stretching across the bed is louder, and his fingers grasping at yours are loudest of all.

You know what will happen if you do. You can't even let yourself think of what's already happened, how you're no better than the boyfriend you allegedly love, or how everything has changed.

"I meant it," he says, his voice stronger now.

You look from his hand to his face.

"I wanted this. But… I need you." His voice shakes a little but he says the words and you know how much it means that he's doing this.

Lando doesn't discuss his feelings. Ever. You asked him once and he shrugged, eyes shuttering as he'd explained he'd been hurt too much before. Turning your hand, you let your fingers twine with his.

"I wanted this." He draws in a shaky breath. "I know I wasn't supposed to, but I…"

You wait, knowing he has to work through it. He hates for anyone to put words in his mouth. So you give him the time, unconsciously pulling your legs back onto the bed.

"I like this." He gestures to the twisted sheets. "More than I dreamed I would. But… I love us, y/n."

"I love us too," you whisper.

His sigh trembles the air around you. Looking at your joined hands, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. "Stay."

[spidybaby]

Dull Shine

Summary: The circumstances might have dulled the shine she had. Feeling empty even with his company.

Warnings: cursing.

"What do you think about this?"

You turn your head away from your phone, looking at him up and down. "I like it, but maybe the black and white Jordan's?"

He nods, walking back into the closet and changing his shoes. You look at him while he does that.

It's like a routine for him, going back from training, quick visit to his mom or dad, going home to shower, and getting ready to go out.

He's been trying to spend as much as he can with his friends, Hakimi, Dembele and the team. They like to hit the club in a vip area, the other invite girls who look like the typical hooker.

You didn't worry about it, Kylian is not a cheater. He barely even acknowledged the girls. He likes to go there to be with the team.

"What about now?" He poses, showing you the fit and pulling his leg up your nightstand. "Do I look good?"

"Like a million dollar baby," you smile. Watching him get all cocky at the praise. "I feel like I should be worried. You're going out looking like this." You joke.

You walk over to him, smacking his ass in a playful way. He turns to you, smiling, wrapping his hands around your body.

"You know you're my only one." He kiss your neck. "If you want, you can come with me." He smiles into your skin. "Think about it," He says, kissing your neck again and pulling away to walk into the bathroom.

You are thinking about it, but you can't help but think of how the other girls go to those places. Dressed in the most expensive things, the best type of jewels, Cartier, Van Cleef, their expensive Louboutin or YSL heels.

You don't have that. You worked a nine to five job that didn't allow you to get the designer things.

You moved to Paris to study, wanting to get a better future for yourself. You were still paying some debt from your college.

Kylian begged you to move in with him a year into your relationship. You accepted only with the condition of him letting you help with some bills.

He obviously didn't allowed that. Letting you believe that you were going to help but in reality he was taking care of the two of you.

You never accepted his money. You loved your little job. It was not much, but it was enough for you.

You look into your things, finding a pair of cargos, and a backless bodysuit. You liked the combo, and you know he would too.

You weren't so sure about the shoes, you usually wear the outfit with some Jordan's to match him.

"I like that look." He says as you enter the bathroom, you smile, grabbing your makeup and lightly applying some.

"You look like a billion dollar baby, now." He says, kissing your cheek. "And what better way to match your look than with this."

He hands you a black box with a golden bow. You already know that there's something extravagant inside the box.

"Amour, we talked about this." You say, applying gloss. "What did we say?"

He rolls his eyes. "No gifts without consulting first."

"And what did you do?" You smile a little.

"Getting you something that my heart told me you would love." He left the box in the bed, walking over to you. "It will go amazing with your outfit, mon amour, s'il te plaît."

You sigh, nodding your head. You walk over him, kissing his cheek and thanking him. "Let's see." You fake a smile.

What you can't help but feel bad is the way he smiles that he has. He loves giving you things.

You pull a black Saddle Bag from Dior. you love it, you were trying to save for this bag for some time, always having some sort of problem and needing to use the money.

"Come here." He pulls your arm, walking you to the tall mirror in the closet. He grabs the bag from your hands. Positioning it on your shoulder. "What do you think?"

You feel bad from how much you love the bag and the way it goes with your clothes. "Thank you." You smile, turning around to hug him and kiss him.

"Now what if you put your things inside and we go meet my friends?"

You nod, kissing him one last time. You grab your bag, moving your things. You look at yourself one last time before joining him in the living room.

You were his designated driver since he didn't have a license. He picked one of his less extravagant cars, not wanting to call the attention.

The first person you see is Achraf, he was talking with this pretty brunette. "Don't let him trick you, he's still married." Kylian jokes, knowing that will make Hakimi awkward.

"I'm not, don't believe him."

The girl only nods, laughing and kissing Kylian's cheek. "Bonjour to you too."

"Y/n, come here." Achraf stands up, hugging your figure. "This idiot finally convinced you to come, so amazing."

You smile, smelling the alcohol in his breath. "I finally left the crib." You laugh.

"Pamela, this is Y/n." He introduced the girl to you. "She's Kylian's girlfriend. She's so amazing, talk with her." He push your shoulder down, making you take a seat next to her.

You felt uncomfortable, the girl clearly didn't like that either. You turn to see kylian and Achraf talking with Marqhinhos and Vitinha.

One waiter gets close to them, Kylian turns to you. "Something you want to drink, bébé?" He kisses the top of your head.

"Whatever you're having." He nods, turning and leaving you again with the very judgy girl. "I like your nails." You say, trying to start some conversation.

She scuffed, turning to you. "Where's Emma?"

"Emma?" You ask confused. "As Kylian's ex-girlfriend Emma?"

She nods, looking you up and down. "Yeah, I miss her."

You didn't answer, getting up to go next to Kylian.

"Hey, you left my girl alone." Achraf says.

"Your girl's an asshole." You say to him, making Kylian laugh. "You really suck at picking, Haki."

