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violetpixiedust · 27 days ago

Text

14-02-21

dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader

description: you were somewhat content living in kildare with your beautiful twin girls, collecting child support cheques, and staying out of the kook limelight. that was until your ex and baby daddy rafe cameron got clean. the now head of cameron development finally realized that he needed to step up, and be the father he always promised he would be for your children. not to mention the man you had practically begged for before that devastating night you left him. but will you give him the chance?

warnings: afab reader. no description of appearance. featuring ex!rafe cameron x ex!reader. dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader. girl dad!rafe cameron. toxic!rafe. businessman!rafe. pogue to kook!reader. sweet!reader. florist!reader. angst. not teen pregnancy, but not adult either. co-parenting. mentions of drugs. mentions of domestic violence. 18+. mdni.

a/n: a new series i’m working on! let me know if you’d like to read more?

1. 𓍼

it was awkward to say the least.

that brand new car smell of rafe’s porche made you queasy, holding your breath to the best of your ability despite your twin daughters babbling in the backseat. they were enraptured with the brand new jelly-cats rafe- or perhaps- rafe’s assistant had purchased for them.

it hadn’t always been this way. there had been a time when you believed you knew rafe, the real one behind the glitz and glamour of being outer banks royalty. behind each stinging line and dime bag of coke, cigar smoke, and tightly wound up bills that came with capitalizing on people’s addictions. rafe was top dog, barry his right hand man, running their drug operation past the cut and then some under the guise of cameron development- which had been newly inherited.

amidst the fancy cars, motorbikes, top shelf whisky, tannyhill, designer clothes and 18k gold jewelry, you were rafe’s most prized possession. a sweet little bar cart girl from the country club turned co-ruler of the rambunctious beach side town. you were a pogue turned kook long before rafe had noticed you, but you still managed to catch his eye whilst being decorated in vintage prada and blumarine, skipping in the ocean coast at the boneyard.

your romance grew hot, blooming faster than anybody could fathom. within a week you were the angel bar cart girl turned rafe’s lover. you wanted to believe he loved you, did believe him for longer than you should have. even when his saltwater eyes would be rimmed with scarlet, pupils dilated despite the fact that he promised he would stop dipping into his own supply. even when his once gentle hold would leave an ache beneath your tender skin, his gold signet ring often threatening to leave a brand. even when his booming voice would vibrate off the decorative wallpaper, blowing your hair back with the sheer force of his anger in your face.

and especially when you sat alone at the country club, rafe’s empty seat mocking you from where you picked at your cooling dinner, numb to the local’s pitiful and amused stares.

that had been rafe up until your period was two weeks late, two vibrant lines on four home pregnancy tests snapping him into gear. it wasn’t a discussion. you would be having the child- children- two twin girls, and he would be the father he never had. he would stop the coke, the dealing, the parties. be the man you always wanted. the man you knew when it was just the two of you between your silk sheets. in the early hours of the peaceful and serene morning, staring at his sober expression that was filled with love rather than turmoil.

that had been rafe for longer than you thought he could be.

“you sick or something?” despite your ex’s harsh tone, you knew he wasn’t angry. annoyed most likely- given that this was the first time you had agreed to an outing with him and both of your children since the separation. the children lived in a gorgeous house with you a few blocks from tannyhill since before they had turned one- their fourth birthday now a mere few months away much to your disbelief. rafe had ensured his children would still have a spectacular view of the ocean that he had grown up having. he was good at that. making sure the three of you were taken care of. throwing however much money you needed for necessities, toys for the girls, furniture and decor for the home, and then some for your own pleasure.

your oldest daughter by five minutes- valentine, spoke up. “is mommy sick?”

you quickly turned in your place from the passenger seat, ignoring rafe’s piercing cobalt eyes only to meet valentine’s that matched them almost identically. your mustered up smile quickly turned genuine at the sight of your sweet babies in their car seats, stuffed animals flopped in their laps. “‘m fine, val-“

your younger daughter- rosette- or rosy for short, appeared as a mirror of your younger self- with her doe eyes so similar to yours staring back at you. “pwomise?” her sweet voice was quiet, hiding behind her new scarlet bunny jellycat. your expression softened immensely, holding out your chipped manicured pinky. instantly, both of your daughter’s latched on with theirs, the trio of you giggling for no apparent reason, missing rafe’s uncomfortable expression from behind the wheel.

your twins were aware of their father, which was a miracle given that rafe had always struggled to keep his word about being the dad he never had. a continued presence in their lives despite your separation. as the breadwinner however, he couldn’t be there all the time- and living separately only made things harder. the heir of cameron development visited at least once a week for coffee at your home. the two of you would watch your daughters play with the new toys rafe purchased for them weekly, helping them when they occasionally got stuck. it would be tense between you two at the beginning of every visit. rafe keeping to a strict routine of asking if everything was working properly, that the girls were healthy, that you had enough. you would assure him every time that you did, but held your tongue when describing your week. he had been in the bahamas on business when you had given birth, but had never missed a birthday since. he had been out at the country club with topper when valentine had said her first word- cat, which caused him to spiral when he heard he had missed it. he’d been absent when they learned how to walk, when they were potty training, learned how to talk, learned how to read small words, write small words. still, he couldn’t abandon his legacy for his children that he had spent under a hundred hours with during the year. as long as they had enough.

rafe’s porche eventually pulled up outside of a bakery he had never been to- let alone heard of teetering on the edge of the cut. the blonde held his tongue when you initially offered the location of the establishment you had the liberty of choosing, mentioning that they had a kids menu the girls would enjoy. he wondered if you regularly brought his children to places near or on the poorer side of the island, knowing how firmly against he was on the subject.

it had always been a point of contention between you two that you could never fully assimilate to kook culture. despite your mother becoming a successful name in the real estate business through pure dedication and hard work in your freshman year, you never wanted to take full advantage of it. rafe couldn’t forget your old car, one that was still parked outside of your mother’s house the last time he checked. a violet 1965 chevrolet impala that had been passed down from your grandmother after she died. the doors were squeaky, handles slightly sticky, the silver bumper rusted some, and the paint was chipped, but you refused to get rid of it. it was only until rafe threatened to have the piece of junk towed if you ever thought about driving his children around in that metal death trap that you folded. instead, you picked a sensible audi as your new car when he took you to the dealership a few weeks before your separation. a model so unlike either of you much to his chagrin.

speaking of, your vintage handbag that was speckled with age and decorated with cutesy keychains no doubt picked out by your daughters, jingled in the summer breeze when you stepped out of his car. despite how much your stubbornness and individuality got on his nerves, rafe couldn’t deny that you still held his heart after all these years. you stuck by him till the end of the line. endured his mood swings, his violent tendencies, his addiction, all because you loved him. he couldn’t fault you for leaving when it got to its worst, especially since it was for the sake of your girls. your tearful voice still echoed in his ears as if it were yesterday. i can’t have them growing up in this house thinking that this is what love should feel like, rafe. i can’t. you can’t seriously want someone like you as their example for marriage.

that had kept rafe up at night for months after you moved out.

before he could pull rosy out of her car seat, the blonde heard your soft melodic voice singing from the other side of the vehicle. the short haired man straightened up slowly, as if disbelieving of the sound.

you were cast in a beacon of sunlight. the early summer morning glowing against your stunning complexion that your daughters’ shared. he hadn’t said anything about your darling mini dress when you had opened your front door only a half hour ago, just stared for a moment too long before stepping past you inside. rafe wasn’t sure how to verbalize that every time he saw you, you reminded him that nobody else could ever hold a candle to how gorgeous you were.

the eldest cameron inevitably grew up since you discovered you were pregnant. having shaved off his juvenile curtain bangs, swapping his colourful polos and graphic tees with button down dress shirts and neutral designer short sleeves. wearing the family ring on his finger with pride, along with a watch that cost more than the house you grew up in on his wrist. replacing his dirt bike with a number of luxury cars, each more expensive than the last. despite that, he couldn’t deny that it seemed like not a second had passed since the first time he saw you in that bar cart, all those reinventions of himself ago.

you were still the sweetest girl in the outer banks apparently. only with him, now, you were more reserved. speaking when spoken to and keeping details concise- just in case he had to fly out the door that next minute to tend to a number of other responsibilities a man like him had. wheezie kept him updated. you still smiled at everyone you came across, kook or pogue- your daughters’ following in suit, sharing your sweetness. the residents of outer banks only had nice things to say about his family. rafe regularly heard about you picking some flowers for the elderly woman who lived down the road from your home, as her son was one of his business partners’.

a few weeks ago, you had donated some of the twins’ old toys that they explicitly said they didn’t play with to unprivileged children on the cut. after he heard about that one- he immediately drove to your house to confront you- the gifts for his daughters’ meaning more to him than you had initially realized. even still, you were under the impression that his assistant had been picking them out. sensing he felt as if you were donating his affection.

you were perfect in every sense of the word, and rafe couldn’t help the feeling of your small hand squeezing around his heart- unable to look away from where you and your eldest daughter were singing a song he didn’t recognize. the grip her little hands had on your shoulders tightened after you lifted her up, swinging her around as best you could- much to her delight.

rafe jumped when he felt a tiny hand pull on his left fingers, absent from a wedding band. you two hadn’t gotten that far before everything went to shit. the sun kissed man looked down, your doe eyes staring back up at him from where your youngest daughter was still sat in her car seat. his adams apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, quickly unbuckling the little girl before plopping her on his hip. the scent of the baby shampoo you still used on rosy’s hair wafted up to rafe’s nose after the toddler quietly rested her head in the crook of his neck. a dull ache pulsed behind his cobalt eyes when he remembered his little girl as a baby. the chub in her cheeks had softened since then, and rafe knew her features would only keep growing in every day he wasn’t there.

the exterior of the bakery was painted a deep green shade, and valentine had excitedly commented on how it was the same colour as your neighbour’s new ‘boyfriend’ (engagement) ring. inferiority wormed it’s way into rafe’s chest, a feeling that seemed to make itself known when he was faced with the topic of marriage and companionship. you were raised by a single mother yourself. your father having skipped out on the two of you before you learned how to walk. rafe knew you appreciated everything he did for you, but he wasn’t blind when faced with that bittersweet look in your eyes every time your daughters would mention something rafe had no knowledge of. wether it be a show, something funny that had happened earlier that week, or something you had done.

the four of you walked through the open glass door, with rafe managing to hide his surprise at the charm of the small hole in the wall bakery. the bottom half of the walls were painted a warm butter yellow, the tops cream with matching engraved trimmings, paired with deep grey tiled floors, and a small strip of patterned green carpet that ran beneath the petite tables on the right hand side of the establishment. each small circular table was decorated with a clear vase of stemmed flowers, coinciding with the decorative floral piece that hung from the middle of the ceiling. a leather booth seat ran down the entire right hand wall of the seating area, turning the corner with a window that faced the lot. the left hand side showcased a matching window, displaying freshly baked bread, along with a glass case of sweet and savoury baked treats. behind the long counter and barista machines was a wooden board displaying the menu, which admittedly looked delicious to rafe.

before he could even speak, a short haired woman walked out from behind the serving counter. “hey, you!” rafe watched intently at the way your expression instantly brightened at the sight of the mystery woman. her quirky mushroom crocheted earrings bobbed when she gave you a hug as best she could with valentine between you. jesus, rafe rolled his eyes. it was as if he wasn’t even in the room when the employee started speaking. “i’m so glad you’re here! i was going to text you! architectural digest is doing a segment on flowers in public spaces, and they came in this morning to take photos of your display.”

rafe could’ve dropped rosy at that statement, his pink lips falling agape. architectural digest? your floral display? you made-?

