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soft-persephone · 5 months ago

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Something Real

MDNI // E // WC: 9.5k // smut, oral (w receiving), glove kink?, hand kink if you squint, John talks you through it // masterlist // rough drafts // AN: I had a time getting this one started, but as hard as it was, I also had fun and I may make it a series. Who knows?

Imani rushed down the block, flying past the few pedestrians that were up at this particular twilight of dawn.

Raw adrenaline coursed through her veins as each leg collided with the concrete below her feet, jolting her with such force to her goal.

She snuck a glance behind her to see he was getting closer.

Fuck.

He was catching up with her. She couldn’t let him get any closer. Barely a minute ago he was nowhere in sight and now he was gaining up on her.

Diggin deep within herself, Imani mustered up whatever strength she could find in her body, grunting with force, she somehow gained speed.

You train for this, she told herself. This is what you do, its who you are, no random fucker on the street is going to take that away from you. You were going to live and you were going to win.

Just a few more seconds and she’d be at her shop, and she could finally escape. She would win and be free.

“Aye!” from the corner of her eye, Imani saw a blur of black wool rush past her to who was behind her.

What the?

Another man was rushing towards her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t, but he was just as fast, going step for step with her.

He slowed down when she did, reaching out to grab her, by the shoulders. Instead of her usual sloppy slow down, she collided face first into his chest.

“It's okay now.” his velvet tone flooded her senses, “you don’t need to keep running. We got him.”

Oh God.

Imani frantically tapped at his chest with the palm of her hand when she saw his friend in the dark wool coat handcuff the man running after her.

“N-n ugh- no.” she gasped for air, half choking when she couldn’t breathe in enough, “no.”

“Alex!” Elle waved him down, quickly shifting her attention once he started to jog over, “NO!”

“What do you mean, no?” Alex huffed shortly, the condensation of his breath filling the space between them as he shoved the man to the side, so he wouldn’t be near her, but he could still hold onto him. “We arrived here, just to see this man chasing a woman who looked scared out of her mind. We can ask him questions once we get downtown.”

“A race!” Elle explained, as she turned her phone around, so he could see she was livestreaming on instagram, “she was scared of losing a footrace.”

“A footrace?” The man holding Imani scrunched his face as he held her back some to look at hers. She nodded, her chest still falling up and down.

“I wasn't doing nothing!” The man finally spoke up for himself. “It's just a thing Citrusly does.” He huffed, shaking his head, “you beat the owner in a footrace, you get free drinks for a month. She’s only here Tuesday morning’s 5am to 6am for it.”

Imani felt like she could breathe a little better once Alex uncuffed the man.

Alex’s expression shifted to something more guarded, but not quite pleased or relieved, slightly sorry, but only slightly. He uncuffed the man and pushed him.

“Get out of here.”

“Fucking cops.” the man muttered, brushing off his clothes.

“I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?” Imani put her hand on his shoulder, looking him over as she would have done if the situation was dangerous, which it was not, but she had a business to run, and right now there were lots of phones recording them.

“I’m fine now.” He beamed at her. His body language shifting.

“That's good.” she squeezed his shoulder lightly, giving him a polite smile, praying it didn't give him any ideas, “because accidental arrest or not, I still won, so you don't get the one month discount.’

“Mani!” Elle scolded her, but she ignored it.

“Are you kidding! I totally would have had it, if that man didn't tackle me!”

“He tackled you three steps away from the shop door.” You pointed at Alex’s cop accomplice, “this man didn't grab me until I stopped running which was at the shop door.” she waved her hands up as she finished proving her point, “You lost.”

The onlookers cheered and laughed, some going back inside and others going on about their day as she attempted to console a sore loser.

“Tell you what,” Imani put her hands together in front of her, “As an apology, because of my friend’s actions, I’ll give you a drink and a pastry today for free, on me.”

The man, Donnie, she just learned his name was, nodded. He had a sweet smile that went well with his light brown eyes and freckled face, a few spots on his cheeks much whiter than the rest of him. You would have been all over him in high school, but right now, you weren’t so sure if you were up for anything with anyone.

“I’d really like it if I could also get,--”

“No more no less.” Imani interrupted with a playful smirk and a laugh. “That’s my final offer.” she licked her lips, ignoring how his eyes followed the movement. “Take it or leave it.”

She bounced back and forth on her heels, laughing softly and averting her gaze at Elle who looked at her like a disappointed mother. She ignored the smirk on Alex’s face and the coy look on his friend’s

“Alright.” Donnie relented, even taking a step back. When did he even get so close? She wondered. How did she let that happen? “But I'm challenging you again next Tuesday!” he pointed at her, smiling.

“I’ll always be here.” Imani opened the door for him and waved him off with one more smile.

“Damn,” a rich voice called behind her as the door was taken out of her grasp and swung open wider, “mm mm mm, that was cold blooded.”

Imani huffed through her nose, praying she didn’t jump from how he startled her.

“Right,” Alex chuckled, pushing past her in the shop.

“Tell me what you’ll say if the same person asks you out on the same day every week, but you keep giving the same answer each time, and they can’t take the hint.

Imani shook her head and made her way behind the counter to make everyone's usual.

“Every Tuesday?” Officer stranger asked.

“And Mani’s too stubborn to actually say yes.” Elle Huffed, “He’s nic–”

Imani took the opportunity to raise the pressure of the steam wand to cut her off, blowing a cloud in front of her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“I’m not falling fo–”

Imani did it again.

“Will you–”

She did it again, but this time only for a second the sound getting softer as she gently changes the texture of the milk to something silky and smooth.

“Sorry, I was actually making a drink that time.”

Imani placed it in front of her. “This one’s yours.”

“Giving her a look, Elle took her drink and left to go to the usual table. Before she could ask Alex’s friend what he wanted, he was already following her.

“Does he—“ Imani turned to Alex.

“He will eat and drink anything you put in front of him," Alex deadpanned with a hint of a grin. “He greedy as hell.”

Imani will always love her best friend Elle, but she was doing the absolute most, and so was Alex.

She and her friend have been close since college. Truly the sister she’s always wanted, so when she finally got the guy she’s been obsessed with since high school, it sucked that they didn’t get to spend as much time together as they used to, but Imani was a big girl, and she knows she can handle not being first in line anymore.

She’ll settle for two.

But right now, number two was confused on why it was so important for them to meet the best friend, that was more of a brother, to the new number one, the man her best friend was dating.

“Just to be clear, I’m not the one in a relationship with Alex, right?”

“Mani!” Elle warned through gritted teeth.

Imani raised her hands, backing off.

“You are my family and you’re important to me,” Elle put a hand on Imani’s shoulder, “just like John is to Alex.”

Imani wanted to fold in on herself.

She looked up at the ceiling to avoid Elle’s gaze.

“And as your family, I’d like to know where you have been in the last week. You weren’t answering your phone and no one had seen you anywhere. Is it because of what comes up in two days?”

“No, I’m fine.” Imani shook her head,” I just needed some time alone with my thoughts. Is it healthy, probably not, but I know what I want, and I just needed to take that time.”

“So you're okay?” Elle asked softly.

“I was in my apartment. I just chose not to pick up any calls.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and averted her gaze from everyone for a moment. They were all looking at her now, and she didn’t even know what else to say.

Fuck, Elle for doing this to her.

“Okay.” Imani hoped it didn’t come off as short as it sounded to her. All she could feel was her face burning and her ears muffling everything from how hot her head was getting. She shrugged off her jacket for good measure and took a large sip of her drink.

“John,” he held out his hand, breaking the ice first, “Sampson.” He said as she shook it.

“Imani.” She half smirked and waved a hand in an obvious gesture, since Elle has done nothing but call it out every five seconds.

“You have a last name, Imani.”

“Nope.” She said, popping the p.

“It’s Lounds.”

“Like The Lounds Enterprise Lounds?” He raised an eyebrow.

Imani smacked her teeth and leaned back, crossing her arms.

“Now why’d you have to go and tell him.”

“So you’re his semi-estranged daughter he doesn’t like talking about.”

“We’re not estranged.” She huffed, “I just make my own money.”

“And how’s that working out?” he chided.

“John, don't start with her. Once she gets started, she won’t stop.” Elle smiled as she gave her input, failing to hide her smile as she did. Not quite a master at

“Good.” Imani beamed, grabbing a cinnamon roll and picking it apart as she ate it.

“Aye,” Alex frowned, “you're wasting a perfectly good common roll.”

“It's a habit,” Imani said with her mouth half full, “it’s a test for texture. Jimmy taught me. I've been doing it all week and now, whenever I eat a pastry, I pull it apart .

Imani talked on, going into detail about texture and doughs and mouth feel as she watched John grab a muffin.

Interesting.

She laid out an assortment, just like she did when she met Alex here the first time. Who had a knack for picking out which one was the sweetest just by looking at it.

Muffins could be sweet but they weren’t sweet like other things. He must be normal about them unlike his friend.

“Slow down Sugar,” John brushed his hands of crumbs, “it ain’t going nowhere.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s a nickname.” Elle mused.

“Sweet tooth.” Was all Alex said, focused on getting the rest of the cinnamon roll in his mouth.

Well that explains it.

“Why are you dressed like a Gangbanger from LA?” The John Sampson asks.

Imani looked down at her clothes, picking at the fabric of her Dickies jacket and pulling the oversized sleeves over her hands.

“They were Deonte’s.” She licked her lips before smiling slowly. “He was from LA and he did live that type of life at some point, but I- I think something happened and he used the last of his money to fly out here,” her chest used to feel tight when she talked about him. It used to make her shake and take her breath away, but now. . . not so much, “so he was uh- I think that’s why he was homeless when I met him.” She nodded, feeling like that was enough for now.

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to—“

“No, it’s okay,” Imani smiled softly, “I like talking about him.” She said in a half whisper, thinking of her long lost friend.

No one said anything so she felt the need to interject, or rather Alex and Elle had heard all this stuff before, but the opportunity to show someone else Deonte as she knew him, to share who he really was with anyone who listened, she’ll never pass that up.

“He left all that behind once he got here, I helped him get on his feet. . . let him stay with me. . .save up for a new place, but there wasn’t any need for that. We got so close and the housing market was shit, so I. . . somehow, convinced him to stay with me.” She gently cleared her throat, “for good I think.”

“That’s when he started the nonprofit with you?” John graveled, his interjection startled her. She blinked at him for a moment, remembering she had an audience.

“Y-yeah.” She smiled. “How’d you know that?” She leaned forward, but kept her hands in the sleeves of the too big jacket, “people don’t usually know that.”

“I make it a habit to keep up with things that benefit my community.” he took a non communal sip of his drink before tilting his head and squinting at it with a low short hum, “ You two did good work.” he shifted his attention back to her, “ You, do good work.”

Imani’s shoulders fell with a tension she didn't know was there. His dark eyes reflected a glimmer of. . Joy? A sort of complement of reverence she didn’t quite understand.

She searched his eyes, the feeling overwhelmed her, but she let it. She couldn’t stop the way she held his gaze and searched for more, eagerly taking as much as she could get in that moment, but then she realized what it was.

He was proud of her, of Deonte and the work they did together, and the work she kept doing after his death.

A feeling her father long since neglected to give her. A feeling she forgot she used to devote herself to once she removed herself from her father’s influence.

“You don’t like saying thank you either, Imani?”

She inhaled sharply, leaning back in her seat.

“I- I uh.”

“Most people say thank you when they get a compliment.” He said casually, but there was something in the inflictions of his voice. How the colors of his tone would sway and flow across a spectrum like a musical scale. Going from something light, casually rich, and pleasant to something low and imposing.

A skill she’s sure he’s picked up to properly reprimand and deal with the criminals he may catch, his less than agreeable coworkers who had reservations about black people and what they should and shouldn’t be doing in America, but she was no criminal, there was no danger, and she decently wasn’t a racist pig.

So why use it so flippantly?

Her mind felt foggy, but she knew not to ask.

“Say thank you.” He took a sip of his coffee. Imani watched him intently, confused in her sudden stupor, her eyes following the micro expressions on his face, his hand, soaking in the way the leather of his gloves creaked and strained as he moved. How his tongue darted to reach the foam of the latte that settled on the hairs of his upper lip, catching in his beard.

“Thank. . . You.” She averted her gaze, ignoring how tightly her legs were pressed together.

“Leave that girl alone.” Alex drawled, breaking the spell, “she’s trying to have a heartwarming vulnerable moment and you keep messing with her.”

John rolled his eyes.

“And you need to take some notes, so you can learn to do the same instead of bottling everything up until you explode, motherfucker.”

Imani winced and let out an “ooh.”

“You gon’ let them gang up on me like that?” He glanced at Elle in mock offense.

“He’s right though.” She took a conspicuous sip of her drink.

“Don’t do him like that,” Imani fiddled with the hem or her sleeve, feeling normal and letting her hands out of the jacket, “everyone grieves differently.”

“Exactly,” Alex held out his hand in a fist, not putting it down until she bumped it, “unh, that’s what I’m talking about. We gotta stick together.”

“Stick together as what?” John smacked his teeth.

“Dead partner club.” Alex said matter of factly.

Imani nodded in agreement.

“I grieve different.” She said in a partially nasally tone and pitched her voice lower. “Huh.”

“What?” Elle looked at Imani as if she was being an embarrassment, again.

“None of y’all listen to Kendrick?” Imani shrugged back.

“Is that hat an artist of some kind? Is he one of the rappers you like to listen to?”

“Elle, do not play with me,” Imani bristled. Because they’ve been friends for how long? And she still wants to act brand new whenever she brings up the goat.

“See, this is why Jannie thinks you’re old and I’m not.”

Alex bit back a laugh, but John let it fly, not having to worry.

Elle shook her head, not taking the bait because they were in mixed company, but if it was only the two of you, she would have definitely taken it there.

“Anyways,” she said pointedly, “I need a favor.”

Imani laughed through her nose.

“Shoot.” was all she said, Elle already knew she’d do anything for her.

“I need you to accept your invitation to Jonesy’s dinner party with me and—“

“Ugh,” Amani loudly scoffed and downed the rest of her drink. Grabbing her water and refusing to look up at Elle, “anything but that, Please.”

“It’s just for one night.” She urged, there will be lots of amazing people and you’ll even find more donors for your organization. It’ll be amazing event for networking.”

“Okay,” Imani frowned, “fine fine fine.” She kept saying until Elle stopped talking. “I don’t care. I’ll just go.”

This was more than a hopeful answer for her. Ellle softly squealed.

“You’ll like this one. I promise.”

“Please don’t,” Imani scoffed into her drink, “I don’t want you to be known as a liar off something like that.”

“I think that’s our cue to go to work.” John downed the rest of his coffee and tapped Alex on the shoulder.

As Alex bundled back up and kissed Elle goodbye.

Imani watched as John stood and fastened his coat.

“Are you okay?” Elle brought her out of her daze. They were long gone and out the door but she was still looking out, “You seem out of it today?”

“Y-yeah,” Imani muttered into her glass of water, “just thinking about Deonte.”

________

Fuck. Imani cursed to herself.

Fuck fuck fuck.

She paced back and forth on the sidewalk.

She hoped her eyes weren’t too red. It was a bit ago and it took her a while to get here, so maybe it’ll wear off before dinner starts. She just needed to get over it by then.

Her usual stuff was gone and she frantically kept calling her main guy until he was able to come through, but he had everything but what she usually buys from him.

Going against her better judgment, she settled for what he had and it was way too strong and it felt way too different, and now everyone was going to know she was high and she’ll embarrass herself, and they’ll hate her forever. Then Elle wouldn’t want to be her friend anymore, and her Dad will find out, and he’ll cut her out of his life and from the family forever.

“Fuck!” She shouted into the night air, searching for some reprieve.

“Mani?”

“Oh,” she softened some at the sight of her friend, “hey.”

“Are you alright? I brought the gummies you left at my house.”

Oh right.

She did ask for Elle to bring it. That’s where it was.

But it was too late. She was already on some other stuff and she had to smoke it and worry that none of it stuck to her skin.

“No, I’ll be alright without it, but thanks.” She took it and hid it in her purse, and that’s when she saw the little baggie of pills.

Fuck, she was screwed.

In addition to T seeing her have a mini panic attack he have her the pills free of charge, insinuating she take them.

“They’re real anxiety pills and shit. People use ‘em just to feel good, but you may want to see a Dr to actually get them prescribed. Let me know if you need something stronger or not as strong, and I’ll hook you up. Take care of yourself.”

Imani closed her purse.

She’ll just wait until the weed wore off and she wasn’t high to take one, she might not even need it at that point.

“Imani, let’s get out the cold and inside already.”

Huh?

Imani blinked.

Alex and Elle were giving her odd looks at the door.

“Sorry, I zoned out.”

She followed them.

She needed to pull herself together. She’ll get busted at any point if she keeps this up.

“You guys made it!” Jonesy kissed her and Elle on the cheek. Alex held out a hand for him to shake, but Jonesy pushed his hand away, going straight for the hug.

“Oh we know each other better than that, Alex.”

“Uh, yeah.” Alex patted Jonesy on the shoulder, politely putting an appropriate amount of space between them.

“Your coats can go in this closet here.” Jonesy pointed, “Make yourselves comfortable. You all know your way around the place.” He flashed them with a smile and a slight wave, “I’ll let everyone know when dinner is ready.”

“WOW, you look gorgeous Imani!”

“Thank you.” Imani pretended to be flattered by the backhanded compliment.

Since Deonte’s death she’s developed a nasty habit of wearing his clothes and adopting a lot of his personal style into hers. The extravagant more feminine outfits or even her own particular style of streetwear was seen less and she wore more dickies and carhartt than anyone in her old circle had ever seen in their life.

