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hwajin · 30 days

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☆°. — ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴘᴀsᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ | hhj

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x afab!reader

𝐰𝐜: 3.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, cumming inside

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is barely proof read AND inspired by the bathrobe look in paris but also hyunjin in milan 🫶 hope you like it <333

You could feel his gaze on you. On your figure, your body. On your whole. The clear sound of his 2B pencil dancing along the cheap, store-bought paper echoed quietly in contrast to the music playing somewhere in the back, from the radio, or one of your phones, or from outside your hotel room altogether — it didn’t much matter to you, for his gaze on your body, on your figure, on your whole was all that did.

You weren’t sure if he was aware that you were aware — his eyes on you, the pencil scratching against the paper; you knew you were the object for his current spurt of creativity. The object of his inspiration. The object of his works — his very own and personal muse. You knew, and the knowledge, the very thought alone, made you dizzy, made you lose track of the sentence you were reading in the tour guide provided by the hotel.

Milan was beautiful. You were working your way through page after page, taking in museums and cathedrals, art galleries you knew Hyunjin would die to see. One page, his gaze on you, long, intimate, longing. Another page, eyeing the ‘Pinacoteca di Brera’, putting in a bookmark to later show him, and you felt his eyes on you again. Unbudging. Persistent. He either was unsure of your anatomy, or simply enjoyed to stare.

“I can feel you staring, you know.”

You looked up, and your eyes momentarily locked with his own, dark ones. Sparking. Speaking, without words. His hair had dried a good bit ever since he’d stepped out the shower, the white bathrobe snug loosely around his naked body leaving only so much to imagination. You looked at him, smiling, teasing, and he stared back — aware, and smug. His eyes wandered down to his art again — faint strokes of your face adorning the page and you wondered what had moved Hyunjin to capture you in this very moment — it was mundane, the moment, and you didn’t look any bit different – or, better, for that matter – than you did any other day. You were reading a tour guide, lazy, tired, solemn — you wondered where he saw the beauty in that.

“I know. I don’t mind that you can feel it.”

A pang to your heart, and he looked up from his page again, after adding lines here and there which as though magically transformed into plasticity, into your eyes and nose and mouth. You were fascinated by his art. You grew bashful at his words. And you were enamored by his eyes, his face. His whole; the way he looked. Milan was beautiful — but suddenly you forgot all about the tour guide, about the trip here you had bought for his birthday. You forgot all about the sights and museums and art galleries, for he sat across from you, sight enough, creating the only art you ever wished to look at.

You were sure you blushed, your skin acquainting the same colour of the roses blooming on the table in a vase. You could smell them, their scent spreading all around and luring you into depths so captivating you wanted to exist in them for eternity.

Only now you noticed the red paint by your lover’s side, only after thorough inspection of him. He parted his eyes from your own with a grin and continued on his drawing — on your drawing, ultimately, because you knew he’d gift it to you after finishing touches —; his hands reached after the brush laying beside his paper, and with a dip into beforehand-prepared water he activated the red colour, and let it swim across white paper. You couldn't take your eyes off him. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way his hands controlled the paint on his canvas, how the pigment drowned and spread and melted against the grey lines of pencil. Taking everything in, swallowing details, yet enhancing the object of the art, enhancing features of your face. Your cheeks suddenly shone red now on the white paper — and maybe it had been his aim after all, to make you shy, to make you bashful. Reality materialised onto paper, into art. Love did, for every brushstroke, every further pigment of red paint on white canvas meant love, for every further gaze of his, for reference or his own enjoyment you weren’t sure, meant adoration.

It took Hyunjin far longer to finish the painting than he had intended it to. Not because he was struggling with it — drawing you in all shapes and forms was a second nature to him by now —, and not because of exterior reasons altogether. Yet he sat and painted, away and away, adding a line here, colour there, watching you go back to the tour guide; he was sure that it could not possibly take you so long to finish it. That you were spending far too much time on each page, that you were eyeing Hyunjin far too often after every other sentence you read. That it wouldn’t possibly take you so long to inspect sights and places — but that you and him were set on the same mission, seemingly, on the same, interior goal. Finishing the tour guide, completing the painting — meant ending the moment. Ending the tranquility, discarding, ultimately, from admiring the other in the golden light of the slowly setting sun, shadows of trees and buildings casting paintings on your faces. The moment would end, the sun would set, would stop drowning the ebony furniture in your hotel room in golden showers, snow-white bed sheets in warm rays.

You looked up; Hyunjin looked at you, inspecting, one second, another, before he went back to his painting, as concentrated as he had stared at you. You let your eyes wander to somewhere behind him — you looked out the western window, which blind’s didn't do well in saving you from the blinding sun, though you wouldn't have wanted them to, admired the sunset, the city that laid in it, the foreign neighbourhood, the white sky. Maybe Hyunjin caught beauty there — the rich sun on your face. Your sparking eyes, your gleaming expression. Almost sacred, solemn. Meant for only the two of you.

You caught glimpse of the broken clock on the wall behind him, showing fifteen minutes past four — it had been showing fifteen minutes past four for the past two hours now. Or for the past three? How much later was it now, ever since you had settled into the hotel room? The sun had long started to set behind the horizon, though it had stood at its highest spot when you had first entered the single bedroom for two; yet maybe no time had passed at all. Maybe in his presence love was eternal, unending.

You stood up. You had been looking at Hyunjin for far too long; had been only looking at him, inspected his every move, reciprocated his every long, fixed stare, shuddering beneath it simply. You had studied his ever-drying dark hair, his ever-parting bathrobe, his naked collarbones, his paint-laced fingers. The way he stared you down, the way he left you vulnerable and naked with as much as a gaze – and you felt touch starved. His eyes burned on your skin, though it wasn’t sensation enough to satisfy you – you needed more of him. You would always need more of him.

Hyunjin’s eyes followed your figure as you made your way over to him. Without a rush, walking slowly; you bore all the time the world had to offer in your palms, it felt. You walked slowly, yet the scent of the red roses you passed filled Hyunjin’s senses in the breeze your movements created. The floral sensation all around him, your nearing body, your leisure attire, your hazy eyes – he was convinced this moment alone, the sight of you, the golden sun as though casting a halo above your figure, drowning you in warmth and beauty and love, this moment alone was entirely enough to eradicate each and every of his needs, any wish he’s ever wished and any promise he’s ever made; for this moment alone, and your heaven-sent presence was enough to fulfill all. Needs, wishes, promises. If it was you he could look at for eternities, if it was your body he’d have the privilege of holding close for the end of times he would never dare to ask of anything else.

The red paint on Hyunjin’s paper slowly dried out as you finally stood before him. It wasn’t, Hyunjin thought, the roses on the table in a vase which sent their scent across the room, after all – it was you. You smelt of roses. You smelt of vanilla, of red paint, of smoke, of Milan, now that you stood before him, now that he looked up at you, from beneath glasern eyes. You smelt like you, and you smelt like him; traces of his scent and his touch and his promise on your skin, and Hyunjin basked in it.

You didn’t waste much time before you made moves to take a seat on his lap; and not only did Hyunjin realize your attempts momentarily, he also embraced you without as much as hesitation. He found himself drowning in the feeling of your weight on him, allowing you to swallow him whole, allowing you to let your eyes explore. You let them wander from his face to his neck, from his protruding collarbones to his pointy shoulders – the white bathrobe was almost mocking now, doing so little in covering the man that it was nothing but ironic.