“what?” your normally soothing voice was a mix between incredulous and excitement, teary with emotion. valentine’s cobalt gaze finally tore away from the treats, her eyebrows furrowing in concern at the crystals balancing along her mother’s waterline.

“you- you made that?” rafe asked dumbly, mildly embarrassed at the way his question came out. the employee seemed to register rafe then, her fading smile bleeding with recognition. the cameron man hardened his expression to mask his various feelings at that look, tightening his tense lips before sending a poisonous glare in the short haired woman’s direction. she answered before you did, her initially friendly tone now clipped.

“she did. she’s been making them for us since we opened last year.” guilt immediately flooded the man’s rigid body. last year? how had you- the mother of his children- been making floral displays for the last year, and architectural digest knew before he did? rafe turned to look at you, but you stayed silent, choosing to bounce valentine in your arms to avoid his intense glare. frustration began to seep into rafe’s veins, filtering out the guilt in the only way he knew how.

“she’s always been quite humble, hasn’t she?” it would have been a sweet sentiment, had rafe’s bass toned voice not been coated with distain. why hadn’t you told him this was something you were interested in? something you wanted to pursue? how did you even have the time to do this? who was watching his children when you were doing this?

the short haired woman turned to look at you, her hardened expression softening at the weak smile of embarrassment you sent her unbeknownst to rafe. “well, i bought a hundred copies. along with two extras for you and your mom.”

you gasped, unable to do anything but protest. “sandra, you didn’t-“

sandra, only laughed as if it had been the easiest decision in the world. “of course i did, and to say thank you for bringing ad to the bakery, lunch is on me today. anything you and the kids want.” valentine laughed when sandra tickled her tummy with her pointer finger, causing you to finally smile brightly once again. the two of you hugged tightly once more before sandra left your family to their own devices, another kind looking employee standing on deck behind the counter for when you four made your decision.

“we’re not done talkin’ about this.” rafe harshly broke the silence between your little family. you didn’t respond, only leading the way to a corner table that would allow you two the most room in the albeit empty bakery. there were only two other people enjoying what was assumed to be a coffee date on the other end of the establishment. rafe bitterly couldn’t help but wonder how sandra made any money if her bakery was this empty on a friday morning.

your twins were silent, meeting each others eyes with seemingly twin telepathy. you and rafe didn’t notice when you both sat down on either side of the corner booth, too engrossed in your own thoughts with valentine and rosy in your laps respectively. “mommy, can we have treats later?” valentine peaked up at you unsurely, foreign to the somber energy you were radiating.

tears threatened to drip down your throat. you were so unsure of how a man who had given you the two greatest and sweetest things in your life could be so mean when he wanted to be. “of course, baby. mommy wants some too. we just need to eat some real food first.”

“what d’you girls want?” rafe asked your daughters, addressing them for seemingly the first time today besides his initial hugs and hellos. you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, bouncing valentine on your lap much to her delight while you scanned the kids menu.

“they have pancake cereal.” you managed to put on a grin for your children, valentine and rosy gasping with excitement once they realized what you had said. rafe furrowed his eyebrows, reading over what that was.

mini pancake cereal

fluffy, house made, mini buttermilk and vanilla pancakes with fresh strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries.

comes with your choice of whip cream, maple syrup, or mixed berry compote

“can we please get it, mommy!” rosy exclaimed, one of her tiny fists balling rafe’s black polo in it’s grasp, her other arm clutching her new bunny stuffie to her chest. rafe’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, never having heard his youngest speak so loud unless she was playing tag with her sister. she was usually so shy in her father’s mind. you laughed sweetly, as if you were expecting it.

as if it were a regular occurrence.

“of course we can, lovie.” your ex felt his heart swell and break simultaneously while watching you with the twins. you were such an amazing mother. it was so clear you adored them, and in turn they adored you. rafe swallowed dryly when the kids began to babble nonsense about this supposed pancake cereal, letting himself look at you properly. his cobalt eyes raked across the serene slopes of your face, catching sight of the sparkly eyeshadow and rosy lipgloss that decorated your angelic features. it was like you to put in the extra effort on your appearance when going anywhere, something rafe admired heavily about you when you first started dating, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you had put in a little extra effort for him this time. it had been years since the pair of you went out like this, only now you had two children who emulated your beauty to a tee.

“what’re you getting?” you seemed shocked that he was speaking to you, figuring you would get the silent treatment. rafe sighed through his nose, knowing if he wanted this to be a regular occurrence, he couldn’t let his anger get the better of him. you didn’t deserve that- no matter how much he made you feel like you did. you watched carefully when his large hand began stroking rosy’s back- as if he had been doing it her whole life. rafe gritted his teeth momentarily, looking away before catching sight of the floral display that hung from the ceiling.

it’s textures were dazzling. a tilted silhouette made up of beiges, hints of yellows, pinks, and whites. vines, cotton ball flowers, feathered plants, and dried flowers were among the many plants it contained. it was masterfully chaotic, and acted as a skillful conduit for the outside to match the in. “it’s beautiful- your- uh, your installation, i mean.” rafe caught himself. “i wish that i-“ he bit his lip, chuckling humourlessly at the fact that he could speak to a whole conference room composed of the most powerful businessmen in the country, but couldn’t tell you the truth. “i-i wish that i knew that part of you.”

he avoided your eyes, unknowing to the way they softened at his quiet admission. you knew that took a lot for him to admit, to be vulnerable after everything that’s happened. it wasn’t even a fraction of enough to get you back to the highest of highs in your relationship, but it was the strongest start in a long time. “thank you, rafe.” rafe looked at you then, ignoring the goosebumps that travelled up his arms at the way you said his name. you were blissfully unaware that he just narrowly avoided asking all the questions that balanced on the tip of his tongue. “do you know what you’re getting?”

“i’ll do the same.” rafe decided quickly, your eyebrows furrowing when you realized you hadn’t told him what you wanted yet. his eyes widened a moment later in realization, clearing his throat to the side before mumbling quietly. “you- uh, you always used to get the vegetarian hash at the country club for brunch. jus’ thought you would do the same here.”

a sharp gasp left your glossy lips. you couldn’t believe he remembered that. thankfully, valentine spoke up before you could internalize what that meant. “mommy, could i get orange juice? rosy wants apple.”

rafe held rosy in his strong arms, cradling the little girl to his chest much to your rapidly melting facade. it was completely different watching him interact with them in public. only having seen him somewhat cautiously playing with your daughters’ on your living room rug under your watchful eyes, or scooping them up for a quick hug when he came through the front door at the beginning and end of his visits. “‘course, baby.” rafe answered for you. valentine spared her father a look before turning back towards you for the final verdict. your doe eyes flitted towards your ex, immediately noticing how enamoured he was with rosy on his lap, gazing at her relaxed form with pure adoration. your heart raced at the little grin that spread across his pink lips, rosy staring back at her father with the same agape lips that rafe was often known for supporting.

you spoke up after ensuring both juices were on the menu. “of course, val’s, but you don’t have to ask only me. you can ask daddy too.” rafe inhaled a sharp breath, in utter disbelief that you had just acknowledged him like that. a genuine smile directed towards him spread across your lips for the first time that morning. “coffee. black. no sugar?”

there was something in rafe’s cerulean eyes that gleamed, glittering with cautious hope before he whispered. “yeah. only if you get an oat chai.”

once the food had been brought out, and your girls’ fruit juices had been poured into their travel sippy cups, the four of you began to eat. sandra had gotten the chef to make the pancakes extra mini, allowing the girls’ to use their hands and chew their breakfast safely. still, rafe and yourself stood by in case they needed help.

“s’it good, baby?” rafe whispered to rosy, smiling softly at her nod before pressing a gentle kiss to the chub of her soft cheek. unable to help himself, his calloused fingers pinched valentine’s identical chubby cheek, chuckling at her little grin.

it was clear to both of you that valentine was a leader, taking after rafe in that way. she always looked out for rosy. asking her questions that she could answer yes or no to, letting her parents know what her shy little sister wanted in case she didn’t want to speak. she was fiercely protective and intuitive, which is why you found that she often assessed your reactions with rafe. she loved her father, but you could tell she was having a harder time completely warming up to the man in front of her. meanwhile, rosy was more than happy to fulfill her role as a daddy’s girl. though it made you nervous for when rafe inevitably had to leave. you tried not to think about it, quickly putting on a smile. “what do you say to daddy, lovies?”

“tank you.”

“tank you, dada.”

rafe felt his breath catch in his throat for the twentieth time that morning. it meant more to him than he realized having them acknowledge something so little like breakfast. it was different than toys, a gift. this was time spent with their father, and they were thanking him. the blonde blinked, a wide smile eventually spreading across his pink lips. “you’re welcome. thanks for comin’ out with me today.” despite him looking at your daughters’, you knew the last part was directed towards you. quietly, you reached your left hand out, rafe finally noticing the promise ring he had given you at the height of his addiction adorning your ring finger. it was a smaller gemstone than he would’ve liked, but he knew you wouldn’t have appreciated something so flashy. he hadn’t seen it since your separation. your birthstone stared back at rafe, and immediately his right hand caught yours before you could change your mind.

the pair of you tensed up at the feeling of your hands meeting, before eventually relaxing once the initial sparks subsided. rafe gently ran his thumb over the back of your hand, travelling down to the ring he had given you in the bed of his old truck, parked at the beach all those years ago. it had been a final resort to keep you from leaving him, knowing he couldn’t do the right thing and let you go despite his addiction taking control of his life. rafe could feel the guilt beginning to swirl in his stomach, parting his lips before valentine giggled mischievously.

“mommy and daddy sittin’ in a tree-“ rafe froze, multiple scoldings halted at the hint of shyness that cloaked your giddy expression. you could believe how cheeky your daughters were being in public, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the fire engine red shade that burned atop your ex’s now bare ears.

rosy joined with a delighted laugh. “k-i-s-s-r-o-t.“ you both laughed at the misspelling, letting go of each others hands almost reluctantly. rafe chuckled again before kissing rosy’s head who giggled. your manicured fingers tickled valentine’s tummy playfully, the little girl squirming in delight at the feeling. the sight of your little family together like this had you wishing that it could feel like this all the time. like rafe had been there everyday since the twins came into this world. that he didn’t have to pull several strings to get a day off for the first time in months. you blinked back your approaching tears, hiding your bittersweet smile from behind your lukewarm oat chai.

after cleaning the girls’ up, and rafe admittedly buying too many treats for just the four of you to go- which you promised the girls as dessert that night despite their pleading- you were driving back to your house. it was a gorgeous day out. the sun not even at it’s peak yet despite the heat already making itself more than known to the residents of outer banks. your manicured nails flicked together in contemplation, the feelings of finality weighing heavily in the luxury car. you knew rafe wouldn’t push for more time today. it was a mutual understanding that he was on thin ice, and this visit would be on your terms, but would it be so wrong that you wanted him to stay?