“Are you planning on returning to the court anytime soon?”

“No, I left my tennis days behind me, I fear.” She chuckled lightly and moved on, making sure not to be rude.

Five more interactions and twice as many more comments about her long silky dress that hugged her curves and how the color complimented her skin, Imani felt like she had a little more control of her senses. A sense of herself had begun to return to her.

“Come here.” A velvety low voice resounded in Imani’s head, and a hand firmly grabbed her and dragged her into a half hallway half corner.

Was that God? Some sort of Angel punishing her for everyone to see, making her an example of his divine punishment?

“What’s wrong with you?”

Imani gasped half a beat after he spoke, her eyes widening as she came face to face with John.

He grabbed her face in one hand, his thumb and forefingers slightly digging into her cheek as he moved her face up, down, and side to side.

“Weed.” She managed to squeak through her squished lips.

“You sure it’s just that?” He let her go, pulling up a little baggie in front of her face.

“H-how did you?”

“Don’t worry about that.’ He steeled. “Answer my question.”

Imani blinked, piecing together her thoughts to remember what the question was again.

“I’m fi—“

“— no you’re not. Your friend asks you to come somewhere as a favor and you decide that’s the perfect time to get high.”

“That’s not it.” Imani hissed. “Let me answer.”

He held her gaze, but shut up.

Good.

“I smoke to take the edge off of being here, not to be out of it completely. Although sometimes, you do need to get that high.” She ignored the disapproval on his face and continued, “I left my usual stuff at Elle’s, so I made a quick irrational decision to take something else, even though I knew it wasn’t going to go well because I refuse to be here sober.”

“Doesn’t explain these pills.”

“They're back up—“

“They’re a crime.” Imani flinched at the bite in his voice. “I could arrest you just for having these. You already admitted they were yours.”

“I just—“

“John, you made it!” Elle’s warm soft voice filtered out between them.

“This is why we don’t bring you nowhere. Can’t show up anywhere on time. Don’t take your coat off and shit.” Alex shook his head, saying the last part lowly so no one around them could hear.

John didn’t spare them any pleasantries and Imani must have looked as panicked as she felt, so much for being discreet.

“What’s going on here?” Alex's expression fell, his brows drawing close and his mouth falling shut into a firm line to match John’s.

John silently flashed the bag of pills before stuffing them back in his pocket.

“Your friend is high, out of her mind.”

“Is that why you said you didn’t need the gummies?” Elle turned to look her in the eye, but Imani turned, not wanting her to see the look on her face. But Elle stepped closer, gently grabbing her shoulders.

Imani kept her gaze cast to the side.

“Mani,” Elle whispered, “what did you do?”

“I called Tony and he didn't have what I wanted, so I had to take what he had and then he recommended these pills he said they was for anxiety or something like that because apparently he thinks I have it or that something’s wrong with me and offered to be my unofficially psychiatrist or some shit but then advised I see a real one if I took these and felt like they helped but I wasn’t going to take them unless the weed didn’t work which it isn’t so once it wears off I’m taking them but I can’t now because he took them so I—“

“Mani, breathe.” She sighed.

Imani hated that sound, and she hated the look on her friends’ face even more. .

“I’m sorry.” It spilled out of her mouth. “I just wanted to feel comfortable in my skin. I didn’t want to be here. I just want. . . I hate how they look at me.”

“It’s okay, Imani.” With a tissue, she didn’t see her pull out her purse, Elle dabbed at the tears she wasn’t aware of, “let’s just get through tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” Imani urged, desperate to show her sincerity. . Her mind not letting her come up with anything more thought out, everything she was feeling felt messier and harder to describe.

“I know, I know.” Elle cupped both sides of Imani’s face and brought her forehead to hers.

“Let’s talk tomorrow okay.” She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and Imani gave her one back on hers. “No excuses, Elle added.” A smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“If I have to hurt Jimmy to make time for you to be with me this week , don’t get mad at me for it.” Imani smiled back.

“And I won’t.”

Imani nodded, for some reason feeling better.

John didn’t look like he approved any more or less, and Alex’s face seemed unreadable to her.

“Can I have my drugs back?”

“No.” John said seriously without missing a beat.

Imani rushed to him and pulled at the front of his shirt.

“You can keep the pills. I just need the other stuff that’s in there.”

If she remembered correctly, there might have been some shrooms and a bit of weed left.

He pried her hands off his chest.

“Are you seriously asking a cop if you can have your illegal substances back?”

“No, I'm asking a cop if I can have the legal substances back that happen to be in the bag with the illegal ones.”

“You mean you’re illegal ones.”

“Please.” She stepped into his personal space and rested her chin on his chest, craning her neck up as she did so she could look him in the eye.”Please can I just have the mushrooms back?”

“Oh just the mushrooms?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yes!” Imani leaned back from him. Happily grabbing at his arms as they rested at his sides.

“Well I’m that case,” He started to move his hand and Imani immediately stepped back to accommodate him,” no.” He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and straightened his blazer on his body.

“John, don't antagonize her.” Elle lightly chided.

Alex nodded in agreement. A hint of amusement in his eyes. “Elle’s right, don’t antagonize her John.”

Imani slumped forward, letting her cheek rest on his chest as she pouted.

“What are you doing?” John said, too exasperated to even let out a sigh, ignoring both Alex and Elle.

His display of emotion was a delightful anomaly to Imani. How could he look so upset but nonchalant at the same time?

“I’m not moving until you give them back.” She huffed through her nose.

“Then I guess we better get comfortable.” He murmured in a low peeved voice, flooding her senses with its bass and depth. She could listen to him speak forever.

“Mani, no.” Elle hissed. “Get off him.”

“He has my drug—“

Alex lowered himself so he was at her level and could get in her face. “Get. Up.” He said through gritted teeth, his tone sending a chill down her spine.

Imani rose to stand straight, but she was not happy about it.

He didn’t leave her any room. She tried to step past him, but he took one forceful step forward, backing her into John’s chest.

“Act like you have some sense.” He pointed in her face.

“No one told you to do these drugs and no one told you to bring them here. Be grateful John, or me, isn't arresting you in front of your friends and dragging you out that door.”

“I—“

He wordlessly gave her a look, daring her to speak and interrupt him.

Imani shut her mouth.

“If you’ll do what I say, then you’ll do what he says, do you understand me?”

Imani nodded silently, not wishing to provoke him further.

He patted her cheek and then backed up to take his place by Elle’s side.

“You aren’t my fucking Dad.” She muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I said you aren’t my—“

“Dinner is ready!” Jonesy popped around the corner with a smile.

On instinct, Imani plastered a smile on her face and shifted her body language to something casual that suggested polite conversation.

“Thank you, we’ll be right there.” She slightly bowed her head.

“Oh,” Jonesy paused, his brows raising, “when did you and John get so close?”

Imani was no longer resting onto his chest, but she hadn’t removed herself from his personal space. While she would no longer lay on him as he stood, she settled for resting her hands on his lower half, close to his pockets.

She’s been attempting to ease them in his pocket and take her drugs out, but he either smacks her hand away or grabs it before squeezing very tightly until tears pricked her eyes, so she just kept them there in case there was a small window he wouldn’t notice her hand slipping into his pocket again.

“We haven’t.” Was all Imani said, her smile unwavering.

Adding to her amusement, John stayed silent behind her.

She watched out the corner of her eye, as he discretely moved the bag from his pants pocket to the one inside his jacket.

Fuck.

There goes plan A.

“Everyone to their seats.” Jonesy declared loudly, his voice filling the room before scurrying off with a terribly concealed grin.

Imani was very familiar with dinner parties at Jonesy’s house. He was a stickler for order and had a flair for presentation, decoration, and all things that went into being a great hostess.

One of those things he never budged on and will always obsess over to every minute detail, is the seating arrangement.

Childish as hell to some, and by some, mostly her, the seats were often set by a system only he understood, something about the structure to set up the perfect flow of conversation, so they never lulled and no one was ever bored.

Imani had the same seat around the same people each night, but not this time.

She was by John, Imani and Alex at a completely different spot by the head of the table.

The fuck?

They were practically at the end.

When Imani brought Elle, they were placed closer to the head but not there directly. Imani would be on the left and Elle would be on her right.

She peered down the table to glance at Alex and Elle once more.

He was on her right.

Imani’s brain struggled to put the pieces together.

“Imani,” a blond woman who had a clearly younger and equally blonde man stuck to her side. He fawned over her every movement, but the hollow glint in his eyes was off putting.

A forced display of desire? Or was he really that bad at hiding how much he hated the woman who was undoubtedly paying him to be here? “I heard you were investing in restaurants? What a cute adventure.”

“Not investing,” Imani took a careful sniff of her green beans before taking a bite, the accent of almonds in some type of balsamic glaze? Went really well together, a perfect way of combining flavor and texture, but the green beans were undercooked, making the dish crunch unpleasantly in her mouth, “I own a cafe and I’m slowly making my debut into the fine dining community here in DC. There’s this chef– Jimmy Raines, who reached out after visiting my cafe and trying one of my pastries. He—“

“So it’s true?” She smiled thinly, smirking, “you’re actually making food in these places? You aren’t just investing?”

“Well I, for one, think it’s wonderful,” a brown skinned gentleman next to her interrupted, “Imani is truly exemplifying how she's the best of us each and everyday, and if she figured out a way to get income from her hobbies, then I say brava.”

Imani gave Sharvesh a quick smile of thanks, but turned her attention back towards her plate.

There was the option of Chicken or Pork Chop, and she went for both.

The chicken was perfect, but the porkchop was dry, even more so disappointing, they both were seasoned the same. The flavours were not too compelling, not even in a garlic powder onion powder way of simple and good, Only salt and pepper, but they weren’t that high quality in cuts that warranted such a simple flavor palette.

They at least could have been basted or crusted in some type of herbs.

The only good thing had to be the potatoes.

Fondant, to be exact.

She made a mental note to ask Jimmy to teach her how to make them.

“May you pass the potatoes down, please?” She had to have more, her stomach felt like it opened a portal and transformed into a bottomless pit that would never get full.

Before she could put her fork down and take the platter, John had already reached for it, his arm more than long enough to reach over for it before she could.

Wordlessly, he puts some on her plate for her before adding some more to his owne,

Imani thanks him softly, and digs in, not wasting any time.

“Can I have them back now?” Imani leaned towards him to whisper in his ear.

“If you behave.” Was all he said in between bites of his food.

Sighing, she takes another bite of her chicken.

Sharvesh directs his attention towards her, ready to say or ask something else, as he takes the platter back, but John interrupts him.

“You mind passing the chicken down here too?”

“Of course.” His shoulders drop some, but he complies, recovering with a quick smile.

They were going dish per dish, plate for plate. If he wanted something, she also wanted that something and vice versa.

Dessert was atrocious and she couldn’t fight the indignant sound that came out of her mouth.

It was some type of… peach cobbler inspired thing. . . Shaped cylinder made up of layers. The peaches were clearly canned, insipid, and flavorless, overwhelmingly covered in fructose. The layer of crust was dry and it fell apart in the mouth in the worst possible way. The only good thing about it was the scoop of ice cream on the side. A terrible choice for the presentation, but at least something about it was edible.

“Can I have your ice cream?” Imani said a little too loudly. The disgust in her voice is clear and easy to pick out in her semi inebriated state.

Imani was seconds away from loudly complaining, before John pinched her side faster than she could speak.

John leaned towards her, and dropped his voice. “This is not behaving.” he hushly growled in her ear with more bite than she could physically comprehend. He wouldn't dare openly glare at her, but the threat in his voice made up for what his face could not.

She swallowed, ignoring the chill that ran down her side and the knot of warmth that quickly raced through her lower belly.

Imani flinched away from him. Unable to fight the fear that he might do. . . Something.

The look on his face and tone of his voice made her think of a look she remembered a mother giving her child in public one time.

Apparently, she is acting out.

“How was dinner? It was nice wasn’t it?” Elle questioned as they stood around once more for cocktails.

“Don't ask a question and not give someone a chance to answer.” Imani scolded into her cup without looking up. “And then don't give your answer first.”

“Well someone’s clearly sober.” Ellle half singed in a soft voice. “How do you feel?”

Imnai frowned, pondering.

“Upset. . . but not like, disappointed.” She licked her lips. It would be mean to say it out loud , but she couldn't fight the nagging voice in the back of her head. The thought of saying it, seeing her say it, and all the possible reactions of the words once she said them, were starting to become its own beast. The thought of not saying it at all begins to eat away at her and she now has to say it.

“Upset. . .dinner was, well it wasn’t terrible but it could have been better.”

“You and John practically ate half of everything?” Alex’s brows drew together.

“That was mostly potatoes and the. . “ She turned towards John who was scarfing down one of the “dessert cocktails, “what was the vegan dish?”

“Red pepper chickpea souffle’.”

“Hot hummus.” Imani nodded matter of factly.

“Definitely sober.” Elle said with a shake of her head and a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Alex interrupted, looking concerned, “are we just okay with Imani being rude as hell for no reason.”

Imani’s face felt like a child’s would if they’re parents told them no after they asked for ice cream. Her cheeks puffing in another pout.

“It's not on purpose.”

“She was raised to be emotionally unavailable and is learning to express herself emotionally.”

“Elle!” Imani said shortly in warning.

“She left her feelings wheel at home.”

Imani opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly closed it in realization.

Elle was doing this on purpose. Why?

“Ain't nothing wrong with trying to better yourself.” John interrupted out of nowhere. “The right way is always better than self medication.” he tossed his drink on the nearest tray as it went by. “But what do I know? It's not like I got a degree in psychology or anything fancy like that.

“Nigga, done read two books sand thinks he knows something.”

Imani laughed, rolling her eyes.

They said their goodbyes and grabbed their coats, shuffling back out into the chill of the night air.

“Mani!” Elle called out.

She turned, the wind whipped at her face. The snowflakes falling into her lashes slightly obscured her vision,“Yeah?!” She called back.

“John’s taking you home.”

And he did.

“There are more things than drugs that can take the edge off” he was so close, his words rumbled against Imani’s face, pulling at something within her and making her pussy throb.

Her tongue felt thick as she licked her lips.

“Like what?”

Like what included Imani’s bare back to his still dressed chest, watching his leather clad fingers rub torturously slow firm strokes against her clit.

“Please. . . “ she whimpered, throwing her head back into his chest, her smooth bare legs shamelessly spreading wider, straining against his pant legs.

She attempted to grab his offending hand with hers to do something, anything, but he stopped her, restraining her hands against her chest in a tight grip.

“I’m so close.” She tried again with a sniffle. His deft fingers found a way to circle the sensitive nub of her clit even slower, before sliding off down her lips and into the wet center of her pussy. He curled his fingers in an equally slow pace, fueling her desire and bringing her back to the edge. Driving her insane, but nowhere near what she wanted.

“Look at you,” he trailed firm sloppy kisses down her neck before coming back up. Imani Relished the feeling of his lips. Craning her head back into his chest so he could trail them along her jaw.

He pulled his fingers out of her pussy to hold her chin back, her arousal pooling between them on the bed and what was left of it on his fingers trickled down her face as his lips locked onto hers in a backwards upside down kiss.

She keened into his mouth as he wantonly pushed his tongue past her lips to slide his tongue against hers.

“I wonder what sound you’ll make after you taste yourself on my tongue.” He added another finger and started sliding them in and out of her at a faster pace.

“Oh,” she softly let out.

He brought his other hand to her clit, letting go of his cruel grip on her hands.

She immediately brought them to his arms, squeezing tightly at his sleeves, but she wouldn’t dare stop him, not while she felt so good.

His finger glided across her clit at a steady cruel pace. With each stroke of leather against her puffy nub she gushed around his other fingers that slid in and out of her pussy. His thick long fingers were filling her up.

“Look at you,” his voice was hot and low as it brushed against her ear, “all that talk, but you do just what I want you to.”

“Please,” she strains, somehow straining her legs wider. He responds by curling his finger into her, digging her out and hitting a spot she didn’t know was there. Her hips chased the movent, and he didn’t stop her, letting her fuck herself onto his hands.

“And you ask so sweetly” his rich dulcet tone was a song in her ear she didn’t want to end. She’d let it get stuck in her head forever.

“You wanna cum for me?” He added another finger not waiting for her to respond.

Imani mewled, blinking away a stream of tears as they stung her eyes.

His words pulled at something within her. The desire had her body ablaze, but his request was adding a foreign feeling into the mix. Tinging her desire with another burning emotion that electrified her nerves and filled her with something akin to bashfulness or fear, but it was a fear colored with an excitement for more that she would never admit, unless he made her, and something told her he could.

He pushed down on her clit.

She cried out against the movement, her hips jolting foward in shock, but pressing against his hands just as much, increasing the impending pressure, causing her to leak onto the hand that was sliding in and out of her.

“Cum for me.”

And she did.

Her legs jolted and tensed, as she spilled into his gloved hand.

Before she could let out any moan, he snaked his head around her to swallow any and every sound in a kiss, his beard danced against her cheeks as he did. The slide of his tongue on her matched the movements of his hand buried in her pussy as he buried them inside her, coaxing her through her orgasm..

Once over, he eased from behind her.

Imani layed back onto her sheets with parted lips. Watching with hooded eyes as John stood over her.

She swallows the lump in her throat as she watches him enveloped his own gloved fingers past his lips, lapping as much of you as he could off them.

When he slid his hand out his mouth, something in his face changed, making her body flush with even more heat. The thin sheen of sweat on her body started to burn, unable to catch up with her ever flowing desire and the man who caused it.