And you felt his hands on you, your body. Secure, sure of their position on your hips. Tall fingers, spacey palms; you felt their entirety on your body, and your red heart picked up its’ speed at that.

And you touched him, too. Your hands, cool and soft, found home on his face, each palming a cheek, closing him in. Your thumbs caressed his flush skin, tickled near his eyes, reached towards his parted lips, his hungry lips. Hyunjin looked at you, let you touch him, his face. Let you look at him. Let you make him wait on the kiss he so badly needed, let you bask in him, for he enjoyed nothing more than that.

Your eyes met, and you weren’t sure who granted the first smile, but both your mouths turned upwards, curling into softening features. Roses, red paint, Milan outside the window; though this moment contained of only you and him, and the broken clock, fifteen minutes past four, timelessness. You showed your teeth, your eyes squinting with your smile, and Hyunjin’s were the same.

“Hi.”

A whisper against quiet music and honking cars, angry passengers outside, and Hyunjin reciprocated with a chuckle. Then, a whisper as soft as the prior one, “Hi.”; and he pulled you in. Or maybe he reached for you, longed for you. Or maybe you both moved only enough for your lips to connect, finally, in soft passion. Vigorously, though not in haste, not in roughness. Forcefully, rather, impatiently forceful as you let your tongue dart out of your mouth so it could explore his, and it didn’t take the man as much as a minute to welcome you in, to invite you into himself. And you let your tongue dance with his own, in a waltz, or something faster than that, something less rhythmic – something freer. Your hands stood ground on his body, fingers digging into his shoulder as his dug into your flesh, in covered flesh by your aching hips. Your mouths moved against one another sloppily, and teeth dragging across lips, tongues easing off the sting right after, wet, loud, swallowing any sound which slipped past your throats. Quiet, still timid, breathy sighs which tasted of chocolate and shaky moans which were barely audible against exterior noise. You saw stars behind your eyelids – if because you squeezed them shut so tight it hurt, or because Hyunjin’s touch on your body, the bite he had just placed on your lower lip, and the way he pulled away right after, only for a second, less than that, to admire you with a smile before diving back into you, you weren’t sure, but there were stars all the same. Stars, and Hyunjin, darkening Milan behind the hotel room windows. Fifteen minutes past four. Timelessness.

Hyunjin pulled you closer. Impatience, or simply the need to have you nearer, more flushed against his body than you already were. His hands lay strong on your body, and he pulled you in, your cores coming in contact, hot, ignited, searching for more than this. Than clothed touches, more than the faint feeling of his erection against your sex. More than his hands in your hair, entangling long, warm fingers there, more than his teeth bruising your lips. You’d always want more – and you were glad that Hyunjin was no different. For his hands wandered, and his lips with them, kissing and nibbling where his fingers danced upon – your neck, your shoulders, then, your chest, unbuttoning your shirt one by one, not without a kiss to your skin with every further act of undressing. One button, a kiss, a gaze up to you beneath his lashes, a faint smile, a smug grin at your scrunched brows and staggered breath. Another button, another kiss, and his gaze fell back to your chest, watching your ever-exposing body, so impatient in his seat yet so unrushed. Taking his time. Feeling your bosom rise and fall against his lips, hearing your breath, your sighs, your heartbeat. Feeling hot – your skin was burning, your body was, and Hyunjin with it.

Your shirt was discarded onto the floor. Long forgotten, along with your shorts; Hyunjin’s bathrobe lay leisurely around him, half-opened, only carelessly shoved off his body yet not having borne enough patience to fully free him from it. Though neither of you cared. You let the fabric hang off the chair you were sitting on, the softness of it the only thing touching your skins besides each other's skin. You were closer now, much closer than before, though you barely deemed it possible. You sat right atop Hyunjin’s erection, his right hand resting against your inner thigh – he wasn’t touching yet, only teasing to, and your body grew hotter yet, needier. Your hips searched for friction, your fingers dug into Hyunjin’s scalp with a force which made the man groan out in deep satisfaction, and you kissed him with a fervor enough to move oceans – and he drowned in it, gave into you, kissed you back as feverishly, as messily.

He touched you, too. Finally, eventually, and you muffled a loud moan at the unexpectedness of it. Two fingers against your clit as Hyunjin’s tongue entered your mouth, as he forced your tongue to push against his own – to which you obliged, gladly. You moaned into him as you reciprocated his kiss, grinded your hips into his touch, into his hand. He answered with a sigh, with fingers which increased their speed, with a bite against your lower lip. It ought to hurt by now, your lower lip, with the way he was nibbling at it, though you believed that your body was immune to feel pain in relation to your lover. So, he bit away, nibbled on the sweet spot of your neck, on the lobe of your ear only to moan right into it, to send shivers down the entirety of your body, and you let him. And there was no better feeling, you believed.

You disconnected your lips from his. There was a second where his mouth searched for yours, where his body hadn’t yet registered the emptiness your parting left, but then he looked at you, leaned back in his chair, eyes glassy, fingers circling around your clit slowly, mindlessly. As though it was a bodily reaction, an instinct. As though he wasn’t actively aware of his movements at all. His breath hitched in his throat, and he looked a mess – pupils blown out, eyes dark as night, hair disheveled, mouth red and puffed and bruising. There were faint love bites blooming on his neck already, ones that would turn a deep red, or a deep purple by the next morning. The sun had almost set behind the horizon, was casting its’ last, weak rays upon the planet – and those last, weak rays of golden light seemed all to land on the man beneath you. He shone, almost golden himself, chest and cheeks flushed red, and he was glowing. Glowing in the way he looked at you, glowing the smile he granted you, genuine, true. He waited on you, waited on a kiss, or on something else, something more, maybe. Yet he let you stare at him, let you admire him in the last, weak rays of sunshine that seemed to have been saved up for him, solely – and then you kissed him, unable to resist wide eyes and longing mouth, and he kissed you back. Touched you, and you let your hands wander down his body, not missing a single line on it, not missing an inch before your hand palmed his crotch. You could sit and kiss him forever, could bask in him and his body for eternity – but you were impatient, too, especially when it came to him, to your lover. When it was him, you lost control of yourself, of your body, of your soul. It belonged to him entirely, all of it.

He let you sink onto him. Hyunjin let you bury your face in the sweatiness of his neck, in its’ sensitivity, let you groan out into his ear as you felt him bottom out entirely. He let you adjust to him, and you let him hold you, against him, against his body, your heart against his own, chest to chest. You let him whisper sweet nothings, promises, and confessions, and entire worlds. You loved his never tiring tongue in moments of intimacy – he talked and talked and talked, words sweeter than honey could ever be, and sounds more sinful than anything you’d ever known.

You screamed out when he moved. Thrusting his hips into your own, up and deeper inside of you, and you struggled to keep your composure. Your arms snug tightly around his body, around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer – you melted into one as he kept moving into you, both hands keeping a steady position on your hips, to hold you in place, or to grant you stability, or to grant himself some. And the room erupted into a symphony of your voices, of your moans and grunts and sighs, whispers and whines of each other’s names. Your senses filled with everything that was him – his voice, deep and longing and loud in your ear, his hand bruising your flesh, groping at you so harshly you saw stars, his scent, his golden body, his mouth on your skin. Everything was him, his erection so very deep within you that it almost hurt, though not quite, his right hand which suddenly found its’ way to your clit again. Drawing figures eight there impatiently as his hips grew frantic, slowly losing rhythm.