“lovies, do you wanna have a pool day today?” the girls’ cheered before you could take it back. despite the underground pool that took over most of your backyard, you were terrified at the thought of the girls starting to learn how to swim. they were still so little in your mind. so you conceded, buying them a larger than normal pink kiddy pool in the shape of a heart for pool days. you figured this was something you should speak to rafe about, along with a number of things the quicker your girls’ seemed to grow up. while the toddlers talked amongst themselves, you hesitantly rested your hand on rafe’s shoulder at a red light, feeling the muscle tense before relaxing beneath your palm. “you can join too.” the blonde man turned to look at you then, flickering his eyes over your soft expression before nodding in agreement.

rafe stored the treats in your refrigerator while you got the girls’ dressed in their swimsuits. he had a pair of black swim shorts in the trunk of his car, leftover from when topper or kelce had decided they wanted to spontaneously go to the beach a few weeks ago. you had asked him to fill the pool up after he got dressed, which confused him at first, but now he could see the heart shaped kiddy pool about fifteen paces away from the actual pool. the man couldn’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes half heartedly before he got to work.

once the pool was about halfway filled with lukewarm water- he’d be damned if his babies were cold- he heard the patio door slide open. rafe looked up, spotting the twins dressed in their matching frilly bathing suits with protective hairstyles. valentine’s was a pale teal colour, and rosy’s a vibrant magenta. rafe was ashamed to say he still got the twins mixed up until a few months ago, remedied after he had gifted them little gold necklaces with a ‘v’ and ‘r’ respectively. you had smiled softly at his admission, letting him know that the only way you were able to tell them apart at first was because wheezie had painted one of each of their toenails a different colour. rafe ignored the pang in his chest when you told him that. wishing he could’ve seen it. wishing that he could’ve looked up from his own reflection long enough to help you out more.

their little feet padded up to rafe, standing on either side of his knelt down form as he continued to hold the hose into the pool. rosy’s short fingers reached out to touch the stream of water, flinching away while hissing out a giggle at the funny feeling. rafe grinned, chuckling when valentine cutely dipped her spread out toes into the shallow water, her little hands keeping herself steady on rafe’s shoulder. suddenly, he heard the clacking of heeled sandals, whipping his head up towards the sound before his jaw dropped.

it wasn’t as if rafe hadn’t looked at you romantically since your separation. it was no question that you were the most sought after girl in the outer banks- before and after- the eldest cameron had finally managed to lock you down. he hadn’t slept with you- or anyone else believe it or not- since the breakup. the father of your children had only caught pg 13 moments of you when he was lucky. like a stray bra strap showing when the shoulder of your loose sweaters would fall, or the lace of your panties that had peaked out from beneath your mini skirts on more than one occasion. it had him fucking his fist as soon as he crossed the threshold of his home in a way he hadn’t since he first started puberty, but fuck. rafe really didn’t think you could get any more gorgeous, especially after having his twins. he was wrong. so, so wrong.

a stringy bikini left little to the imagination, revealing your rich complexion that glittered with some sort of oil. the bottom strings were tied high on your hips in bows, while the top was tied behind your neck and between your shoulder blades. you didn’t look exactly the same as you did before of course, but god you looked so much better to rafe. your tits were heavier for lack of a better term, and your bottom had filled out, more perky, rounder. the blonde wasn’t aware of what he was doing until valentine squealed, the hose water spraying her chubby legs rather than filling the pool. he swore softly under his breath, cursing to himself silently afterwards when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to do that in front of the girls. rafe gently pulled valentine further into the sun, giving her nose little butterfly kisses in apology before allowing her to hold the hose for him. rosy glued herself to rafe’s other side, her chubby arms wrapping behind his neck with her warm cheek pressing against his. the elder man smiled widely, wrapping his other arm around his youngest daughter before placing a kiss along her cheek.

unbeknownst to rafe, you weren’t fairing any better either. he had somehow filled out even more since the two of you had broken up. his skin was just as golden as it always had been, prompting his shaved blonde hair, strong bone structure dotted with golden stubble, and blue eyes to stand out that much more. his biceps bulged while he hugged your daughters, their little hands pressed against the defined muscles of his shoulders and back. you bit your bottom lip, sitting down on a stray poolside chair before calling out. “sweethearts. sunscreen time.”

“but mommy-“ valentine whined softly, her feet already dipped in the now filled up pool from where she stood inside of it. rafe stroked the little girl’s back, chiding her softly.

“c’mon now, listen to mommy.” your heart swelled. “we’ll make it quick.” your eldest grumbled half heartedly, her little humph morphing into an excited squeal when rafe playfully lifted her up with an exaggerated groan. both little girls on his hips cheered with delight, held six feet up in the air as if they weighed nothing.

oh god, you were done for.

“can you do mine, dada?” rosy asked sweetly, gently playing with his rope chain necklace from where she laid in the crook of his neck. rafe couldn’t stop his heart from melting, unable to deny his girls anything- unless you said so, of course. maybe.

“‘course i can, baby.” valentine reached out for you, rafe handing her off before sitting on the grassy ground in front of you. the other pool chair too far from you and val for his comfort. you bit your glossy bottom lip, giggling at the way your eldest squirmed at the cool feeling of the sunscreen. practically lifting all of her limbs at you like a spider monkey to somehow make the process go faster.

a few minutes later, rafe had gotten your youngest daughter pretty much covered besides her face, which he took his sweet time with. you furrowed your eyebrows at the way he applied the sun cream with his fingertips, rosy turned away from you. it wasn’t until he turned your youngest daughter around to reveal a little white nose and slightly messy kitten whiskers made from sunscreen, that you laughed louder than expected. valentine gasped, giggling along with you much to rosy’s confusion. quickly, you pulled out your phone, snapping a few too many pictures of your oblivious daughter and an amused rafe behind her. “i want one too!” valentine hopped off your lap, running to her father before presenting her already sun screened face.

you showed the pictures to a curious rosy while rafe got to work, giggling at her little gasp and toothy grin at the artwork on her face. after snapping “a few” more pictures of your little kittens, they ran off into the pool, toys of their choosing scattered throughout the water. you smiled at the way rafe didn’t take his eyes off of them, turning your chair horizontally much to his confusion. “c’mon, we can share it.” the blonde got up after a beat, sitting down while you stood above him. “d’you want a beer?”

a careful eyebrow raised itself on his handsome face. “you tryna’ get me drunk?” rafe naturally smirked when you rolled your eyes sexily, dragging his cerulean gaze up and down your perfect form while you walked back inside the house to get said beer.

soon, you returned with two small coolers filled with ice. the one you placed next to rafe had a few imported beers from mexico, and some drinks for yourself. the ones for your daughters next to their kitty pool held sippy cups of watered down juice, and little bottles of water.

handing an open beer to rafe, you sat next to him beneath the large umbrella above the pool chair. he thanked you, clinking your drinks for good luck before taking a sip. the pair of you sat quietly for a few moments, basking in the heat while watching your daughters play in their pool a few feet away. rafe scrunched his nose suddenly, stroking the back of his neck before leaning forwards- elbows to knees. “so uh.. tell me about your flower installations.”

you smiled softly, shrugging. “i don’t really know what to say. i..” rafe turned to look at you, admiring the way your expression softened when thinking about something that clearly brought you joy. you looked hopeful. such a contrast from the stoicism and defeat you exhibited when you were with him. “you remember topper’s ex girlfriend? ruthie?”

your ex scoffed out a laugh at that, sipping his beer before nodding. “yeah. i remember her.” amused giggles left your lips, reminiscing about how tumultuous their relationship had been when you were only teenagers.

“well, she invited me to her wedding two years ago-“

“no.” rafe laughed incredulously. “you went to that?” you hid your face in your left hand to mask your laughter, birthstone catching his eyes again. before he could overthink it, he nudged your thigh with his playfully. “kay. so after you watched her uncle kiss her cousin, what happened-?”

“oh god. i wasn’t there long enough for that. the girls were at my mom’s and rosy caught a cold somehow-“

“what?” rafe’s relaxed demeanour went rigid. you turned your focus to him, a sad smile painting your lips when you took in his reaction. “why didn’t you call me-?”

“i tried. your phone kept going to voicemail, so i called your assistant and they said you were on business, and that they would let you know i called.” rafe’s mouth fell agape, sighing irritatedly before pinching the bridge of his nose to will away his oncoming tension headache. he hadn’t been away for business. he had taken topper to his bahamas vacation house to drink away his sorrows like a sorority girl. he couldn’t believe- “but she was fine the next morning. the paediatrician told us it was only a twenty-four hour cold. so when you called back, i didn’t want to worry you-“

rafe grabbed your hand before he could stop himself, immediately softening his hold when you flinched out of habit. the elder man swallowed then, eyes filled with anguish before gradually tilting his head forwards to show you he meant no harm. “you don’t ever worry about worrying me, or bothering me. not when- not when it comes to the girls.. and- and especially not when it comes to you, a-a’ight-?“ he cut himself off while he was ahead, unsure of how to continue without ruining more than he already had. you set down your drink, pulling your smaller hand out of his grip softly much to his disappointment. shockingly though, your palms enveloped the sides of his face. rafe spared a look at you, afraid to even breathe at the risk of breaking the moment. as if it were the easiest decision of your life, you stroked the soft pad of your thumb over the approaching wrinkles along his forehead, softening the tension in his face as best you could. gently, you placed a feather soft kiss to the same area, eyes watering at the sound of the shaky breath that left the man who still held your heart after everything.

“i promise.”

the sound of ice pouring into water caught both of your attentions, snapping your heads towards the kitty pool that was now bobbing with ice cubes. valentine gently dropped the empty cooler on the grass, bottles fallen beside it. she placed her sunglasses over her eyes with a sigh before laying in the pool next to her sister- who looked equally as relaxed. your jaw dropped at the way their little arms rested behind their heads, unable to hold back your laughter after rafe commented incredulously. “there’s no way that just happened.”

you attempted to cover your mouth, but just couldn’t stop laughing. “in case you were unsure that val was yours-“

“that has you written all over it! are you kidding?” you knew rafe wasn’t mad despite his indignant tone, his smile threatening to take over his entire face. you giggled, even while standing up to reach for a beach umbrella behind you. “what’re you doing?”

“i’m just gonna go set this up by their little pool. they must be so hot-“ before you could even blink, rafe took the umbrella from your hands. you couldn’t help but stand there dumbly, your ex flicking his head back in the direction of the pool chair.

“relax. i got it, mama.” a red hot desire burst through your veins at how easily those words left his mouth, forgetting how slick it could be. as if that weren’t enough, rafe tucked his head down to place a chapped kiss along your cheekbone, already on his way to your daughters before you could register what had happened.

you could still feel rafe’s kiss on your cheek and his warm face beneath your palms even after he returned to your side. he sat closer to you this time, and you couldn’t believe how giddy you felt. especially after everything that had happened between you two since your first meeting at the country club as teenagers. you birthed his children for gods sake, but it felt as if you had just held hands on the playground for all your classmates to see. “i think they should start learning how to swim. what uh, what d’you think?”

you blinked, watching your girls who were as cool as cucumbers relaxing in their kiddy pool. “i’m afraid i’ve turned them into pool loungers and they wouldn’t like it.” rafe laughed at that, sipping his beer with a warm smile. the kids had lifted up their sunglasses momentarily at his arrival, pretending to be nonchalant but giggling madly when he attacked them with kisses after setting up their umbrella. “but we can try. maybe we could teach them next weekend in the big pool. the shallow end is only three feet.”

“yeah, yeah i can do that.” rafe nodded to himself. “i have a few meetings on friday, but i’ll clear my schedule for the weekend. that work for you?”