He tugged roughly at his gloves and threw them on her nightstand.

Her hips dipped in the bed as she watched him unbutton his shirt, revealing the expense of flushed dark brown skin overflowing with a warm undertow of gold.

She pant for more, her tongue threatening to lathe out her mouth at the sight.

She needed her mouth on his skin.

The smirk he gave her as he shoved himself out of his pants sent a jolt through her body.

“Keep those legs open. I want to taste you.”

And taste her he did.

Imani shoved at his head as much as she could, pushing with all her might, but he ignored her and latched his mouth on her more firmly, sucking hard at her clit.

His bare hands felt even better, but she couldn’t take it.

Her lips were sore and puffy and her clit was aching.

Each push and pull of his finger inside of her brought another tear to her eye, and his mouth on her clit only made her keen and whine at the pain, but her pussy had other thoughts.

What she registered as pain and too much, her body only felt an override of pleasure.

Her legs strained open, pathetically begging for more and giving him easy access. She gushed and flooded his tongue with each cry, whine, and whimper.

“Please, please, please. . .” Was all her brain would let her say through her cries of ecstasy and tears.

“I’m giving you all I got baby,” he added a third finger, his voice against her puffy pussy making her squeeze each and every one of them, unbearably filling her up more than her mind could comprehend, “what more do you want.”

He switcher from sucking on her clit to lathing it with his tongue. Swiping with slow firm movements. Her hips follows each one. With his tongue hitting her clit just right, his fingers stuffed snuggly inside her, and his beard scratching oh so pleasantly at her sensitive overstimulated skin, she came again without warning,

He hummed against her, making the feeling that much more euphoric and that much more unbearable.

He pulled his fingers out of her. As they slid out, they were followed by a hot sticky stream of her arousal.

“You’re so creamy.” He kissed her inner thigh, smearing the mess she was making further along her body,

He pushed his tongue in her, his beard scratching overwhelmingly at her pussy. Wet, sloppy sounds and matching slurps filled the room as he continued to eat her out.

Imani clutched the back of his head, pulling at his hair. She’d had enough. She couldn’t take anymore and she needed to put a stop to him now or else he’d kill her. . She’d be surprised if her knuckles weren’t raw and split in the morning from how hard she was pulling, but it only encouraged him,

He moaned into her, making her whimper and lose her grip,

“Please. . “

She didn’t realize it until he was looking at her through her legs that she had came again.

He looked half crazed. A hunger so deep and intense, she had to avert her gaze, but her eyes were back on him once he made his ascent towards her. Without looking away, he crawled over her body.

“Come here.” He said like velvet, leaning down, he trapped her in a hard kiss. Haunting her senses and pushing against her further, swiping against her mouth more intently than he had the entire night.

“Mmh,” she whimpered in between kisses. They were soft and keening.

When she had made one particularly drawn out mewl his hips pushed against hers, causing his dick to smear precum against her lower belly.

“Mmmmm.” He broke the kiss in satisfaction. “Keep that up.”

He moved her to her side, putting one of her legs around his waist as he settled behind her on his side.

“You ready?” He smirked against her ear, kissing her right below it. His breath was hot.

She shook her head into the sheets, straining her eyes shut in worry.

If he wasn’t holding her, she’d collapse into the bed, and her pussy was worn out and tired.

“Oh, you can take it. Don’t be like that.” The gentleness of his voice was in contradiction with the cruel way he rubbed his dick through her folds. Holding one hand at the base, he meticulously and cruelly swayed it from side to side before smacking it against her pussy and then repeating the action.

“Mhm,” she whined in protest, “stop.”

“See, “ he ignored her, "you can,” he pushed inside of her without warning, “take it.”

Imani couldn’t remember the last time she felt so full. She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted someone to fill her up. He was opening up a desire she forgot she had.

He started with slow languid thrusts.

“Damn, baby.” He moaned in her ear. “Damn—“

She clenched around him, making him swear.

He thrust into her harder and she keened, her walks opening back around him.

“Just like that, keep taking it,” he graveled in her ear, “you take me so well.”

Imani mewled, squeezing tight against him once more.

His hips snapped harder, pushing through how tight her pussy was holding onto him.

“Fuck. . .” She moaned softly.

His hot chuckle danced on her skin as she swore for the first time tonight.

“You like that baby.”

She let out a drawn out moan.

“You like when I tell you how good you're doing? Like when I tell you how good you take this big fat dick? That you let me fill you up like this? Dig you out?”

He licked his lips before kissing along her neck.

His beard rubbed deliciously against her skin, the satisfying scratch heightening her senses.

She let out a long string of incoherent noises, unable to talk back.

He smirked into her neck as he pushed her onto her belly, snapping his hips into hers at a grueling pace, her walks desperate to keep as much of him inside as they could.

Without wanting, she snaked her hand around to grab his head and pull him closer.

“John.” She moaned.

His duck jumped inside her.

“John.” She called out again. Her voice was soft and strained with need.

A need for him.

John had plenty of women who wanted him, who threw themselves at him, and sometimes it was women he may have wanted just as much, but he can’t call how many of them needed him. Not like this. Not this much.

That wasn’t his style. That’s not who he was. That’s not how he got the name Two-John.

But tonight, he’d let himself be needed.

But only for a moment.

Mustering up the last of his strength, he thrusts into her harder, faster.

She went limp under him. Her hand slipped out of his hair and beside her head. Not taking any chances, he grabs her hands and refrains them above her head. Her pussy throbs around him and he makes a mental note of that.

She whimpers, keens, and mewls, and shuts up.

Freeing him of thoughts of being needed.

“You like it rough too?” He slowed down, thrusting as hard as he could with each stroke, letting her feel every inch from tip to base.

“Cum on this dick baby. Cum for me.”

He enveloped her neck with his teeth, biting hard. She moaned into his mouth and he moaned as he felt it vibrate in his lips.

By some unforeseen power, she did. Imani came just when he told her too.

She squirmed in his mouth. But as his hips slowly moved her through her orgasm as he also came down from his, she attempted to move her neck but he wrapped his hand around her throat as he bit her again, squeezing firmly. His other hand grabbed at her hands, leaving her at his mercy.

He let go of her neck, lapping at the intentions of his teeth before moving to her collar.

As her pussy painfully throbbed, snd the sting on her neck followed suit, an odd sensation like she was being punished washed over her as she settled down.

“John.” She called out again.

It seemed to pull him out of his trance.

However, he didn’t move his mouth off of her without one final clench of his teeth. She whined, shuffling against his grip and the feeling of his dick softening and the condom inside her.

He peeled himself off her.

Imani felt an odd sense of Deja vu as she watched him with hooded eyes as he moved above her once more that night.

His chest rising and falling heavily under a thick sheen of sweat.

She had had one to match, her skin sticky as well, but she was so exhausted her lungs failed to rise and fall in her exertion. She only pant silently into the air.

John was going to tell her he should go.

Grab his clothes and make an exit.

But he couldn’t stare himself from her gaze. Those big brown eyes and puffy round cheeks, tugs at something within him he thought he buried long ago, but if it did occasionally come out it’s grave, he knew how to fight it back down into the pit where it belonged, but it wasn’t until now, after he came, did he realize he fucked up.

“You got a bathroom?” He needs to focus on something. Focus on a task until he could find a way to leave you.

“Other side.”

Her artsy open plan loft was off putting.

There were no hallway walls. Every room bled into the other except for the one extra room downstairs and the bathroom.

He’s confident the single room above that looked over every size of the loft, that also had no surrounding walls, was your bed.

He grunted once he finally found the bathroom and the lined closet. Running warm water over it he made his way back.

There were plants galore, art and other knick knacks littered everywhere in an organized mess. An island? Oversized bar cart? Whatever it wasproudly displays an espresso machine and equipment and tools he didn't understand.

If it’s a bar cart, it’s a waste to not have a proper alcohol display, but to each their own.

“If that’s your room upstairs than this is—“

“Yeah it’s Deonte’s room.” She interrupted him, fidgeting as he cleaned her up. He tried to look into her eyes and gauge where her head was at, but she kept averting her gaze.

“Can we not talk about it?” The softness of her plea startled him.

Reminiscent of a tone he’s heard Elle use ever so often with Alex, but not as headstrong or demanding. It was insecure, panicked, and vulnerable.

He nodded, wordlessly climbing into bed.

He froze as she instantly moved against him, cuddling into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist as he laid on his back. She snuggled up against him as if she belonged there, and for half a second, it felt that way.

Unable to find an excuse, he stayed.

But as she drifts to sleep, he keeps thinking what exactly he got himself into.

Fucking a woman in her dead exes bed, a woman who hadn’t had sex with anyone since his death three to four years ago, sharing a moment he knew was just sex, but what did she think it was?

But he remembers her other suitors.

The way Elle complains when she blows off or intentionally ruins the dates she sets Imani up with.

How Elle makes side comments whenever she brushes off a guy who hits on her and asks for her number, and he settles, drifting into a sleep as deep as hers because if anyone wanted a relationship less than he did, it would be Imani Louds.

He was sure of it.

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @blackpinup22 @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @unknownpinner @jedinightsister @m1sk1n3

@kemkem101 @savvysav1 @professionalm1sandrist

@bbyxgall @blackpinup22 @sweettea-and-honeybutter

@brattyfics @blowmymbackout @cherrypoppers1

if you notice any errors, please let me know. My brain hurts and i have no beta readers.

#alex cross #Cross #Fanfiction #x black reader #John Sampson x black original character #John Sampson x OC #John sampson x black OC #x original female character #x black original female character #x fem oc #x black fem oc #isaiah mustafa #amazon prime #2024 #Isaiah Mustafa x reader #black writer #black fanfiction

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jazziejax · 5 months ago

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They have been in rotation for a minute!!! Including Isaiah Mustafa and, not really related but, Patrick Dempsey.

#aldis hodge #alex cross #isaiah mustafa #john sampson #aaron pierre #kelvin harrison jr.#Terry Richmond #x reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #x black y/n #x black oc #x black fem oc

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httpsserene · 8 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. for extended tags, open in ao3.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.

“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.

“See you next summer.”

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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year ago

Text

Older!DinerOwner!Eddie x Fem!Reader

This is for my 1.6k celebration based on the prompt “make me” requested by @gri959 ❣️

Summary: You’ve been fucking your boss for almost a year now and he still won’t make it official, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Wk: 1.5k

Warnings: Age gap(Eddie is early 40s reader is mid 20s), jealous/possessive Eddie, spanking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, breeding kink. 18+MNDI!!

You were driving Eddie absolutely insane, and you knew it too. It was like somehow your little work dress seemed even tighter tonight and the way you were walking around swinging your hips, leaning down on your hands in front of customers faces, giving them a nice little peek at your perfect tits.

It didn’t help that you were being extra flirty with the new line cook, Alex. He was your age and he honestly kind of reminded Eddie of himself when he was younger. Why would you want him when you could have the newer model? But despite his insecurity that was rearing its ugly head, Eddie knew he had you wrapped around his thick ringed finger and that you were just doing this to rile him up.

“When you’re done with this table, come talk to me.” Eddie brushes past you while you’re taking an order, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You make eye contact with him just long enough for him to see you roll your eyes as he’s walking off.

“What’s up?” You walk over to where Eddie is standing behind the counter near the register and look up at him all innocently, which you are far from.

“What’s up? You know exactly what’s up, I know what you’re doing, quit it out.” Eddie looks down at you through slanted eyes, his tone a gruff whisper.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about? I’m just doing my job.” You raise an eyebrow at him and set your lips into a mock pout.

“Drop the innocent act. You’re trying to make me jealous, just admit it.” He smirks at you and leans down further than is probably appropriate for a boss and employee, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck, it’s his diner, he can do whatever he wants.

“Why would I be trying to make you jealous? There’s nothing going on between us, right?” You turn your head slightly, lowering your voice even more to make absolutely sure only he would hear. “It’s just physical, right? So why would you be jealous?”

“You know what?” Eddie’s jaw ticks as he exhales through his nose. “I want to talk to you in my office after we close.”

“Yeah? About what? I have plans.”

“And I don’t care. I’m your boss and I need to speak to you about something regarding your job. Now get back to work.” He walks off, not giving you time to argue further.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” You walk into Eddie’s office, pushing the door closed behind you and stand in front of his desk with your arms crossed.

“Are you serious?” Eddie scoffs, abandoning the document he was signing on his desk in favor of glaring up at you.

“Umm yeah? You told me to meet you here and you didn’t say why so I’m asking what you wanted? Pretty normal if you ask me.” You shrug and Eddie swears he can make out the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t play games you know you’ll lose.” Eddie chuckles, pushing up from his chair to come around and lean against the desk in front of you. “You really thought you were being sneaky? Prancing around here like that, bending over right where I can see, flirting with my employees, did you get a new bra? I’m not blind, baby.”

“Like I said before, there’s nothing going on between us… so… why would you be jealous?” You fully smirk at him now and god he wants to wipe it off your pretty little face.

“Just admit it, you were trying to make me jealous.” Eddie returns your smirk with one of his own as he leans back on his hands and crosses his legs. He’s so hot in those black Dickies work pants and his non-slip converse. He has on his restaurant manager shirt that accentuates his toned chest and shows off his thick tattooed arms. His hair is in that low bun that you love to rip out when he goes down on you and his facial hair is just a little longer than usual. Fuck.

“Why don’t you just admit that you were jealous then?” You give him a pointed look and he exhales through his nose because he’s about at his limit with your attitude.

“You know what? Bend over the desk.” He steps to the side, patting his hand against the wood.

“Why don’t you make me?” You roll your eyes, a dry chuckle escaping your lips, and that’s his final straw. He closes the distance between you and laces his fingers through your hair, pulling your face so it’s inches from his as his glowers down at you with his honey eyed stare.

“I said bend over the fucking desk.” He says your name through gritted teeth as his grip on your hair tightens, causing you to whimper, your bratty facade already breaking. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Fuck, okay.” He releases your hair and you whine as you walk on already semi shaky legs over to his desk, laying your top half across it, causing your dress to ride up and show off a sliver of your panties. “If you weren’t jealous you wouldn’t be all worked up like this so maybe you should just -“ your sentence is cut short when a harsh smack lands on your ass, making you yelp.

“Drop the attitude, doll.” Eddie’s hand pushes your dress up to reveal your plush asscheeks and tiny lacy underwear that barely cover anything. He pushes himself against you, his already hard cock brushing up against your barely covered pussy. His hands grip onto the globes of your ass, kneading it and shaking it in his palms. “I don’t know why you’re walking around here trying to act like this ass doesn’t belong to me, you know it does.”

“Maybe you should just get over yourself and make me your girlfriend then.” Your snarky tone earns you another spank, rougher than the last.

“What did I say about the attitude?” Both of his hands come down on your ass, his rings stinging against your skin causing you to moan. He does it again. And again. Until he starts to see faint welts from his rings and the marks of his handprints.

“This ass is mine.” One of his hands travels down to cup your pussy, thrusting the heel of his palm against your clit. “This pussy is fucking mine. Say it.”

“Admit you were jealous then.” Your voice comes out way whinier than you’d hoped, it practically sounds like you’re begging him as you subconsciously grind down against his hand. “Say you’re mine too.”

“You want me to be yours, baby, huh?” He pushes your panties to the side and runs his fingers through the slick lips of your pussy before bringing the tips of his fingers to your clit, circling it. “Tell me who owns this pussy then. Tell me and I’ll give you this dick.”

“It’s yours, Eddie, it’s all yours, m’yours.” You sound cock drunk already and he’s barely even touched you but you don’t even care. You want him so bad. You’re putty in his hands and he knows it.

“Yeah, that’s right baby girl, I fucking own you.” You hear the clanking of his belt before you feel the tip of his cock running through your folds, he collects your wetness, using his hand to jerk it along his shaft. He pushes his tip in, pulling it back out a few times before slamming into you. He starts fucking into you at a brutal pace, the desk sliding against the floor, your hips slapping together.

“Fuck, fuck yes, feels so good.” He’s so deep from this angle, practically bullying your sweet spot as your hips dig into the wood of the desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, take this fucking dick baby. This is my pussy, you’re so fucking tight, damn.” One of Eddie’s thick inked arms laces around your shoulders, pulling you up so your back is flush against his hard chest while his other finds your clit, his thumb rubbing quick circles against it.

“Oh god - fuck, fuck Eddie, I’m gonna cum.” You’re practically drooling as he plows into you from behind, he shoves his hand down your dress and into your bra, expertly finding your nipple and tweaking it between his fingers. “Shit, I’m cumming, tell me you’re mine Eddie, please, need to hear it.”

“I’m yours baby, this dick is fucking yours, pussy feels so fucking good squeezing me like that.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of your neck, placing sloppy open mouthed kisses there. “Gonna fill this pussy up, paint those pretty little walls, maybe I’ll knock you up, then everybody will really know who I belong to.”

“Yes, fucking fill me, fuck a baby into me, want it so bad.” Eddie groans, his hips still against yours as his cock twitches, ropes of his cum spilling inside you.

“Fuck, baby doll, fuck.” Eddie breathes heavily as he pulls out of you, grabbing onto your hips to flip you around. He reaches down between your legs, gathering the cum that dripped out so he can push it back inside of you. “Wouldn’t want any to go to waste, would we?”

Divider is by @strangergraphics & older!Eddie edit is by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

#Dolly’s 1.6k celebration #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!eddie x reader #older!eddie smut #Dolly writes

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niniwritesxo · 4 months ago

Text

‘cute coffee guy’

roh jaewon x fem reader

pt.2 <-

summary: you enter a cute coffee shop having no idea what to order, what happens when a cute guy decides to help you out?