Your body ignited. It was hot, it was wet and a mess, and it was fifteen minutes past four. The broken clock on the wall behind Hyunjin capturing you two in its’ timelessness, in its infinity. It had stopped solely for you, for your love, for your souls. Your eyes closed shut when Hyunjin bit against your neck, when his teeth grazed your skin just deep enough to not break it, to not draw blood, and you came against his body in shaking waves, with a broken moan which was swallowed by the man in an instant. You felt him fill you up as he groaned into the kiss, as he let his tongue enter your mouth in lazy manner, careless now of sloppiness, of the lack of coordination. He held you close, he thrusted into you tiredly, he let you hold him. He let you kiss him, just as tired, just as lazy, basking in him, in his taste, in his scent.

Milan was beautiful. Night began to drown the city in darkness, buildings and trees, cars and people and the world losing color, quieting down. But it was still fifteen minutes past four – and you sat in Hyunjin’s hold for an eternity longer, in hushed giggles and shy confessions, and loved each other throughout the entirety of the night.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios

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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months

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When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”

#ramblies #funny #story #writing #teenage angst #there’s a couple stories I tell that my betrothed has to hear on repeat cause they’re party pleasers #this is one such #ffs foibles

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moumouton4 · 6 months

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Just Friends ? || Adrien Agreste x fem!reader

A/n : Prompt 29 of the Smutember 2023 ( Finally one more to go ! I also hate Marinette's character to no end and tried to stay relatively soft here 😂 Also the fact that I live 30 min from Paris and I don't even know any places to sit and have a snack in a garden. Seriously it's so overrated, this place is a shit hole... anyways I hope you'll enjoy ! )

The list of prompts is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : of course they are all aged up, the relationship is not very established maybe they are dating or friends with benefits, mention of shower graphic shower sex, piano sex ? window sex ?, biting, rough sex, dirty jokes, mention of oral!male receiver, finger, slight exhibitionism, car sex ?, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 2045

“The Tuileries’ Garden, Wednesday at 3:00 pm” that was the place and the time, Adrien told you you were going to spend the afternoon at. All his classmates will be there, so it would be a good opportunity to meet everyone. You were told to bring something to eat or drink as you were all going to have a little snack there ( I don’t even know if we’re allowed to settle there to eat lmao ). You took a bag of marshmallows and another one of chips so that - she hoped - everyone could find something they would like.

Sitting in his car you were anxiously waiting to place a face on the names of the people he so often told you about. In the secrecy of the closed doors, his hand held yours, soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Meeting new people wasn't always easy but damn that was a whole class of 13 people.

“I’m sure they are all going to like you” he tried to reassure you.

“They are going to be quite a lot Adrien” you whispered back, holding his hand tighter.

“Just tell yourself it's back-to-school time” he joked, his humor shining through as he spoke to you, fully comfortable in your presence.

“I hate back-to-school” you whined.

“I know” he chuckled “But I also know you’ll do fine. Come on we’re almost there” he said his excitement breaking through.

You quickly smoothed your hair one last time and took a deep breath as you felt the car coming to a halt. Adrien let go of your hand to grab your shoulder and bring you closer to him, he placed a sweet kiss on your lips. He wanted to savor and bring a bit of your taste with him, knowing that once out the car you’d have to play it cool.

As you finally stepped out of the car, you decided to walk to the place you knew his friends were waiting for you both, keeping a friendly distance between you as you wandered through the gardens. You exchanged a few glances and it was clear in both your eyes that you wanted to hold hands and walk hip to hip, but you had to refrain. He whispered something to you and when you looked in the distance you saw a small gathering of people.

Some were already waving at you and another one, seemingly on rollerblades ( according to the pictures there is gravel on the ground so I don’t even think that she can do that but oh well ) who was zooming in your direction “Hey what’s up newbie ? Doin’ great ? I’m Alix by the way, nice to meet you” she said, extending her hand for you to shake.

As you did you gave her a smile and replying to her “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/n” you were a lot less tense now, and you hoped everyone would be as nice as Alix seemed to be.

A short while later, you finally managed to reach the small table they had set for everyone to put their snacks on. You set your bags of marshmallow and chips and not even 10 seconds later the 10 people had gathered around you, eager to meet and talk to you. I mean, you were a potential new friend. Well there still were 2 people that seemed to care about something else, well rather someone else. One, you recognized easily to be Chloé Bourgeois, the mayor’s daughter and there other… erm- no she didn’t ring any bell.

From the corner of your eyes you could see Adrien who was smiling fondly at you, he was very happy and proud that you mingled that easily with his friends. You took a lollipop from a bowl which was set on the table and put it into your mouth, humming approvingly at the sugary taste of the fruity candy.

Adrien’s eyes were locked on your every move. Did you know that you were teasing him at this very moment ? That you were torturing him as you savored the candy ? He subconsciously made his way towards you - keeping his distance - making the blond girl from earlier whine and scream at the lack of attention she was left with, meanwhile the other one followed him closely. You looked at her for a brief moment trying to analyze her behavior. It wasn’t even easy to concentrate as she almost knocked herself on the table full of snacks. “Were those even made of leg material ?” you wondered, as you saw her stumbling and this time almost falling on your- erm on Adrien.

But then you saw it, that look in her eyes as she looked his way, the way they were seeming to beg him to look at her. You quickly looked her up and down just to make sure, then around, smirking to yourself when you noticed that Adrien was still deeply focused on you and your lollipop.

Suddenly another girl, you now knew was called Alya, came to rescue her friend from embarrassing herself further “Hey Marinette” ooh so that was her name “Did you have the time to introduce yourself to our new friend here” you smiled at her, Alya seemed so nice and normal compared to what her friend was displaying ( I’m not shaming any type behavior or personality there. I can be very weird myself lmao but gosh you can’t tell me Marinette is just plain weird most of the time when she is in civilian )

“Ah sorry ! I’m Marinette” she said seemingly genuine, her eyes betrayed her lack of interest in you though, as they flickered to the blond that had walked closer at your side.

“Hello” you answered politely not really knowing where to stand, this time you didn’t even bother to give your name. She tried to speak to you about various subjects, but the conversation remained awkward. It was evident that she wanted to ask something “Aaand since when do you know A-Adrien ?”

“Bingo” you thought, you saw it coming from miles away.

“I-I mean how are you related ? Like cousins ?” she asked “Well you don’t really look alike” she rambled more to herself “Maybe you are in the same fencing club ?” she tried again.

But you only shook your head “Fincing is his thing” you said “And thank gosh not a relative” you thought - either you wouldn’t be able to do all this with him - “I’m just a friend” you stated, trying to seem convincing as you did you best to prevent a smirk from displaying onto your lips.

Chloé who was never far away chipped in “And how come I never heard of you before. Adrichou is my best friend I would have known it if you were this important” she said as she flipped her hair back ( And yes in French she calls him so I don’t know how she does in English )

Before you could even answer something Adrien spoke up “You would have known about her if you were such a good friend Chloé” his tone wasn’t mean or anything but it was enough to send Chloé grumbling somewhere else. It was a very strange scene to attend for anyone who had known Adrien before, because he never seemed to do this for anyone before. He would always let her talk. Maybe he didn’t see nor hear anything when she did, but this time it was different. It was about you. And when it’s about you he always does.