The rest of the night was good. You didn't feel like leaving Kylian's side, and he didn't seem to mind.

Once you're home, you find yourself next to him in the bathroom, both preparing to sleep. "We should go out again. It was fun." You nod, finishing with washing your teeth.

You felt so out of place tonight. All these girls, all these drinks and other substances. You didn't feel like doing all that again.

You didn't belong to his world. You were used to parties back in college, but the type of being in your pj's and drink cheap alcohol from a cup.

You can't get used to the extremely overpriced drink he likes, the extremely overpriced restaurants, trips, clothes.

You turn to him. He was applying some cream, too concentrated to mind the way you're questioning yourself.

✨️✨️✨️

"You have to be joking," Celine says. "That can't be real."

"I can't make this up. That freaking girl asked me where his ex was." You laugh, passing her another dress.

"Look at the bright side. She's just a one night stand, and you're the girlfriend."

You two share a good laugh. Celine is your boss, you started working for her in your second year living in Paris.

You loved her, and she loved you. That's why even when Kylian offered to find you something closer to where he lived, you said no.

She trusted you even when you barely understood French. She helped you and taught you a lot.

She has her own brand. It was very successful. She dressed so many french models and football wags. Like Antonella and Bruna.

She's not the type of designer to order and sit around her company. She loves her stores and mostly hangs around with you on the one you work.

"Well, at least you had fun."

"I don't know." You say honestly. "I feel so weird when I'm at these places."

"I used to feel the same, but it's all in your head. You do belong there, with him." You nod, smiling at her. "Now go. I got a fitting, and I'll close the store." You nod, saying your goodbyes.

You walk for a while, trying to de-stress. You text Ethan, sending him a pic of the cinema poster that's outside a mall.

You missed hanging with him now that he's more involved with football and practicing. But you were proud because he and Kylian were playing together.

When you get to Kylians house, you see Brice there. He was doing something with your boyfriends head.

"Getting Cinderella ready for the dance?" You joke, taking a seat in the coach next to where he's seated.

They laugh, explaining that the little trim was because of the party the club does for their foundation. They have an auction in order to raise money to help the foundation.

"You have your dress ready? Maybe I can get a tie to match you." He asks, looking at you.

You freeze, you forgot to think about a dress, even tho he told you about this a while ago. You even wrote in your notes to look at some dresses.

"Wait, when did you say was the party?" You ask, trying not to show your worries.

"In two days, mon amour."

You nod, excusing yourself to go upstairs. You can't help but panic, you did forget about getting a dress.

You see into your dresses, nothing is up for the occasion, nothing says exclusive party with extremely rich people.

You chat with your friend, asking her if you can borrow a dress from her. Sadly for you, her dresses were all short ones. And the party attire is long formal.

You search online for dresses, but all of them were way too expensive for your budget. You didn't want to ask Kylian for money.

Also, you didn't want to admit that you forgot about the party and that you didn't have anything to wear.

"I feel so dumb." You say to Celine. "I forgot about the party, and now I'll have to admit that I don't have a dress."

"Why don't you take one of the dresses we have?" She asks, confused.

You look at her, ironing some dresses. "As much as I love your dresses. I can't afford them."

"Aren't you dating the footballer who earns the most in Europe?"

You hate that reaction, Kylian wins his own money, but that wasn't yours to waste or to use.

"You say it. He's the one earning that money." You go back to ironing. "I think I'll just skip this. It's no big deal." You shrug.

She nods, walking over to the back. You can hear her opening something and moving things around. When she's back, she's holding a gorgeous orange and yellow dress

"I made this for a French singer. She never got to wear it. I think I can let you borrow it." She smiles.

You looked at the dress, it was beautiful, a classic figure and the colors were subtle, nothing crazy just beautiful.

"Are you sure?"

"Just keep the tags. They are there for reference of the model and size." She hands it over to you. "I think it will fit."

You smile, hugging her tightly. "I can't thank you enough for all you do for me."

She shakes her head no. "You can thank me by taking a picture with him and having him tag me."

You nod, smiling like crazy because now you can wear something pretty to the party. "I'll make him post a solo picture of me just to thank you." You laugh, hugging her again.

When you got off work, you asked Kylian if his chauffeur could pick you up. You weren't going to take public transportation with a borrowed dress.

"Bonjour madame." Kylian smiles, pulling his window down. "You asked for a ride."

"Did I?" You acted confused. "Well, I asked my boyfriend to pick me up, but since he's not here, can you give me a ride?"

He opens the door to get off the car. Closing the door and opening it again. "Ladies first." He says, a very deep tone to look more serious. "Careful with the head."

He joins you in the back of the car. Kissing your cheek as he lays his head on your shoulder. "Thank you for picking me up." You grab his hand and kiss it.

k.mbappe

k.mbappe 👔👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏽📸

Liked by ethanmbappe, celinedesigns and 3,950,647 others

psg 💙❤️✨️

ethanmbappe love is in the air 😩🤪

celinedesigns the outfits 😍✨️

achrafhakimi where's the picture we took? 😔

"Oh great, Achraf brought his side chick." Carol says, rolling her eyes at the sight of Pamela.

"So I'm not the only one who doesn't like her." Alessia laughs.

"No, this one right here also dislikes her." Caron elbow you, you scuff.

You turn your head to where Hakimi and Pamela are, they are chatting with Marquinhos and Donnarumma.

"She asked me if I could bring her some wine the other day at the barbecue Marcos organized. When I told her it was a self serve kinda thing, she told me nannies aren't supposed to bother the guests and just follow orders."

You and Alessia just laugh, that girl definitely had the nerve to think she was better than others.

"Talking about drinks, I'm going to get one more, you guys coming?" They shake their heads, lifting their half full drinks. "I'll be back."

You walk over to the bar, ordering a cocktail. You feel someone tap your shoulder.

"I like your dress." Pamela says, ordering a drink. You nod smiling. "So Haki and Kyky are friends."