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

the bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the daily grind, a cozy coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner. the smell of freshly ground coffee beans immediately wrapped around you, warm and comforting against the chilly morning air outside. the shop was charming, with mismatched furniture, chalkboard menu’s filled with handwritten specials, and shelves lined with quirky mugs.

soft indie music hummed in the background, and the buzz of quiet conversation gave the place a peaceful, lived-in feel.

as you made your way to the counter, the barista,

a guy with messy hair and a tattoo peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve flashed you a smile. his name tag read alex.

“morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and casual. “what can I get for you today?”

you opened your mouth, but before you could respond, a voice from behind you spoke up in a tone that made you tense.

“are you seriously just standing there?” the woman behind you, clearly in a rush, tapped her foot impatiently. “there’s a line, you know. It’s not rocket science. just order something already.”

you blinked, taken aback by her bluntness, but before you could apologize, she muttered, “i don’t have all day,” and crossed her arms.

‘‘alex, give her a vanilla iced, oh and put it on my tab’’ a man sitting at the window, his laptop in front of him speaks up.

after a few minutes alex hands me the coffee the random man told me to get, great.

you look for a quiet place to sit and spot the man again, he has medium black hair, round glasses and is wearing a north face puffer jacket.

‘‘mind if i sit here?’’ you softly ask looking at the man sitting down, typing what seems like a essay.

when the man looks up you can see his full face, the way his eyebrow raised up when you spoke up, the way he stopped typing to look at you.

this guy was handsome, gosh.

‘‘oh yeah yeah, go ahead’’ he says before quickly standing up to pull the chair a bit.

as you sit down you thank him for the coffee and explain how you weren’t really that big of a coffee person.

“you’re welcome, jaewon by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

you introduced yourself, and soon the two of you fell into easy conversation. he asked what brought you to the coffee shop, and you explained you were escaping the rain and taking a break from work. when you returned the question, his eyes lit up.

“i write,” he said simply.

“like… essays or something?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“something like that,” he replied, chuckling. “poems, mostly. and books.”

“oh, that’s cool,” you said, genuinely impressed. “do you do it like full-time?”

“i do,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “i’ve been lucky. a few of my books have done pretty well actually’’

“that’s amazing,” you said, your curiosity piqued. “what kind of books?”

he hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “mostly poetry, but I’ve dabbled in fiction. stories about connection, loss, love and kind of all sort of things that make us human.”

‘‘oh i’ll definitely check it out some time!’’ you answer with a kind smile.

there was a quiet passion in his words, a depth that made you want to hear more.

by the time the rain had stopped, you realized you’d spent hours talking to jaewon. as you gathered your things to leave, he tore a page from his notebook and handed it to you.

“a little something to remember me by,” he said with a kind smile.

a few hours later you were sitting on your couch, eating take away noodles like your life depended on it. you haven’t ate since the morning and really needed these noodles.

when you grab your phone you see a text from your best friend ellie.

ellie <3:

hiii y/n, what have you been up to girl?

you:

hey elle! met the cutest guy at the coffee shop today, he bought me a coffee #iaminlove

ellie <3:

omg spill.

you:

okay so he was like a writer? apparently he is quite popular, i think he mostly writes poetry.

ellie <3:

don’t tell me his name was roh jae-won

you:

wait how..how do you know that???

ellie <3:

IT WAS? CALL ME RN

you were confused, no way he is THAT famous right?

as soon as you call ellie she goes on about how famous jae-won actually is, she told you how he has the best selling book in south korea right now.

you decided to look up his name and there it was, blogs, a sorts of new channels and fan pages talking about him, you click on the tumblr link you see with his name in it.

roh jae-won published today at 19:34:

and though the rain has gone away,

the memory still chooses to stay,

of the girl who made the coffee shop

a place where time forgot to stop.

and there you were, sitting behind your phone screen with your eyebrows scrunched together wondering if that poem was about you.

ellie <3:

no way, cute coffee guy has a crush on the one and only y/n??

you laugh at the message your friend send you, but jae-won was probably at that same coffeeshop daily so you bet it was just coincidental.

꩜ .ᐟ————————————————————————

(english is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes my apologies xo)

#roh jaewon #nam gyu x reader #roh jaewon x reader #nam gyu headcanons #player 124 #namgyu #romance

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elliesngirl · 5 months ago

Text

Assigned To You

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 3.7k

Warnings: Angst, D slur, y/n being a dick

Part 4: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist!

---

You woke up with your head pounding, the dull ache making you groan as you buried your face in your pillows. It took a moment before your surroundings clicked. Your room? Not Olivia’s? What the hell?

Sitting up, you squinted at the sunlight pouring in through your massive windows, rubbing your temples. You looked down at yourself. Pyjamas? Pink tracksuit pants and a massive white t-shirt. “Okay...what is this?” you mumbled, scowling at the fabric.

Flashes of last night flickered in your mind, but nothing connected. You couldn’t remember anything after the ice cream shop, and that annoyed you to no end.

Grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you quickly opened Instagram to check your messages. Your friends had spammed you—missed calls from Olivia, Sara, Nat, and Alex flooded your notifications. Rolling your eyes, you called Olivia back, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder while brushing your hair with your free hand.

“Finally,” Olivia answered. “Are you okay? We were freaking out! We almost called the cops.”

“Why would you call the cops? I’m fine.” You frowned. “But, uh, question: why the hell am I in my own bed right now? What happened last night?”

“Oh my god, you don’t remember?” Olivia exclaimed, and you could hear Sara giggling in the background. “So, like, we left you at the ice cream shop after you went to the bathroom—totally my bad, by the way, we thought you were in the car! But when we came back, you were gone. There was, like, this sketchy truck leaving the parking lot—”

“Wait,” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “You left me?”

“I said it was my fault!” Olivia whined. “But, like, you made it home, so everything’s chill, right?”

You groaned and hung up before she could keep talking. No use wasting your energy on her. Instead, you opened your messages, scrolling for any clues. That’s when you saw it—a thread with Ellie.

Your eyes widened. Ellie? Why on earth would you have messaged her?

You tapped the conversation, skimming through it quickly.

NotYourFriend: Can you call? Ellie_TheDino: Hey, I just got home! Sorry about what your friends did last night, but I was happy to help. Let me know when you wake up! I’ll be there at 10:30.

You stared at the text. What does she mean, “happy to help”?!

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. Glancing at the time, you groaned—10:30 exactly. She was punctual, of course. You rolled out of bed, not bothering to change, and took the elevator downstairs to the foyer.

When you opened the door, there she was: Ellie, standing awkwardly on your doorstep in her usual flannel shirt, jeans, and those ratty black Converse. Her hair was tied back into a low ponytail, and she was holding a small, beat-up notebook.

“Uh, hi,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh, didn’t want to, like, interrupt your morning or anything...”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “You’re early. I didn’t even have time to change.”

“Oh! I—I’m sorry!” Ellie stammered, her face turning pink. “I can, uh, come back later if—”

“I’m kidding, loser,” you said with a smirk, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Ellie shuffled inside, clutching her notebook like it was a lifeline. “Oh, uh, thanks. Your house is, uh...really big. Like, huge. Is this, um, all yours?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Ellie. I just borrow a mansion when my parents are out of town.” You started walking upstairs, not waiting for her to follow. “C’mon, we’ll work in my room.”

Ellie trailed behind you like a lost puppy, her sneakers squeaking slightly against the marble floor. When you got to your room, you dropped onto the plush carpet and grabbed your laptop, looking up at her as she hovered awkwardly near the door.

“Are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna sit down?”

“Oh! Right, yeah,” Ellie muttered, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her knees nearly bumping yours. She pulled out her notebook, flipping to a page filled with tiny, neat handwriting. “So, uh, what topic were you thinking about? For the project, I mean.”

“Pompeii,” you said curtly, opening a new document on your laptop.

“Oh, cool! That’s, uh, super fascinating. Did you know that the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD preserved, like, an entire snapshot of Roman life? The ash was, uh, like, this natural time capsule.”

You stared at her, unimpressed. “Yeah, Ellie. That’s kinda why I picked it.”

“Right, right,” she said quickly, her face flushing. “Good choice. Great choice, actually. I mean, Pompeii’s got, like, everything—art, architecture, uh, culture—”

“Ellie,” you interrupted. “I don’t need a history lesson, okay? Just write whatever nerdy stuff you want, and I’ll make it sound good later.”

Ellie’s mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but she just nodded and scribbled in her notebook. You leaned back against your bed frame, watching her fidget with her pen.

She was so awkward—rambling and tripping over her words like you were some kind of celebrity. You couldn’t help but smirk.

“Ellie,” you said suddenly, making her look up. “How did you even get in the gate this morning?”

Her eyes widened. “Uh, you—you gave me the code last night. Remember?”

You frowned. “I definitely didn’t.”

Ellie’s cheeks turned bright red, and she looked down at her notebook. “Oh, um, you must’ve been, uh, half-asleep or something. I think you mumbled it, maybe.”

You stared at her, suspicious, but decided to let it go. For now.

“Whatever,” you said, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Let’s just get this stupid project done.”

Ellie nodded furiously, her pen scratching against the paper as she took notes.

You smirked again. She was so easy to mess with.

A few weeks had passed since that morning you woke up with no memory of what happened, and Ellie had been coming over more than you expected. The Pompeii project was more involved than you’d thought, and despite her dorky exterior, Ellie was probably the smartest person you knew. She showed up to every session with her battered notebook filled with way too many notes and ideas. Honestly, she was doing most of the heavy lifting, but you weren’t about to complain. All you had to do was rephrase her nerdy ramblings into something that sounded halfway cool, which, let’s be real, wasn’t hard for someone like you.

The dynamic between the two of you had shifted, though. At first, it was strictly business—she’d nervously sit on your floor, scribbling in her notebook while you typed away on your laptop, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment to make her squirm. But somewhere along the line, things got... casual. Like the time she brought over snacks, for example. You’d initially scoff at the sight of cheap chocolate bars and a bag of chips, but when she handed you a candy bar with a sheepish smile, you just took it without a word.

“Don’t get crumbs on my floor,” you’d muttered, taking a bite. She’d nodded furiously, like she was terrified of breaking some unspoken rule. It was funny, but also kind of cute in a pathetic way.

Then there was the time she got distracted by one of the paintings in your hallway. It was this massive abstract piece your parents had picked up on one of their trips to Italy. You’d caught her staring at it as you walked by, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Something on your mind, Einstein?” you’d asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Oh, uh, no! It’s just… this painting. The texture is, uh, really interesting. Looks like they used a palette knife for the layering, right?”

You’d blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. “Yeah, I guess. My mom bought it a couple of years ago. She’s into that artsy stuff.”

Ellie had nodded, her eyes still glued to the painting. You’d shrugged it off and moved on, but later that night, you found yourself Googling “palette knife painting” out of curiosity. Not that you’d ever admit that to her.

The real turning point, though, came when she showed up with ice cream. It was a Friday afternoon, and you’d been in a horrible mood all day. Your parents were being their usual overbearing selves, your friends were being flaky, and on top of that, the project deadline was looming. You were ready to snap at the first person who looked at you the wrong way.

And then Ellie showed up at your door, holding two cones from your favorite ice cream shop.

“You, uh, mentioned you like the mint chocolate chip,” she’d said, her voice hesitant as she extended the cone toward you. “So I thought…”

You’d raised an eyebrow, taking the cone and inspecting it like it was some kind of peace offering. “You thought bribing me with ice cream would make me stop calling you a nerd?”

“Maybe,” she’d said with a small smile, her ears turning pink.

You’d rolled your eyes but taken a bite. “It’s a start.”

After that, things were… different. You started to look forward to your study sessions, though you’d never admit it out loud. Ellie’s dorky enthusiasm for literally everything was oddly refreshing. She could ramble on about ancient Roman plumbing systems or volcanic ash for hours, and while you pretended to be annoyed, you secretly found it kind of interesting. Not that you’d ever tell her that, of course.

One night, after she’d left, you found yourself scrolling through Instagram and stopped on a picture of the two of you from one of the project sessions. Your friends had insisted on taking it, probably to make fun of you later, but as you stared at it, you realized something. Ellie wasn’t just some random nerd you were stuck working with. She was… well, she was Ellie. Awkward, shy, and way too nice for her own good. But she was also smart and funny in her own weird way. And you didn’t hate having her around.

That realization hit you like a ton of bricks the week before your 18th birthday. Your parents were planning this massive party, complete with a guest list full of people you barely liked, let alone cared about. Normally, you’d just grin and bear it, but this year, something felt different. Maybe it was all the time you’d been spending with Ellie, or maybe you were just tired of the same old routine, but you found yourself texting her out of the blue.

“Hey, you free next Friday night?” you’d typed, your thumb hovering over the send button for a moment before you hit it.

Her response came almost immediately. “Uh… yeah? Why?”

You smirked at your screen. “My parents are throwing this dumb party for my birthday. You should come.”

There was a long pause before her reply. “Wait, seriously? Do you want me there?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you’d written back. “Just show up.”

That night after Ellie left you were on a call with Olivia, telling her what happened and that you invited Ellie. “What the hell? Why would you invite that loser?” Olivia said, groaning.

“To make fun of her obviously” You lied, you didn’t want to tell her the real reason, you didn’t want anyone to know that you enjoyed her company.

“Oh I see I see, let’s plan what we can do.”

You spent the next hour talking to Olivia, she was saying all pranks to do to Ellie while you were just saying “mhm” not wanting to get involved.

The morning of the party, she showed up at your house early, probably thinking it was another study session. You were lounging on your bed, scrolling through your phone, when she knocked softly on your doorframe.

“You’re early,” you said, not bothering to look up.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I thought—”

“Relax, loser. You’re helping me pick an outfit for tonight.”

Her jaw practically hit the floor. “Wait, what?”

You smirked, tossing a pair of shoes at her. “You heard me. Now, c’mon. You’ve got opinions, right?”

Ellie just stood there, holding the shoes like they might explode. You laughed, shaking your head. This was going to be fun.

You took out six dresses from your walk in wardrobe, the first option was a tight cherry red dress. You tried it on and walked out, Ellies jaw was on the floor. You couldn’t help but smirk at Ellie’s reaction to the red dress. Her eyes darted away the second you caught her staring, her cheeks flushing crimson.

“Well?” you prompted, striking a dramatic pose in front of the mirror. “What do we think? Too much?”

Ellie fidgeted, clearing her throat. “Uh… no. I mean, it’s nice. Really nice. But, uh… maybe it’s a little… formal?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Formal? It’s a party, Ellie. Aren’t I supposed to look formal?”

She glanced down at her notebook like it would somehow save her from this conversation. “I guess… but you always look good, so maybe something, uh, less… intimidating?”

That caught you off guard. For a second, you thought she might’ve been complimenting you, but the way she avoided your gaze made you question it. “Less intimidating, huh?” you said, stepping back into your wardrobe.

The next option was a silky emerald-green dress with a plunging neckline. As you stepped out, Ellie’s ears turned pink again. She coughed, her eyes locked firmly on the floor. “Uh, yeah, that’s… wow.”

“Wow, huh?” You twirled in the mirror, watching her reflection. She was trying so hard not to look, which only made you want to tease her more. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”

Ellie stammered, “Good! Definitely good. But, uh, maybe… still a bit much? Like, for your friends, I mean. Not for you. You look amazing. I just—”

You cut her off with a laugh. “Relax, Ellie. I’m not going to bite your head off.” Turning back to the mirror, you frowned slightly. As much as you enjoyed flustering her, you didn’t love how the dress felt on you. “Alright, next one.”

By the time you got to the fourth dress—a black, off-the-shoulder number that was simple but undeniably flattering—Ellie seemed more composed. Her gaze lingered a bit longer this time, and she even managed a small smile.

“That one,” she said firmly. “It’s, uh, perfect. You look… really good.”

For some reason, her tone made your chest tighten. You tilted your head, studying her. “You really think so?”

Ellie nodded, her usual awkwardness momentarily gone. “Yeah. It’s classy. And, uh, it suits you.”

You held her gaze for a moment longer than you meant to before snapping out of it. “Alright, black it is,” you said, brushing past her to change. “Good call, Einstein.”

The party that night was exactly what you expected—over the top, loud, and full of people who were more interested in posting about it than actually enjoying it. You floated from group to group, playing the perfect hostess, but your mind kept wandering. Where was Ellie?

When you finally spotted her near the snack table, she looked completely out of place in her flannel and jeans, nervously sipping from a cup. Olivia and a couple of your other friends were standing nearby, giggling and whispering, clearly up to something.

You felt a pang of guilt. You knew Olivia’s plan was to mess with Ellie, and while you’d laughed it off at the time, the idea didn’t sit right with you now. Before you could think twice, you crossed the room and slid an arm around Ellie’s shoulders.

“Having fun, loser?” you asked, your tone light but your grip protective.

Ellie blinked, surprised by the sudden contact. “Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s… loud. But it’s nice.”

You caught Olivia’s eye across the room, her smirk faltering as she realized you weren’t playing along. You turned back to Ellie, steering her toward the quieter balcony.

“C’mon,” you said. “Let’s get some air.”

The cool night breeze was a welcome relief from the chaos inside. Ellie leaned against the railing, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her cup. You leaned beside her, staring out at the city lights.

Ellie reached back from her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, your eyes widened, “I didn’t know you smoked.” You said, Ellie chuckled, “Not many people do, you want one?” Ellie asks, you shake your head. “Nah.” You say, “Suit yourself!” Ellie says, putting the lit cigarette in her mouth.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, you slowly shuffled closer, feeling free without the loud music and without Olivia nagging in your ear. You put your head on her shoulder which makes her tense up and a light shade of pink grows on her cheeks. She didn’t know what to do so she just put her hand around your waist.

