#Chinese massage near me

[joyfeetspanaples]

Best Massage

There are many different reasons that someone could or should get massage treatments. But, with the best massage, you will get fully relaxed and happy. And, you can get that from us at ‘Joy Feet Spa’

[northwood-capital]

[otchinesemassage]

Massage therapy has been around for a very long time, relieving stress, and tension and offering multiple health benefits. With time, therapists and practitioners have developed different kinds of massage therapy to cater to various health concerns and issues. Reflexology Massage near me in Leicestershire is a connection that works between specific pressure points on the feet, hands and ears, along with the corresponding areas throughout the body.

[orange-spa-massage-center-dubai]

Orange Chinese Massage center in Al Barsha

Welcome to the ultimate oasis of relaxation in Dubai! If you're seeking a rejuvenating escape from the hustle and bustle of city life, look no further than Orange Chinese Massage center in Al Barsha. Nestled amidst the vibrant streets of this cosmopolitan hub, this hidden gem offers an extraordinary Asian body massage experience that will leave you feeling refreshed, revitalized, and ready to take on the world. With highly skilled Chinese massage therapists and a serene ambiance, Orange Spa is truly a haven for those seeking tranquility and holistic healing. So sit back, relax, and let us transport you to a state of pure bliss during your visit to our exceptional establishment.

Best Chinese massage therapists in Dubai

At Orange Chinese Massage center in Al Barsha, we take immense pride in our team of highly skilled and trained Chinese massage therapists. When it comes to delivering an unparalleled body massage experience, they are the true masters of their craft. Each therapist at Orange Spa brings a wealth of knowledge and expertise that has been passed down through generations, ensuring that you receive nothing but the best. Our therapists understand the intricate balance between relaxation and healing, tailoring each session to address your specific needs and preferences. Whether you're seeking relief from muscle tension or simply looking for a moment of tranquility amidst your busy schedule, our talented team is dedicated to providing therapeutic touch that soothes both the body and mind. Their hands possess an innate ability to find those knots and tight spots that need attention most. With their expert techniques combined with traditional Chinese methods such as acupressure and deep tissue massage, they will work wonders on your tired muscles, leaving you feeling rejuvenated from head to toe. But it's not just their technical skills that set our therapists apart; it's also their genuine care for every individual who walks through our doors. They create a warm and welcoming environment where you can feel comfortable expressing any concerns or areas you'd like them to focus on during your session. Experience firsthand why Orange Spa is renowned for having some of the best Chinese massage therapists in Dubai. Let them transport you into a world of deep relaxation where stress melts away under their capable hands. Trust us when we say - once you've experienced an Asian body massage by our talented team at Orange Spa, there's no turning back!

unique body massage experience at Orange Asian Massage center in Al Barsha

Looking for a unique body massage experience in Dubai? Look no further than Orange Asian Massage center in Al Barsha. With their team of skilled and experienced Chinese massage therapists, you can expect a truly exceptional wellness journey. At Orange Spa, they offer a range of Asian body massage techniques that are designed to relax your mind, rejuvenate your body, and restore your energy levels. From traditional Chinese deep tissue massage to soothing aromatherapy massages, there is something for everyone at this luxurious spa. The highly trained therapists at Orange Spa understand the art of massage and use their expertise to address specific concerns or areas of tension in your body. Whether you are suffering from muscle pain, stress, or simply want to unwind after a long day, they have the perfect treatment for you. The ambiance at Orange Spa is serene and peaceful, allowing you to escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The moment you step into the spa, you will be greeted by warm colors and calming music that instantly put you at ease. So why wait? Treat yourself to an unforgettable experience at Orange Asian Massage center in Al Barsha today! You deserve it!

Asian massage therapists Dubai

To sum it up, if you are looking for an extraordinary massage experience in Dubai, Orange Chinese Massage center in Al Barsha is the place to go. With their team of skilled and experienced Asian massage therapists, you can expect nothing but the best. The unique techniques used by these therapists will leave your body relaxed and rejuvenated. Whether you are seeking relief from muscle tension, stress, or simply want some quality self-care time, Orange Spa has got you covered. Their commitment to providing exceptional service is evident in every aspect of their business. From the serene ambiance to the personalized attention given to each client, they go above and beyond to ensure a memorable experience. So why settle for an ordinary massage when you can indulge in the expertise of Asian massage therapists at Orange Spa? Book your appointment today and discover a whole new level of relaxation and wellness in Dubai.

[lotusvalleyacupuncture]

Lotus Valley Acupuncture | Acupuncture Clinic | Herbal Shops in San Jose CA

Ours is the most trusted Acupuncture Clinic in San Jose CA. We help our clients achieve optimal health and wellness by using Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) principles to treat a variety of physical and emotional conditions. With a focus on personalized care, we offer a range of holistic treatments to address various health concerns, from pain management to stress reduction. Moreover, you can discover the power of nature's remedies with us, one of the leading Herbal Shops in San Jose CA. Our knowledgeable staff provides personalized guidance and recommendations tailored to your unique needs. We utilize ancient Chinese herbs to help you regulate your circadian rhythm. So, if you want to schedule an appointment, call or visit us today.