You squint your eyes at the nicknames. "Yes, I noticed that." You sarcastically say. "Also, I think the whole city of France knows that."

"What I'm saying is, I'm here to stay." She gets closer. "And I don't want us fighting, our men's are friend. We can be too."

You turn your head at where Kylian is, even tho he's leaving the team. You know Achraf is a very important person in his life.

"I like your dress too."

"Thank you, it's Versace." She smiles. "Where's yours from?"

"Celine."

"Oh, I didn't knew they did discounts."

You choke on your drink. The audacity of her to say that with the biggest smile like it's nothing.

"They don't."

"Well, Haki told me you work in retail, very Georgina of you." She scuffed. "And let's be honest, unless Kylian bought that for you or they gifted you the dress, I don't think your nine to five allows you to get expensive brands, with the way you dress regularly."

You stare at her, wanting to wipe that stupid grind off her face with a slap.

"Emma used to buy that brand all the time, I get you want to he like her, just don't make it that obvious." She laughs.

You smile. You weren't going to make a scene there like she hoped for. "Well, if you care to know that much, Celine herself gave me this dress to wear tonight. She's a good friend."

"Yeah, sure." She turns back to the bar.

You grab your drink, not wanting to spend more time with her. Just before you left, you got closer to her.

"Talking about copycats, maybe look in the mirror because Hiba's whole wardrobe was Versace. But not from the rack like yours, she knew Donatella."

You don't even walk back with the other wags, you walk into the bathroom trying to calm your anger.

Why did she think that because you have a regular job you were less. Yes, you couldn't afford a dress like the one you're wearing and maybe you couldn't do all the things Kylian does for you. But you were happy with your job, you liked being down to earth.

You wipe the tears that your anger made you let out. Not wanting for all the girls or even her to look at you like that, you walk out, trying to get some air.

After some time of not seeing you, Kylian asked Alessa where you were. She answered with a shoulder shrug.

You walked back into the venue at the right time. He walks faster to you. "Amour, where were you?" He kiss your cheek.

"I was taking air, needed it." You half smile. "Maybe I'll ask the chauffeur to take me to your house. I'm tired."

If there's something he used to do, it was reading you like an open book. You missed that. The way he would tell something was wrong before you even did.

"I'll just wait a little more because of the club bosses." He kiss you quickly. "I'll ask my bodyguard to accompany you to the car."

You nod, walking quickly to the table to say goodbye to your friends. Saying the same excuse. You're tired, but not physically, you are tired mentally.

From all the pressure you put yourself into. Even when you want to try, you can't do it. You don't feel like you belong to his world.

You change into your pajamas, as you wash your face and do your routine. You can't help but feel anger at the words of Pamela.

You looked at the dress before turning the closet light off. She was right. You couldn't afford it. You were playing Cinderella with it.

✨️✨️✨️

"Are you sure you don't want me to pay for the dry cleaning?" You ask again. "It's the least I can do, just let me-"

"Honey, since you wore that dress, my lines are going crazy for the same style in different colors." She smiles, taking the dress from your hands. "Actually, when did you say was the ballon d'or?" She laughs

"Not until a few months." You laugh with her.

"I think it's enough time to design something just for you. But that would be me as a brand, this was me as a friend."

You thank her again, turns out wearing her dress made not only the signer but other models want the dress.

You felt special when she told you that, asking you to help her with the online orders, even when she had a team she trusted you with her life.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Coffee is on me, by the way."

"Hey. Take tomorrow off, I think you deserve it after how hard you work."

You nod, saying your goodbyes and leaving the store. You got to your favorite coffee shop, getting yourself a treat.

Kylian asked you to pick up his mother's birthday gift, giving you his card and telling you to go crazy if you wanted.

"I called the bank and told them Ma femme is going crazy with the plastic." he says before leaving to practice. "If it's something like a bag, she wants it in blue."

You tried to find something blue because that's what she asked. You know she likes jewelry too. Maybe both can be nice.

You text Kylian a picture of the options you have. He was in a meeting with Luis Enrique, and they were creating a plan for the UCL game.

You walk out of the store with the bag for Fayza, moving to Cartier to get her some jewelry, maybe a necklace.

You get a pair of earrings and a necklace to match. You know she will like it, you and her have similar taste in clothes, bags and jewelry.

Kylian texted you to get him a bucket hat from Louis Vuitton. He wanted one for a long time, and now that you're out and about.

You picked two for him, a black one and a white one. You text asking if that will be all or if he would like something else.

You check the store, finding a cute Alma Nano bag that in your eyes was so cute, You think about what he says, you can spend as much as you want on his mom gift and if you want something you can pick anything.

You text Kylian a picture asking if he likes the bag. You were questioning if you should or not.

"Madame, I'll go get the hat you requested. I'll be right back." the sales girl says to you. "You can wait on the couch, or you can keep looking around."

You nod, looking around the store for something else. Eyes going back to the bag.

"Oh God, you're here." You hear someone saying. "If you're filling applications, I need a maid." Pamela laughs.

Her hands were full of designer brands. You smirk when you see the Versace one. "Trying to fill Hibas side of the closet, I see."

She rolls her eyes. The knife digging hard on her with all the ex-wife jokes. You enjoy the way her face turns kinda red.

She was about to say something. The sales girl interrupts her. "Madame, I have the items upfront per your request."

"Merci, I'll be right there." You pass Pamela, ignoring her for the sake of your evening. "Can I add this bag to my bill, please."

You pay for the things, getting out of the store without paying mind to Pamela. You didn't need her to ruin your mood.

The chauffeur was waiting for you, Kylian texted you to go pick him up after picking you up.

"Hello, sunshine." You smile as he opens the door of his car. "Long time no see, Mister Mbappe."

"Like what?" He asks, following your joke. "It's been like five years, isn't it?"

"So long, Paris." You dramatically say. "I got you your hat, two actually."