Which made you look at her. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Ellie exclaims, making you giggle, “Ellie! Calm down, I don’t mind it.” You said, which made Ellie calm down.

You started at each other in the eyes for a little while, looking at each others lips from time to time, Ellie’s hands fall back to your waist and the both of you start to lean in, you could feels ellies breath on yours, your lips were about to touch, but then you heard the door open.

You pushed her away and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Olivia standing there with shock on her face, you thought quickly, pushing Ellie again and yelling, “Ew! Get off of me you freak!” You exclaimed, Olivia’s eyes widened and Ellie became speechless.

Oliva stood next to you, “Get out you creep!” She yelled, “You don’t go kissing drunk girls just because you're a lesbian! Don’t you understand that? Y/n will never like you! She isn’t a dyke and even if she was, you’re way to ugly for her!.”

Ellie couldn’t say anything, she just started crying, feeling humiliated and hurt, she just looked at you, hoping you would deny everything Olivia just said, but you just stood there in silence.

Ellie’s tears streamed silently down her face as she stood there, frozen, her cigarette forgotten, smoldering on the edge of the balcony railing. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, to say something, but no words came out. Her green eyes locked onto yours, wide and filled with a mixture of betrayal and devastation.

"Ellie, get the hell out of here!" Olivia shouted again, stepping closer as if she was ready to push Ellie off the balcony herself.

Ellie flinched but didn’t move. Her gaze stayed on you, pleading, searching your expression for any sign of disagreement, for anything to contradict Olivia’s cruel words. But you just stood there, frozen, the weight of Olivia’s judgment like a vice gripping your chest.

“Y/n…” Ellie whispered, her voice cracking.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, and your mind was spinning. You wanted to scream at Olivia, tell her to shut up, to defend Ellie against every hateful thing she’d just said—but the words wouldn’t come. You felt paralyzed, trapped between the person you were expected to be and the person you were slowly realizing you might want to become.

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, though it was shaky and full of pain. She wiped her tears hastily with the back of her hand, her shoulders stiffening as she tried to mask how much she was breaking inside.

“You know what?” she said, her voice gaining a sharp edge as she turned to Olivia. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I get it. I’ll go.” Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she shot you one last look, her expression a mix of heartbreak and anger. “Thanks for nothing, Y/n.”

With that, she stormed past Olivia, brushing her shoulder harshly as she disappeared through the balcony door.

Olivia snorted, rolling her eyes. “Good riddance. I don’t even know why you invited her in the first place. She’s such a loser.”

You stayed silent, your stomach churning as you stared at the balcony door Ellie had just walked through. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to go after her, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

“What’s your deal?” Olivia asked, nudging your shoulder. “Are you seriously upset? I just saved you from getting your life ruined by that creep. You’re welcome.”

You turned to look at Olivia, her smug grin only making the pit in your stomach deeper. You wanted to tell her off, to scream at her for what she’d said to Ellie, but instead, you forced out a weak laugh.

“Yeah… thanks,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

Olivia didn’t seem to notice how fake your words were. She just grinned and threw her arm around your shoulders. “Let’s go back inside. Everyone’s asking for you. You’re the birthday girl, after all!”

She dragged you back into the house, the pounding music and the loud chatter of your so-called friends swallowing you whole. But your mind was far away, stuck on Ellie’s tear-streaked face and the way her voice had cracked when she said your name.

Later that night, after the party had wound down and your house was empty again, you sat alone in your room, staring at the wall. The red dress you’d been so proud of earlier now felt suffocating, and your makeup felt like a mask you couldn’t wait to tear off.

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table, and you reached for it, hoping it was Ellie, hoping she’d text you even though you knew deep down that she wouldn’t.

Instead, it was Olivia.

Olivia: You’re welcome for saving your ass tonight. She’s lucky I didn’t call security on her. Anyway, sleep tight, babe! See you tomorrow xoxo.

You clenched your jaw and turned your phone face-down, disgusted with yourself. You couldn’t sleep. The guilt was too heavy, the memory of Ellie’s broken expression replaying in your mind like a haunting melody.

Taglist: Hopefully I got everyone!@vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo@lamorenita @kissedberries @liasxeatt

Guys lemme know what the reader should do to gain Ellie's trust back.

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spicyschemmenti · 10 days ago

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POWER SHIFT ʚଓ alex cabot x sassy bimbo!fem!reader

alex finally kisses you and confesses she feels something towards you

no warnings??

alex cabot masterlist alex cabot taglist

The message comes at 3:12 p.m. sharp.

My office. Now.

No subject line. No pleasantries. Just three clipped words in Alex’s signature style: cold, professional, and pulsing with barely veiled tension.

You stare at your screen for a moment, letting a slow smile curl your lips.

The office around you hums with its usual sterile rhythm—low murmurs of calls, the rhythmic clack of keyboards, the buzz of fluorescent lights too white to be natural. But under it all is something else now. Something charged. Ever since that dinner.

That definitely-not-a-date.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it. About her.

The quiet command in her voice, the way her eyes lingered on your mouth more than once, the feel of her thumb grazing the corner of your lips. A touch that haunted your skin for hours after. She hasn’t mentioned it since, of course. Classic Alex. But something shifted. She flinches a little slower now when you lean too close. Lets her eyes linger a little longer. You’ve started watching her watching you.

You rise from your desk with a stretch, the motion exaggerated just enough. Your outfit—a tight, white halter top that clings to your curves like second skin and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, paired with a short pink tweed skirt that barely counts as office-appropriate—elicits a few stares as you walk. The heels don’t help, high and glossy, each click a siren song. Lip gloss: sticky sweet. Intentional.

Bimbo chic. Your armor. Your weapon. And you know exactly what it does to her.

You knock once—out of habit, not necessity—before slipping into Alex’s office without waiting for a response. You never wait.

She’s standing behind her desk when you enter, arms crossed over her chest, posture so perfectly upright it looks painful. Her suit is crisp and dark as ever—deep charcoal instead of black today, paired with a pale silk blouse that does nothing to soften the sharp lines of her silhouette. The top two buttons are undone. Her sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms and a watch that probably cost more than your rent. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, tight and severe, as if she’s afraid even one strand out of place might lead to disaster.

Her eyes meet yours. Cool. Sharp. Unreadable.

But there’s a flicker.

A single, split-second glance down the length of you before her gaze snaps back up, jaw tightening just slightly.

“You wanted me, boss?” you purr, voice all saccharine and sin, as you saunter to the chair in front of her desk and sit without being asked. You cross your legs slowly, deliberately, and let your skirt ride up just enough to make her look away.

Alex doesn’t respond immediately. She exhales instead, like she’s trying to exorcise something.

You glance around her office, letting the silence stretch. It’s cool in here—calm, minimalist, not a single object out of place. Everything feels precise. Controlled. Like her.

“You could’ve just texted me to flirt,” you say lightly, tapping a manicured nail against the arm of the chair. “But I do like the drama.”

Alex finally moves, slowly lowering herself into her chair, her hands steepling in front of her on the desk like she needs a barrier between you. “This is work.”

“Right. That’s why you’re pretending you didn’t stare at my mouth all through dessert.”

A muscle jumps in her cheek.

“I don’t—” She stops herself, blinks once, then says more carefully, “That dinner was... irrelevant.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Sure, boss. Totally irrelevant. Not at all romantic. Not at all intense. Not at all the best brownie I’ve ever had while you stared at me like I was the dessert.”

“Enough,” she says quietly, and the word is sharp, clipped, but there’s no heat in it—only something weary. Desperate. Like she’s tired of holding something back.

You lean forward, elbows on her desk, the neckline of your top dipping scandalously low. Her eyes flick down again—traitorous—and this time she doesn’t bother pretending she wasn’t looking.

“You touched me,” you say, voice softer now. “In the restaurant. You wiped chocolate from my mouth with your thumb. That wasn’t irrelevant, Alex.”

Her name lands between you like a challenge. You never use it. Not here.

Alex looks away, briefly, like the memory has weight. Her fingers tense on the desk.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says. “This isn’t a game.”

“No,” you say, voice still soft, still dangerous, “it’s not. But you’ve been playing anyway.”

You can see the war in her eyes—logic against longing, discipline against desire. She’s balancing on the edge, trying so hard to stay neutral, to stay in control. But control only works when the other person isn’t quite so determined to pull you apart.

And you?

You’ve been unraveling her thread by thread.

She stands abruptly, walking around the desk, stopping just beside you. She doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But her presence is magnetic, intense, the air between your bodies humming like a live wire.

She looks down at you, jaw tight, gaze stormy. “You think this is fun. But you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You smile slowly, all sugar and heat. “Then tell me.”

Her breath hitches. Just slightly.

And then, finally, finally, she reaches out. One hand under your jaw, tilting your chin up—not rough, not gentle either. Just intentional. Her thumb brushes along your cheek, lingering near your mouth like it remembers the way it tasted chocolate there.

Her voice, when it comes, is quiet. Controlled. Deadly.

“This is your last chance to walk away. Because the second I stop pretending... I’m not putting the mask back on.”

And just like that, the air shifts again—sharper, hungrier, and charged with the weight of everything you’ve both refused to say.

Your answer is a whisper. “Then stop pretending.”

There’s a heartbeat—maybe two—where she just stares at you, her fingers still cradling your chin like she’s afraid of what happens next.

Then she moves.

Not fast, not impulsive. Intentional. Controlled. But trembling slightly beneath the surface, like something wild is trying to break free from its cage.

She leans in and kisses you.

It starts precise—because of course it does. Alex kisses the way she does everything else: like she’s thought about it far too long, mapped it out in advance, calculated every angle. Her lips press into yours with restraint, like she’s holding back even as she gives in. But then you kiss her back—and her plan falls apart.

You melt into her like you were made to fit there, lips parting, tongue teasing just the edge of hers, daring her, drawing her deeper. Her control slips with a quiet gasp as your fingers slide into the front of her blouse, gripping the fabric just enough to make her exhale into your mouth.

And then she kisses you again—harder this time. Less careful. Less calculated.

Messy. Honest. Devastating.

You can feel how long she’s wanted this in the way her hand slides behind your neck, anchoring you to her like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. You kiss her like you’re trying to crawl inside her chest and live there, like you’re done teasing and ready to take. Her lips are soft but sure, her mouth tasting of tension and heat and something sweeter—like she’s been craving this since the night of that not-date and finally stopped pretending she could resist.

It’s not like any kiss you’ve had before.

No one’s ever kissed you like this—like you’re not just a game or a trophy or a thrill, but something more. Like you matter in a way neither of you is ready to say out loud yet.

When she finally pulls back, you're both breathless, your gloss smudged on her mouth, your heartbeat hammering like you just ran a mile in stilettos.

Alex stares at you, flushed, lips parted slightly, her hand still holding your face like she doesn't trust herself to let go.

“I...” She hesitates. Her voice cracks the tiniest bit. “I don’t know what this is. But it’s not just nothing.”

You arch an eyebrow, still catching your breath. “Wow. Alex-from-Legal caught feelings? Should I call HR or just start planning the wedding?”

Her mouth twitches—almost a smile. Almost.

But then you drop the teasing, just enough to meet her gaze without the shield of flirtation.

“Hey. I know I joke, but... I felt it too. That night. Tonight. This isn’t just a game to me. Not with you.”

You brush your fingers along her jaw, soft now, reverent.

“I’m not saying I’m about to write your name in hearts with glitter pens or anything, but... I want to see where this goes. If you do.”

Alex doesn’t respond with words.

She just leans in and kisses you again—softer this time. Slower.

And you know exactly what that means.

She’s in. Just as much as you are.

Maybe even more.

taglist: @m-1234-5, @frozengenderfluid, @archetype-d, @gbab09

#x fem!reader #x female reader #x female y/n #x reader #wlw #lesbian #lesbianism #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #alex cabot #alex cabot x reader #alex cabot imagine #alex cabot drabble #alexandra cabot #alexandra cabot x you #stephanie march #svu #l&o svu #special victims unit

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deepestnightcolor · 1 year ago

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☾ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴄᴋᴡᴏʀᴋ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: My exams are over and I decided it was time for Alex being messed with and absolutely adore you all the same. So here you go, new smut.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Alex (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 6120 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Slight exhibitionism (you are on the front porch of the house), cowgirl position, mentions of oral sex, petting, loads of drool, petnames, name calling, teasing, rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, marking up.

Alex’ routine was like clockwork. Every morning at 6AM, the man woke up, threw on some shorts and a loose black tank-top, before putting on his trainers and stretching his muscles thoroughly. At 6:15 AM, Alex left the house, shutting the door behind him quietly and stretching his spine once more before he started off with a light jog. His legs picked up the pace almost automatically the further he left his home behind, feet drumming on the ground to the beat of the music that blared through his headphones. At around 6:45 AM he had reached the top of the mountain, passing by the emo’s (as he affectionately called him) house and made his way back down, using the backwoods and usually crossing your farmland to get down to Marnie’s ranch, taking a right turn and finding his way home at 7:15 AM. So, every morning at 6:55AM, Alex passed your farmhouse with a fast-paced step and sweat covering his forehead. What he wasn’t really aware of: someone else in this town was like clockwork – you. And you did notice his routine.

It all started as something completely innocent, really. You wanted to know how long it would take Alex to actually notice you. Whenever you knew Alex was approaching the farm, you did your best to step on to the porch and attempted to get his attention. What you didn’t expect was for it to be so hard. It was like the man was wearing blinders; he looked straight forward, breathing laboured as he tried to keep up his fast pace every day. His body was working hard, muscles flexing with each and every move, sweat trickling down his tanned skin, and cheeks tainted with a hint of red. He was so incredibly, unfairly hot. And it took him four whole days of you stepping on the front porch as he jogged past to finally catch glimpse of you out of the corner of his eyes. Immediately, a small smile lightened up his face and he lifted his hand in friendly acknowledgement as he strutted past. The next day, he seemed to look over as if to check if you were standing there, and of course you were. Standing there, elbows propped up on the railing of your stairs and looking at his body being pushed to its limits. Yet again Alex smiled at you, lifting his hand, this time around wiggling his fingers at you, but when he saw your eyes linger on his flexed biceps, the smile turned into a grin, and he had the sheer audacity to call you out on your staring by winking at you. And that was when you decided to start a little experiment. From that day on you brought a yoga mat with you whenever you entered your porch. At exactly 6:45, you would spread it out on the ground and sit down on it, beginning to stretch your legs and arms for your next moves. If your experiment failed, you could at least be proud of some gained fitness skills, you figured. Your yoga sessions started innocent enough as well – doing exercises like “The Tree” and giving Alex a bright smile when he passed the first time of you doing yoga. This man was friendly enough to hold up his thumbs, as if he approved your newfound hobby. Not that you needed it. But you wanted to get him used to seeing you do yoga at first, after all, you had a little theory – you were sure Alex was so focused on his run that it would take him ages for him to take of note the fact that you were messing with him.

You followed simple yoga instructions for the first few days, coaxing Alex into the new sight. Waving at him each morning with a sweet smile on your plump lips and returning the appraising nod that he had begun to give you. After day three, however, you finally decided to truly start messing with him. It started out subtly; first your shirt grew shorter by the day until the only thing covering your chest was a sports bra. Then your yoga pants slowly hiked up your strong legs, the long ones being replaced by some shorts you had ordered for this sole reason. It took you standing on the porch in your purple sports bra and some matching shorts that barely reached your mid-thighs to notice a change in Alex’ behaviour. It was faint; you wouldn’t have caught it if you hadn’t been watching him like a hawk. When he passed you doing your yoga pose, he gave his usual smile and wave, and you were about to be disappointed when you saw him do a double-take, his pace slowing ever so slightly. His green eyes ran over your body, face scrunching up momentarily as if he was thinking, yet he never stopped running. When he noticed you cocking your brow, he pointed up his thumb and gave an awkward smile before quickly turning around and returning to the speed he had been holding up before. It made you feel all giddy inside that your plan was seemingly working, the thoughtful look on his face had been one mixed with confusion; he had probably wondered if you had always been wearing so little.

Sure, this plan needed patience, loads of it, even. But the look on his face; the way he had slowed his pace just to shamelessly look at you, the way his breathing pattern had changed – all of it was rewarding to you. And it kept rewarding you the following days. Alex was still behaving the same when he passed you, waving or praising you working out with a silent gesture, but now you could feel his eyes lingering. Trailing down your body, taking in the tank top and the yoga pants you were wearing, and you saw confusion in his eyes whenever you caught them. Of course, you were a little brat. Playing with his head seemed so much fun to you, so you had decided to reverse back to your former attire, leaving him to wonder. Had he truly seen you break your routine by wearing such a skimpy outfit like you had just days before, or did he just imagine it? You decided to leave him alone to figure that one out, allowing his eyes to look you up and down each morning.

One morning you had worked up quite some sweat and lifted up your top to wipe some of it from your brows, revealing the purple sports bra that was hiding underneath. It wasn’t planned at all, but it was perfectly timed. Alex trotted past your porch like every morning, looking to his side to greet you silently, but instead of seeing you propped up in a yoga pose – which grew more confident each workout – he was met with exposed skin and a purple sports bra. The sight of it caught him by such surprise that he tripped over his own feet and stumbled, only barely catching himself. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gave you a shy grin, before quickly jogging down the dirt path again. All things considered; how could you not mess with this pretty little thing? You had tasted blood now, and it was time to take it up a notch, because as fun as this was, your patience was running absolutely thin.