“you’d be able to get the whole weekend off?” you didn’t mean to sound disbelieving, but you also needed to make sure that rafe wasn’t making promises to your girls’ that he couldn’t keep. you had been down that road before, and they didn’t deserve that.

the eldest cameron sighed through his nose, quite literally shrugging off your concerns. “it’s my company. i should get the weekend off. simple as that.” you immediately raised a manicured brow at that. where was simple as that when you were deciding baby names? nursery colours? having cravings, morning sickness, giving birth, changing diapers, staying up for hours into the early morning when the twins wouldn’t stop crying? where was simple as that when he missed watching their first steps, hearing their first words, potty training? times two? but yes, the mountain of toys falling off their playroom shelves was enough consolation. two hours a week at most with their father was apparently enough. all the money in the world and he couldn’t tell them apart unless he was able to see the initials strung around their necks. “what?” rafe seemed genuinely confused at the way you shut down, and that was the worst of all. he genuinely couldn’t fathom how much of your life you had given to your children.

you were still so young when you had gotten pregnant. it happened during your year off after high school graduation, you hadn’t even been with rafe for a year, hadn’t even been legal enough to drink. still, ward- albeit geriatric- insisted, stating an abortion would be preposterous, and rafe listened to him. it was no question that you loved your children more than anything else in the world. you would never regret having them for a second. except you couldn’t believe that rafe had promised you he would be there for you, that he loved you, but still left you alone during the most difficult time of your life. all for ward. rafe was able to grow up. rafe was able to reinvent himself. rafe was able to leave when things got hard, and rafe was able to come back anytime he wanted because you let him.

“mommy? i need a towel. gotta go potty.” rosy tugged at your hand, lifting you out of your stupor. you snapped into action, picking up the fluffy pink towel behind you and drying your daughter off as quickly as you could.

“do you need me to come with you?”

rosy shook her head, already running into the house as fast as her legs could carry her. “no. i gotta pee!”

rafe chuckled from behind his beer, but you didn’t see anything funny about the possibility of your daughter having an accident. “where’re you going? she said she’s fine-“

“she could’ve had an accident, and i’m not making her walk out here to tell me. i need you to watch val.” you both turned to catch the girl quickly looking away from your conversation, resuming playing with her toys. “i think you can manage that much.”

“hey-“ rafe’s larger hand just managed to grab your wrist, but you pulled it away twice as rough, moving back a few steps. the man opposite to you immediately stood up, his once intimidating height appearing smaller and smaller the more you let yourself think about the past few years. confusion bled into his hurt expression, his hushed irritation only adding to your turmoil. “c’mon. what’s going on-?”

“you-“ you lowered your voice suddenly to keep val from hearing you. cursing yourself for how it wobbled with tears, teetering on the edge of a sob. rafe could only watch helplessly. that’s all he’s ever been able to do. “you choose when you come and go. you get to break promis-es.” a wet hiccup left your lips, quickly cut off by your shaking left hand. your ‘promise ring’ felt more like a shackle with everyday you spent apart from the man in front of you. rafe’s mouth fell agape, taken aback at how quickly everything had shifted. a watery smile drew itself over your trembling lips, doe eyes staring up at the man in front of you with an eerie sense of glee that withered away the longer they did. “but time is a thief, and he’s robbing you blind, rafe.” rafe swallowed dryly, twisting his face and shifting on his feet before his fail safe expression made an appearance. every feature of his, especially the ones your daughters’ shared, became devoid of any kind of emotion. you sniffled pitifully, wanting to curse yourself for being so stupid. for believing that he loved you despite his first reaction being aloof condescension at the discovery of your achievements. for believing that he abandoned you and the children he forced you to bring into this world because he had no other choice. for believing him about anything. “no amount of money in this world will ever be able to change that.”

with that, you dashed into the house after rosy, missing the way rafe’s stoic expression crumbled behind you.

#i’m really proud of this one tee hee #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #dad!rafe au #girl dad!rafe #dad!rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #obx fanfiction #14-02-21 #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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paddockbunny · 2 months ago

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In The Drivers Seat

Summary : Toto drives his daughter’s friend home…it’s so innocent. Rating : 18+ Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader Word Count : 1,400+ words PART 1 of a 2 PART Trigger Warnings : NSFW, sexual discussion, age gap but not implicitly stated, mild swearing and mature themes. Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note : Play Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae and you will get the vibe here 😂!! Also, let’s see if you can find the almost direct Fleabag dialogue lift 🫣 Andrew Scott as hot priest lives in my brain RENT FREE!!!

When we drive in your car, I'm your baby

Losing all my innocence in the backseat

Say you love, say you love, say you love me

Losing all my innocence in the backsеat

“I’ll drive you home.”

Four words. He only spoke four words and you could feel the effect they had on you instantaneously. The tight knotting deep down in your stomach. The heat that pricked up on the back of your neck. The dangerous pulsating throb that sparked between your thighs at the sheer thought of being alone with him in such a tight, confined space as his vintage Mercedes. Although younger in years, you weren’t so naïve not to be able to read what was going on. Youth may have been your blessing and curse - you were perhaps too young for him after all - but there was fire there between you that was undeniable. You felt it from the moment your friend - his daughter - first invited you home to her family home that summer two years ago. The lingering stares and intent questioning was unlike how most fathers of friends acted toward you. If it had been anyone else you would have perhaps called them a creep, been weirded out, it may have made your skin crawl. But not with Toto. None of them were anything remotely like Toto Wolff. None of them were as powerful, rich, alluring and down right fuckable as Toto fucking Wolff.

“Thank you, Mr Wolff.” You paused but not without a smile in his direction. Momentarily you visualised the line you knew was about to be crossed the second you walked from the impressive cliff top house overlooking the sea and got into his car, just the pair of you, alone. You considered the fact that if anything happened (confident that it indeed would) would lead to the dissolution of friendship between you and Rosa - if she found out. For the briefest of seconds you contemplated turning his offer down and insist on calling an Uber instead but as you saw the metal of his keys glisten in his hand you found yourself picking up your bag and telling your friend a swift goodbye. Decision decided.

Ever the considerate gentleman, Toto opened the car door and held it for you as you slipped into the seat. His height and your new low down position didn’t escape you. It was perhaps a highly convenient way for him to be able to look down your low cut top and observe your bra - if you had been wearing one. When you glanced up, eyes all big, round and doe-eyed (somewhat hoping to convey the dirty thoughts that were indeed circling around your own head in that moment) it also gave him the opportunity to imagine you on your knees for him. The thought sent another unmistakable flutter in between your legs which you had to push aside as Toto closed the door, crossed in front of the car and slipped into the drivers seat beside you.

The roads leading from his remarkable scenic abode down to the streets of Monaco wouldn’t take long, depending on the state of traffic at such a late hour. As he made small talk you wondered if you were going to have to be the one to make the move you had spent two years fantasising about. You had spent some considerable time thinking about it in the past and in every scenario it was he who crossed the line first so this was unexpected.

“Obviously I know what you do now but, you were a driver right?” “Well, not in Formula One but I did a little bit.” This was it, your gateway. “You must have been good. It’s not hard to imagine you being good, at everything.” It brought out a little shrug, laugh and smile but more importantly it made him glance over to your position next to him. You smiled back at him and hoped he picked up on the way your voice had changed. It was, in your own opinion, slower and sultrier.

“Are you Mr Wolff?” You added hoping he wouldn’t change the conversation. “Are you good at everything?”

“I try to be.” Never tearing your eyes from him as he drove paid off because as soon as he answered he swallowed. Was he nervous? Did your quizzing make him nervous or was it you? Did you make him nervous?

As he reached to change gear your saw his hand flex. How Mr Darcy of him, you thought and it made you smile. “Are you ok, Mr Wolff?” “Don’t call me that.” He spoke through gritted teeth and his jaw flexed the way men’s jaws flex when they’re trying to rid themselves of the dirty ideas that had sprung into their heads. He didn’t mean his words as a reprimand. It was more of a warning. Just as you were about to ask why he looked over at you and added; “don’t call me Mr Wolff like it doesn’t turn you on to call me that.” He read you like a book and you had to hide the smirk that was threatening to dance across your mouth. Rounding a corner, Toto verged the car off into a lay-by so quickly you didn’t even have time to register it. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart hammered against your ribcage so hard you thought it was going to burst out.

Now with the handbrake firmly on and his attention on you - only you - you silently prayed you hadn’t misread the signs. The ache for him to touch you in the most of intimate places deepened from the way he looked at you now you had his whole attention. Tilting your head down to make you look more innocent, through your lashes you awaited whatever he was going to say. Your name poured from him upon a sigh. “Why did you stop, Mr Wolff?” You couldn’t resist calling it one more time to check the waters (as it were). He swore under his breath and shook his head as he tried not to laugh.

“So you have been flirting then?” Confidence dripped from him. “All this time?” You nodded slowly and your name once again flowed out of him. “I’m your friends father. I’m old enough to be YOUR father.”

“And?” You pouted. “I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me, what does it matter?” He didn’t answer so you simply continued. “Are you really going to take me home? Drop me off, with this desperate need to be touched and leave me all alone to do it myself?” The confidence you exuded right then could have filled Maddison Square Garden. It was difficult to think if you had ever sounded this self assured with anyone else or if it was simply the effect he had on you. Your hands trailed up your bare thighs as you angled your body toward him and pressed them tightly together. He looked at them, of course, before giving into his desires and allowing his gaze to amble up and to take in how your nipples had hardened against the fabric of your tee. The turning cogs of his inner mind were almost visible - his frontal lobe desperately trying to decide between what was right and wrong and if having sex with his daughters friend was REALLY that bad.

“Do you need some help deciding?” The question was laced thoroughly with sexual anticipation and down right unashamed want. “Let me help you.” The way you easily and effortlessly flung your leg over the centre console and manoeuvred straight into his lap - slotting against his hard body and the steering wheel - was as if you had done this before and had a lot of practice.

His chest was hard as you placed your small hands upon it. His warmth radiating from him and with your hands now upon him you could feel how calm and collected he was. His breathing hardly pitching up at all, his heart beating at a normal rhythm. It surprised you in all honesty but it wasn’t unwelcome. His confidence was so damn sexy after all.

“Does this help?” Asking only inches from his lips, but you figure it may not have been quite enough. So, without any hesitation you lowered yourself a little more so your shorts covered core was pressed against his straining jean covered crotch. “How about this?” Once again he sighed out your name but it wasn’t a sign to stop. No, his hands engulfing around your waist (firmly holding you in place) was a sign it was anything but a sign to stop.

“Toto,” It was the very first time you used his name and he wasted not one single second upon hearing it, his lips were on yours and you knew this was happening. You were getting exactly what you wanted.

#toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #Toto Wolff imagines #toto wolff fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #toto wolff x reader

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ace-turned-confused · 5 months ago

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spin me around | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | read on ao3

summary: you find a vintage record store full of rare finds, the man behind the counter the rarest of them all word count: 2,4k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a dress, way too much music talk, food & alcohol consumption, pet names, touching in public, dirty talk a/n: written for @secretelephanttattoo's Secret Springs challenge! i saw record store on your wheel and ran away with it - this is highly self-indulgent with the music references (like woah) but what better place for it than secret springs :) not beta'd, keep slaying

The stair treads creak as you head up to the second floor, blank CDs are fastened to the risers and old warped vinyl hangs from the ceiling. A faint melody floats down the stairwell that you don’t recognise, the instrumentals rising in a crescendo as you climb, the varnished railing worn and knotted.