He kiss you hello, seeing the bags in the front seat. "Perfect, I can look fancy at the beach."

You two chat about his day during the way home. Kylian was excited about the ucl game and you loved that for him.

You two walk with the bags, well, he did. You carry his toiletry bag. "So you want to make something for dinner together?" You ask, leaving his things at the entrance of the house.

He nods, searching for a tutorial on something he's been wanting to do for a long time. You collect the ingredients, helping him with the preparation.

"Tomorrow we are invited to Hakimi's sister birthday party." He says, opening the oven and leaving the food there. "It's going to be at Hakimi's."

You think about the whole Pamela situation. You know you want to tell Kylian about it, but you're not sure if you want to ruin his mood today or ruin the whole invitation thing.

You think about it while you finish with the salad. You hate confrontation and you hate creating an opportunity for her to bother you some more.

"Ready, bébé." He says, placing the dinner on the table. "Let's eat and I'll tell you about my day" He says, kissing your neck.

He serves you two. You bring some water for him and a soda for you. Needing some sugar to sweeten your day.

Kylian talks about his day training and how he will shoot a new commercial for Oakley, the glasses brand that he models for.

"And I asked them for a pair of glasses for you. So you'll be the first one to try the new collection."

"Woow." You laugh. "Since we have connections, we are getting free sun glasses."

You finish dinner between jokes and talking about what to buy for Hakimi's sister.

You have to talk to him. You tell yourself that again, and again, and again. You don't want to look like the bitter friend of the ex who doesn't approve the new girl.

You move to your room, fixing the washed clothes into their designated spot in the closet. He was in the bathroom, applying his night skincare like you taught him.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something?' You ask loudly.

"Oui, bébé." He shouts back.

You keep putting the clothes in the racks. "I know this might sound weird, but I don't like Pamela." You began. "She's just so mean and such a freaking brat around me. Thinking she can diminish me because of my job and shit. I don't feel like putting the nice act with her anymore."

You let everything out, feeling more relieved now that it was out and you didn't have to tip toe around her in front of kylian.

You wait for his response. Silence is taking over the room. You can hear a sound of voices in the background.

You move to the bathroom, finding him with his phone in his hand, watching a video about a show or something like that.

"Did you even pay attention to what I said?" You ask mad.

He looks at you, pausing the video. "Pardon, oursamme sent me this video. It's so funny. Here, watch it."

You shake your head no. Walking back into the closet. You're mad at how you can hear him talk about everything, but he can't even hear you for two minutes.

You finish what you are doing. Walking into the room and finding him still watching his video. You roll your eyes and walk into the bathroom to take a nice shower.

You can't help going to bed mad at him. You felt trapped, he didn't pay attention to you, and you only want to be able to say things that you feel.

The next day, you didn't even say goodbye to him when he left, he was too busy with his phone to notice, only saying a quick goodbye and patting your head.

You spend the rest of the day in a mood. Not really caring about anything but being angry at how much he diminish your feelings and focus on something dumb.

The night approaches, you want to send him alone to the party, but Hakimi's sister was always friendly with you. And she came to your birthday last year with a nice gift.

You dress simple, a one-piece full bodysuit you like, since it was chilly you picked a jacket and your black and white dunks.

You fixed your hair and did your makeup. Something natural since you knew everybody there and everybody knew you with and without makeup at this point.

Kylian was sitting on the couch, waiting for you to be done. He was now aware of your mood. When he came home you just rolled your eyes and refused to heard about his day.

"Ready?" He asks.

You nod, grabbing the gift you got and grabbing the house keys. "Which car?" You ask, very dryly.

Kylian hates when he knows he fucked up but doesn't know at the same time. He can't piece what he did to make you mad.

"The chauffeur is waiting for us." He says, low tone. His hand find the small of your back. You move, not wanting to have his hands on you.

The whole trip was like that. He's thankful Achraf's house is relatively close to his own. Because he can't stand the silent treatment you're pulling on him.

"Hello" You smile, hugging Hakimi's sister as you enter the home. "Happy birthday, you look so beautiful."

You make some small talk, Kylian watching you. His sight is burning your skin. You can tell he's observing, he's like a hawk watching his prey.

"Happy birthday." He says, hugging his friend's sister.

You stayed with her, walking into the home and saying a quick hello to the other people. The list of invitations was mostly known faces.

"Thank God you're here. I can't stand being alone with that woman any more." She whispers, head pointing towards Pamela.

You roll your eyes. "I can't stand her either, she's a narcissist with pretty hair." You joke to get some frustration out.

The subject changes, you were talking about life, about updates on different topics you discussed in the past.

"Excuse me just a moment, I'll go check if the food is ready." Hakimi's sister says, walking to the kitchen.

You take the opportunity to go to the bathroom. Going quickly and checking your makeup. You apply a little more lip balm and go out.

"Well, well, well. Cinderella's here."

You sigh, not wanting to engage in the conversation you pass over Pamela, who quickly grabbed your arm.

"Didn't your parents teach you that it was rude not answering when you're being talked to or taught you basic manners?"

You lift an eyebrow, asking back. "Didn't your parents teach you how to respect others?"

She wanted to answer, trying to dig the knife she's been planting on your chest, but you're quick.

"And didn't you know that even with that prude face you're just a stuck up little bitch who thinks is better than anyone else but in reality, you're just an insecure piece of crap?" You whisper close to her, looking her up and down. "Look at you, hiding under all that. Your parents must hate you, having such a hypocrite for a daughter. Being such an ugly person on the inside must feel bad. So don't worry, I get what you're doing. It's not about my job or my clothes. It's that you feel inferior even with all that gold on you."

You walk back to the living room, leaving her there alone. You feel nice. Letting all that out was refreshing.

You went on with your night, some of the wives came to the party, leaving you with a nice circle and not only the birthday girl and you.