[chrismasseur1]

Affirm Tantric Massage Hertfordshire.

Tantric Massage Hertfordshire Afford, Affirm Body On Body Massage Chelsea Hottest Male Masseurs For Women Afford and have years of experience with massage. About my Massage Today United I dont see couples, However, I am glad to feign with just one person at a time in my studio. To The End That, Clear Cut I like to focus my massage on areas of the body where you are currently having a lot of…

[northernbeachesnaturaltherapies]

Northern Beaches Natural Therapies

Website: https://www.northernbeachesnaturaltherapies.com.au/

Address: Cromer, New South Wales, Australia

Karen O'Neill (Northern Beaches Natural Therapies) is a qualified Medical Herbalist, Remedial Massage therapist and Biodynamic Craniosacral therapist. She is a member of the Professional Association 'The Australian Traditional Medicine Society' and 'Pacific Association of Craniosacral Therapists' she has been in practice for almost 18 years.

What is a Medical Herbalist?

A practitioner of natural medicine who has a holistic approach treating the whole person, unique in his or her health pattern. Natural Medicine is common sense medicine. It believes you are unique. Therefore, any treatment, medicine, diet or advice must be tailored to the individual – you.

About Herbal Medicine

As your body is unique it requires individual assistance for all of its needs to be met. When the body’s nutritional needs are not being met your body’s organs, muscles and bones have to work harder to compensate. In time this becomes a strain on the body and internally things begin to decline. Symptoms can arise in various forms, you may start to feel lethargic, low in energy, pain or sickness, the body can become stiff, or you may feel bloated, or generally you feel under par.

Herbal medicine can help restore the balance in your body as it is prescribed for your individual needs. Very few natural treatments are unpleasant or painful: if they are properly administered and prescribed you will find your health returning with a minimum of discomfort. Herbs are safe, effective, concentrated nutrition giving you the support you need to rebuild your body back to optimum health. Herbs are often prescribed sometimes with low dose minerals, because without a good mineral balance in the body, all the supplements in the world will not achieve good health.

What to Expect

As a medical herbalist I listen to your symptoms and case history. This involves asking questions like your current health status, family history, diet, lifestyle and current medications or supplements you may be taking, this gives me the background. I can then make a general assessment. I also use Iridology as a diagnostic tool to give the overall health picture. The eyes provide me with the ‘fine tuning’ analysis of biochemistry and of emotional and circumstantial factors hard to determine by any other method. Illnesses past and present can still be visible, recorded in the iris; and measures can be taken to prevent recurrence. Tongue and nail diagnosis are also used and vitamin and mineral deficiencies are identified and liquid herbal tinctures are prepared for each person along with recommendations for dietary advice.

Why have a consultation?

Are you concerned about your health? If you are worried about drugs being prescribed for minor ailments or how a tough meeting affects your ulcer: if you want to relieve your allergies or bad back, or fight off viral infections, then Karen O’Neill can help you.

Karen offers a range of safe and effective natural therapy treatments for the prevention and alleviation of commonly experienced problems such as: -

Breathing discomforts

Sinus congestion

Skin problems

Insomnia

Anxiety

Depression

Heart problems

High/low blood pressure

Indigestion, flatulence, bloating

Constipation

Infertility

PMT and pain

Menopause

Cystitis/kidney infection

Lymphatic congestion

Oedema and fatigue

Muscle spasms

Arthritis, Gout

Karens Approach to Bodywork

Karen approaches bodywork from a holistic perspective, beginning with a case history where the client’s medical history is reviewed.

Bodywork with Karen can take the form of many recognized therapies such as, remedial massage, craniosacral therapy, re-alignment of muscles, ligaments and tendons (The Lester Cox Technique), visceral manipulation, trigger point therapy, myofascial release, positional release, active or passive stretching, reflexology, and reiki.

Long-term postural or skeletal problems will cause fascia to maintain the body out of alignment causing probable referred pain and holding bones and organs out of alignment.

Approximately 75% of today’s diseases are attributable to stress and tension, various body systems are affected in different ways and varying degrees. One person may exhibit cardiovascular problems, another gastrointestinal upset, palpitations, sweating, anxiety, headaches….to mention a few of the myriad of bodily reactions to stress.

Often there’s a link between non-physical issues and specific physical concerns. Bodywork can be important during times of emotional, mental and physical stress to support the release of this energy, so that later it doesn’t manifest in the form of dis-ease.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/northernbeachesnaturaltherapies.com.au/

Yelp: https://www.yelp.com/biz/northern-beaches-natural-therapies-cromer

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[yikesmary]

Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠🫠

HUSBAND DUTIES — kim mingyu x reader

summary: where mingyu is the best support system for your pregnancy.

note: this request was soooo cute!!! i don't know anything about pregnancy though, so anything that i mention about pregnancy is probably false so should be taken with a grain of salt. this is shorter than i expected but i hope u like it anon and everyone who reads this <33. also you guys should request more ;)

"Eggs, carrots, flour," You read to the phone, Mingyu on the other side as he was at the store.