The blue ? black ? haired girl squinted her eyes at you as if trying to read through you, fortunately her friend pulled her back “I think I’m getting a little hungry there hehe. We’re just going to see what is on the table and we’ll be back soon” she smiled nervously as she dragged her friend away.

And that’s how you partially found yourself alone with him again, staring into each other’s eyes “Just friends ?” he murmured, questioningly. As his words hit your eardrums you couldn't help but be thrown back in time, not even a week ago but this very morning.

His voice accompanied your thoughts as he added “I don’t think your friends know the way you taste” bringing a rush of heat to your face. Gosh how much teasing he could be when he wanted to push your buttons.

“Do they not ?” you teased back, knowing exactly what you were doing. As your mind quickly fills with moments, pictures, sounds of him. You two had quite the steamy “friendship” you thought as you recalled how this very morning he had taken you from behind under his shower, your chest pressed against the tiled walls, the warm water raining on you as he railed you cunt. His teeth sinking in the flesh of your shoulder as he held you close. A good thing that the shower was in his room because everyone could have heard the slapping noises if it wasn’t.

While you were lost in your day dreaming he extended his hand and gently took your lollipop from your mouth, before swiftly showing it in his. You knew he knew what you were thinking about, his green pupils were blown as he stared at you like some wild animal. You knew how he could get when he really needed it. Perfection didn’t exist even for him, doing it in a bed ? hell no ! I’d say at least 45 % of the time you jump his bones you’re not in a bed. And that’s the beauty of it because without this, never you would have got fucked on his piano like this, nor against the windows in his room - of course there is not overlooked around - just the contrast of his body heat and the coldness of the glass was enough to get you dripping wet.

After taking a good taste of it he pushed the candy back in your mouth “No they don’t. I’m the only lucky one who gets to have you Purrincess” he smiled mischievously at you.

“You’re the one who is going to purr tonight” you smirked.

“You’re coming back with me ?” he asked excitedly, as he initially thought you were going back to your place after the little outing.

“Mmhh” you nodded at him as you savored his taste on the almost finished lollipop “I’m going to get more candies” you said taking a step aside, you knew that getting away from him during this moment was like torture for him “You finished my lollipop”

“Don’t worry you’ll get plenty to suck on later” he couldn't help himself from saying, hopefully no one heard, even the two girls from earlier.

“Looking forward to it” you smirked “Don’t get too hard thinking about it though” you said as you eyes traveled to his slightly stirring length. He blushed furiously as he turned around taking a few deep breaths “This isn’t funny” he squeaked “You know I can’t control how it reacts”

“Yeah they all say that” you laughed.

“I’m going to get back so hard at you” he breathed out, still trying to calm down.

You wanted to tease him a bit more but you heard someone call your name “Y/n do you wanna try to play some guitar with us ?”

During the whole end of the afternoon Adrien’s hungry eyes ( one look at you and I can’t disguise - I love you Seb ) were solely locked on you, to the great displeasure of Chloé and Marinette. You knew that tonight neither of you was going to get some sleep, but what you didn’t know is that he just had a very good idea popping into his mind. He was going to finger you until you’re quivering on the backseat of the car on the way back. Then he is going to use your mouth the way it should be instead of teasing him all afternoon, you’re going to keep him wet and warm as he plays piano or watches the tv. You should have known better than to play cat and mouse.

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kelstey · 3 months

Text

invisible string

mattheo riddle x reader

warnings : smut

REQUESTED

italics are flashbacks, each cut off is a different flashback/memory

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

"lights out everyone!" professor dumbledore yelled out. the silent movements of different rooms filled the hallway as everyone turned their lights off, no one was away to sleep - just yet, at least.

the first years had been allowed a trip to paris to celebrate the accomplishments of completing their first year at hogwarts.

a couple minutes passed by, the lock of the teachers' rooms could be heard, soon followed by a flick of the light switch. as if mattheo, theo, lorenzo, draco, and blaise's lives depended on it, they held their breaths as they wandered down the corridor, making their way to the room you were sharing with pansy and daphne.

the teeny, tiniest of knocks echoed through your room, signifying their arrival. the three of you giggled, having the boys sneak over into your room felt super grown up and who wouldn't want their crushes in their room?

you held in a breath as the door silently unlocked, opening the door to reveal the group of boys. "sh!" blaise smacked the back of draco's head as the floorboard underneath him creaked.

the five boys creeped into your shared room, trying their hardest to make as little noise as possible to avoid being screamed at by a professor for not only sneaking out - but sneaking into a room of girls.

you shut and locked the door, going over to your cramped single bed. it wasn't the most comfiest thing on earth but it would do for the meantime.

"hi," mattheo walked over, cramming himself into the bed with you.

"hi," you felt a blush creep up onto your cheeks. thankfully the room was only lit with the tiny glow of daphne and draco's wands.

"i can't wait to go to the eiffel tower tomorrow," draco gushed. he was sat on the floor against the wall, facing all three beds.

"who?" theo asked.

"me-"

"asked."

the seven of you laughed silently, draco buffed and puffed, unimpressed at the 'lame' joke.

"that's not funny."

"it's quite funny," pansy giggled, covering her mouth.

"whatever," draco crossed his arms like an angry toddler.

the room filled with mixed conversations, different duos and trios speaking amongst each other, occasionally joining in with each others conversations.

you leaned back against mattheo's chest, your eyelids growing heavy, fighting off each urge to fall asleep as you wanted to continue speaking with the rest.

he wrapped his arms around your torso, allowing your bead to fall back onto his shoulder. mattheo grew slightly confused when you stopped replying, looking down at you only to realise you were asleep.

he pulled the covers up over both of your bodies, his arms tightening around you secretly hiding from the others. mattheo continued to speak, careful not to be too loud in fear of waking you up.

he was also sure to hush anyone whenever they raised their voice, claiming it was just so no one would get in trouble, but really he didn't want them to wake you up, either.

not even thirty minutes after the boys snuck in did everyone fall asleep. numerous snores falling from mouths, theo's obnoxious one waking you up.

you tried to move but quickly realised the reason you were so restricted was due to mattheo's arms around you. a smile formed on your lips, he was the first ever boy you'd fallen asleep with.

"riddle! y/l/n! get back here right now!" snapes voice rang throughout numerous corridors. mattheo grabbed onto your hand tightly, your feet running at a pace that you didn't even realise you could go at.

"we're so fucked," you giggled, continuing to sprint through the corridors, weaving your way past other students, your veins pumped with adrenaline, giving you somewhat of a high.

"that's part of the fun," mattheo turned his face to look at you.

you looked angelic. your hair was being flown back as you ran, the brightest of smiles plastered on your face. mattheo felt flowers blossoming in his stomach, the petals tickling the inner lining.

you were always beautiful to him, but at that moment? it was like he discovered a new part of you. all these years he had known you, and only just then did he truly think he found you. he saw you. and he loved each singular part.

the two of you made a sharp turn, finding yourselves in a vacant corridor. your breathing was sharp, your lungs desperate for as much air as you could possibly receive.

you leaned back against the wall, the smile on your face reforming when you looked up to see mattheo holding back a smirk. your lungs burned, your legs moments away from giving in.

"you're such a little shit," you laughed. you felt a stitch on your side, your hand going up to your abdomen to press on it. the adrenaline was still coursing through your veins.

"stitch?" he took a few steps closer to you.