"Why is Hakimi looking at you like that?" Alessia asks, making you turn your back to where they are.

Hakimi was looking at you in a weird way. Talking to Kylian while doing it. He turned his head to find you.

"Don't know, maybe his gold digger told him something about me." You shrug, not minding it.

The night was good for you. You walk into the house happy and relaxed. Kylian was silent. You thought it was because of the silent treatment and decided to stop it.

"Hey, what if we see that movie you told me about?" You were finishing your night routine. He enters the bathroom, his eyes fixed on your reflection. "You okay?"

He sighs, not feeling like fighting. "I know what happened with Pamela." He confess.

You lock eyes with him in the mirror, his rough energy making it obvious that he was mad about the situation that happened at his friends house.

"You do?" You ask, making him nod. "Well, about time. She's crazy if she thinks she can get close to me again. What a loser."

He chuckled, shaking his head no. "Are you serious?"

You turn to him, confused about what he knows and how he knows it. "What?"

"You insulted Pamela." He says, his tone is so serious you feel like your parents are scolding you.

"What?" You repeat. "Are you serious right now?"

"Look, I know you didn't like her the night Achraf introduced you to her, but leaving her alone is one thing and belittled her about how Hakimi is just using her to forget his ex and how she's just replaceable is wrong."

You stayed quiet, not believing his words. How is it that you two are discussing the interaction her and you had in so different ways?

"I never say that"

"Well, she left saying you say that."

"Oh, so you believe her over me?" You ask offended.

"Non, but why would she lie? She even left telling Hakimi that she needs to think about their relationship because of what his best friend girlfriend thinks."

You laugh. "Is this a joke?" You ask, turning again and closing your creams. "Because if it is, it's a good one. Stop playing."

He's not laughing, he's quiet as a tomb. "I'm not laughing, am I?"

"Kylian, that never happened. How convenient it is that you get to believe her when a night ago I told you how she belittled me in every way she can."

"You never say that."

You turn back at him, mad at him. "I did."

"You didn't."

"I did, but you, asshole, were paying attention to that stupid video Ousmane sent you." You threw your hand towel at him. "I told you how I felt, but you chose to ignore me, and here we are."

"I don't recall that."

"How convenient." You exit the bathroom, grabbing your pillow and blanket. "You prefer to call me a liar and believe that I would do something like that than talking to me and getting my side."

"Where are you going?" He asks, joining you in the bedroom. "Don't be ridiculous, leave that there."

"No, Kylian, you can sleep alone tonight. I have a feeling that maybe you don't want to sleep with someone who belittles people the way I do and who treats people the way I do. Because it's how I am, of course, even after years of dating, you would think that and take someone else's side."

You walk out of the room, pillow in one hand, and blanket in the other. You enter the guest room that was near your room.

"And don't bother trying to get my story, I'm sure with her side, you have enough to make your own mind." You yell at the door frame. He's stood in front of your bedroom door. "Oh, and I know for a fact Pamela is not going to be the only one thinking about her relationship because I certainly am too."

You slam the door as hard as you can. Locking it . Not even ten seconds later he's shaking the doorknob, asking you to open the door.

"I'm not going to open the door. You chose her, Kylian." You yell again. "You chose to believe her over me." You say lower, crying about the whole situation. "I'm your girlfriend, and you chose her."

The overwhelming feeling of anger and guilt is making you cry, you don't even know why you feel guilty about what you say.

Kylian gave up after twenty minutes. You weren't going to open the door. The way your cries can be heard from outside the door is killing him.

He thinks about what you say, but he can't remember if you told him or not about how Pamela was treating you.

He remembers that you ask him to talk about something, but his stupid self didn't pay attention to the things you told him.

He couldn't sleep. He can't even rest because every time he closes his eyes, he can hear your cries. Even when you're sleep in the bed.

He needed to apologize. He texts Achraf, explaining that Pamela has been bothering you and you just responded back to her.

Hakimi knew you. He had never seen you disrespect anyone. You're friendly and kind to everyone, so maybe you're not lying here.

You woke up extra early, and he had a deep sleep, so when you got to the room and took your clothes and basic things to get ready, he didn't even feel it.

Your eyes were swollen from all the crying. You tried your best to cover your exhaustion with concealer.

The sad eyes you have are impossible to cover. That's why people say the eyes are the windows to the heart. Because you can lie all you want, but your eyes will tell the words your mouth can't.

"Bad night?" Celine asks, handing you a coffee. "It's a double, thought you might need it."

You gave her a half smile. Not wanting to say anything about the topic. She understood, not wanting to push your boundaries.

"Any plans for this weekend?" She asks. Trying to get you to talk and not look like a sad puppy.

"Kylian has an important reunion with his new coach. He invited only five of them with a plus one." You say, remembering the reunion he told you about during dinner on the weekend. "But I'm not sure if I want to attend."

"Why?"

"First, because I'm mad at him." You began telling, making Celine surprised about the first point in your list. "Second, some of these players I don't even know about. I've seen them, but never even talk with them." You exhale, already uncomfortable.

"And third?"

"I don't have anything for the occasion, I feel like my closet is a second-hand craziness that makes stupid bratty models think I'm not enough to be in their presence." You throw the pencil in your hand on the counter.

Celine listen closely to your words. "You are more than welcome to take any of the clothes from the store, you know that."

"And I'm grateful for that. Thank you so much for offering me to take something from here on a loan." You say with honesty. "I just feel like I'm playing dress up with your charity." You feel your eyes tear up. "Celine, I can't afford any of the clothes you design, and somehow, I'm posting on social media about me wearing them, like if I'm not five euros away from breaking the bank."

You can't help the sobs, walking to the bathroom to hide. You feel embarrassed, with your boss, with your life and with your social status.

You were done with people diminish you because you were a retail worker. People calling you a gold digger because you date Kylian.

You're done with pretending to be someone you are not just to be able to fit with the people he's around.