It was a little risky. Okay, maybe it was very risky. But you wanted to know how close Alex was actually paying attention now that you had given him the sweet security of routine once more; wearing the same clothes every day, even doing the same poses every day. Giving him absolutely nothing to gawk at, except you stretching your body. The two of you were communicating silently now, asking how you were by using hand signals, nodding at each other’s gains and accomplishments. Though it was time for Alex’ hands to finally land on you.

His stamina had always been something that impressed you, but by Yoba, you had always adored Alex. The way he was working himself to exhaustion just to stand up straight with a smile. The way he checked up on you oh so casually every now and then, mentioning things that were rarely ever noticed. “Hey, farmer. I saw you ride around your horse yesterday. Did you get new breeches?” or “Yo, farmer. Saw you going to Gunther’s. Found a new book?”. You absolutely adored how he was talking to his dog; you found yourself happy when he sent you pictures of things he had been doing that day that he found interesting enough to share. However, you never really were able to get out of your comfort zone and actually tell him. All you knew to do was to show your interest in him, admittedly with quite bold actions. Actions that definitely didn’t match your shyness about using your words. But here you were, in the downward dog position, without any pants or panties to cover your bare ass or cunt. The only piece of clothing offering your body any sort of cover now was your sports bra hugging your tits nicely, keeping them from bouncing uncomfortably when you moved. While you held your pose, doubts started to flood your mind. What if today was the first day Alex wouldn’t come by? What if someone else came by before Alex? What if Alex didn’t even notice and you exposed your sweet cunt to the crisp morning air for absolutely nothing? Or even worse… What if he didn’t find you attractive at all, but weird as hell and would hurry to get away from you?

Maybe this was a stupid idea after all. You had played around with him this far and it had all worked well, maybe it was time to stop now? Untouched, but also unscathed. About to push yourself up to hurry inside and regret every life choice you have ever made, you suddenly heard steps coming towards you, and they were coming towards you quick. You lifted your head and saw Alex look over at you, making you smile at him carefully, almost shyly. Your face was red, if from the embarrassment you felt right now or from the downward position you were holding, you didn’t know. Alex smiled and nodded, jogging past happily, making your heart drop. In disbelief, you watched him jog down the path, and with his steady but fast speed, he soon was close to being out of sight. You couldn’t believe it. He had almost stumbled when he noticed a fucking bra, and now you were stretching out your receptive ass and pussy, and all you got was a smile? You sighed, red spots forming all over your cleavage and neck because of the shame, when you suddenly saw Alex’ silhouette come to an abrupt stop at the border of your farmland, even raising some dust. Blinking, you squinted your eyes to see what he was doing, but that wasn’t necessary. He turned around and suddenly sprinted towards you. Alex was fast – he always had been, but now he seemingly moved inhumanely fast. You couldn’t even blink before he was standing in front of you, having you look up at him with your mouth slightly agape. Alex’ chest was heaving and falling quickly, beads of sweat running down his forehead, tracing his cheeks and dripping down on his chest. His eyes were staring at you, your face, your back, your ass, and you swore you could see him drag his tongue over his lip before catching it between his set of pearly whites. “So that’s how you do yoga, huh?” He asked, setting his left foot on the step of your porch, but he hesitated. Letting his eyes drag over your body once more, the steady breathing pattern he usually adapted when running in complete disarray. “I read n-naked yoga is…uhm…quite beneficial,” you stammered, not able to keep your position and finally dropping to your knees, which caused Alex’ right eye to twitch, his muscular form now towering over you. “I see. And how long have you known that I pass by your farm around this time?” “…Four weeks?” Alex hummed, slowly stepping up on the porch. He was now directly in front of you. You could practically smell him; your nose would have brushed his pubic bone if you had leaned forward the tiniest bit. “Mhm…So…,” he began, quite obviously enjoying the position the two of you were in. Alex had always had a thing for a good size difference, and you looked so tiny beneath him. So easy to take… You swallowed thickly, your eyes slowly wandering down his body to take in how the black tank top clung to his muscular frame, down to his green basketball shorts, choking on your very own breath when you saw the bulge that was outlined by the soft fabric. Alex opened his mouth to add something to his started sentence, but his tongue betrayed him when he felt your lips press against his very obvious erection.

He swore he had never felt this strained in his life before; every single muscle in his body was pulling towards you, burning for you. He had always found you so pretty, never understanding Hayley’s rants about you liking to be dirty. Quite the opposite; he found it astounding that you were able to push yourself so far each and every day, to really take matters into your own hand. Just like you were doing now. And by Yoba, he could have dropped onto the ground and worshipped you for it - He had to steady himself on the railing, the feeling of your lips kissing up and down his clothed shaft pushing him so far towards the edge that he had to focus on not cumming on the spot. That would be terribly embarrassing now, right? Your lips bullied pre out of him without even really trying; and if you had told him to walk now, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t even have known how to do that. “Fuck,” he breathed, his hand reaching out, but stopping short of your head, “can I?” You let out a groan against his clothed shaft, batting your lashes at him. “Alex, I am sitting in front of you almost completely naked, kissing your cock. What do you think?” Immediately after you had formed the sentence, you felt embarrassed and shy. You cleared your throat and shifted around your yoga mat carefully, rubbing your neck that was covered in red. “I mean… Only if you want to.” A dry chuckle sounded in your ears, and it sounded almost as if he was ridiculing you and your small form beneath him, but when you felt his fingers carefully push strands of hair out of your face before wandering down your chin to lift your head, you knew Alex was mirroring the lust you were feeling in this very moment. “Well, it would only be fair if I didn’t wear any pants either then, right?” His thumbs hooked under the waistband of his shorts before he began to pull them down slowly. Your eyes were glued to his crotch, your mouth completely dry. You could feel yourself beginning to leak, slick wet dribbling from your lips just from looking at him. Alex slowly began revealing his happy trail and V-Line, both pointing to what you were so desperately craving. But he was moving so, so slow. Exposing his skin centimetre by centimetre, driving you absolutely crazy. You tried to reach out your hands, but a larger one wrapped around your wrists, holding them in place. “Ah-Ah,” he cooed, but the tremble in his voice gave him away. Still, you were firmly held in place, only able to watch and wait. A soft whimper left you involuntarily when you finally could make out parts of his cock, the moan that you rasped low as you saw it slap against his stomach. It was so pretty; thick and long with a reddening tip, which was already slicked up by pre-cum. Veins were running along the shaft, pulsating slightly with need – need for you. You swore you could have cried for him. You had dreamed of him fucking you since the day you had first seen him jog past, your slight crush turning into full blown lust mixed with affection. Touching yourself inappropriately under the covers while imagining it to be Alex, desperately humping pillows as moans of his names left your lips, sucking on your dildo before fucking yourself with it, hoping Alex would feel like your favourite toy.

This, however – this was much better than your mind could have ever imagined and it made both your mouth and your pussy drool. “Can’t speak anymore?” Alex asked, almost cockily as he gripped the base of his shaft, slowly letting his fist move up, thumb rubbing over the tip to further coat it with pre. A shivering breath left him and seemingly went straight to your cunt. Alex looked down at you with awe; you looked so perfectly sweet still, even though even though your body language painted a different picture. He was pretty sure he would be able to ruin you, and Yoba, how he wanted to. How often had he moaned your name into his pillow while fisting his dick mercilessly? How often had he imagined you sucking him off? How often had he seen you cockwarm him while he was bench pressing? And now, now you were sitting in front of him. All cute and innocent, half naked for him already and thirsting for his dick. An absolute meal if anyone were to ask him.

“Want a real taste now?” He murmured, hand letting go of your wrists and tracing his finger through your hair once more, bunching it up carefully. He didn’t even have to guide you; your mouth was pressed against his cock quicker than he could have ordered anyway. You desperately pressed your tongue against him, licking from the base to the tip, swirling your tongue around him and sucking up whatever drop of pre-cum he had to offer. Alex’ head lulled back, his hand reaching out to steady himself on the railing again. Holy shit, he could have never imagined something this good. Your pretty, plush lips ghosting over his sensitive skin, your warm tongue darting out to kitten lick him, and by Yoba, the way you suckled on his tip and pulled your head back. His knees buckled, your hands finding their place on his muscular thighs being of no real help. Alex looked down at you, and the view he got sent shocks straight to both his heart and dick. You sat on your knees, hands holding on his thighs as if you desperately needed the support, your lips wrapped around the tip of his penis and your eyes closed as you began to move your head over his shaft. Slowly at first, but soon picking up the pace, hollowing in your cheeks to create a smug fit. A look of utmost joy and need was sprawled across your face, and your hips rutted back and forth as if you were riding him already. When the brunet looked closely, he could see droplets of wetness on the surface of the yoga mat; and that was too much for him. He wanted this. He wanted you; and even though your mouth felt heavenly already, and the thought of being met with the cold air on the wet of his dick already killed him, but still. He used his gentle grip on your hair to pull you away from his throbbing cock, the tip now bright red and his balls tightening towards his body. You had him wrapped around your finger already, and he was pretty sure that you hadn’t even gotten started yet. Alex was sure he wouldn’t ever be able to enjoy something as much as he enjoyed you if he crossed this line now, but he needed you. His whole body would evaporate if he couldn’t have you now.

Your lips disconnected from his cock with a small ‘pop’, a string of saliva mixed with his fluids still connecting the two of you. But by now he needed more. Alex dropped on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes before he gripped your face with both of his big hands, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your lips connected with a smacking sound, and both of you had to moan, trying to release some of the pent-up tension in some way, any way. His hands began to move from your face as his tongue sneaked into your mouth, tangling his with yours, licking over it, savouring the taste of you mixed with his own. Your hearts were pounding in your chests, and each of you were sure the other could hear it, but none of you found the strength to care. Alex’ fingers began wandering, down your neck, to your breasts. He squeezed them through the fabric of your tight bra, but that only soothed him for a moment. One hand travelled to your back, unclasping the bra with surprisingly skilled fingers, allowing your tits to finally bounce free. You had to pull away for a second to gasp for air, an opportunity well used by Alex. He kissed your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, leaving marks and spots as a proof that this was happening – maybe so you couldn’t mess with his head later on, maybe because he just craved you to have them. You didn’t know. You enjoyed. Small moans and gasps left you, your hips grinding back and forth yet again to try and gain desperately needed fiction while Alex teased your collar bones. “Look at these pretty, pretty tits. Fuck, how could you ever hide them from me?” He cupped them with his hands, thumbs rolling over the perky buds, pulling them back and flicking them. “Look at how nice they look in my hands, princess. Absolutely perfect. Just like you,” he whispered, pressing another wet kiss to your lips and then bowing his head as if to worship you and only you. He swallowed thickly, his tongue darting out just like yours had done before, licking a fat stripe over your left nipple. Your head lulled back as you felt the warmth of his mouth around it, your legs quivering momentarily. If Alex felt this good teasing you, you couldn’t imagine how good he felt inside of you. “So pretty,” Alex breathed again, eyes flicking up to your face and then to your ever grinding hips.

A cocky smile appeared on his lips, the hand that had cupped your breasts leaving it and slowly dancing down your stomach. Ghosts of his fingertips lingered on your skin as he made his way downward, mouth finding your other nipple. His tongue flicked it, pressed down on it and then he suckled on it, making the world fade in front of your very eyes, the only thing you could focus on being Alex. You felt all hot and warm, heat mixing with white, need mixing with despair and fulfillment at the same time. Then you felt a lightning bolt go through you as Alex’ finger had found your pretty little clit. His thumb pressed down, while his index finger wandered to your dripping hole, collecting wetness before letting it trace through your folds again, coating your clit. “So wet for me already, huh, baby? Do you need me that badly?” He whispered against your breast, carefully gripping it between his teeth, having you whimper loudly. Your upper body was covered in marks and saliva now, and you hadn’t ever felt prettier than you did now, with Alex seemingly all over you and teasing you about how wet you were for him already in hushed tones. You swallowed thickly, trying to answer him, however, the feeling of Alex’ thumb picking up the pace against the bundle of nerves didn’t allow for anything else than you swallowing your spit again. Your head was tilted back, your legs twitching involuntarily. His lips were pressed against your throat now, tongue licking up to your chin while one hand massaged your breast, the other still relentlessly bullying your clit. He rubbed your clit fast to build up more arousal, just to slow down again to leave you with a lingering feeling of pent-up arousal. His index finger kept sliding down to your hole, dipping in just ever so slightly, but never entering you fully, teasing you just how you had teased him. But by Yoba, Alex was suffering. Not plunging himself inside of you was torture; like pushing a boulder up a steep mountain. The way your sweet little pussy felt against his fingertips made his heart pound harder than he had deemed humanly possible, and his cock was still drooling for you. And the sounds you were giving him. Oh, the sounds. He was sure they were bis favourite song now, that he would never hear anything so beautiful again. However, the way you said his name when he began to pick up his pace on you’re the puffy bundle of nerves beneath his finger tip proved him wrong. His cock twitched dangerously, his balls tightening yet again. He could have come untouched by the sole sound of you moaning his name in a lewd position like this; with your head completely tilted back, legs spread for him to have better access to your cunt. He wanted to cry, to cry and laugh. But more importantly, he wanted to have you. In every possible way.

He had to stop for a moment, just to hold onto you, feel the silk of your skin against his, but before he knew it, he had pulled you on his lap, his body acting on his own. Your wetness was pressing against his thigh now, your tits against his pecs. Yet again his dick twitched violently, only now you could feel it. “Can I ride you?” “Ca you ride me?” You looked at each other, laughing about the fact that the two of you had had the same idea at the same time. Alex leaned back against the railing, adjusting his thighs to help you settle comfortably. Your hands reached out almost carefully to touch his shoulders, steadying yourself as you lifted your hips. The male gripped the base of his shaft, sucking in a sharp breath when he felt your wet entrance against him. You moaned quietly, licking your lips. This was going to be so good, and you knew it. You allowed your hips to press down slowly, only to hear Alex ramble. “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” You looked at him with wide, begging eyes, confusion rippling through you. Had you done something wrong? Alex had his neck craned back, staring at the sky. He tried to hold back the tears that had started to well up in his eyes and threatened to spill from this feeling added to the pile that had already been growing in his stomach, his fingertips roughly pressing into your side, sure to leave marks come the next morning. He was fighting; fighting with every ounce of his being not to fill you up with only his tip inside of you. But your walls sucked him off so well already and having felt you against him now – he was intoxicated. Drunk on you. “Alex?” You asked, shifting as if you were about to get off, causing another hiss to strain from him. Whatever bit of self-control Alex had carried within him up to this point – it was gone. Forced into defeat and ripped to shreds. His green eyes found yours, glazed over and yet so full of affection. “Ale-eeeeex,” you gasped, feeling him slowly buck his hips upwards, entering your cunt carefully. His jaw clenched, using your hips as leverage to pull you down and flush again him. Both of your mouths hung open upon feeling each other for the first time. Alex could have sworn that an angel was sitting on his lap, but he quickly changed his mind; no angel could feel, no be, as heavenly as you. Your walls clenched around him, just to relax and clench around him again. It was as if you were trying to milk him already, and he was pretty sure you could make him cum by just cockwarming him like this, which was deeply embarrassing in itself, but he couldn’t have cared less.

Yet he wouldn’t reach his peak just from being cockwarmed because you needed more. This felt too good as to not want more, you decided. You slowly lifted your hips before allowing yourself to slide down again. “Alex,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezed shut tightly. You certainly were no virgin, nor were you inexperienced, but never had you felt like this. It was like Alex’ cock was a perfect fit that also could tear you apart any second. You were certain you could never let his dick slip out of you again, or you would forever feel empty. “Alex, fuck, never…had…dick this good,” you moaned, your hands running through his chestnut brown hair, pulling on some ends that you could catch while strands slipped through your fingers. Alex, meanwhile, was completely fucked out. He was absolutely pussy-drunk. Your walls were clenching him in all the right places, and the way your cunt squelched in protest whenever you lifted your hips made his heart pound. He couldn’t take his eyes away from where your bodies connected, scared he would wake up and figure out this was all a dream if he did. Moans and hisses left his lips, which he in no way tried to mask. He didn’t give a damn if anyone was to come by and hear him having you ride him like the absolute goddess you were. Besides, even if he did attempt to stay quiet, you moaned loud enough for the two of you. When he felt your tugging on his hair, his eyes briefly flicked up to you. You grinned down at him breathlessly, your eyes glazed over and beads of sweat caught in your brows. Face all pretty and innocent, but carrying such a perverted, dirty fuck-drunken smile. He couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t. You gasped when you felt Alex shift beneath you, the man planting both of his feet flat on the ground, using his grip on your hips to pull you down against him. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the new angle making him push even deeper than before, yet Alex had only been getting started. He adjusted his hips, making sure to keep you flush against him before he pistoned his hips upwards. “Fuck wha-“ You cried out, but were unable to finish the sentence, Alex’ cock fucking into you taking up all your attention and concentration. You weren’t even able to close your mouth anymore as the man beneath you fucked into you as if you were his – his little toy, his little perfect lover, his.