You’d found this place online on your quest for a bargain, the secondhand vintage vinyl shop is situated on a fashionable street at the top of town with picturesque mountain views. After stalking their social media pages, you decided you’d just come and see it for yourself. Having mentally prepared yourself for parallel parking, it was unusually stress-free for a Saturday morning, the sun just beginning to warm the air.

Reaching the landing and glancing around, the room is essentially wallpapered with band posters, crates and crates of records are alphabetically organised, and a gallery of LPs sits on shelves behind the counter. A few customers are rifling through the various collections, one man perched on a barstool with headphones wired into a cassette player. The space is light and vibrant, it feels like a sacred haven.

What really catches your eye is the man behind the counter — unruly silver-streaked hair, trimmed moustache and greying beard, unreasonably broad shoulders that fill out his faded thin t-shirt.

“Mornin’!” He looks up as you round the bannister and flashes you a winning smile, his brown eyes sparkling in the light filtering through the windows. “Anythin’ in particular you lookin’ for?”

You greet him shyly as you enter the room, “Just came to look around, thanks.”

“No problem.” He turns back to his newspaper and you can’t help but stare, stuck in place as you think you’ve found far more than you could’ve imagined.

The sheer number of records fitted into the quaint shop is amazing, with some dividers spilling over into two or three boxes. Flipping through the S category, you find Sade, Stealers Wheel, Steppenwolf, Stevie Nicks, and countless others — a never-ending supply of artists and albums, some popular and some obscure.

Your eyes go wide at seeing Pretzel Logic, a favourite album by a favourite band. You’ve considered for weeks whether or not to just buy the damn thing online at full price, but you never did. Now you see why, some sort of divine intervention leading you here to snatch it up at a fraction of the cost — or it led you here for that man.

You’ve been peering over to him every time you move to the next crate — crinkles around his eyes, plush lips, deft hands. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is, hidden away up here from the rest of the world. Admittedly you tried looking if he had a wedding band on, but you scolded yourself before you could complete the task, not wanting to get caught.

Time slips away from you as you switch between scouring through everything and stealing glances at the mystery music man, your fingers cramping from holding onto far more records than you’d planned to take. You scan over the tables and check for anything you may have missed, slinking through the room and placing your selection on the counter. You rummage in your bag to find your wallet.

“Fan of Steely Dan, huh? Gaucho, Pretzel Logic, Countdown to Ecstasy… You’re cleaning me out here, darlin’.” You lift your head at his words, losing yourself at the endearment.

“Yeah, uh… couldn't help myself,” you huff a laugh, feeling heat under your skin as he keeps his attention on you, a half smile on his face. “I did pick out some others, too. For some variation, you know?”

He fans the records out on the table to see each one.

“Yeah, thought you might be a Fleetwood Mac girl, Eagles is a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one… Steely Dan, though? Wouldn't have pinned a girl like you as a fan of ‘em.”

“A girl like me…?”

“Far too pretty.” He winks at you with a tilt of his head, that half smile now spread fully across his face before he moves to add up the total. Your mind races as you try not to stand and gawk like an idiot.

“I saw online you had Dark Side of the Moon… do you uh, still have it, by any chance?”

“Full of surprises… I’m afraid we sold that one already, noticed it’s a bit of an elusive find ‘round here.” He drums his fingers against the wooden top and looks at you briefly, his eyes warm.

Shuffling papers around, he picks up a notepad, big hands and thick fingers dwarfing the pages. “I can keep an eye out for you, if you’re okay giving me your number? Won’t bother you, just business.”

“Yeah, sure.” His fingers graze across your skin as you take a pen from him and write down your information. Tearing the page off, you slide it across the counter and tease him, “Wouldn’t mind if you bothered me.”

“Well then, maybe I will. I’d love to know what else you got in your carefully curated collection.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you pay for the records, and he slips them into a brown paper bag, folding and unfolding the top like he doesn’t want you to leave.

“There’s actually this nice restaurant—” he turns to look behind him, grabbing a small carton and repositioning it on the counter, stalling as he tries to find the words, “—they have uh, live music on Friday nights… if you’d be interested.”

“Sounds fun…” You mull it over, impressed by his boldness but still wary. “Can I let you know?”

“‘Course, no pressure, here,” he writes his own number on a new page and tears it off, holding on as you reach for it and brush your fingers over his hand.

“And you are?”

“Joel Miller.”

Joel Miller. You quite like that.

You’d stared at Joel’s number for days, a constant back and forth on whether or not you should go. On the one hand, you knew nothing about this man except his name and where he worked; on the other, you’ve seen just enough of him to be well intrigued…

You caved and said yes, which brings you to the present day — it’s Friday afternoon and you’re pacing in front of your wardrobe, worried about what to wear. To avoid losing your mind over this, you text Joel for some insight.

You: So, what am I supposed to wear tonight?Joel: Place is smart casual, I guess

Smart casual — arguably the worst fucking dress code description in existence.

You: That doesn’t help meJoel: Just wear a dress or something nice? I’m sure whatever you choose will be perfect

Perfect? Well, that certainly raises the bar. You suspect that Joel isn’t impressed by material things, and isn’t phased by flashy appearances, but you still want to make an effort. He called you pretty once already and you’re hoping he’ll repeat it tonight.

Approaching the restaurant, the brick wall facade is lined with fairy lights, the stars just beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, and muffled music sounds through the windows and glass doors.

Joel waits out on the pavement like a gift from God himself — black dress pants, a hint of chest peeking out from behind his button-up, a blazer hooked on one finger over his shoulder. You can’t help the way your gaze runs over him, noticing how his tummy just pokes out past the waistband of his pants, and just how well fitting those pants really are. You swallow to steady yourself.

“Hey.”

“Hi…”

You fall into silence as you take each other in — a low heat settles at the base of your spine and you drop your eyes to the floor, holding back a giggle like an enamoured schoolgirl.

“Shall we?” He pulls the door open and gestures for you to lead the way, eyes sparkling and a crooked but warm smile on his face, a guiding hand on the small of your back as you step inside.

Black-framed minimalist posters line the walls, the floors are polished dark wood and exposed brass light fixtures hang at varying heights from the ceiling. You pass a long, elegant bar lining one side of the room as you’re led towards the back of the restaurant — this place oozes sophistication, even the waitstaff are in fancy uniforms. Not smart casual.

Joel pulls a chair out for you as you reach your table, a small reserved card rests against a floating candle and two red roses bloom in a slender vase.

“Do you mind if I take the wall?” you ask timidly, pointing towards the opposite bench.

“Not at all.” His gaze is soft as he shakes his head, eyes trained on you as you both take your seats.

“I just— I like being able to see, it’s uh…”

You smooth your hands over the tablecloth as your voice fades off, resisting the urge to make a game of blowing the candle out. You flit your eyes up to look at Joel, finding he’s already staring at you, candlelight flickering in his eyes. You drop your gaze to the table again, failing dismally at suppressing the grin that spreads across your face.

“You look gorgeous, by the way — if you don’t mind me sayin’. Knew you would, of course, but…”

It seems your outfit choice has paid off — gorgeous?

After hours of flinging clothes off hangers, you’d finally settled on a black, mid-length dress — a sweetheart neckline with white piping, the same white mirrored on the hem, a daring slit up one side of the skirt. There’s nothing casual about it, but seeing Joel dressed up and the finely decorated restaurant has calmed your nerves.

You don’t dare look at him again as the waiter returns and places two menus on the table. The night’s barely begun, and you hope it doesn’t end any time soon.

There hasn’t been a lull in the conversation once during dinner, a sharing dessert now in the centre of the table as Joel swirls what’s left of his whiskey around the glass. He held back all evening, fingers twitching and curling into a loose fist alongside yours on the table until he finally allowed himself to dance them across the back of your hand.

“How’d you get into all this record business?”

“Started workin’ there on weekends as a kid, wanted to earn some pocket money. The old man who owned it was like a mentor, he taught me all about the world. He left it all in my hands when he retired, and I’ve never looked back.”

A fond smile on his face as he retells his memories, you saw the first day you met how happy and comfortable he was in his charming shop, and it seems that charm bleeds over into him, too.

“And you get to meet all kinds of people — loud, friendly, aloof… pretty ones, too.” He gives you the same wink and devilish grin as before, continuing his stories as if you aren’t burning across the table.

Sometime during the night, he’d moved to sit next to you, claiming he ‘wanted to see the band’ — the arm draped on the bench behind you and fingers trailing across your shoulder says otherwise.

He mentioned at the shop that there was live music here on Friday nights — the one thing he didn’t mention? That tonight’s particular band was a jazz quartet — the slow, smooth, romantic kind of jazz, the kind that acts as the perfect backdrop for a night of cheeky flirting, lingering glances and desperate touches.

“Joel, can I ask something?”

“Shoot.”

You roll the edge of the tablecloth between your fingers. “Is this a date?”

“It can be, if you want.” You drop your hands and eye him, unimpressed by his response.

“Alright, I’ll admit, I was hopin’ for a date. I wasn’t really sure how to ask, didn’t wanna come on too strong.”

You’re silent for a beat, considering how to respond. “I mean, you could’ve just asked.”

“Well then, you wanna go on a date?” He tilts his head, eyebrows raised.

“I thought we were already on one.”

He chuckles at your remark, downing the last of his whiskey and momentarily tracing a finger along the rim of the glass. You focus on his movements, imagining his fingers tracing patterns into your skin instead.

As if he can read your mind, he twists himself towards you and plants that same hand just above your knee, fingers curled towards the inside of your leg as he scrapes his nails against you.

“And?” His voice is almost a whisper in your ear, “Has it been a good one?”

He glides his hand up your leg and into the slit of your dress as you nod, higher, higher, higher until his fingers brush against lace. You wonder if he can feel the fabric dampening.

“Y’know the Pink Floyd you asked about? It wasn’t sold, I kept it for myself. I’ll play it for you sometime.”

“You’re gonna talk about music? Right now?”

“What should I talk about instead? The delicate panties you got on? How wet they’re getting?”

Your breath hitches as he shifts his fingers, tucking them just under the edge of your panties and caressing your skin. Glancing around, the band are still playing low and slow, most tables having cleared out by now.

“Would love to see ‘em, if you’ll let me. I’d really love to see what’s underneath though. Pretty girl like you’s bound to have a real pretty pussy, too. Certainly feels like it, Jesus.”

He presses his fingers into you with more force this time and you turn your head to him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and not from the dim lighting. He glances down to your lips and back up to your eyes again and you close the distance between you. He repositions the arm around your shoulders, hand holding the back of your neck as you lock your legs together and grind yourself against him.

His lips are soft, beard and moustache tickling your skin as he swipes his tongue against the seam of your mouth. You moan into him as you part your lips, letting him lick into you and you can taste his whiskey. He pulls back and you whine, teasing you with just enough to leave you reeling for more.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Take me home, Joel. Please, I need you.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Wanna hear the music you can make.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #secretsprings

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obsidian-pages777 · 6 months ago

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Pick a card: Your Future Aesthetic.Pick an Image

Left to Right Top Row-> Pile 1, Pile 2. Left Bottom Row -> Pile 3 [Pick one of the three]

Reading 1: The Ethereal Dreamer

Card Drawn: The Star

Your future self will be deeply enchanted by an ethereal, dreamy aesthetic. Imagine a world filled with soft, flowing fabrics in pastel hues like lavender, blush pink, and sky blue. Your spaces will be adorned with fairy lights, delicate crystals, and celestial motifs such as stars and moons. This aesthetic is all about creating a serene, magical atmosphere that feels almost otherworldly.