He can afford hundreds of thousands of dollars in clothes, in shoes, in hats or watches. You can afford some pieces from boutiques at the mall when you got a bonus or when you have a special occasion.

You live in a house he paid with a month of working. House you could never afford in this lifetimes or the next five.

You were basically living out of him, and still not even close to making ends meet because the neighborhood stores were five times more expensive that the ones downtown, because just in transportation to where his house is you spend half your income.

You were leaving a life that was not for you. Everybody around him knew that. It was just about time for him to figure that you were just a bump on his way.

You gather composure, thankful for your waterproof mascara. You walk back upfront, meeting a very concerned Celine.

"I'm fine, I don't want to talk about it." You say. Helping her with some things at the store.

You remained quiet for the rest of the day, feeling embarrassed. You missed your family, you missed your friends.

You feel alone. That was an issue.

You have Kylian's family. You have the wags who were your friends. You have Celine. But at the same time, you didn't.

You can't go over to his family to talk about things he does or to get advice because that's not correct in your eyes.

You can take advice when it's asked, but you are not going to rant about your issues with him like you would with your best friend.

You won't rant about the problems of being in the public eye and how people like Pamela treat you with disrespect. But they know about it. Some of them got the same comments, maybe not directly to their faces but on social media every day.

You need your family and friends.

Moving out to a different country with no one to relate to, with no one to talk to about the struggles of barely know the language.

"I'm going home. Do you need me to help you with something else before I leave?"

"No, it's okay." She smiles. Kissing you cheek goodbye. You nod, grabbing your things, giving her the report of the day like always. "Hey, Y/n."

You turn back to her. "Yes, ma'am?"

She hands you a bag. "Open it at home. It's something I forgot to give you." She smiles.

You nod, saying your goodbyes to her and telling her that you will text her when you are home.

You feel a headache, entering home and walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You find Kylian eating and sitting on the counter.

You don't like not talking to him. You want to hug him and cry in his arms. You want him to tell you that everything will be fine and that you are okay and safe.

He has earbuds on, not noticing your presence. You open the fridge and grab the water. Passing next to him and touching his arm.

He jumps a little, quickly taking his earbuds off to pay all the attention to you. "You're home."

You nod, drinking a whole glass of water. "Yes, you're early." You say, serving a glass for him. "What you got there?"

He thanked you, sipping some water. "It's a sandwich. Want a piece?" He placed the sandwich back in the plate and slid it to you.

You took a bite out of the sandwich. It tasted weird from all the ingredients he put inside of it. "It's an interesting flavor. But I think I'm not that hungry."

He finished the sandwich. You took a seat next to him on the counter, a glass of water in hand. "How was your day?" He asks.

"Good, same as always."

He nods, not sure how to approach the situation. He feels horrible about everything. "Can I be honest with you?" He asks.

"Always." You smile, reassuring him.

"I don't know what got into me, I should have listened to you instead of watching that stupid video. And I'm mostly sorry for making you cry and feel like you are something that you are not."

You want to speak, but you let him finish his rambling apology. Knowing he's being honest, this was his way of saying sorry, rambling about the thing he's sorry for, and then getting to a point.

"I know Pamela is someone I know before we even met, but that doesn't mean she's allowed to tell you things or make you feel a certain way. And I won't tolerate that happening to you. I know you and your character. I'm sorry about last night and any other night in the past, I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you don't matter, you do, to me you are the most important person."

You feel your eyes getting teary. You needed those words more than anything. You needed the reassure he's giving you. You needed him.

"Can I give you a hug?" He asks, getting down.

You open your arms, letting him get into your embrace. "Je t'aime." You kiss his neck.

The hug lasted for what felt like hours. That was what you both needed. Specially you.

"Want to go upstairs and take a well-deserved bath?" He asks, kissing your head. "I can even get some strawberries to eat with the chocolate you like." You nod, kissing his lips.

✨️✨️✨️

You didn't work on weekends, mostly because since you weren't just a regular worker at the store, you were upgraded to a little privilege of having you weekends off.

You spend the day organizing some papers you left unattended for a while now. You moved some books that you planned to donate to some students that needed them.

You still needed to find a dress for the activity that was taking place tonight. Ready to go back to Celine and see if she can help you pick something.

You promise her that you will always come to her for anything if you ever needed help. And as much as you feel like you're abusing your privilege, she will likely not let you pay for anything you pick even if you could.

You finish your organization and change into something more presentable to go out with. Asking Kylian's chauffeur to take you to the store.

"Bonjour, mon ange." Celine greets you when she seed you walk in. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, I'm sorry about that scene. I was just not in a right place that day." You hug her hello.

"It's okay. We all have those days." She laughs. "I know I'm a little lost when it comes to dates and days, but I know for a fact that today you are not working." She hums.

"I'm not, but I have an event, and I want to get something pretty. Maybe you can help me?"

You bat your eyelashes at her. Making her laugh and hug you by the shoulders. "I have the perfect dress for you."

She showed you some dresses, most of them way too formal for the event. But then you see this beautiful short long sleeve black sequin dress.

"It's perfect." You say. "Can I try it on?"

She nods, "Show me how it fits."

You try it. It fits like a glove, it's the perfect length, the perfect material, everything. "What do you think?"

"Fits like a glove." She smiles, making a sign for you to spin. "Parfait" she happily says.

You change quickly. Wanting to run home and get ready for the night. You pass the dress to her as you finish putting your shoes back on.

"So, here's that dress for you." She hands you the brand bag.

"Will you let me ever pay you?"

"I dont think so. But I think I have an idea. If you want, you can return it on monday or keep it." She smiles.

"I'll bring it back, I promise you that one day I'll be able to pay you back everything you do for me."

She hugged you goodbye. Wishing you a great night. You went back straight to the house. Excited about getting ready.

You took your time, getting your hair and a very natural makeup. Kylian got back home in the middle of your routine.