"hurts like a bitch," you panted. mattheo removed your hands from the area, massaging his hand to try relieve the pain.

"always works when i get one during quidditch," mattheo looked down at you.

he leaned closer, his forehead pressed tightly against yours. the tips of your noses brushed against each other. his warm eyes dilated as they gazed around your face, be opened his mouth to speak but a voice cut him off.

"you two!" the rage of snapes voice, once again, echoed down the hall.

"shit," and the two of you were off, once again.

"trust me this stuff will get you baked," the crackle of the lighter lit up the twisted end of the joint. "neville said it's some proper muggle stuff. some sort of cake strain."

"jesus," you spluttered, the smoke going straight to the back of your throat.

"yeah?" mattheo smirked, his tongue poking through the inner of his cheek.

you took a couple more inhales, the weed taking its affect in just a few moments. you passed mattheo over the joint.

"hurry, people are gonna wonder where we've went."

"calm it," mattheo chuckled. he leaned back in the chair, his legs spreading apart and moving his hips up to adjust his position.

"i am calm," you felt your eyelids begin to droop. the truo of you took some more hits, finishing the joint as soon as possible in order to return to the party happening inside.

mattheo took a few more drags, the icy breeze of the wind brushed over you, a chill running down your spine. the hairs on your arms stood up, your hands crossing over to salvage any body warmth you had left from being out on the balcony.

"here," he stubbed out the joint. he took his blazer off, bringing it over your shoulders.

"thank you," you smiled up at him. his eyes twinkled as the light of the moon shone down on him, he was truly gorgeous. "come on now, birthday boy."

the both of you returned back to the party and noticed everyone was already drunk or on the verge of it. you wandered over to a table where pansy, daphne, theo, and lorenzo were seated at.

mattheo followed you closely behind, a dreaded feeling of doom lingering over his head as his paranoia began to settle in. he sat down at the table leaving no space for you.

"you're really gonna make me stand?" you teased, getting between mattheo and pansy.

"mhm," a singular arm wrapped around the back of your legs, his hand resting on your outer thigh, his face nuzzled into your waist, dangerously close to the hem of your already risqué dress.

"it's okay," you muttered, running a hand through his curly brown locks, fingers trailing through his scalp which brought him ease, and he could've fallen asleep then and there. he looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he took in your features.

he truly believed you were moulded by the hands of a true goddess.

mattheo spread his thighs apart, pulling you down by your waist to sit perfectly on his groin. "you look beautiful," his lips murmured against the ticklish skin of your neck, the sensation sending a tingle down your back.

"you don't look too bad yourself," you blushed. the others were too far deep in the conversation to notice the two lovebirds - or maybe they were doing it on purpose.

all light sources turned off, the party falling silent with confusion. shortly after, a light illuminated the room. the source coming from a cake being held by tom as be walked into the room, his legs taking strong, confident strides as he made his way over to the table with you and mattheo.

everyone soon gathered, irrupting into the infamous "happy birthday" song you quickly moved off of mattheo's lap before tom got too close, not wanting to raise any suspicions for anyone who didn't already see the two of you already getting a little too handsy.

tom placed the cake atop of the table, clapping once the song ended. mattheo's smile was wide and as bright as ever, his teeth pearly white as the candle light reflected off of them.

mattheo stalled for a second before closing his eyes, a swift blow and the candles were out. he had made his birthday wish.

everyone began to clap, you included. you cheered on, your smile soon faltering when mattheo's girlfriend made her way between you and mattheo, pushing her lips roughly against his.

you could feel your heart drop, your ears muting out the cheers and banter of the guests as they celebrated. your heart broke into a million pieces, his hands holding her close before he moved her onto his lap.

you had just forgotten that the two of you were just friends.

the lights came back on, everyone returning to their conversations, the music continuing to fill the room yet again. "are you okay?" pansy stood up, whispering quietly in your ear.

"i think i need some air," you blinked away the tears, trying to hold back what felt like a waterfall as your waterline filled with a thin lining of tears.

pansy wrapped one of her arms around your back, her head leaning against your shoulder as the two of you made your way out the party. you could feel your lungs gasping for air, a cry escaping your lips as the two of you entered the bathroom.

"it's okay, baby," pansy comforted you. your body just about collapsed onto the floor, though your jagged, distressed breaths for air seemed to be collapsing your lungs as well. you brought your legs up to your chin, allowing the tears to run free. "just breathe."

your mind was fogged, a million thoughts racing non stop as you tried to contain yourself. your eyes were glossy, bloodshot red, looking up at pansy as she rubbed your arm. "i think i love him."

the abrasive smoke found it's way to the back of your throat, the paper of the joint crinkling as loud as ever in the dead of the night. you had started to reconsider your clothing decisions as the baltic wind breezed over you, goosebumps arising on your bare legs.

fortunately, you were wearing a cozy hoodie that you would always throw on when you snuck outside in the middle of the night to smoke away, wanting nothing more than to simply escape your thoughts.

you caressed your forehead with one hand, the other holding the joint. you hadn't spoke to mattheo in weeks and it was starting to take its toll on you, you wanted to give him space, not wanting to interfere with his relationship, but it was proving more difficult than you anticipated.

the usual laughter that would be shared in and between classes was now filled with an awkward tension, neither of you wanting to break the silence.

late night wanders turned into late night cries, not longer having your usual companion to accompany you whenever you were finding difficulty sleeping. you mourned the 'loss' of your friendship, wondering what would have happened if maybe you had realised the immense feelings towards him sooner.

your mind was too clouded, distracted by numerous thoughts, too preoccupied to hear the footsteps appear behind you.

"i thought i'd find you here," you nearly froze, anxious at the thought of having been caught by a professor.

"mattheo," vou sighed in relief.

"that's me," he chuckled lightly. he closed the glass door behind him, taking a seat in the chair next to you. "you've been ignoring me."

"i figured you were too busy with your new girlfriend, now," you looked over at him. he looked disheveled, a faint stubble unshaved on his chin and jaw, his eye bags slightly darker than you remember, his eyes not as familiar as they once were.

"just because i have a girlfriend doesn't mean you need to cut me off," mattheo leaned back.

"don't do this to me."

"do what?"

you were brought back to the night of mattheo's eighteenth birthday, reminders of the tears that ran down your face when him and his girlfriend kissed, the way the world went silent around you but for everyone else; they were all happy for him and cheering.

"you know why i can't be your friend," you tilted your head as you looked at him.

"don't be stupid. you know you'll always be my friend."

"i don't want to be your friend, mattheo. that's the problem."

"what?" he was in a state of disbelief, wondering where all of this was suddenly coming from.

"i can't - mattheo...i," you fumbled around with your words, unable to figure out what you even wanted to say. now that it came down to it, every singular thing you wanted to say was suddenly stripped from your memory.

you closed your eyes, resisting the tears. you inhaled a sharp breath, trying to gather yourself as much as possible so you wouldn't break down in front of him.

"i don't want to see you with somebody else," your eyes fluttered open, a stunned mattheo looking back at you. "i can't just sit and pretend that i'm okay with the thought of another girl having you, because i'm not. i love you mattheo, but you're not mine."

you were unable to comprehend the emotion on mattheo's face. his eyes were wide, soft, but wide. his nostrils were flared, his fists tense by his side, his thumb rubbing over his index finger to comfort himself.

"say that again."