With each smack of skin against skin he marked you as his and his alone, and you proved him right by moaning out his name in the air, letting everyone know who was fucking you right. The brunet used your hips for his advantage, rocking you back and forth a little while bullying his length inside of you, his whole body trembling with the orgasm that was approaching him. He couldn’t help himself, really. How should he? You were taking his cock like an absolute fucking goddess, and your tits were bouncing in his face so nicely. One of his hands gripped your ass, digging his nails into it and straining a moan from your swollen lips. He wanted to mark you more, make everyone know you are his by just looking at you. He opened his hand, holding the palm of it flat beneath your ass, smacking it whenever he pulled you down. The moans you gave him urged him on, giving him the confidence to give your ass a few good smacks, the shape of his hand slowly swelling on the pale skin. The gushes of wet were a testimonial to how much you loved this, and he did, too. Yet still, he couldn’t get enough. Especially not of the look that was painted on your face. You still hadn’t managed to close your mouth; drool was dribbling down from the corner of it and dripped down, mixing with the sweat that covered your chest. You looked completely fucked out, as if you were chanting his name in without using your voice. “You like this, my little slut? Huh? I l-love it.” Love was an understatement for this. He lived this. He wanted this engraved in his brain, he wanted this to haunt him like a ghost. One of his hands left your hip and found its way to where your bodies became one, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit again to rub quick circles into it. The clenching and spasming of your cunt told him everything that you weren’t able to speak out anymore. The squelching sounds that you made whenever his hips fucked into you even more so, his body aching for the sweet release both of you were chasing.

“You gonna cum for me, ye-yes, baby? ‘m gonna cum, too. Gonna take my load like a good girl, m’yes? Gotta make you mine,” He panted the knot in his stomach only growing tighter. The faint nod you gave him, was enough to spur him on once more. He was an athlete, after all. Always pushing his limits just a little further, and today, he was going to do the same with you. He fucked up into you with fast, deep movements, his thumb rubbing your clit even after you tried to struggle away, a shaky, high-pitched gasp of his name leaving you. Your toes curled and your cunt spasmed yet again, clenching around him as if to ensure that he’d never leave. And Alex tried, he really tried to fuck you through your orgasm before he finally reached his own, but with the look you gave him with those tear filled eyes that basically begged him to fill you up, he couldn’t. His nails dug into your hips, his own toes curling as his hips snapped upwards once more, he held you down hard as the knot finally exploded, hot white washing over him, as spurts of his semen were released in you. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had gone blind, but still, his hips thrusted a few more times before stuttering and then finally halting completely. Slowly, he could make out some stars, then he saw your features again. You looked absolutely ruined. Tears had left streaks on your face, your lower lip was trembling and wet with spit, and every single feature betrayed you by telling about the orgasm that you had just had. Alex was still panting himself, unable to feel anything but his dick buried inside of your clenching pussy and the wetness that drenched his crotch. You slowly dropped your head against his chest, which the brunette cradled almost immediately, raking his slender fingers through your hair. The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to your heavy breathing and your pounding hearts. You couldn’t bring yourself to get off of him just yet, you didn’t want to lose this feeling right away. Your lover beneath you seemed to feel similarly, his strong arms holding you close, hips still pressing upwards ever so slightly as if to keep his cum deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” he whispered after a while, eyes falling close. “Mh?” you murmured, your own eyes quite heavy. “That was amazing. Are you sure you are no goddess?” “Mhmmmm…” You snuggled closer to him, too weak to lift up your arms to hug him back. “But I’ve got another question.” “Mhm?” You murmured, finding the strength within yourself to look up at him. “This wasn’t a plan to get me to fuck you, was it?” You rolled your eyes at him with a chuckle, resting your head back against the chest that made you feel so secure. “No, it was a plan to get you to fuck and date me.” There was silence for a moment, making your heart skip a beat. Was that too blunt? Maybe this was a one-time thing for Alex. However, a soft kiss pressed to your head soothed your nerves. “Then it worked.”

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley smut #sdv fanfic #SDV Alex #SDV Alex x Reader #SDV Alex x Reader smut #Stardew Valley Alex #Stardew Valley Alex x Reader #smut #fanfic #SDV community #Stardew Valley community #Stardew Valley bachelors #alex sdv

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slippinninque · 3 months ago

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🥤Taking Five 🥪

Alex Cross x blackfemreader

In which Alex lends a hand

Warnings: None! Fluff and a reminder to us all to take a lil break!

You went to make a move towards the door before I was opened but you froze when Alex's eyes popped wide at the sight of your frenzied state, slowly setting down what looks like the pizza you had delivered and a bag that held in the squeaks of Styrofoam containers.

"'Heeey, baby...what are you up to?"

Alex's weak attempt at a greeting made you laugh, fretting as you ran a hand over the scarf covering your hair. You knew how you looked--like someone who hasn't taken a break since the previous work day.

"This isn't what it looks like! ...Maybe."

Alex raised a brow at you and turned dramatically to show all the files, steno-pads, and prints littering your living room floor. You were at the center still sitting cross-cross as you looked up at Alex's approaching form.

"You forgot I had a key?"

"....lil' bit? Uh, you came over really fast."

"Sounded like you needed back up. All I heard was turning pages and that squeaky ass highlighter you use."

"Aye, ease up on my bestie, okay? We're two weeks strong at this point!"

Alex watched you stand and winced at the series of pops and cracks you let out but had no reaction to. Had you really sat there since he called you damn near 5 hours ago? Alex went over to put lunch onto the kitchens table. Glancing around, he saw a single bowl and mug in dishwater. Another glance to the top of your fridge confirmed that, thanks to the open top of your Apple Jacks, you had a very distracted breakfast and nothing else.

"Put. It. Down."

You rose a brow at Alex, looking up from the phone you took from it charger as you wandered into the kitchen. He rose both of his and tilted his head, making you pucker your lips and follow his directions.

You watched as Alex went through your space. You were so close to having figured out the timeline of break throughs of an ice-cold case, all traces of your body's needs fled in the face of the hamster wheel that's your brain has become.

Standing there in the middle of your madness, Alex finally turned to you and gave a little sigh. He held out his hands and the smile he gave you had you coming closer.

Alex kissed your cheeks warmly and your toes wriggled in your fuzzy socks, even as you tried to give him a suspicious look.

"I think it's time for a break, beautiful."

The worst words you could have heard at the moment. When you went to look at the manila folder still open to the curious fibers of velvet left behind---

A hand settled on your cheek and you whined in protest, "Baby..."

"I don't want to eat alone." Alex said over your whine before he brought you closer with his free hand, "An I'm ready to eat."

Well, that sent a tingle right down between your legs. You were suddenly aware of all the ink stains on your hands and your mismatched lounge wear. With a mumble, you tried to excuse yourself but Alex caught you around the waist.

He pulled you closer, smiled slowly, and kissed you deep. Your arms lifted up on their own to curl around his neck, swaying into him as you suddenly felt every hour you sat curled up around your notes.

"There we go," Alex's wide hands massaged your cheeks and down the side of your neck to watch your eyes flutter close, "That's it. C'mon, take your pretty self over there and grab some plates. You got any juice? I can go for some juice..."

You did as he asked, grabbing two plates and two mugs as well. Alex nodded you over to the couch after taking your load away. You couldn't help but to feel fuzzy at the sight of Alex going to fill your plays and fetch drinks.

It's not that you didn't like to be up under Alex, it's just you knew he had responsibilities. Real life shit that included two, brilliant little lives that needed care and attention. You didn't mind waiting your turn, it was what you were used too.

Alex sang a little tune as he came bearing two plates filled with a hodgepodge of food. Pizza and fries along with apple juice, your stomach roared and Alex 'tsked' at you as he joined you.

The pizza was still warm and you sighed as you took the first few bites. Alex watched you as if he could see the food going down into your stomach. One hand holding your cup, the other dodging your teeth-- you wriggled as you swore you felt the nutrients hit your system. Alex chuckled at your huff-eat-puff- rhythm and you laughed as best as you could, cheeks puffed as Alex reached out to swipe pizza sauce from your lip.

"I haven't heard from you until this morning and I gotta say, I don't like that one bit." Alex said pointedly.

"I know, I know--I got wrapped up. That's my fault."

"No fault needed. I just want to make sure you're eating something more than all that damned candy you got on your shelves."

You rolled your eyes and scrunched your features at him as you popped the pizza crust into your mouth. Alex was putting another slice into your plate, stealing a fry on his way out.

The two of you ate in silence until half the pizza and the entire batch of fries were gone. Alex took off his shoes and you found the remote to switch your jazz back on. You stretched out with a satisfied little coo before deflating onto the couch.

You felt more present than you did in the last 24 hours, finally outside of your head and note margins. Your hands felt lighter without the weight of files or your cellphone.

Alex clearing his throat caught your attention. He had long ago moved away his plate and instead leaned back against the couch, thighs spreading as he guested you closer. You eyed the space between his legs before grabbing the throw from behind you, sliding up against him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his own leaning back against the couch as his eyes closed. His arms were firm and he smelled so good. Maybe you can bargain for him to be your personal teddy for all the breaks you needed to take...

"I don't want to run you. I just want to take care of you." He said softly, "Take a little break every once in a while. For me? No more playing the living statue, right?"

"Right."

That got you a tight hug, Alex hum reverberating through you as you tucked yourself into a little ball. Alex pulled his long self up onto the couch and turned himself into the perfect body pillow. If your senses weren't so focused on relaxing, you'd probably be absolutely giddy. Any other time you were more motivated by those delicious thighs of his but being cradled by the man had you feeling a bit fuzzy headed.

"I took an hour. Think we can squeeze in a quick nap?"

Your answer was to tuck your face into his neck with a hush. His laugh was somehow just as warm as the hands wandering up and down your back. All thoughts of what had to be done went to the back of your mind as all you could think about was how comfortable you were.

Taking 5 wouldn't hurt a bit....

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✨ending notes: ✨Alex visited me in the middle of a loooong work day and what a wonderful daydream that was 😌💕✨TYSM for reading!! Tell me what you think, reblog and comment pretty please!

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#Alex Cross #Alex Cross x black reader #Alex Cross x blackfemreader #Alex Cross x black!fem!reader #Alex Cross x black fem reader #Cross #Cross on Prime #Aldis Hodge #x black reader #x blackfemreader #x black!fem!reader #Aldis Hidge fic #Cross fic

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soft-persephone · 6 months ago

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Roughest Rough Drafts of a John Sampson Fic

No rating // WC: 1k, give or take. I didn’t count // masterlist // AN: rough drafts for a fic I’m working on. Can’t get the intro just right, so enjoy two options I didn’t go with! Stay tuned for the real one! // real one

ONE

Imani sighed, watching her breath form a white cloud of powdery condensation before her.

The apartment townhouse building felt intimidating.

She turned on her heels for a quick walk to clear her head or maybe she could—

“I know you not leaving already.” A low familiar voice called out.

“Hi Alex.” She said in defeat.

“Well don’t you look nice.” He appraised her with a nod, “to think all that hides under your dickies and carhartts.”

She huffed at his compliment, crossing her arms and refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Imani had gone all out on her outfit, as she would, anytime she had too.

She wore a silky bodycon number, not too tight or inappropriate, but that didn’t stop the curves of her hips, her thick thighs from popping or the dress complimenting the shape of her waist just as much. Her long white coat rested snugly on her shoulders.

She clutched tightly at her coat to ward off the cold.

“How could you think of leaving?” Elle huffed, interrupting their latest spat, “You have to thank all your new donors!”

“I already called them one by one,” she groaned, stomping her feet, “why do we need a party to do it all over again!

“Because it opens the door for more.” Ellen said smoothly.

“Oh is that how that works, now.” Alex said to her coily.

They leaned into one another sharing a brief but rather heated kiss.

She wanted to say something smart like, can you guys move so I can get inside or something like that, but her and Elle were past that level of pettiness. . . Maybe.

It was hard to tell.

Elle was so hellbent on focusing on her career, putting herself first, and emphasizing she didn’t need a man, but did a complete 180 once Alex came back into her life.

She couldn’t hate Elle for it too much. He’s nice looking and just an overall good man, more than a good father. Anything and everything. He was the total package.

They don’t really see eye to eye, but if Imani was being honest, that was more on your friend’s end than Alex, but she’s never cut any of her men some slack, and nothing you could say, or what anyone could say for that matter, will change her mind, but Alex pushed through that and made it work until she trusted him.

Good for him and good for her.

“You coming or you planning on staying out here all night?”

“Come inside Mani, listen to Alex.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes.

And then there was that.

Saving her energy she followed without a word, but on any other day for any other occasion, she would have made a big deal out of Alex telling her what to do and Elle urging her to listen.

“You guys made it!” Jonesy kissed her and Elle on the cheek. Alex held out a hand for him to shake, but Jonesy pushed his hand away, going straight for the hug.

“Oh we know each other better than that, Alex.”

“Uh, yeah.” Alex patted Jonesy on the shoulder, politely putting an amount of space between them.

“Wow you look so nice!”

“Don’t you look pretty!”

“You really stepped out tonight girl!”

Imani was over it.

Everyone was being extra nice, treating her like some lost doe eyed soul. She’s gone to therapy, she’s dealing with it, and she’s even ready to move on. Everyone else needed to follow suit.

Imani was fine and tired of everyone treating her like she wasn’t.

“It’s just such a shame how he was murdered like that.”

You purse your lips at the random white man donor you purposely forget the name of. “It is.”

“But you used your grief and pain to start this foundation to give back to people just like him. I’m so glad to be a part of helping you reach out to the homeless in your community.”

You smiled and nodded as he went on his white savoir guilt trip rant.

“And without Detective Alex Cross, you never would have gotten justice or answers.”

Alex and Elle had made their way back to you to chat, not knowing that some stranger was throwing your trauma back into your face for shits and giggles.

“I’m going to get some air.” You gave them a tight lipped smile before making your way to the balcony.

“Fuck, I could use a smoke.” You muttered to yourself over the balcony, looking out that the city.

“Is that in reference to a ciggerette or something else?”

You peered over at the man who asked.

His out of date shoulder length hair and odd fitting white tux jacket trimmed in black made him stick out amongst the well polished crowd, but you were not going to judge him, especially when by looking at him, you could tell he had something you wanted.

“Depends,” Imani eyes him trepidly, “what you got?”

He only had one joint in him. Not ideal, but she would take what she could get.

It was a little stronger than what she necessarily wanted, but bigger can’t be choosers.

The tightening feeling in her chest subsided, she felt like she could finally breathe again.

She eyed the moon and what little stars were visible.

Thoughts of escaping to a secluded countryside intruded her mind.

“Hey I know you.” The stranger interrupted her short fantasy of escape. “You were the girl that was with that homeless guy.”

“He didn't die homeless!” Imani clipped, “he had a home”

“You can’t keep carrying that shit,” he ignored her outburst, “ he passed the joint once more and she took it gratefully.

He dug around in his mysterious pockets once more and pulled out a little plastic baggie. .

“Here,” he shoved them in her hand, “you need them more than I do.”

“There was some weed, mushrooms and. . . Pills? “What are these?” Imani held one up, the light of the moon made them glow. They were magic. She was sure of it.

“They’ll help the pain go away or it will show you your truth to deal with it yourself.”

“How can you be so sure?” Imani blinked, the pill still glowed in the palm of her hand. The magic hadn’t faded.

Before he could reply, a rich velvet voice called out, “ What’s going on out here?”

Stranger scurried off without a word.

Imani turned to face the new man, letting out a puff of smoke in the direction of the wind so it wouldn’t blow in his face and the smell wouldn’t linger.

He looked down at her casually, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.

His neatly short cropped fro went well with the equally as neat beard on his face. He held a gaze of light disapproval she’s seen Alex give his kids when they were acting out.

Was he treating her like some child?

“I’m not afraid of you.” She called out.

“You should be.” He smirked lightly.

“What, you a cop or something like that?”

He took the joint out of your hand, putting it out on the rail before flicking it over the balcony.

“Aye, what the fuck!”

“Or something like that,�� he eyed her, “detective.” He nodded his head as if contemplating, “close enough I think.”

He took the bag out of her hand.

Imani squinted in displeasure, but it wasn’t until half a beat later that she actually moved to stop them.

Shit. That weed was strong as hell.

She pushed through her foggy brain enough to grab at the material of his shirt.

“Give them back. I need those.” She wanted to say something more tactful, but her mind was loose, and now, whatever thought she had would fly out as is. “It’s not even illegal. I’m obviously not underage.”

“As much as I liked to believe that, I’m sure you got at least ten more years of being carded. Can’t be too sure these days.”

Her brow furrowed. Was that a compliment? That could be a compliment? Why was he complimenting her about how young she looked?

She fisted at the material of his shirt, a strange sensation probed at her wrists. What the fuck?

“Why are your nipples so hard?”

“It’s freezing out side.” Was the only explanation he gave as he pried her hands off of him.

She nodded, accepting his explanation, but then she looked at him and remembered he had a coat on, and after he just touched her, she now knew that he had on leather gloves as well.

“How are you cold if you have on a coat?”

“Get inside.” he motioned toward the door with his hand.

Imani’s drugs might be gone, but there was something comforting about his presence. His voice is low and warm, demands unobtrusive and somehow. . . Relaxing despite the reality of her situation.

Wait.

“Are you taking me to jail?” If not, can I have my drugs back?”

“If you behave,” he started slowly, “I’ll think about it.”

She grabbed his wrist as he stomped inside. He was walking so loud.

“Stop, everyone’s going to know if you keep walking like that.”

“You’re fine,” he huffed at her with a unreadable expression, “that’s your mind playing tricks on you. The weed is making you paranoid.”

“I’m not paranoid!” She hissed up at him. “Your just being too much of a cop.”

“Mhmm. Right.” He said nonchalantly before presenting you to Alex and Elle.

“Mani, where were you?” Elle brushed your shoulder with a hand. “You’re freezing.

“Seems you met John already.” Akex commented with a raised eyebrow, before dapping up your jailer.

“You know this man?” Imani couldn’t stop herself from blurting as she pointed up at John, as he was apparently named.