Since you announced your pregnancy, it seemed like Mingyu was determined that you barely moved a finger during the 9 or so months. This meant that you weren't allowed to carry anything that was remotely heavy (he practically pouted the one time you insisted on helping out with the dishes); in this case, he took on the duty of going to the store.

You hesistated for a moment after saying the last item on the list you wrote out before saying, "Also, the baby is saying that you should pick up some chinese from that one place near the house,"

"Really? The baby said I should pick up food?"

"Yep, uh-huh. And the baby said you should buy ice cream from the convivence store as well," you affirmed, patting your pregnant belly as if you were high-fiving the baby through your belly.

Mingyu chuckled in amusement before saying, "Well, tell the baby that it'll take a bit of time if that's okay with them,"

"Okay, but don't be too long! I— I mean the baby will miss you a lot," you whispered, as if it was a secret.

"I won't take long," Mingyu reassured you, amused.

"Hey Gyu?"

"Yes, my love?"

"It's just not the baby that misses you,"

"Oh, yeah?"

"I miss you too,"

"I'm home!" Mingyu called out, opening the door and walking in your shared home, hands filled with plastic bags that came from the supermarket.

"Yay!" You cheered, slowly standing up from your seat on the couch then you walked (more like waddled) to Mingyu. You tried to grab one of the bags that was in his hands, but he moved away quickly so you didn't have the opportunity to grab a bag.

"Mingyu! Let me help!"

"No, just sit and I'll grab everything," Mingyu told you.

You pouted, but obliged, watching as he made his way back and forth from the car to the kitchen.

Once he was finished, he exited the kitchen and made a beeline towards you, holding the paper bag that was holding the Chinese Food. You made grabby hands towards the bag and he gave it to you.

You started to open the bag but then Mingyu said, "before we eat, I wanna test something on you,"

Looking at him confused, you looked at the food before looking back at him and shrugged. "Alright," you shrugged, putting the bag on the table that was in front of the couch.

"Stand up, please," Mingyu requested and you did, and he moved so he was behind you, which confused you even further.

Deciding not to question it, you looked at him from behind to see him grab the underside of your belly. When he lifted your belly up, you instantly felt relief feeling that a massive weight was just removed from you (which did, technically).

You sighed in relief, resting your head on Mingyu's shoulders and basking in the moment where there was no extra weight.

The pregnancy, as happy as you were starting a family with Mingyu, left your body sore constantly. And Mingyu knew this, since he's witnessed how your body was changing and even massaged your feet whenever you asked.

"How do you feel?" Mingyu asked.

"Like you should do this for the rest of my pregnancy," you said, smiling up at him.

"I don't think I can do it for that long, but I'll do it whenever you ask," he told you.

"Where do you learn how to do this?"

"Wonwoo sent me a TikTok of a man doing this to his wife so he gave me the idea," he explained.

You and him were in the position for a few minutes before he decided to say, "okay, I think I'm going to let you go,"

"No," you said, dragging out the 'o'.

He kissed the crown of your head in an apology before moving away and sitting on the couch. You sat beside him and kissed him in thanks.

"Love you,"

[theladysunami]

As someone who doesn’t speak a lick of Chinese (and really struggles to distinguish tones), I have some question for any fluent Chinese speakers.

It’s a common trope in SVSSS fanfiction where Shen Qingqiu and/or Shang Qinghua use terms for modern technology and the PIDW natives around them are puzzled by it.

What sort of homophones (or near homophones) are there for words like “airplane,” “cell phone,” “television,” “refrigerator,” “microwave,” and so forth? In other words, what might PIDW natives think they’re hearing while trying to listen in on the transmigrators? Are there any (near) homophones that depend on the dialect being spoken?

If the PIDW natives saw the words written, rather than heard them, what meanings might they come up with based on the characters used?

I can guess at some possible interpretations by looking things up in Yabla’s Chinese English Pinyin Dictionary, but they’re rough guesses at best.

I’d be delighted if someone actually knowledgeable could provide some insight on what Mobie-jun and Luo Binghe might think their husbands are talking about when they hear them use words and phrases ��from their hometown.”

Edit: Apparently my homophone guesses weren't nearly as terrible as I'd feared, so I'm going to edit this and stick some of them under a read more for fun.

Native speakers please feel free to bully me if I screw up!

Airplane (飞机, fēi jī) "Flying Machine" 飞, fēi: "to fly" ● 机, jī: "machine" Possible Homophones: ● "Flying Chicken" (飞鸡) We definitely need fics where everyone thinks SQQ insists on calling SQH a chicken for some reason.

Cell Phone (手机, shǒu jī) "Hand Machine" 手, shǒu: "hand," "to hold" ● 机, jī: "machine" Possible Homophones: ● "Head/Chief Chicken" (首鸡) ● "Hand Muscle" (手肌) Does Shizun need a hand massage, or miss the "top-dog" chicken he grew up with? Who knows!