He got ready with you. He was wearing something between formal and not so formal. Nothing too serious, but nothing casual.

"Can you zip me up?" You ask.

He looks at you up and down. Your back greeting him. He runs a finger down your spine, making you arch from the sensation.

"Amour, no." You chuckle.

He kisses your shoulder, moves to your neck, and finishes with your other shoulder. "I love how you look." He whispers in your ear as he zips the dress.

You turn, kissing him and thanking him. "Ready, Mister?"

"Ready, amour." He smiles.

You two arrive at the house of Luis Enrique, his wife and daughter were there with him. He invited Zaire-Emery, Zague, Lee Kang, Vitinha and Kylian.

They came with their plus one, some of them brought their girlfriends and some of them brought their agents.

Kylian sat next to you, on the other side of him was Lee and on the other side of you was Zague.

Lee was with his agent. "You are Kylian's agent?" He asks. His English sounded so adorable since he's not used to it yet.

"I-" You were going to answer, but kylian interrupted.

"She's my girlfriend, Y/n this is Lee, Lee this is Y/n."

"Oh, nice to meet you, you are so pretty. Kylian always talks about you." He shakes your hand.

"Thank yo-"

"Hey Lee, did you saw that we are going to change the training schedule?"

You decided to remain quiet, Kylian was nervous, and that shows, he's very talkative with everything.

They keep talking about different topics. Luis Enrique and his wife were making sure everyone was comfortable.

"Can you pass the salt?" Zague asks. "I'm Zague, by the way, sorry." He laughs.

"Here that salt." You laugh too. "And I'm Y/n. Kylian's girlfriend." You shake his hands the same way with Lee.

"Nice to meet you. This guy always talks about you." He smile. "Are you from Paris? You don't sound french."

"No, I'm actually from -"

"Zague, Lee wants to tell Luis about that day you fell into the pool." Kylian laughs.

"Do it." He chuckle. "Sorry, I didn't get to hear your answer."

You were interrupted again by Kylian. Feeling a little off about it. Zague notices your face falling from the cut in your words.

Not that you were complaining, but kylian interrupted every single interaction you had with everyone. You feel dumb, people asked you things, and you were cut off almost every time.

The dinner was good. You got to sit in front of Luis's daughter, Sira. She was a cute girl and very talkative too.

"Horse riding? that's so cool." You smile at her.

"Yes, I love doing it."

"She's amazing. You should come to one of the competitions they do here in France. It's an experience." Luis says.

"She's afraid of horses." Kylian joined the conversation.

"I'm not." You laugh, thinking he's maybe joking. "I actually think horses are cute and powerful."

"Didn't you once fall off of one?" He asks.

Luis and Sira look at each other, confused about why kylian was bringing that up. "I've fallen a good amount of times. It's pretty normal."

"Yes, and believe me. At first, horses can be scary." Luis says. "Kylian, another glass of wine?"

"Yes, let me serve this one."

Kylian took the bottle, moving his arm a little faster and by mistake throwing your glass all over you.

You feel the cold drink hitting you, moving the chair back quickly, trying to save the parts where it didn't hit yet.

"Oh my God." Sira says, getting up and grabbing a napkin. "It's okay, I think my mom has a cleaning product."

"Let's not worry, your dress is black and I think it'll be safe." Kylian says, tapping his napkin on your legs where the wine hit.

You want to say something, but you are too mad at him to even say something. Being afraid that you will lash out in front of everybody.

"Wait, you have your tags on. Let me take those." Kylian tear off the tags. Making you let out an angry but small growl.

You close your eyes and inhale. "Luis, can I please use your bathroom?" You ask nicely, smiling to hide your emotions. "It's okay, it was an honest mistake. Please do take that glass of wine. I'm just going to dry myself, and we can keep talking."

Sira walked you to the bathroom. She even gave you some wipes and a towel to help with the situation.

"If you need anything else, I'll be over here at the rooms. Second door to the left." She smiles, leaving you alone at the bathroom.

You want to cry, you feel weird, you're dirty and sticky from all the wine you have on you. And kylian pulling the interrupting act was stressful.

You clean the wine off your legs and arms, and you fix your dress that was still wet, and you throw the used wipes and paper at the trash can.

Three knocks made you open the door. Kylian was standing there. "Hey, you okay?"

You roll your eyes, stepping outside. "Can we go home? I don't feel well, am sticky and uncomfortable." You whine.

"Yes, I'll go get your bag, wait for me outside." He says, hurrying to get your things.

He excuses you with everybody. Saying goodbye and thanking Luis for the dinner. They all understood and told him to tell you goodbye.

The drive home you were silent, trying to calm your anger at him. You don't want to yell. You don't want to fight. You just want a shower and a good night sleep.

You enter the house and take your shoes off. Leaving them by the door. You try to unzip your dress, but you can't reach the zipper.

You feel his cold hands, undoing your zipper. "I'm really sorry." He apologizes. Hands massaging your shoulders.

You put your hands in your chest to hold the dress. "Please don't touch me." You walk one step forward. "I'm taking a shower."

He sighs. "It's was an honest mistake, Y/n."

You stop your steps. Turning and walking down two steps. "Was you interrupting on everything I said also unintentional?" You ask, stern tone.

He shakes his head no. Moving upstairs to be at the same height as you. "I said I'm sorry, let's get ready for bed and call it a night."

"A tasteless sorry is supposed to make it up for me?" You walk the rest of the steps. He was already on the second floor. Walking towards the room. "I'm talking to you. Stop ignoring me."

He pulls the silent treatment card, going to the closet to change into his night clothes. You slam the bathroom door, angry at him.

You left the dress on the floor. Feeling nervous about ruining the dress Celine let you borrow.

You shower, taking that hideous feeling. Trying to calm down to be able to face what's outside the bathroom.

He's ignoring you. Under the covers with his phone. Back turned to you. You close the closet door. Not sure if you want him to address anything.