Your fashion choices will lean towards flowing, bohemian dresses, sheer materials, and intricate lace details.Mostly pastel themes. Being attracted to light colors.Butterfly motifs are prominent. You might carry a free flowing nature to your personality representing your aspirations towards expansion of peace.

Home decor will feature airy, light-filled spaces with plenty of natural elements like feathers, geodes, and plants.

Your future self will seek to create a sanctuary that feels like a serene escape from reality, full of whimsical fairie-esque and gentle beauty.

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Reading 2: The Bold Visionary

Card Drawn: The Emperor

Your future self will gravitate towards a bold, visionary aesthetic that exudes confidence and sophistication. This look is defined by strong lines, rich colors like deep navy, burgundy, and emerald, and luxurious materials such as velvet, leather, and silk.

Your fashion will include tailored suits, statement pieces with geometric patterns, and accessories that make a statement.

Home decor will feature modern furniture with clean lines, metallic accents, and striking art pieces. Your spaces will be meticulously organized and designed to project power and elegance.

The aesthetic you will love is one that commands attention and reflects a sense of authority and ambition, perfectly suited for a leader who is unafraid to stand out and make bold moves.

================================================================================================

Reading 3: The Vintage Romantic

Card Drawn: The Lovers

Your future self will find joy in a vintage, romantic aesthetic that celebrates nostalgia and timeless beauty.

Picture a world filled with delicate floral patterns, antique furniture, and soft, muted tones like rose, cream, and sage green. Your fashion will be inspired by eras past, with a love for lace, vintage dresses, pearl accessories, and retro hairstyles.

Home decor will feature shabby chic elements, ornate picture frames, and cozy, intimate settings with lots of personal touches like family heirlooms and handmade crafts.

This aesthetic is all about creating a warm, inviting atmosphere that feels both elegant and charmingly old-fashioned. Your future self will delight in the romance and history embedded in this timeless style.

================================================================================================

#pick a photo #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #tarot cards #psychic readings #aesthetic #cottagecore #royalcore #fairycore #future life #future predictions #tarot reading #pick one #house aesthetic #fashion #your style

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hazeltailofficial · 11 months ago

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Long-Sleeve Polka Dot Button-Up Top

Size Medium (Juniors)

$15

Click here to visit my closet Hazeltailxo on Poshmark

*USE CODE HAZELTAILXO TO SIGN UP & RECEIVE $10 CREDIT*

hazeltail on youtube / hazeltailofficial on tiktok / hazeltailofficial on ig / @hazeltailofficial

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venusianpulp · 8 months ago

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Rising Sign & Your Perfect Festival Outfit

Here are the perfect any music festival outfits for each of the 12 zodiac signs and Ascendants, with details on color schemes, materials, accents, and overall aesthetics:

PSA: Images and descriptions are both complimentary, so they may not be entirely identical, but everything is relevent.

Aries Rising: Bold and daring, an Aries rising would rock a fiery red crop top paired with high-waisted denim shorts. Accessorize with a black leather choker, combat boots, and a statement belt. The outfit screams confidence and adventure.

Taurus Rising: Earthy and sensual, a Taurus rising would opt for a flowy, bohemian-style maxi dress in shades of green and brown. Pair with a leather fringe vest, ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. The outfit exudes comfort and laid-back elegance.

Gemini Rising: Playful and eclectic, a Gemini rising would mix and match patterns and colors. A graphic tee paired with a colorful, patterned skirt, fishnet stockings, and high-top sneakers. Accessorize with layered necklaces and quirky sunglasses for a fun, youthful vibe.

Cancer Rising: Soft and feminine, a Cancer rising would choose a vintage-inspired, pale blue sundress with delicate lace details. Pair with a cozy, oversized cardigan, ankle-strap sandals, and a small, cross-body bag. The outfit radiates comfort and nostalgia.

Leo Rising: Bold and dramatic, a Leo rising would make a statement in a metallic gold romper with a plunging neckline. Accessorize with a chunky, gold chain necklace, oversized sunglasses, and platform heels. The outfit screams glamour and confidence.

Virgo Rising: Clean and practical, a Virgo rising would opt for a crisp, white button-down shirt tucked into high-waisted, black denim shorts. Pair with a black leather belt, minimalist jewelry, and comfortable, low-top sneakers. The outfit is polished and effortlessly chic.

Libra Rising: Elegant and balanced, a Libra rising would choose a flowy, pastel pink maxi skirt paired with a white, off-the-shoulder crop top. Accessorize with delicate, gold jewelry, strappy sandals, and a woven clutch. The outfit is feminine and harmonious.

Scorpio Rising: Mysterious and alluring, a Scorpio rising would opt for a black, lace bodysuit paired with high-waisted, faux leather leggings. Layer with a sheer, black kimono, and accessorize with a choker, ankle boots, and a dark, smoky eye. The outfit is seductive and intense.

Sagittarius Rising: Adventurous and free-spirited, a Sagittarius rising would rock a tie-dye, cropped t-shirt paired with distressed, cut-off denim shorts. Accessorize with a woven, multicolored belt, layered anklets, and gladiator sandals. The outfit is playful and adventurous.

Capricorn Rising: Classic and sophisticated, a Capricorn rising would choose a sleek, solid & colored co-ord with a structured, cinched waist. Pair with knee high or thigh high black boots or dainty shoes, minimalist jewelry, and subtly refined look. The outfit is timeless and powerful.

Aquarius Rising: Unique and unconventional, an Aquarius rising would opt for a holographic, iridescent bodysuit paired with high-waisted, flared pants. Accessorize with a chunky, silver choker, platform boots, and a brightly colored, faux fur coat. The outfit is futuristic and eccentric.

Pisces Rising: Dreamy and ethereal, a Pisces rising would choose a flowy, sheer, pastel purple maxi dress with delicate, floral embroidery. Layer with a soft, crochet cardigan, and accessorize with a flower crown, layered, beaded necklaces, and strappy, barefoot sandals. The outfit is whimsical and enchanting.

#astrology #zodiac #natal chart #sagittarius #astro notes #libra #capricorn #astro observations #virgo

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bebemoon · 7 months ago

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look for the name FONTAINE (requested by @benevxllain) | art print by emiliano maggi, romeo gigli dark purple pleated cocoon coat (a/w 1992), romeo gigli floral borcade sheer skirt, mirror palais "angel wisp" top in burgundy, zimmermann baroque gold chain belt, vintage italian butter leather over-the-knee point-toe stiletto boots w/ button detailing, joanne burke 18kt gold fountain ring, paloma picasso "mon parfum" eau de parfum in special edition wearable sun brooch bottle, anna molinari kiss clasp black leather handbag w/ logo charm chain

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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By anychance can you write something along the lines of..

Simon x (fem) reader

Simon who goes out to the bar and leaves with the reader but he thinks she's a prostitute (b/c of the way the she was flirting with him)💀 and leave money on the table and she's sumwhats offended when she wakes up but takes the money anyways.. they hook up again.. he leaves money and y/n gets fed up and tells him she's not.. a relationship sumwhat building off of that

"Say cheese!" 🤵🏾‍♀️📸 👩

What You Paid For // Simon!FemReader

Summary: Simon had no shame indulging in escorts, especially ones who make an effort to flirt with him. Only problem? You're not an escort.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), strong language, smut, oral sex (g.), p^rn w/ little plot, unsafe sex, fem!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: this took forever omg ;') not proofread, so don't mind mistakes

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? // ao3 ver.

The bar itself is an establishment of contradictions.

The counter is rich mahogany that exudes an air of sophistication, yet its edges are rough and worn, and the crowd is anything but graceful. A collection of vintage chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, but their lighting casts a warm and attractive glow upon the room.

Behind the bar, a vast array of liquors is proudly displayed on ornate shelves, each bottle catching the glint of candlelight. You tap your fingers against the bar, pulling out your wallet. “Champagne?”

The bartender shakes his head, “we’re fresh out, Ma’am, apologies.”

Of course, they’d be out of it, given the sheer amount of people in here. You sigh, blurting out the first common drink you can think of, “I’ll do a Gin and Tonic, then.” You slide a bill across the bar, but there’s another hand—and he’s sliding a greater wad of cash, and quicker.

“Kentucky. Leave the bottle.” The gravel in his voice tells a thousand stories, as does the large shadow he’s casting on you.

You put your cashback in your pocketbook, examining the hand resting on the bar next to you. His forearm is heavily tattooed; skulls, flames, dog tags, the works. “Thanks for paying.” You fist the drink when it’s slid across the bar, finally laying your eyes on him.

His comes shortly after; a burly build, black bomber jacket, and a skull-printed balaclava. Definitely, an appearance you’ll remember with any amount of alcohol in your system.

“Mhm.” His thumb caresses the rim of his glass and his eyes travel you from top to bottom. The man clearly isn’t fond of words, or eye contact for more than ten seconds. It’s obvious he wants something to look at while he works on the bottle, that much is obvious. A man as anti-social as him wouldn’t be standing there if he didn’t want to be.

Your painted lips wrap around the skinny cocktail straw, your tastebuds hit with a mix of bubbles and burn. “You from around here?”

“Here and there.” He’s from Manchester, or somewhere near there, that’s all his vagueness tells you. Can you really be upset at him for eye-fucking you? He hasn’t gotten too close for comfort or gone anywhere near your drink, and those hands, they’re trouble. Though, with a frame like his, you would need to brace yourself before—

Now you’re just getting ahead of yourself. Focus.

You sip some more, a bigger one this time; the drink you ordered is now about half empty. “You don’t belong here, do you?” Perhaps it was the sting in your throat allowing the words to come out more freely.

With a grunt rather than a response, he chugs his shot. “What makes you say that, love?” You can see his cocked brow from under the fabric, and it makes your mind wander again. Going off his lashes, he’s probably got a head of blonde hair. The rest of the ogling? It’s interrupted by his impatient need for an answer.

“You just seem like a… rugged type.” Hot. He was hot.

Needing a distraction, you find the lime slice used as a garnish. If you were being honest, it was a cool-off. You needed to play it cool, try not to scare off the least skittish guy here; something only you could manage. The glug of him pouring another glass replaces his lack of engagement. He lifts the fabric of his mask again, tossing back another. Despite the lack of pacing himself, he’s remained untouched by the shots.

The man smacks his lips slightly, leaning just a bit closer. “Rugged, huh?” You could swear there was a smirk under that mask, and it was driving you insane. Instinctually, you need to find something to occupy your flushed silence with; the lime slice.

You raise it to your lips with a nod at his words, giving the fruit a bite. Your face scrunches from the acidity, though you’ve tried to play it off. Instead of deterring the tension between you two, it only drew attention towards your lips, how they’ve embraced the lime. Some of the citrus pools on your lip, a stray tear dripping down your chin, but you haven’t noticed.

If your goal was to be a tease, consider yourself victorious.

He could practically feel the heat gathering in his core. Though the teasing was unnecessary, it added to your services. They were services, right? The woman he paid for just happened to be an escort—a ravishing one at that.

There wasn’t any shame in indulging, he was never in town for more than a month at a time.