Telephone (电话, diàn huà) "Electric Talk" 电, diàn: "electric" ● 话, huà: "language," "speech," "talk" Possible Homophones: ● "Palace Talk" (殿话) ● "Shop Talk" (店话) The most likely guesses seem to be that the phrase has something to do with situational modes of speech. How one speaks in a palace hall, or how one speaks in an inn/shop.

Television (电视, diàn shì) "Electric View" 电, diàn: "electric" ● 视, shì: "to look at," "to regard" Possible Homophones: ● "Court Examination," "Imperial Exam" (殿试) ● "Think on/Remember a Matter," "Worry About Things" (惦事) Why demon lord husbands would pine after imperial exams is anyone's guess.

Refrigerator (冰箱, bīng xiāng) "Ice Box" 冰, bīng: "ice" ● 箱, xiāng: "box" No homophones needed. Meaning is obvious. Huzzah!

Microwave (微波炉, wēi bō lú) "Tiny Wave Stove" 微, wēi: "tiny" ● 波, bō: "wave," "ripple" ● 炉, lú: "stove," "furnace" Possible Homophones: ● "Power Sowing Furnace" (威播炉) No great options here, so they'd likely assume it's some special pill furnace variety.

Car/Automobile (汽车, qì chē) "Steam Vehicle" 汽, qì: "steam," "vapor" ● 车, chē: "vehicle," "chariot" (archaic) Possible Homophones: ● "Qi Chariot" (气车) ● "Near Vehicle" (汔车) A Qi powered chariot sounds pretty neat actually. The phrase could mean something like "whatever vehicle is nearest" though? Or a short range vehicle? (Google translate interpreted 汔车 as "car racing").

Courtesy of @hopingforbrain

airplane's full name can be heard as 'beating (up) flying chickens to the sky'. not in the wanking way, but actually throwing hands with the poultry.

[joyfeetspanaples]

Chinese massage near me

The main element with the massage is that it is a shared experience, and a way for people to take some time out of their everyday lives and rejuvenate their bodies. You can check the Chinese massage near me for your relaxation online.

[masseurrsvp]

Secure your Scrub Massage tailored renewal Traditional Chinese Massage immediately.

Scrub Massage unparalleled rejuvenation at Chris Men’s Therapeutic Touch Sessions. As a skilled and knowledgeable men’s therapeutic touch practitioner, Chris offers a range of customized therapeutic touch treatments to cater to the requirements of gay, bisexual, and heterosexual men in a secure and inviting environment. Unwind and Unwind with my Deep Tissue Therapeutic Touch Unwind and…

[macfrog]

you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

 “If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

[think-like-a-poet]

Stay in

Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Summary: Lando had won his first Sprint and you had a whole day planned to celebrate. Only the weather decided to take a turn.

wc: 554

It was one of those days when the weather decided to be annoying, with the constant drumming of rain against the windows disrupting any plans that had been in place. The day started early with little drops of rain against the roof, creating a cozy backdrop for a lazy morning. But as the hours passed, the rain kept pouring, showing no signs of drying up.

With the original plans with Lando canceled due to the rainy weather, the two of you found yourselves huddled together on the couch, seeking cover from the dreary day. The warmth of the room enveloped you, and the glow of the TV lit up the darkened space as you watched 'Tangled' together. Despite the unexpected change of plans, the day had taken on a new charm as you snuggled up to each other.

Lando's hand was running through your hair, massaging your head. It felt like heaven, and you didn't want it to stop. "Do you want to get some takeout?" your boyfriend asked, looking down at you. It was as if he read your mind. "Do you have a preference, or can I choose everything?" you answered.

"So long as it isn't sushi, I am alright with everything you choose." You laughed at his comment. Lando doesn't like fish, not even a little bit. If any food is near a fish, it is directly inedible. It can be a little annoying because you love it, mostly sushi. You just ate it when he was away. "We can get some Chinese. I love dumplings or wonton soup."

You sighed as Lando stood up, leaving you alone on the couch. "I will order it. Don't watch the movie without me. I need to know what she is going to use that pan for." You nodded and paused the movie. It was boring without Lando there. You pulled the duvet higher up, hoping it would warm you up, and took out your phone.

Your social media was full of pictures of Lando winning his first race. You smiled as you saw Lando on the podium. You were so happy for him. You knew how hard he had been on himself for never winning, and even now he wasn't completely happy because it was a sprint race. In his head, it didn't count. "What are you looking at?" Lando sat down next to you again. He took your head and put it back on his chest.

"Your win. I can't help but be so proud of you, honey," you said, ruffling his hair.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's not a real race, though. The win doesn't count." You saw him pout, and you hated it. His face was the most beautiful you had ever seen. A smile on it brightened up your whole day. "I know, honey, but you don't need to beat yourself down so much. You did great, and you have to enjoy that. There will be a time when you cross that finish line in P1 in the feature race, and I will be right there to celebrate it with you."

He smiled and looked you in the eye. "You promise?" You couldn't help but place a kiss on his lips. He was such a great driver; the only problem is that he didn't see it. You put out your pinky for him to take. "I promise."

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #6 quit!