"what?" you breathed out, unaware of the deep breath you'd been holding in.

"say you love me."

"mattheo-"

"say it."

"i love you."

his movements were rapid, his hands finding their way to your waist, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. it took you a second to even comprehend what the fuck was going on, but you soon melted into the kiss.

his lips were rough, eager, but passionate as they moved. his hands roamed your body, longing to touch the body he knew so well. each curve, each freckle, each mole, each scar, his fingers traced

over.

an arm hooked around the back of his neck, your hand raking through his satin curls, a feeling you'd been missing for far too long.

mattheo's hands reached the back of your thighs, picking you up, your legs tightening around his waist. it didn't take long for him to find his way to your dorm, fumbling with the handle he finally managed to find his way in without dropping you.

his foot kicked the door shut, the steps he was taking felt like forever. you felt your body being placed against your familiar bedsheets, mattheo's body leaning over you.

it didn't take long for both of your clothing and undergarments to find their way onto the floor, discarded and forgotten about once mattheo's lips made their way back to your lips.

you'd never met someone with such soft lips yet rough kisses, light peppers and sucks as he trailed his lips down your jaw, making his way down to your neck.

"you're so fucking beautiful," he let out an exasperated breath, unable to come to the fact that you were fully real - and in love with him.

a mellow moan fell from your lips, mattheo's mouth falling around your hardened nip, capturing it with the light graze of his teeth. his calloused fingertips gently grazed down your body, one hand perfectly fitting around your other tit, his thumb toying with your other nipple.

you looked down at the boy, his brown eyes tainted with lust that consumed you, a fire igniting all over your body with how badly you needed him.

mattheo's fingers tickled their way down your torso, going right to where you needed him.

"fuck," he groaned, his fingers covered in a layer of your arousal. "so wet for me already."

wet kisses connect onto the sensitive skin of your neck, tilting your neck back to allow more skin for mattheo to mark and make his own. he let out a moan against your flesh, his hand pumping down his dick, lining himself up with you.

a gasp escaped both of your lips as he slowly began to slide into you, your walls stretching out against him. his hands found their way to your hips, his nails digging into your soft skin.

"fuck," he groaned, your nails dragging down the skin of his back, clawing away as he began to move his hips, rolling deeper into you.

he moved a hand from your hip, placing it around your throat. he squeezes around your neck, slowly adding more pressure as you let out even more unholy moans.

"just like that," mattheo grunted, your walls clenching around him with the feeling of his hands around your neck driving you absolutely insane.

"mattheo," you moaned. "god - fuck. please, i need you so fucking bad."

"good girl, tell me how bad you want me," his brows furrowed together, his pace beginning to fasten as he buried his dick further into your aching cunt.

"so bad," you gasped out.

"should've told me sooner," he threw his head back. "look so pretty under me."

you let out a whimper, your hands grasping at the sheets underneath you, twisting them tightly in your hand. mattheo's thrusts came in harder, your legs wrapping around the back of his thighs to get him even further inside of you.

mattheo leaned down, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, choked moans erupting from his mouth.

"my fuckin' god," he continued to roll his hips, unable to get enough of you.

"mattheo-" a whine fell from your lips, your stomach tightening as you felt your orgasm build up.

"fuck- keep doing that, doing so well for me," he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"shit," you bucked your hips up, mattheo's hips slamming down against you, his pace growing sloppier and harder with each second that passed.

"just like that, god, such a good fuckin' girl," your eyes rolled back, stars sparkling before your vision went white, your orgasm crashing down on you like never before.

"fuck," mattheo grunted, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his cum spilling into you.

you let out a whimper as he pulled out of you, his body rolling into the space on the bed next to you. his hand trailed down your thigh, massaging it gently to calm the nerves that twitched throughout your jelly-like legs.

"i love you," mattheo pressed a kiss onto your shoulder.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#fanfic #slytherin #slytherin boys #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo smut #mattheoriddlesmut #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #fictional men #taylor swift #swifties

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moonchildstyles · 8 months

Text

élan masterlist

élan

harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

including: a mean father who crosses boundaries, some shouting, and unwanted letters wordcount: 18.5k+

rêvasser

harry was too observant. y/n worried he could see the cracks in her walls.

including: a nail appt, gross guys at the country club, and a special gown. wordcount: 12.8k+

ephemere

when the night comes crashing down, harry is the only one there for y/n.

including: a gala event, a panic attack in the bathroom, unwanted advances against y/n (nothing too intense or serious tho), and a very angry father wordcount: 22k+

flâner

wandering around Paris is just what y/n needed. and harry, of course

including: some moping, a pilates class, sightseeing, and a visit from a friend wordcount: 11.2k+

s'entendre

y/n's first night out since the gala couldn't be that bad. right?

including: a drunk!y/n on a night out, protective harry, more paparazzi, a mean father, and "I've got you" wordcount: 14.4k+

retrouvailles

y/n goes on a date, harry finds out a secret, and something shifts.

including: a misogynistic date, dinner under the Eiffel Tower, and a first kiss wordcount: 15.5k+

épanouissement

there's no place like home, even if the people there try to wreck it.

including: confrontation w her mean dad, a French cottage, cuddling on the couch, roses, and smut (oral f receiving, w a tiny bit of talking) wordcount: 22k+

—————

blurbs can be found here

#writing #élan #masterlist

1K notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 5 months

Text

Masterlist.

Requests are open. If there is a WIPs you'd like to offer ideas for, feel free!

I write for everyone down here, mainly Arsenal WFC and FC Barcelona Femeni.

Alexia Putellas

Aitana Bonmati

Ona Batlle

Lucy Bronze

Leila Ouahabi

Ingrid Engen

Maria Leon

Leah Williamson

Lotte Wubben-Moy

Georgia Stanway

Maya Le Tessier

Jessie Fleming

Alessia Russo

I do not write for Katie McCabe, Ella Toone, Lia Wälti, Laura Wienroither, The Tillies, and certain Spaniards. However, feel free to ask me anyway if you have a request!