Your fingers find your chin, wiping the juice away with a swipe, not a clue in your mind how arousing that was. “What’s your name?” You have to yell a bit over the bass and lean in closer to his ear. The smell of him is more intoxicating than the array of bottles behind the bar combined.

“C’mon.” He jerks his head in the direction of the door, and he’s already disappeared into the crowd before you can reply. You uncross your legs and get to your feet, slamming the last of your drink before following his path to the door.

You’ve reached the entrance of the bar, still consumed by the volume of the music. Surely, his build would be easy to spot in a crowd. You’re on your toes, neck craned up to see through the crowd, but the other patron’s movements have you dazed and trapped.

Through the paned windows, you spot a shadow cast on the pavement, a still one. Either it’s the nameless man or your flirting sent him running for the hills.

You do your best to shove through the crowd, finally able to breathe when the icy air stings your cheeks. Your panting and searching were cut short by your back hitting a cement wall, an unusually gentle hand placed on your waist to keep you steady.

That scent is suffocating again; mint, tobacco, and whiskey. The nerves of being jerked into an alley settle when your senses answer all the questions.

His thumb rubs a circle against the fabric of your dress, giving some pressure when his voice is heard again. “Simon.” The question you asked in there, is now answered. “Now, answer my question. Either I’m being a knob, or you want something from me, hm?”

His eyes glow in the shadows of the alley and they don’t budge. Of course, you want this, you were only speechless.

You feel yourself nod, though the only sensations you can focus on are his scent and the tingles of attraction his fingertips are causing you.

“Right,” Simon scoffs, slightly pressing his chest closer to yours, “are you gonna take me where you’re stayin’, or are we doing this here?” His head looks left and right, a silent notice of the city oozing with chaotic nightlife.

Your breath is visible in front of you the longer you walk down the street. The hotel you’re staying in is within a minute's distance, and your neediness is thanking you for it. His shadow is close behind, but his head is looking straight ahead, both hands in his pockets.

Finally, the both of you reach the breezeway of the hotel. Simon’s breathing gets heavier, and so close you can feel the breeze against your ear. Large hands slither around your waist, fondling as the electronic beep of your suite door sounds.

The breeze of the heating system clashes with the goosebumps formed on your skin—and they aren’t because of the cold air. His legs nudge yours ahead, daring you to stumble if he didn’t have an arm wrapped around you. He’s so close; the way you had been fantasizing about in the bar from the moment his hand slid across the mahogany.

The bag you were holding finds the floor as quickly as the room door shuts.

Though his hands never leave your waist, he steps in front of you, stopping when the back of his legs hit the end of the bed. His weight settled against the mattress with a groan, then his hands found his belt, impatiently tugging at it.

“Don’t just stand there. Kneel.” His voice is a hungry muffle through the mask, but his amber eyes are all the convincing you needed. With both palms on his toned thighs, your shivering legs buckled until you were level with his bulge.

His fingers peeled back the waistband of his boxers after he shifted his jeans down. Simon wasn’t making an effort of getting entirely undressed, he rarely did. His erection sprung from his boxers, the tip of it dripping in arousal already. Seeing it was much more daunting than visualizing it; intimidating, even. But were you going to get up off the floor? Not a chance.

His fist clamped around his length, giving it a few strokes as he watched your lips intently as if picturing the inevitable lude act ahead of him. The image of the lime juice dribbling down your chin was egging his urges to a high.

You scooted up closer, his inner thighs pressing against your shoulders. Next, your fingers found the base of his length, replacing the strokes of his hands for him. Simon only stared hungrily, lifting the hem of his shirt so it was out of your way. Your lips parted slightly, mouth salivating, as aching and doused as your core. You flattened your tongue along the head, just enough for him to shift his hips ever so slightly. “Don’t be a tease.” His hands grasp around the edge of the mattress, leaning back to get a full view of your tongue teasing his cock.

He says it with such conviction—as if he isn’t the most well-endowed man you’ve gone down on. If you weren’t so blinded by lust, you just might have rolled your eyes at the comment, even come up with some alluring remark about his size. But you’ve occupied your mouth, sliding from his tip to base slowly and mimicking drinking from a straw.

“Fuck…” His curse comes out like a hiss, caged by his gritted teeth. Though it’s only been seconds of your mouth on him, he can’t resist his hands finding the back of your head, nudging forward each pass your warm mouth makes.

Now, the tip of your nose collides with his pelvic bone, a methodical gag with each thrust. Your cheeks hollowed around his thick length, despite the stretch it was to fit him in your mouth. You tease the underside of his cock with your tongue, tracing each vein and small curve with vigor—undoubtedly only multiplying his sensitivity. “You look even prettier like this, swallowing my cock.” Tears have pricked at the corner of your eyes, showing through your hooded stare up at him.

His head pushes increase in speed, and you can feel his tip bruising the back of your throat, causing heavier breaths through your nose. The last thing you’re going to do is tap out for air, not with the attractive sight in front of you. Your scalp burns from the press of his fingertips, but it’s an arousing pain. He’s remained in charge this whole time, but even he can’t conceal his need for release.

Simon’s grunts and groans have grown louder, his head is thrown back, and he’s bucking his hips upward into your mouth to meet his pushes. By now, the muscles in your jaw have given way, enough for you to withstand all the force of his jerks.

“Almost done, sweetheart.” He’s no longer teetering on the cliff of release—he’s there. The hand on the back of your head gives your hair a yank, keeping you in place as he uses his thrusts to finish himself off.

Your eyes flutter shut, hearing the feral moans paired with his hot seed spurting down your throat. “Swallow for me, that’s it.” He watches the muscles of your sore throat muscles constrict and unwind, with no sign of the semen oozing from your lips. Only your own saliva is, a string of it visible when you pull yourself away from his length.

Simon fingers his pocket, finding and pulling out a condom. “Think you can manage this for me?” He presses the jagged corner of the pouch to your wet lips. You sink your teeth into the foil edge, pulling your head back until it rips open. He slides the latex down on his length, stomach still rising and falling from the intensity of his finish.

Before leaning back on the bed, he clamps a hand around your upper arm, pulling you up with him. He shifts himself back to not hang off the edge, re-positioning the both of you with little effort. Then, he lifts up your dress enough to be faced with your soaked undergarments, followed by a slight ‘tsk’ under his breath. You’re eager by this point, now that your tender throat is a constant reminder of what he had been blessed with, and how profoundly you’re yearning for this man.

With some shifting of your legs, you roll the panties off and toss them aside. Once you’ve returned to your original position, hovering over his length as it rests against his stomach, he cocks his head. “You can’t be tired yet, haven’t even touched you.” It’s a mocking, downright patronizing scoff, but it’s bleeding with allure.

You peer down at his twitching length, wrapping your fingertips around the shaft until you’ve guided him in front of your entrance. Simon’s merely enjoying the show, the gears whirling in your head as you work out the mathematics of the act. His tip is being eased by your hands until he feels a small bit of warmth swallowing it, the familiar squelch of your slick core being eased onto his swollen cock. Your eyes flutter shut as you sink lower, feeling both the burn of the stretch and the alleviation of all the aching you felt for him.

His large hands find each of your hips, feeling your shaky hips eventually collapse fully onto his length, gandering a drawn-out groan from his lips. The only part of his face you can see, his eyes; they’ve rolled slightly—now a hooded stare of hunger.

You start to roll your hips, his length is as deep as possible in this position. Each hand resting on your waist rolls up your dress more until everything below your belly button is in his sight. “Knew you would take it all, pretty minx like you.” He mutters, his accent stronger when wasted with ardor.

For now, you’re easing yourself in circles on his length, relishing in the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. Gently enough to yield no discomfort, but with enough force to kick off the waves of pleasure coursing through you. The burn in your thighs is the only discouraging part about this, only seconds in and your lower half feels weaker.

“Need some help?” He says smugly, an unhurried thrust upwards into you to eliminate your body’s burden of control. The sensation makes you quake, a hushed moan escaping you. It seemed when you were so focused on doing all the work, you hadn’t made a sound. But now, your delight was on full display, deserving to be a stuttering mess by the end of tonight.

His fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress, rutting his hips upwards with more intensity. Your hands switch between grasping the white sheets to palms on his chest, unable to keep upright without the support of a surface. He gives little time for adjustment, only increasing the bucking of his hips with each second. Eventually, your gasps have turned into overwhelmed whines, a fucked-out expression forming on your face.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the hotel room, overpowered by the sounds of pleasure largely coming from your lips. Simon’s sounds have remained primal grunts and groans, profanities coming through gritted teeth when he bottoms out entirely.

You feel the familiar bubble of release in your abdomen, the clenching of your gummy walls each time he slides in and out of you. His name slips out a few times, gaining an amused, egotistical chuckle. You felt better around him than he could’ve imagined like he was the moment he saw the flesh of your thighs when you crossed your legs at the barstool; the dress fabric constricted them, begging to be wrapped around his waist and bouncing on his cock. And now, he has been granted his short-lived fantasy.

“Keep doin’ that, sweetheart.” Simon tossed his head back again, the sensitivity increasing when you pulsed around him. The warmth around his length, the constriction of your core, the moans of approval—he was doomed to climax again. You’ve gathered enough endurance to move your hips with him. They clash with each meeting thrust, a jolt of electricity every time he pumps so deep. Even if this is cut short by his finish, the feeling of him inside you now is enough.

Your back arches, seemingly stuck with tense muscles as your core endures his drilling. A small portion of your climax has hit you when he changes the angle, making you cry out even louder. He’s gotten shaky and sloppy, and his physical strength is the only thing allowing this amount of speed.

“Gonna—” He begins, rutting with even more aggression, so much you’ve been left at a standstill. His words are cut short by the shake of his thighs, then a slow decrease in his intensity. “Bloody fuck...” Simon’s eyes shut briefly as he finishes, the grip on your waist unyielding until it passes. Your chest heaves above him, his length still embedded deep while you both recover.

The once-arched posture turns into a tired slump, eyes half-lidded as a satisfied sneer spreads on your face. It wasn’t a dissatisfying hook-up, it was one for the books. You can feel his muscles relax beneath you, a twitching cock sliding out of you until it lays flaccid against his inner thigh. His fingers find the hem of your dress and push the fabric back down, and even he’s surprised it didn’t fray from his iron grip.

You swing your legs off him, crawling to the side of the bed occupied with your things. Simon didn’t use many words, and you were too exhausted for them anyways; your legs had turned to putty minutes ago.

You hear the snap of his waistband, then the shuffling of denim being pulled up his firm thighs. With your back turned to him, you don’t see him dig into his wallet and place some bills on the neighboring nightstand, folded in half neatly. Once the suite door shuts behind him, your drowsy eyes have fluttered to a tight close.

————— ୨୧ —————

Things were… complicated when you woke up and saw the money left on the nightstand, next to a scribbled phone number. Were you offended? Yes. Were you flattered? Also yes

Simon wasn’t the type of hookup you just brushed off, enjoy for the night, then forget it ever happened. Vivid flashbacks plagued you the entire morning, as did how you were still wearing last night's clothes, and your makeup had been ruined.

Whoever—whatever he was; he knew how to carry himself.

If you never saw him again, the night would be nothing but an erotic memory. But, it was worth a shot to reach out.

Your finger hovered over the call button for about a minute, hesitancy gnawing at you. He wouldn’t give this to you if he didn’t want you to reach out. Why him, the most mysterious bloke in the bar? Was it too early in the afternoon to contact him? Did you look too available?