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt, (g)-idle minnie&soyeon, oc’s

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual , reader talks about parental death, sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: 2.8k

masterlist ▸ 5. 005. chronic memory keeper ▸ 007. snake in the grass

Stepping into her kitchen was the most relaxing feeling ever, it had been a while since y/n had the chance to dine in with a recipe she carefully put together or found on pinterest and craft something nice. Spending hours on end not thinking about her own problems and just focusing on a hobby she enjoys. 

After her overly embarrassing text messages hinting to Minghao that she slightly hoped he was single had her desperately wishing they wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. 

Cleaning out the insides of the chicken and placing them in a bowl saved for her next soup stock, she massages pads of butter or seasoning onto it’s skin and placed it in her hot oven, before moving onto the thinly silenced potatoes and root vegetables she had prepped that morning, boiling and simmering them. 

A chime from her doorbell stole her away from her stress free time in the kitchen. She was excited to see Minghao but it wasn’t him who was waiting at her threshold. opening it to reveal a small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a matching twine bow. 

No note was attached on the outer side revealing who may have left the wrapped item for her to find. So she decided to ignore it, just for now at least and get back to preparing her meal for a friend. 

An hour had passed since the last time someone was ringing the doorbell and left waiting for her to quickly wash her hands. 

“Y/n?” 

Minghao. 

“Sorry, one second I just need to wash my hands.” 

She yelled, leaving the water running and rushing herself to the guest bathroom next to the door, making sure she looked alright and didn’t miss an out of place hair or swipe of flour on her face. 

Opening her front door, she revealed Mingaho standing with a paper bag in his hand as well as a bouquet of her favorite flowers, Hydrangeas swinging to his side. 

She looked him up and down forgetting she invited him here and still not inviting him in. He was dressed in a perfectly ripped pair of jeans and matching long denim coat, underneath she caught a glimpse of a white button down top missing the clasps of the top three buttons revealing his chest. He looked incredible. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Yes, please.” 

“This is for you, some wine and snacks for after dinner. I picked them up from the chinese market near my gallery.” 

“That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you. The flowers are beautiful, how did you know I liked hydrangeas?” 

“I saw on Seokmin’s instagram that he took you to a flower farm last year, I just assumed.” 

“Ah. Well you assumed right, they’re really gorgeous.” 

“What are you making? It smells so good.” 

“Roast chicken and root veggies, with some wild rice and my mom’s very special, very secret recipe sauce. 

Minghao was amazed watching y/n move around the kitchen with ease, seemingly like she was dancing around the marble floor. 

“I have to admit, I really thought you were joking when you told me you could cook. I almost expected you to order food and make it look like you were the chef.” 

“Ouch. That hurts my pride a little bit. Actually, my dad was a chef. He used to own a restaurant. I spent a lot of time there as a kid helping him.” 

“Was? What happened if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“He passed away when I was a teenager. It’s a long story.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s okay, I miss him, but cooking helps me feel close to him.” 

“Now I’m very sorry I ever doubted your skill.” 

Your laugh made Minghao happy, he knew he probably struck a chord in you but it was nice that even when you were sad you could still find humor in anything. 

“Need my help with anything?” 

“Just for you to either open that bottle of wine or make me a cocktail, dealer's choice.” 

“Got it.” 

Y/n’s dining partner strode off to the chrome bar cart and twiddled his fingers around the various bottles of liquor, some full and some half empty, giving him an indication of the things she chose for herself. 

“Here you are, chef.” 

“Wow, thank you bartender. What is it?” 

“Try it and find out.” 

Y/n took a sip from the slightly pink cocktail glass, swishing it in her mouth for dramatic effect. 

“Okay, so.. Gin, Campari, a splash of grapefruit bitters, and lemon?” 

“Wow, are you like a weird super taster or something? What the fuck.” 

“No, just a girl who loves gin old fashioneds.” 

“You are one surprising specimen.” 

“Shut up. Come on, let's eat.” 

After basically finishing every edible thing on the plate, Minghao offered to clean up for you as a thank you for the efforts of you cooking him one of the best dinners he’s had the pleasure of eating. 

Y/n switched into her role as bartender and opened a beautiful bottle of red wine for the pair to sip on as their night continued on. 

“Thank you for cleaning. I’m sorry again about the whole weird ass texts I was sending you. I was way too drunk to be alone with my thoughts and access to the internet.” 

“I told you it’s alright. I actually found it sort of cute.” 

“Cute? Maybe you are crazier than I thought you were.” 

“No, come on. You know you’re cute. Everyone tells you all the time, I agree with them.” 

“Shut up, THE Xu Minghao thinks I’M cute? I’m so flattered.” 

Minghao playfully slapped y/n’s hand off of her chest, knocking the red liquid around in her cup, causing it to fall onto the white fabric of her pants. 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s ok, I can just go throw them in the wash. One second.” 

Y/n departed into her room, changing into a pair of pink pajama bottoms, not removing her corseted tank top in the process, fleeing quickly into the laundry room at the end of the hall to wash the stain out. 