key : fluff = 💛, angst = 🚨, smut = 🔞

WIPs

Writer x Reader

Jessie Fleming

You Drew Stars Around My Scars 🚨🔞

Thorn in my Side 🚨

Wake Up Call 🔞

Jill Roord

The White Suit 🔞

Oral Fixation 🔞

Say Yes to Heaven 🔞

Elevators 🔞

Leila Ouahabi

Eyes on Me 🔞

Group Project [The Orgy] 🔞

Want, Not Need. Pt. 1

Want, Not Need Pt. 2

Careful Planning

Two is Better than One

Aitana Bonmatí

Ecstasy 🔞

Hope, Coffee, and Poetry 🔞

earmuffs 🚨

fidgets 💛

pretty lights 💛

lather 💛

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Baby It’s Cold Outside 🔞

Alexia Putellas x Leah Williamson

Time Consuming 🔞

Time Difference 🔞

Alexia Putellas x María León

Twice the Pleasure 🔞

María León x Ingrid Engen

Crippled 🔞

Arsenal Women

Chosen Family 💛

Alexia Putellas

Claire De Lune 🚨

all the rain in the world. 🚨

Darlin' I'd Wait For You 💛

Paris 🔞

If I have to ask, I don't want it. 🚨

Fire and Ice 🔞

beige. 🔞

One Call Away 🔞

Bottom Ale 🔞

Betrayed 🔞

Show Me 🔞

Ona Batlle

without you 🚨

Too Dangerous 🔞

To Love Someone 🔞

The Best of Me 🔞

Backseat 🔞

Touchy Feely 🔞

don’t let them hear. 🔞

Angel in the House 💛

Royalty 💛

La Princesa 💛

She's going to be okay. 💛

I don't think you deserve gentle darling. 🔞

Touch me like nobody else does. 🔞

Leah Williamson

Guardian of My Heart 🚨

Sun to Me 🚨

Alone 🚨

good excuse 🔞

When I’m with you, there is no one else because I get heaven to myself. 💛

Cookies and Cuddles 🔞

baby bear 🔞

dreams 🔞

don't wander 💛

Kiss Me Before You Go 💛

Arsenal's Number 6 🔞

Blueberry Pancakes 💛

Fore! 💛

They could never be mad at you. 💛

Nightmares and Hot Chocolate 💛

Leah Williamson x Lucy Bronze

I've got you. 💛

Georgia Stanway x Leah Williamson

I don't need you. 💛

Maya Le Tessier

I'm not sick. You're delusional. 💛

Georgia Stanway

Lazy Saturdays and Scrambled Eggs 💛

#woso soccer #woso imagine #leah williamson #ona batlle #georgia stanway #maya le tissier #lucy bronze #mapi león #ingrid engen #alexia putellas #laia aleixandri #jill roord #leila ouahabi #lotte wubben moy #aitana bonmatí

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finelinevogue · 11 months

Text

parisian love

summary - you are a little self conscious of your feelings in the city of love

word count: ~1.5k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

a/n: harry had been looking too good lately so i had to write a little blurb about him again <3

“Quit it, will you.” Harry interrupted your scary glare towards your waitress.

You humphed and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the little garden chair in the quaint Parisian cafe.

It was a gorgeous day in Paris and you and Harry were enjoying it together on his day off. Touring was always u such a hectic schedule, but Harry always made sure there was time for you.

Today he has suggested going to a cafe for brunch, seeing as all you’d been showing him were the infamous hot chocolates they serve here along with buttery croissants. You’d been waiting for the opportunity to have one, so Harry was treating you.

Only, the waitress was slightly ruining the experience by flirting with your, clearly, boyfriend.

“So you be the bigger person and be the one to quit it.” He replied calmly.

His sunglasses and his hat shielded much of him away from the public, but clearly not enough for the waitress not to be all over him.

She kept making subtle touches to his shoulder, obvious glances towards his open chest where his linen shirt was unbuttoned and you could’ve sworn some buttons on her shirt had been undone since you arrived.

You picked up your hot chocolate and tried to let the smooth and sweet drink override your jealousy.

It wasn’t often that you were a jealous girlfriend, since you had to deal with it day in and day out, but sometimes it all got a little too overwhelming.

Especially in Paris.

All this trip you’d had this deep and unsettling anxiety in your chest. It made your chest feel hollow and your throat really clogged up. Your stomach was constantly full of anxious butterflies and you couldn’t bring yourself to confront as to why.

Harry was reading a tourist booklet about Paris, whilst you sat and people watched.

When you feel his hand cup your exposed knee, due to you wearing a pretty pink summers dress, you turn your head away from the people and focus on him.

“Hm?” You ask.

“I said, do you want to go on a walk after this?” Harry asked again, the first time having gone amiss to you.

“Oh, um, sure.” You gave him a small smile.

“I think there might be a garden around here that we can wander around.” He pointed to a page in the small book he was holding, but you get lost in thought again.

Harry returns to his book and before long the waitress comes back over.

You watched her put her hand on your boyfriends shoulder and look away just as quickly, in case you say something that will get you in trouble.

“Can I get you anything else today?” She asked Harry.

You sip your hot chocolate until it’s gone, having had enough of this.

You stand up abruptly, rattling the table a little. You turn to face the woman and notice that her hand is no longer on Harry’s body, but she is still stood rather close to him.

“I think I’m going to go somewhere where I don’t have to see another girl flirting with my boyfriend.” You say to her and watch her face void of emotions.

You look down at Harry, who looks up at the two of you with the same blank expression. You can’t tell whether he’s angry or annoyed, but you have a feeling it’s somewhere in between.

After gulping down the stone at the back of your throat that threatens the tears, you get up and walk off slowly so not to draw any more attention to yourself.

You sniffle your way out of the café and start heading down the road back to the hotel.

After an argument with Harry, sometimes you would walk off, similar to this, but what always happened is that Harry would follow you. Always a few meters behind, but he could never leave you fully alone after an argument and he would always find the fastest way to make it up to you.

A spare bench was located on the crest of a hill, where the rest of the city could be seen below.

You sat down and held your bag in your lap, opening the zip to find a pack of tissues with shaky hands. You took one out and dabbed at the corner of your eyes lightly, so not to smudge your eye makeup.

The view was gorgeous, but it was easily forgotten about when Harry sat down next to you.

He sat with a couple feet of space between you and as much as he hated it, he respected you want for space.

“M’sorry.” You spoke first, after a couple minutes of silence.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for, baby.” Harry comforted you by reaching one his arms along the back of the bench and stroking one of his fingers, gently, over the back of your neck. It was a reminder that he was really here for you.

At the subtle gesture, you sniffled and dived over to his side of the bench to snuggle up against the side of his body. Your head found home against his shoulder and his head rested atop of yours, after he left a little kiss there. His arm snaked around the back of your body and rested his hand on your outside hip.

You sniffled again and tried to control your watery eyes.

“What’s got you so sad, hm?” He asked.

“I hate being jealous.”

“Why?”

“Makes me look childish and insecure.”

“I don’t think it does, babe. I think it shows me how much you love me. You’re willing to get upset when someone else shows interest in me. It’s weird to say, but I find it comforting that you don’t want me for anyone else. The same as I don’t want you belonging to anyone else. I like you as mine.” His arm squeezes you a bit in reassurance.

“It’s nice when you put it that way.” You smiled, even though he can’t see.

“It’s okay for you to get jealous, Y/N/N. I just don’t like the idea of you getting proper upset over me.”

“You mean so much to me, Harry, i’m just scared it’s to good to be true being with you.”

“Well, how about we take each other for each day we have together and let what feelings we have for each override any fears or insecurities. Hey?”

“That sounds good.”

You both fall silent for a little bit, people watching as the sun sets over the city of love. It’s gorgeous how the sky burns a palette of oranges and yellows, you’ll probably never get over its beauty.

When you start giggling to yourself Harry perks up conversation again.

“What?” He asked with a slight giggle himself.

“Just thinking about how if you weren’t a musician you would make a good therapist.” You relay your thoughts to him.

“Oh definitely. I’d be good at any job.” You can’t see it, but Harry smiled down at you because he is happy now that you are.

“Oh really?” You laughed.

“Yeah. Try me.”

“Umm? A chef?”

“Oui oui. I have watched Ratatouille before.”

“Why are you a French chef?” You asked, giggling away the tears.

“Because we’re in the city of love, mon ami.” He laid on a thick English accent to answer your question, making you prod him in his tummy for being so annoying.

“Okay Chef.” This time Harry tickled you in your side instead. “Stop! Okay, um, what about… A firefighter?”

“You just want to see me in my suspenders again.” Harry laughed so loud that people turned to see what was so funny. You buried your head further into his body until your blushed cheeks passed over.

“Do not.” You counter argued.