You try not to cry, you have been feeling ignored, you have been feeling bad bout different aspects of your life, and all because of him.

You let yourself get humiliated for the sake of not creating any drama that can get used against him.

You have been a good girlfriend. You're not a bad person. You won't categorize yourself as someone who deserves bad things because you never do bad things to others.

You grab your small suitcase. You pack some basics. You walk into the bathroom with a toiletry bag. Grabbing your most necessary products and things. You walk back into the closet. You finish packing.

You don't move the suitcase just yet. You get down to where your purse is. Walking back upstairs and locking yourself in.

You open the browser. Searching for a flight home, finding one in three hours. You book it.

Texting your friend and telling her that you will be home at the time the ticket says it's landing, she asks you if you are okay and you just say you'll talk once you are there.

You don't move for a few minutes, you tear about the fact that you will leave Kylian alone. That you will have to tell him that you will leave to be able to rest your mind.

You gather courage, order an Uber. Opening the door. He's now watching something on the tv. "Kylian, we need to talk."

"I don't want to fight. Let's talk tomorrow."

"I won't be here tomorrow." You say, your voice is shaking.

He turns, you're with tears rolling down your face, suitcase in hand. "Amour, what are you doing?" he throws the sheets quickly.

He walks over to you, trying to grab you. But you back off. Lifting your hand and making him stop.

"Kylian, I need time. I can't keep going with my days like this. It's not just about tonight. It's the whole Pamela situation. It's just too much." You cry.

"You don't need to leave. I'll go. But please stay here. Mon Amour, please."

"I have my ticket already booked. I'm going home. " You whisper. "I'm not breaking up with you. I just need time. I can't keep going like this."

"This is our home." he whines, not being able to get your reasoning.

"No, this is your house. Those are your friends, this is your country."

You walk past him. Feeling your heart break. You hurry to the strairs. The suitcase is not cooperating with you, wanting to go quickly.

He grabs the suitcase, making you turn to face him. "When are you coming back?" he asks, tears in his eyes. "Because you will be back, aren't you?"

You nod, sobbing. "I'll be back in two weeks"

He then gets your suitcase down the stairs. When you are at the bottom, you throw yourself on his arms.

"I'm sorry, Kylian." You cry. "But please understand that I need to do this. I need to get all this out of my head. I feel so unworthy. I feel so out of place that I don't fit in your world."

"Stop, you do. You are so worthy to me and to everyone around us who loves you and cares about you." he hugs you.

"I'll be back." You pull away. "My Uber is here." You say seeing the notification of the driver. "Je t’aime"

He kisses you. He dries your tears with his shirt. "Text me when you get there. You have the card I gave you? If you need anything please use it."

You nod, kissing his lips. You pull and walk outside. Once you are about to get into the car, you turn to see him standing there. You wave and close the car door.

[xiao-come-home]

PLEASE PLEASE PPLLLEEEAAAASE GIVE ME HEADCANONS OF BOOTHILL WITH AN INSECURE CHUBBY S/O. I KNOW THIS MAN WOULD SHOW EXTRA LOVE AND KILL ANYONE WHO MAKES FUN OF HIS BELOVED

Oh wow hehe twirls hair did you just call me out in this ask because its so me 🧐 some are a little sugg/estive but yea, you ask and I shall deliver 🙏

Boothill does not care that you're chubby at all - quite the opposite, he loves it! He genuinely thinks you look gorgeous, but most importantly, he's obsessed with hugging you and how soft you are! It gives him the fuzzy memories and reminds him how much he misses his old body.

Boothill does not tolerate yours or - aeons forbid - anyone else's bad comments about your body. Sure, he might laugh at some jokes you make, but once you take it too far, he gently reminds you that you're just as human as anybody else and should respect yourself! He won't judge you either, I mean - you're dating a cyborg, so if you love him for who he is in and out, he'll do the same.

Boothill might be a little too happy to touch your love handles at any occasion he gets. He's a little bit of a chubby chaser (like Itto, but it ain't about him) in the best way possible, he really likes to just... Grab stuff. Especially if it's about you.

Boothill might not be that good with words, but will always reassure you that he truly just loves you, regardless of how you think about yourself. Boothill will scoop you in his arms, kiss your cheek gently and wipe your tears if you truly feel down about your looks that day.

"Listen up, sweet pea," Boothill smiles at you softly, "all I can see is absolute perfection. Ya might not feel the same and it's fine - but I promise ya, pretty thing, I'll never get tired of seein' these beautiful curves."

He's definitely willing to prove his words with actions, though..

Try prying away Boothill from your thighs when he gets to them, I dare you. God, he loves, fuck, LOVES everything about your thick thighs. Having them as pillow, having his face squished between them... He jokes it's his only place to die the second time (💀). He just might go insane if you wear shorts that emphasize your revealed thighs.

He might just be laying between your thighs when he recharges. There's no reason to it, he's enveloped by two warm pillows and he's on cloud nine. Deal with it.

You may not notice, but Boothill sometimes just drools over you. If you're chubbier in the butt - he fights himself internally not to pull you from behind by your shorts against him and shamelessly grope you. Chubbier tits? He's almost barking when they spill from your bra. Chubbier stomach? God, the way some of your clothes stick to it, it makes his head dizzy. A little bit of everything? Good, he wants it all. Just sit on his face and stop talking.

Boothill might short-circuit when you sit on his lap for the first time because any aeons out there, this is heaven. Literally just marry him on the spot please. He isn't letting you go once you sit down. He's literally the "let's fucking go" meme afterwards.

You just have to slap away Boothill's hands in public from time to time because this man's hands slowly progress from just holding your waist, then firmly holding your hips, and traveling to finally hold your ass.

Though, when someone dares to speak something that makes you doubt yourself even more, let alone make you cry - things are going to get violent. Boothill won't let it slide, and on top of that, he's fucking pissed off. Boothill will hunt them in every lifetime.