Imagining the sensations all over again, that’s what swayed you. Worst case, he refuses the company or doesn’t pick up.

Each ring had you shaking your head, losing both your dignity and confidence in the bold move.

… “Hello?”

The gravel in his voice told you he had very recently been sleeping off last night’s activities. You practically pinched yourself, cringing at the sound of your own voice when you replied.

“It’s me. I wasn’t sure if I should call right away but… I can’t stop thinking about last night.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, ashamed of the reflection you saw through the hotel mirror. This was ridiculous, right? Downright needy?

A nerve-racking chuckle can be heard as if he was feeding on your humiliation. His voice had a little hint of unsteady as if he wasn’t expecting a call.

“Gave you some sweet dreams, then, huh?” His dry attempt at flirting made your face sizzle with warmth.

His faux self-assurance rang for miles, though it was abundantly clear he couldn’t care less about how he presented himself. What you see, that’s what you get from him.

You liked what you saw. Very much.

“I was thinking,” you began, squeezing the puffy duvet with all your might, “we could get together. Tonight?” You bit down on your lip with so much force, you pricked it with your teeth.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other line, then the faint shuffle within sheets. You impatiently licked away the drop of metallic crimson, expecting the beep of a terminated call.

“Like the sound of that.” His smugness almost had you doing a lap around the hotel room.

You hadn’t the slightest clue what you were in for, but there was not a chance in hell you were bailing on tonight.

————— ୨୧ —————

Why did you feel the need to clean an already spotless hotel room? You didn’t have a clue either. The thought of sending a maid in there had you brainstorming senseless scenarios; the underpaid housekeeper knowing precisely what you were up to.

But you had no reason to feel ridiculous. He agreed, you two were consenting adults, what’s the harm?

Everything looked untouched, almost passable for a vacant room except for your bags. You dug through said luggage and found a more relaxed evening outfit.

He seemed like the punctual type. Looking at the digits on the digital clock, you counted down the minutes. The clock hit six o'clock—then a few additional minutes had you convinced he skipped town.

You almost tumbled off the futon when three faint taps sounded on the door.

6:03 PM

You spread the blinds with two fingers, seeing the familiar broad shoulder resting against the wall, the faint fog of his breath in the bitter evening air. Taking a look in the mirror, you examined your appearance once more—then made your way to the door. With a heavy sigh, the door creaked open, revealing him.

“Hey,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him step in. Any other greeting seemed too formal, yet the one you uttered seemed too relaxed.

You pressed a palm on the flesh of your hips, both hands at your sides after shutting the door. Seeing him so soon, it seemed ludicrous, but his aura was addictive. His boots shuffled against the carpet, footing inside with hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“Didn’t have to dress nice for me.” Simon sat on the futon, legs spread wide as he leaned against the backrest.

You settled on the bed adjacent to him, shaking your head to shake away the flushed feeling his rasp gave you. “I wanted to,” you replied, looking up from your lap, “do you want to watch something?” You wanted to smack a palm on your forehead. Watch something? Simon knows why you called him here, and you haven’t been exactly subtle.

“You can put something on. Can’t promise I’ll be watching the movie, though.” He said with the slightest glint of eroticism in his eyes. To cope with the urge to tear his clothes off right then and there, you slid the channel list off the end table, entering the most promising one. It was a dated slasher film, interesting enough to keep your attention. You fiddled with the pamphlet for a few seconds, before setting it back on the nightstand.

His stare hadn’t broken, earning a chuckle from you, “what is it?” You question, running a hand over the tucked bedding. Simon wanted you, right then. Why else had you called him? You wanted more business, it was so obvious to him.

“Never met anyone like you.” What he wanted to say was that he’s never met an escort like you. You were selling the whole quality time and date night act well. And he had fallen for it, spending the whole night yearning for another night with you, to be a few hundred dollars less by the end of the night.

You let out a small scoff, keeping your eyes glued to the TV. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, Simon.” You were, purely because you pictured that cash he gave you. Had it truly been that good of an experience for him? Someone with more than enough practice in the bedroom?

“Take it however you want,” you heard him shuffle, and then his shadow cast on your frame.

You turned your head when you felt a finger tracing your chin, then running along your bottom lip. “As long as I can hear your voice.” His touch made you shiver slightly, sending a rush of head down your hammering chest. So much for warming up with a movie.

The urge to kiss him had never been stronger, but you didn’t dare reach for the fabric concealing his lips. You couldn’t blow this now, not after a day of picturing the second round with him. “You’re giving me those eyes again. You want something?” Your head nodded, though you were speechless from desire. Simon chuckled lowly, admiring your meek effort to answer him.

His hand tightened around your jaw, taking on the role of the commanding figure in the room. “What kind of prick would I be to keep you waiting, then?” His true nature was to give, it was only fair considering how good you were to him the previous night.

The unoccupied hand slid up your thigh until he reached the hem of your shirt, hiking up the fabric until he gave the back of your bra a tug, releasing the hooks until it slid off. His large hands fondled your breasts, running a gentle thumb over the nipple until you produced a soft gasp for him. When he grew impatient, which took little time, he pulled the shirt off your head until your top half was on full display to him.

Slowly but surely, the positions shifted until he was hovering over you on the bed, his knee between your legs. You rocked against it for friction, the pressure of his kneecap pressing on your clothed clit, now slightly swollen from arousal. “A little impatient aren’t we?” He cooed into your ear, the statement plain hypocritical. He couldn’t even sit through a minute of the film you put on before he was looking at you like a piece of meat on a platter.

He picked up the pace of his hands, indulging your impatience. Within seconds, you found yourself on your stomach, the bottoms you were wearing being pulled down with a harsh yank. He lifted each of your legs until you were rid of all your clothes entirely. Now, you were below him and at his mercy; the opposite of last night.

You raised your hips slightly upon feeling his bulge pressed against your ass, a painful tease considering how needy you were. He grasped one of your thighs, spreading them enough to trace his fingers along your core from behind. “Guess I was right.” He purrs into your ear, inserting a finger into your cunt. Simon slowly pumped his finger in and out, adding a second when enough slick pooled down to his knuckles.

His fingers were long enough to stimulate places only your hands could dream of; a foreign, but insatiable sensation to you. You arched your back and writhed feeling the preparation of his fingers, sliding down a hand of your own to circle your clit. But you needed more; he needed more, and he didn’t want you getting sloppy like last night.

Simon withdrew his fingers, snaking one arm around your midsection to keep you in place. “Keep still for me, love.” He murmured straight into your ear, the low octave giving you the chills. Behind you, he tugs at the waistband of his jeans and boxers simultaneously, exposing his stiff length. He could waste time teasing you, it would be so easy with you this desperate. But you didn’t finish last night, and he was aching to feel you come undone around his length.

With one arm still keeping your lower half in place, he guided his cock to your pulsing core, easing himself inside inch by inch. Your breathing hitched, despite this being the second time you felt him stretching you out. Simon eased deeper, until he bottomed out and could feel the bulge of himself through the hand on your stomach.

His thrusts were snappy and deep, his palm pressing on your stomach to enhance the pleasure you were feeling. A spark of pleasure ignited into a consuming wave, making you sputter and mewl at his expense. This was different than last night, not as focused on him, though he was enjoying this just as much. When he went home that night before bed, spending several minutes pumping his length, he was imagining pumping your tight, sticky walls; his fist didn’t compare, not in the slightest. This was too much. But he wouldn’t stop until you finished.

“You’re close aren’t you?” Simon rutted into you with force, moving the hand from your stomach to the base of your throat, pulling you up so your curved back was against his chest. His lips trailed along the back of your neck, peppering sloppy licks and kisses on your prickled flesh.

Your eyes widened slightly at the realization—he had lifted his mask, maybe even taken it off his head completely.

His saliva coated your neck in small spots, adding to the array of sensations, similar to a violent whiplash of pleasure. It was like the previous night, waves of pleasure with each of his slamming thrust into your needy core. Your gummy walls pulsed around him, drawing groans and rolls of his eyes, a slight nibble on your earlobe to keep his approaching climax contained.

Your words were an inconsolable quake by this point. “Fuck— Simon—” A hushed sniggle came through Simon’s agape lips, urging him to make one final move to push you over the edge. He slithered his hand from your throat until it found the nape of your neck, pushing your upper body forward so only your hips remained raised. The switch allowed him to hit an even deeper angle, his balls slapping against your rear with each deafening thrust.

Though his hands were firm when folding you, his words remained gentle and praising, as if he was enjoying them himself. “Gonna cum for me, hm?” He teased with a deep inhale, both hands now thrusting your hips backward onto his length—not easing up on his intensity.

Fire pooled in your lower abdomen, like a swirling inferno going to burst any second. Everything seemed to burn, with the exception of your core. Your muscles ache and contract, a thin layer of sweat formed on your skin, the indents of his fingertips seared doomed to be seared into your memory for days following.

All the building, tight churning; it shattered within seconds of his relentless pounding. You let out a choked sob of pleasure, squeezing your eyes shut as you writhed and twitched around his cock. The deepness of his thrusts, the speed of them, doomed you to the prolonged climax you were expecting.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” the firm hand on your nape releases once your high ceases, “so good for me.” It seemed the moment you hit your own breaking point, he lost all the stamina he had used to prevent his own. Only seconds later, his thrusts had turned sloppy and slow, easing in and out until he drained every last drop of his seed inside you.

What once was a heat from your high, it was now the warmth of his semen pooling inside of your core, seeping out the slower he went. Your hips remained raised, though your thighs burned and shook from the intensity of the activity. When Simon’s hands withdrew from your hips, you rolled onto your side as he removed his sensitive cock.

By the time you turned to face him, the balaclava had already been pulled down over his face again. If you weren’t so vividly focused on the sensations, you might’ve forgotten about how his lips felt. There was no way, not after he made you finish like that.

He tucked his length into his boxers, then pulled up his jeans again, but didn’t bother to button them up again. “How much do I owe you, love?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, peeling away apart his stacks of cash.

You were so caught up in the moment previously, you forgot to mention the elephant in the room. You weren’t an escort, just a woman who hit the hookup lottery. “You know I’m not a hooker, right?” You sat up in the bed, finding the spare quilt and wrapping it around your naked frame.

“Should I be offended?” You questioned again, filling his stunned silence. He was trying to conceal his shock, but his freeze said it all.

He folded his wallet again, tucking it away with a silent glare. Now, you were just plain apprehensive about his answer. At first, the money was flattering, that you were that good for him. But now? What if all he thought of you was a hussy he found in a pub?

When he noticed your crumbling humor about the situation, he scrambled to place a hand on your waist, “this is my bad. You were just— you were plain amazing, sweetheart. I thought you were an over-qualified escort, not some…”

Wow. That could’ve come out better.

The faltered confidence now turned into a grimace, a playful one. His scramble to correct himself, to ensure he didn’t hurt your feelings—it was charming. You couldn’t conceal your snicker as he leaned close, eyes swallowed with guilt.

“I’m not upset, Simon. Not anymore, at least.” You retorted, holding the hand that was on your waist.

Simon let out a sigh of relief, eyes studying you for any sign of doubt. His fingers caressed the fabric of the quilt, brows knitted together with half-seriousness.

You chuckled at his brooding exterior, his whole-hearted attempt at swaying you into being irate. “Was I worth the money?”

He nodded his head sluggishly, the fabric over his mouth shifting as he gave a smirk. “I don’t think any bloke can put a worthy price on that.”

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