Minghao in the meantime caught a glimpse of the twine wrapped package on her coffee table and went over to see what it could possibly be. In the time he spent inspecting it he didn’t notice his female counterpart entering back into the room. 

“Someone left that for me at my door. Weird right?” 

“Yeah, sort of. Should we open it?” 

“I’m kind of scared to be honest.” 

“Okay, I have an idea.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” 

“Trust me?” 

“Maybe.” 

Minghao stepped back to the now familiar bar cart and grabbed a bottle of whiskey that had been left unopened until this night, placing two shot glasses in front of them both. 

“What does taking shots have to do with us opening the package?” 

“What doesn’t it have to do with the package? It’s brown, similar to the wrapping. It’s sealed, maybe because you don’t like it or it’s not something you’re sure of. And it’s interesting. So we take two shots, then we open it, then regardless of what it is, we play a game. The game selfishly is for me to get to know you deeper. I feel like I’ve spent so much time with you and I don’t know that much about you, other than what was exposed. So, you in?” 

“Yes.” 

Y/n and Minghao cheered to their now growing connection and he placed the small package in her lap, holding onto her knee, getting the feeling that she needed moral support based on mutual gut feelings. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sure it’s not bad.” 

As y/ns hands ripped apart the brown paper and untied the rope around the mysterious box, it revealed a soft purple journal, now torn apart, pages basically falling out from end to end all over the couch between them. 

“My journal.” 

Her voice shifted, she was no longer happy or full of anticipation, she was confused and slightly disappointed as her precious and private life fell out in front of her, photos, entries, and shards of her life. 

“Oh, y/n. I-” 

“No. Don’t say sorry, please.” 

“Why the fuck do people care? Just like why am I someone's target? Especially if it’s someone I know, what is so bad that you can’t just fucking talk to me about it? Sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense at all, but I just don’t get it.” 

“I think some people are just scared of genuine conflict, so instead of asking they make things about themselves and take the other person's feelings out of the equation to feed their own.” 

“Why give it back now? Am I expected to just ignore my privacy being invaded and be like well it’s over good? This makes me feel even more uneasy.” 

“Maybe they left you a clue or something by giving this back?” 

Minghao collected the various contents that were left as ashes for you, feeding you more alcohol and not talking while he did so. 

“y/n? Here.” 

A small envelope, matching the shade of purple of the cover of your journal was tapped inside the cover, inside a typed note. 

‘Just because it comes back to you, doesn’t mean it’ll always stay the same. See you soon. Xo.’

“What the fuck does that even mean?” 

“I guess they’re trying to tell you more will come out? And that they have no purpose for keeping the evidence anymore.” 

“Can we.. maybe, just for the rest of the night ignore this? I cannot focus on this anymore and it’s ruining my chance to have fun with you.” 

“Please. Let me distract you.” 

“Do you want to change? Or need clothes? I know Seokmin and Joshua left some stuff here in case they ever stayed over.” 

“They wouldn’t mind?” 

“No, of course not. I’ll be right back.” 

Y/n ran back into her room, gathering various styles of t-shirts and sweatpants to make Minghao more comfortable. 

“Here, there's some options. I know you care a lot about your style, so pick what you want.” 

Mingaho grabbed a black t-shirt with a logo from Joshua’s coffee shop on the front and an odd pair of Seokmin’s disney character pajama pants, just to make the air go back to it’s lighthearted space. 

“Oh my god, you look amazing.” 

“ I just wanted you to smile.” 

“Mission accomplished, Mickyhao.” 

“That is an awful nickname.” 

“Shut up, don’t be a dick.” 

“Got it. Okay, so let’s play a little game, y/n. I’ll ask you some questions, if you don’t want to answer you can drink and you can do the same for me. Got it?” 

“Got it. You go first.” 

“Okay, so what stops you from going after the things you want?” 

“Hmm, I’m shy, I guess? I don’t want to risk changing how things already are any more than they have changed on their own. I think confessions and love declarations are unnerving, I could ruin something good just for a single chance. Not knowing shit freaks me out.” 

“So you’re a control freak, got it.” 

“No. Not a control freak, just a loser.” 

“That’s accurate.” 

“You’re stupid. Okay, Minghao. What made you want to pursue art?” 

“I guess it was just always something I was good at? I loved being able to tell the truth about stuff without having to say it outloud, people can perceive anything they want, but I know how I truly feel and nobody can take it away from me. The truth, I mean.” 

“How are you so certain that its the truth?” 

“Well, it's my truth.” 

“Touche” 

“Why didn’t you tell Minnie about Seungcheol? Were you ever going to?” 

“Yikes. I guess, I didn’t feel like it was important. We hooked up way before they ever dated, he was just helping me out with something that scared me, which I didn’t think was a big deal. I knew she liked him, but she told me she’d never confess. I guess I didn’t think it was as big of a problem until it was. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah it does, how did it happen?” 

“No, no, no. One question at a time. How did it happen for you?” 