“Do too. I know you do, because Lambert showed me his texts with you the other day of you demanding he bring the suspenders back to tour.”

“Ugh. He’s such a snitch.”

“Big Brother is watching you.” He referenced.

“Don’t refer to yourself as Big Brother again, you weirdo.” You laughed at him. You go to hit him playfully on his tummy again, but instead Harry caught your hand in his and brought it to his lips to play. He didn’t let it go afterwards, instead he chose to hold it tight.

Both of you go back to silence again, going back to people watching individually.

The sun had gotten lower now and there were more people coming into the city for a night out. You and Harry were going to be cuddled up in bed watching a Disney movie by the time these people enter their first club. The life of an introvert, you, loving and extrovert, Harry, meant you did very introverted activities together.

“Harry?” You asked quietly.

“Yes, m’love.”

“Can I ask you a question? And before you answer, I don’t mean for this question to start an argument between us but I am just genuinely curious.”

“You’ve got me a little worried now, babe, but go on. I trust you.” He replied and you shift a little in your position to gauge his facial expression.

“When you’re in Paris, o-or France for that matter, do you ever think about Camille? Like, do you get sad about her or feel anything?” You breathed out, but continue just as quickly, “Again, I’m not asking to provoke you, but I’m just thinking that someone of her importance in your life must have left an impression on you. Maybe, in turn, making you think about her at times like this?”

As soon as you’d asked your question, a wave of relief rolled off your shoulders. You couldn’t explain how freeing it was to have asked that. It was like that unexplained anxiety from the past few days had come from that question alone.

“Thank you for asking for politely, baby, first of all.” Harry kissed your forehead. “And since you were honest with me, I’ll be honest with you.”

“Okay.” You nodded a bit nervously.

“I do think of her.” He answered the way you were least hoping him to, but let him continue anyways, “But not in the way you think. When I think about her now I am always thinking of you, too. I rarely do think about her, because why would I need to, but sometimes certain moments will take me back and you’ll be there to get rid of those thoughts again.”

“I-I don’t think I understand.” You say.

“It’s like when we went for a coffee run the other morning and you happened to choose the same coffee shop that I’d been to previously with Camille. In that coffee shop, in that moment, all I could think about was how much happier I was to be standing there with you than I had ever been with her ever. I thought about, and still do, how lucky I am to have found someone that loves me just as equally as I love them.” He paused briefly, “So, do I think about her? Yes, but only because I’m reminded of how much more happiness and love and life I have gained from choosing you.”

You stared at him throughout his tiny speech and a little bit afterwards too. His eyes watered at the sight of yours watering - which you could tell even through his sunglasses.

“I need another tissue.” You laughed out through a couple of tears.

Before you could go diving in your bag, Harry cupped your chin with his fingers and drew your mouth close to his. He kissed you so feverishly that you would think it was your last one ever.

He pulled away with a pout, “I love you. I’ll always choose you. It’s you, forever, baby.” He kissed you once more with force. “Always. It’s a promise.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles angst #finelinevogue harry styles #harry styles paris

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vscabarca · 8 days

Note

Can we get one with reader x gavi going out with the team to eat and reader sitting on his lap but its all sweet and cute and pablo gets shy about it? Thank you!

Ballon d‘Or - pablo gavi

summary: you accompany gavi to the Ballon d‘Or ceremony.

genre: fluff

a/n: thank you anon for the request:3 I changed it up a bit because I have something similar already in my drafts, hope you still like it!

———

„hermano do you bring your girl to the ceremony?“ Pedri asked Gavi as they walked back from practice.

„Yeah I asked her to accompany me.“ Gavi already smiled shly when he thought about you meeting his teammates for the first time. He had been invited to the Ballon D‘Or ceremony, taking you with him as a plus one alongside other Barça players.

Gavi and you had been together for two months now, everything was still pretty fresh. You‘ve only met his closest friends like Pedri or Fermin when they came over to play Fifa.

It was your first time attending such an prestigious event. Additionally to that you would meet some of his team mates and friends, so you were already nervous the week before flying to Paris.

———

„hermosa we‘re gonna be late!“ Gavi shouted towards the bathroom, tying his dress shoes in the meantime. You were applying your lipgloss and looked in the mirror a last time before heading out.

„Coming!“ You chimed, grabbing your purse with all the essentials.

Gavi looked up from his phone, staring at the beautiful girl in front of him. It almost seemed like he was hit by cupids arrow once again.

„Baby you look stunning.“ A grin crept upon your face at your boyfriends words, happy he liked the dress just as much as you did.

„Now I don’t even want to go anymore! I want to keep you all for myself.“ Gavi‘s hands snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

„Don’t worry, I‘m all yours.“ you mused and closed the short gap between you and Gavi with a passionate kiss.

During the kiss, your fingers found their way into his hair as he cupped your cheek. You sighed into the kiss, then breaking apart to catch your breath.

„you‘ve got my lipgloss on your lips now.“ You grinned, already wanting to wipe it away with your thumb, but Gavi was quick in shifting away.

„Not yet, I wanna kiss you again.“ He whispered impatiently, already pulling you in again by your waist. The kiss was tender and delicate, both getting lost in the sweet feeling of each other.

„Mhm, baby we‘re gonna be late if we don’t leave now.“ You said between kisses. Gavi only grimaced and fixed your ridden up dress by slightly pulling it back down. This time, you wiped away the remaining gloss from his lips and pecked his cheek a last time before heading out.

Hand in hand you‘ve made your way to the venue, posing for pictures on the red carped. Not long after you two met some of Gavi‘s teammates, emerging into light conversations until the event started.

The event went smoothly, you even saw Messi receive his eighth Ballon D‘or.

As the ceremony was over, all the players and their partners had been invited to a dinner.

You sat between Lewandowski and Gavi, having a nice dinner while you listened to what they were saying.

„You alright?“ Gavi spoke lowly, scooting a bit closer to you. His hand wandered to your waist, drawing soft circles on the fabric of your dress. You felt flustered by his actions, leaning your head towards his, so you could speak to him without being heard.

„I‘m perfect.“ Your fingers smoothed out the collar of his tuxedo.

„You really are.“ Gavi leaned in and gave you a quick peck, not trying to attract too much attention towards the young couple.

His flirting made you laugh out loud and only then did you realize how loud you actually laughed. You put your hand over your mouth to stiffle the sounds but Gavi laughed even louder as he saw how you reacted. The whole Barça table turned their heads towards you two. All having loving but confused smiles on their faces.

„What did Pablito say to make you laugh so hard?“ Araujo asked with a raised brow, probably assuming the worst.

Gavi and you suddenly became shy as you realized all his friends caught you being silly teens in love.

„Stop teasing those poor kids! look how shy they are now.“ Anna, Lewandowski‘s wife, scolded him in a funny way.

„I‘m not teasing! I think those two are the sweetest together!“ Ronald tried to defend himself, sending you a heads up over the table. You knew it was just a joke, so you just waved him off with a smile.

Gavi didn’t really care that all his friends looked at you two and secretly pulled your chair closer to his.

„No I mean it, you really are perfect.“

„Oh sush, look at you.“ You said and grabbed his chin to kiss him properly, not caring if anyone was watching.

#pablo gavi #football one shot #gavi x reader #gavi #pablo gavi x reader #gavi one shot #barça #football x reader #fc barcelona

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macfrog · 7 months

Text

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

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