“My virginity? I was at a party, junior year before college and I met a girl. She was nice, really pretty, and she seemed to enjoy my company. I guess I just asked her if she wanted to fuck and she agreed, but after she told me she had a boyfriend and that was that.” 

“So she cheated on her boyfriend just to fuck you? Alright, good for you I guess. Bad for the boyfriend.” 

“Have you ever cheated on someone?” 

“Me? God no. I haven’t even had the chance to be with anyone that seriously considers sleeping around cheating. I don’t think I could do that. Why? Have you?” 

“Nope, but I guess I’ve been the person someone used to cheat, so it feels sort of like cheating.” 

“Since we seem to be two overly honest people for this game, want to drink just for fun as well?” 

“Please. Cheers.” 

“Okay y/n, I have a question.” 

“Yes?” 

“What was it about Joshua or Mingyu that attracted you to them?” 

“With Shua it was how kind he was, everyone knows it and can see that. It just sort of radiates around him. I mean he’s beautiful, they both are. In such different ways. I’ll probably always view him as that first boy I loved, he’s really special to me. As for Mingyu, I guess I never knew why at first. He was just my hot friend that I hooked up with sometimes, but the more and more we hung out the more I realized how smart he was and how intriguing his character is.” 

“Do you still have feelings for them?” 

“I’m not sure what my feelings are for anyone at this moment, no.” 

“What about me?” 

“What about you?” 

“Would you ever consider me the way you consider them?” 

“Can I take a shot?” 

“Sure, but you still have to answer the question. Come on.” 

“Yeah, I would. I like getting to know you, I appreciate how fiercely committed you are to riding for the people you love. I like that you’re artistic like me, that we can laugh about wild stuff, but also be honest and talk about anything and everything in between. You’ve really made me happy even in the short time of knowing you. And to say that I’d have to think about considering you is silly, because I definitely already have. Seokmin and Jun think I have a crush on you.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Nobody needs to know.” 

“I do.” 

“You do what? Need to know if I like you?” 

“No, like you.” 

“Wait.” 

“A lot actually. More than I ever considered I would. I think you’re actually a really spectacular person despite everything.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah. You can.” 

The smell of whiskey on Minghao’s breath made the hair on Y/N’s arms stand up as she fell into his touch, the kiss exploded into more and more touching and exploration of the pair's bodies. And continued on through the night, more than once. 

The next morning y/n woke up with a headache, checking the clock on her phone revealing it was almost time for Joshua to come and whisk her away from her new found bliss in bed next to Minghao. 

“Going somewhere?” 

“What?” 

“You have a suitcase in the corner and you keep checking your phone, is everything alright? I wasn’t that bad was I?” 

“No, but I’m going to see my mom this weekend with Joshua, I almost forgot. He’s on his way.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing. I’ll just shower quickly and sneak out. You can stay as long as you need, I have an extra key in the blue jar next to my door, just lock it up for me?” 

“Sure, but come here quickly.” 

Minghao pulled y/n in for a long sweet kiss, before she ran into the warm water of her shower. 

Minghao propped himself up in her bed, collecting himself before making an attempt at a small getaway. Coming face to face with the unlocking door of the same apartment he spent his night in before. 

“Y/n, hey can I- Oh, Minghao. Hey.” 

“Joshua, Hi. Sorry I was just leaving.” 

“Without saying goodbye?” 

“What?” 

“To y/n, she’s in the shower, you’re just leaving?” 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, for your information we already said a very thorough goodbye. Have fun on your trip, take care of her.” 

“Hah. Alright.” 

“I’m serious. Make sure she knows I’ll miss her.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” 

Minghao grabbed his jacket and slid out of her front door, looking behind him before walking away from y/n already feeling jealous she’d be spending her weekend with Joshua and not him, but he had things he couldn't tell her. Not yet.

"Oh, Joshua. I didn't think you were coming yet. Sorry, let me just grab my stuff."

"No it's fine, I just wanted to grab some snacks, hope that's okay?"

"Of course, take whatever you want. Give my five?"

"I saw your overnight guest on his way out."

"Yeah, he stayed over. I made him dinner, we just got drunk I didn't want him to have to drive home like that. Unsafe, you know."

"Right, well I'll meet you in the car."

"No need, I'm ready. I cannot wait to have the Boston Creme Pie from Boi's, I'm literally salivating thinking about it."

"We should go when we get into town and order an entire one."

"I see why we're friends now. Come on."

Joshua grabbed y/ns luggage, waiting for her to lock up her apartment and the pair headed to his car waiting outside.

bonus:

note/s: y/n love triangle era starting fr. srry this took a second and is a lil chaotic, I've been a lil busy. but!! I already have the next part on hand and will be posting v soon, some shit will be going down at minghaos show, but I didn't tell u that. xoxoxo. ily.

taglist:  @sun-daddy-yoriichi,@hipsdofangirl @kissesfrmwonwoo, @minhui896, @wonwooz1, porridgesblog,, jasssy051, @soonyoungblr, @saucegirlreads, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @young-adult-summer, @punkhazardlaw, @bibs-world @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @wonuulvr @woozixo

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

I'm sorry, this got heavy and angsty, so no worries if you don't wanna read it. But this gif just show's Curtis paying such close attention and feeling pain for Honey that this is where my mind went.

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

Warnings- mentions of a student's bad home life. No details mentioned.

Bad Day

Curtis wasn't expecting to find you sitting in your car in the driveway crying. When his truck pulled up next to you and he caught a glimpse of you sitting behind the wheel, your shoulders shaking and head bowed down, fear struck his heart that something happened to you.

He sprang out and knocked on your window to get your attention, frowning as you shuddered in a finality that said you accepted whatever upset you and you went to push your door open. "Honey?" He moved to a squat next to your open door, his hands reaching for you, taking your tear soaked hands in his. "What is happening? Why are you crying? Are you hurt or something?" His concerned eyes searched all over you before settling back on your face.

You gave a wet sniffle, sure that your ugly sobs had left you a wreck. "Bad day... I need to get inside." You tried wiping at your face but Curtis beat you to it, gentle with the sleeve of his shirt as he dried your cheeks. With a crunch of gravel under his boots, he picked himself up to take your hands and draw you out. You half turned to grab your bags when Curtis gently but firmly turned you towards the house.

"Inside Honey, I will bring your stuff in." His hand rubbed against your back as you hesitated. "I want you to go upstairs and draw a bath, use those lavender bubbles under the counter." Curtis instructed, you were completely unprepared for him. Curtis had never demanded you to do anything.

But today when your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, thinking for yourself was taking a backseat. It was easy to let him take over and just tell you what to do.

Curtis watched as your shoulders went slack and you silently went to do as he told you too, with the click of the door signifying you were inside, he breathed out deeply, releasing his own tension. The idea of anyone making you cry, that hard. He wanted to go strangle the asshole. Instead he reached in to turn your car off, making sure it was parked and grabbing your bags you faithfully toted with you everyday for work.

Inside, he could hear the old pipes groaning above him, meaning you were filling up the bathtub. He took a moment to empty your lunch box and take care of anything that needed to be right away. Grabbing his phone he called in a take out order from a nearby chinese place, neither of you were cooking tonight.

He was fast to make a cup of your calming tea, searching through all your little tea bags and dolloped your honey into the cup, testing it to make sure it was how sweet you liked it before going up the stairs. In the bedroom he set aside the drink on your nightstand and knocked on the bathroom door. "Honey? Can I come in?"

"Yeah... I'm just sitting here." You sniffled from the other side and when he opened the door you were sitting in the middle of the tub, knees folded up and hugging around them so you could cover your nakedness for now. Curtis suspected part of it was because of how vulnerable you were feeling right now. He eased his way in, pushing down the lid to the toilet to sit on it near you.

"Ease back Honey, let me wash your hair." Curtis said gently while rolling up his sleeves to his shirt. You did as he asked, making sure to dunk your head and slide back till you were closer to him. Heavy scent of lavender rolled off the hot water, leaving your tears slowly fading and hiccups in its place as you started to calm down. The shampoo he used was cool against your head as he started to work it in. Deep massaging pulls of his finger against your scalp made you sink in a little further, a appreciative moan escaping you.

"That feels so good."

Behind you Curtis chuckled softly as you tipped your head forward, letting him get to the base of your skull. "My grandma used to do this for Ella and I when we were little. I remember it always made me feel better." He let his fingers travel back up, rubbing gently around your temples, the pressure just right from him. "Do you wanna tell me about it Honey?"

You were quiet, Curtis could see over your shoulder how you toyed with your fingers, silently debating if you were ready to share. "Tip your head back so I can rinse." He was gentle with the water, not pushing you to talk just yet but kept working on your hair. The conditioner was applied next, worked in much like the shampoo till you pulled away from him to turn in the tub, facing him.

"His name is Jonathan and I want to help him, but I can't." You admitted, Curtis let his forearms rest on his knees while his hands all soapy and wet stayed over the tub, staying silent for you to continue talking. "At home, it's bad for him Curtis, everyday I see him struggle with it and he can't escape it. No matter how many times I report what I see or he say's."

Curtis gave a soft sad nod and reached his hand out to take yours in his, letting you slip your hand into his as you continued talking. Finally finding someone who would listen, even if he couldn't fix it. You spilled everything that had been racing through your mind, your voice cracking once in a while, but Curtis never interrupted you or asked you to stop.

When you finally were out of words to say, you two sat their in silence. Till Curtis instructed you to turn back around so he could rinse your hair. His fingers gentle as they swept through your strands, untangling them while taking the conditioner out. The water was starting to get cold when Curtis brushed his hand in it, so he pulled the plug and helped you out of the water, wrapping the big fluffy towel around you. As he dried you, he tilted your face up to look at him.

"It should be different, but until things change, you are doing everything possible for your student, and that is more than anyone else is. I'm sorry we can't make it better Honey." He pulled you in close and you sunk into him, water dripping over Curtis but he didn't care as you hugged him back.

In those quiet moments of you just hugging him in the middle of the bathroom, you were so thankful to be held in this set of supportive arms.