Her other hand tightly grasped his wrist as her arm was wrapped around his. He allowed her to stand closely into his space. She wasn’t exactly sure why she had to, but he was probably grateful for the warmth she was giving him, despite the fact he had a coat on.

Oh, perfect opportunity.

“Do you know why his nipples are so hard even though he has a coat on?” Imani questioned seriously.

Alex put a hand on his chest as he laughed.

“Aye,” John’s cool facade faded instantly, “keep your voice down! We're inside!” With his free hand he twisted your ear tightly and pulled.

She moved close to him to avoid the pain, letting her cheek rest against his chest.

He let out a short grunt of disapproval before switching tactics.

He pinched her side that was unguarded and vulnerable, making her jump.

Imani puffed as she nuzzled into his chest. He was warmer now, much warmer. Both hands free, she wrapped them around him, brushing her hands down his back to rest on his waist.

How muscles looked so hard and felt so soft will forever be a mystery to her.

“You both look quite close for two people who’ve only known each other for an hour and a half.”

That sounded an awful lot like. . .

“It’s been an hour and a half since we’ve been here?” Imani turned her cheek, letting the opposite rest on his chest so she could lay on him and still talk to Elle and Alex.

“No it’s been two hours for us.” Elle corrected. “John was late.”

Jonesy tapped a glass, getting everyone's attention, dinner was ready,

There was technically assigned seating, but in Imani’s current state, her dislike of her spot was not subtle. Luckily, she was not mean about it. Following John she sat next to him, scooting her chair to sit as closely to him as possible.

“I think I—“

“I didn’t take your seat, I just dragged my chair from over there to right here, scoot yours down.” Imani explained with a smile.

The woman gave her and John a look before taking her seat and scooting it pointedly away from them.

“This is not behaving.”

Imani straightened, her face drawing into a pout.

Dinner was chill.

You were so so hungry.

And so was John?

Imani unintentionally went plate for plate with John.. If he got extra of something, she got extra of something. At some point it became a mutual understanding, if he asked for someone to pass down a certain dish and put it on his plate, he’d put some on hers as well before passing it back up.

After all that, they both still had room for dessert.

The thought of dessert made her think of treats which reminded her of her drugs and the fact that the man she was sitting next to held them hostage in his pocket.

She reached over to his pocket to see if they were there, but he swiftly grabbed her hand and put it in his lap, leaving her to eat dessert one handed.

It was fancy and strange in structure but very delicious. Shemade a mental note of the flavors to recreate into a smaller Togo pastry one day for her shop.

“How long have you and John known each other?”

Imani squinted, dubiously confused, but she feel how her shoulder nestled against his and how John restraining her hand in his lap, may make it appear like they were holding hands.

Her head throbbed lightly, not quite used to the weed she had smoked hours ago. Her high subsiding and everything becoming a little clearer. For one, the way everyone was sneaking glances down the table at them.

“We met here, like. . . three to four hours ago.”

John nodded silently in affirmation before sharing a look with her afterwards and she had to thin her lips to suppress a laugh.

Because why would he just sit there like that and nod.

“You two seem,” the woman paused, twirling her fork, “closer than that.”

Imani and John shared another look and stayed silent, much to Elle and Alex’s dismay.

“You feel better.” John’s voice flooded Imani’s senses with something warm, warmer than the coat he was ushering onto her shoulders.

She scoffed softly, her voice losing its bite in her sober state, “I was always fine.” She huffed into the cold as they walked out the door. “Just a little high is all.”

“Little is understatement.” She studied the condensation in the air as it left his mouth.

He stood an appropriate distance away from her.

She wasn’t high anymore

TWO

Imani took a few bites of the pastry she just made. The presentation and look was exquisite, but her main concern was flavor. It looked elevated, but the texture was off, so the flavors didn’t quite matter.

She jotted down what she could try next time to improve on the current flaws, but if what she did manage to figure out flavor wise, she wasn’t confident in either. Maybe she’ll try ubbe or something with sweet potato, hell maybe both.

“Mani?”

Imani looked up from where she was standing. The little tall round table was littered with her note. She quickly stacked and sorted them out the way.

“Elle!” She beamed at her friend and embraced her in a warm hug, “what are you doing here at this time? Shouldn’t you be busy, paving a way for the youth in our community?”

“Oh stop,” Elle shook her head at her, “your work is just as important.”

Before Imani could continue with more pleasantries or continue the flow of casual conversation in an attempt to catch up with her friend, she noticed Elle staring at her.

She followed her line of sight to her jacket.

Imani swallowed without a comment schooling her features as she fight to stay still.

“You’re wearing Deonte’s Jacket again.”

“I work with a lot of college kids. They think it’s really cool when I wear this sort of stuff.” Imani hoped her smile seemed natural and not forced.

She crossed her arms into the oversized dickie jacket to calm her nerves..

Ignoring how Elle’s eyes sharpened as she looked her up and down, noticing her equally as oversized matching dickie pants.

“What are you wearing that’s actually yours?” Elle urged, She leaned into her, lowering her voice.

Imani averted her eyes away from Elle’s and crossed her arms.

“I was just thinking about him today and figured I wear this. I promise it’s nothing too serious.”Imani exhaled through her nose, taking a beer and looking in Elle’s eyes, hoping she was being understood, “I’m fine.”

Elle took the opportunity to look her over once more.

“Okay.” She nodded.

Imani thinned her lips.

#Alex Cross #Amazon Prime #two John Sampson #2 John Sampson #John Sampson x original character #x fem character #x fem oc #x black original character #x black oc #x black reader #x black fem reader #isaiah mustafa #Isaiah mustafa x black reader #James Patterson

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lowrisemiller · 2 months ago

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she keeps me up 𐚁₊⊹

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter 1- round up | masterlist |

| main masterlist |

summary- After a long shift, a night out at Round Up takes an unexpected turn when she crosses paths with a rugged stranger. A dance, a spark, and a moment she won’t forget—though she never expects to see him again.

word count- 2.8k

a/n- ahhh hi sweeties very excited for you all to read this first chapter! been wanting to start writing this for quite some time now. also let’s pretend Nickleback’s song “She keeps me up” didn’t come out two years ago bc that is THEIR SONG. hope yall enjoy! sweetgirl out<3

warnings- minors don’t enter!! joel miller (he is his own warning let’s be real), cursing, smooching, make out, light harassment, drinking (we of age people) teeney tiny age gap (21&36) that’s it I think lmk if there’s more ⭐️

April 2001 Austin Texas

My Nokia buzzed in my back pocket. I look around to see if there’s any waiting customers or my fellow cafe employees around. I walked to the back and checked my phone.

It’s Alex, my roommate and best friend since high school.

“Hey girl, let’s go to roundup tonight I need a drink and possibly a cowboy to ride ;)” Alex sent 2 minutes ago

I couldn’t hold in the giggle that bubbled up in my throat. I start typing back.

“Hell yeah my shift ends in an hour let’s head out at around 8, be home soon.” You sent just now

I practically ripped off my apron as soon as the clock hit 6 o’ clock and I went to the machine to clock out.

I jogged to my red honda civic and fished for my keys in my purse. I was clearly in a rush.

I was not letting my Friday night go to waste.

I took my keys out again once I reached Alex and I’s shared apartment.

“Hey babes! Should I wear a skirt or some shorts?”

Alex greeted me in the entryway of our small studio apartment.

“Hmm if you’re referencin the new skirt you bought during our last trip to the mall I’m sayin skirt all the fuckin way.” Alex giggled and jumped up and down. “Ok ok now you start gettin ready!”

I put all my stuff in my room and quickly change out of my work clothes and hop in the shower. Wanting to rinse off my work day at the cafe.

After my shower I wrap a towel around myself and stand in front of my closet, contemplating on what to wear to Round Up. Round Up is pretty much a night club with 2-step and line dancing to live or recorded country music with food and a bar.

Despite living in Texas all my life I’m not all about the country cowgirl aesthetic. Yes I can rock a cowboy hat and a big studded belt with some boots but I don’t make it my personality. I usually go for an edgy grunge look with a country girl twist.

I settled for a black halter-style top with a plunging neckline, revealing a portion of my chest.

The top is form-fitting, accentuating the waist. I was also wearing dark-wash, flared jeans. I paired the jeans with a black studded belt featuring silver grommets and embellishments, adding a rock-inspired touch. I put on a couple rings and bracelets and a cute necklace with a big pendant. Then of course my dark brown cowgirl boots.

I sat on our worn down couch while I waited for Alex. She is the one that usually takes the longest to get ready out of the both of us.

The time was getting closer and closer to 8pm and Alex finally strutted out of her room. She was wearing her new blue denim mini skirt with a simple white top. Her ginger curls in a half up half down hairstyle. She always looked good no matter what.

I whistled.

“Damn hun lookin hot as usual.” I said while standing up. "Oh stop it, you look smokin too girl."

“Ready to go? You drivin?” Alex nodded and with that we were out the door.

By the time we got there the night sky had taken over Austin and it was cool and lit up by the moon and the street lights. Roundup was almost vibrating with bass and drunk cowboys singing on the top of their lungs.

As Alex and I walked towards the entrance many men whistled and hit on us. They always made me scoff but Alex usually took it in stride, she would never give those idiots the time of day but she likes the ego boost.

We made it to the bar and ordered drinks. Alex ordered a margarita while I stuck with my rye whiskey. My usual. We both like to get a little tipsy before we get up to dance with the sweaty crowd left of us.

I was sipping on my second whiskey while Alex was downing her third when a sleazy trucker dude abruptly sat in the stool next to me. I smelt him before I saw him.

“Howdy darlin’ may I buy you a drink?” He asked me with a lopsided grin. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I opted for a scoff instead. “I’m drinkin’ one already, thanks.” I said in a flat tone, hoping it shows him I am very disinterested. I was wrong, most men don’t have social cues and do not know what the word ‘no’ means. Add a few beers to the mix and all their brain cells leave the conversation as well.

I noticed Alex drunkenly tune in. She was watching me making sure I was alright even if she was visibly buzzed. Her blue eyes glossed over and her pale cheeks tinged with a pink blush. The effort is there and appreciated.

He scooted his stool closer to me while I was distracted looking at Alex. Before I could stand up and tell this moron off I felt a big warm hand grasp my bare shoulder. I froze, I knew it wasn’t the drunk man because it was from behind and on the left side of me.

“Hey darlin’ I was wonderin’ where ya went.” Dear mother of God. His voice had the hottest southern drawl I have heard come out of any man from Texas. He sounded like honey. I hesitantly turned around, his hand still firm on my shoulder. Goodness he was beautiful. All tan skin, a dark brown beard with some little gray hairs adorned his face, he was wearing an olive green button up and the sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and the two top buttons of his shirt were undone showing off more delicious tan skin.

It took my entire being not to drool.

My eyes searched in his soft brown ones. He gave me a reassuring smile.

“Sweetheart, may I have this dance?” I looked between him and Alex who had her jaw to the floor while watching this whole interaction unfold. Then as if I was under some spell I put my hand in the hot mystery man’s and let him lead me to the dance floor.

He kept his hand on the small of my back. Once we were out of earshot of the drunken man that was talking to me earlier I turned to the man holding me.

“Hey” Was all I said. All I could say, I was still so entranced with this man’s beauty it was almost otherworldly.

“Howdy, sorry I kinda took ya away I just saw that guy all over ya and had a bad feeling”

I felt my face flush slightly. I hope the warm lighting covered it up.

“No, that was fine. I was just surprised but really I am grateful you did that.” I said with a small smile, feeling shy under his gaze. Then he held his hand out.

“I’m Joel, maybe we can properly get to know each other?” He didn’t take his eyes off mine once. I swallowed. I replied with my name and shook his awaiting hand. He didn’t let go of my hand.

Before I can even think of what to do next I heard the familiar intro of “She Keeps Me Up” By Nickleback— one of my favorite songs. Then without thinking I squeezed his hand and led him to the growing crowd in the middle of the dance floor.

“I love this song!” I shouted to him over the loudspeakers and everyone’s cheering. “Wanna dance cowboy?” I said with a smirk, feeling my confidence come back. He mirrored my smirk and nodded.

As the bassline thrummed through the speakers, I let the music take control. I started by swaying my hips to the rhythm, my grip on his hand tightening for just a second before I let go and spun away from him, letting the momentum guide me. I shot my hands up in the air— my shirt riding up just enough to where you can see the top parts of my tattoo that lives on the left side of my hip.

He chuckled, stepping forward as I turned back to face him. His movements were smooth, confident—like he knew exactly what he was doing. I bit my lip, eyeing him playfully as I stepped closer, letting the music guide me.

Funky little monkey, she’s a twisted trickster

Everybody wants to be the siser’s mister

Coca-Cola roller coaster

Love her even though I’m not supposed to

I reached for his hands again, and he caught on immediately, pulling me into a twirl before spinning me right back into him. My hands landed on his chest, and I felt the warmth of his body even through his shirt. I tilted my head up to meet his gaze, catching the flicker of amusement and something else—something that sent a thrill down my spine.

"Not bad," I teased breathlessly, my fingers lingering against him a second longer than necessary.

"Not bad?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. "Darlin’, I’m just getting started."

I laughed as he suddenly spun me out again, this time pulling me back with just enough force that I stumbled slightly—right into his arms. His grip tightened around my waist, steadying me, but he didn’t let go right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

"You trust me?" he murmured.

I swallowed, my pulse racing, but I refused to let him have the upper hand so easily. "Depends," I said, tilting my head so our noses nearly brushed. "You planning to sweep me off my feet?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and without warning, he dipped me low, his arm strong behind my back. I gasped, gripping his shoulders as laughter bubbled out of me.

"Something like that," he said, holding me there for just a second longer before pulling me upright again.

The song pulsed around us, the world fading away until it was just him, the heat between us, and the undeniable electricity in the air.

He held me impossibly closer to him. I stayed looking up at him with my hands flush against his chest. Except he leaned down. Almost kissing me. But he didn't, he just moved his hands down to grip my hips.

She keeps me up (I keep you up)

All night (All night)

I was practically grinding up on him the remainder of the song. When the song ended he pulled me aside where it was less crowded. He backed me into a wall and he leaned over me. He was so hot I couldn’t think straight.

“Honey, how old are ya?” He asked with his gruff southern drawl. “You first” I challenged. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m 36 years old sweetheart, now you c’mon.” I smirked when he revealed his age. I knew he wasn’t my age. He was too respectful and sexy for that.

“I am 21 Joel.” I said not moving my gaze once. I heard him utter some curse word. I didn’t hear him because I was so focused on our close proximity. “Not too bad right cowboy?” I said with my own sultry southern drawl.

He looked at me with hooded eyes. He muttered something again except I heard it. “Fuck it.” Is what he said. Then he took my chin in between two of his long thick fingers.

His grip was firm but gentle, his fingers tilting my chin up until there was nothing but him—his breath, warm and shallow, ghosting over my lips. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything but the heat in his eyes.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if giving me a chance to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then he closed the space between us.

His lips crashed against mine, hot and desperate, like he had been holding back for far too long. A low sound rumbled in his throat as his other hand slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My body melted into his, the tension between us snapping like a live wire.

I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a sharp inhale from him. His grip tightened, his hands roaming—one trailing up my spine, the other gripping my hip, anchoring me against him as our lips moved in sync, messy and hungry.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine in a way that sent heat pooling low in my stomach. I gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage of it, pressing me back against the wall successfully caging me in, surrounding me.

“God, you’re…” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough, like he could barely form words. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, tugging just enough to make me whimper.

I barely had time to respond before he kissed me again—harder, more insistent, like he wanted to devour me whole. My nails scraped against his scalp, and he groaned, his hands sliding lower, gripping my ass like he needed to feel every inch of me.

The world blurred around us. Nothing else existed—just the heat, the hunger, the way his body molded so perfectly against mine.

And I didn’t want it to stop. After some time he pulled away from my lips. I whined but accepted it.

“Darlin’ I gotta go but... I wanna see ya again if that’s alright?” My eyes lit up and I nodded. “Of course that’s alright, here give me your phone.” He did just that and I carefully type in my number making sure I don’t fuck it up. And I put my name in his contact list right under my number.

“Thanks sweetheart, I'll see ya around?” I rubbed the back of his neck. “Mhm you will Joel.” I leaned up on my tip toes and kissed his lips one last time. He smiled. His fucking smile was just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

“Alright you get home safe darlin’” He said. I wanted to respond but the words were lost on me.

After I shake away whatever trance Joel put on me I race to find Alex. Normally it’s her ditching me to dance with a guy but it was me tonight and nothing but guilt ate away at me. Until I saw her leaning over the bar, twirling her hair at the bartender. I sighed in relief and nodded my head knowing I’m driving us home tonight.

A week later

A week has gone by since dancing and making out with Joel. Besides the feeling of his hands on me and his warm lips on mine the only other thing I can think about is how stupid I’d been. I’m stupid because I gave him my number, so I have to wait for him to text me.

It’s been a week and I got nothing from him.

I try not to overthink too much as I brew this random lady’s espresso. I mean he’s the one that wants to see me again in the near future so surely he’ll text me… right?

It didn’t help that I head that damn song on the radio twice this week. Nickleback is haunting me with the memories of that night.

I couldn’t be thinking of him right now, I have to finish work here at the cafe and prepare for an interview for a potential second job.

Babysitting isn't the hardest job in the world but it isn’t the most reliable. I took it up a lot in high school and my first year of college but it never stuck. But right now I could use the extra cash.

I changed out of my apron and pulled the flyer that just has the address and reads “I am in need of a babysitter for my 10 year old daughter. I am a divorced parent who got promoted at work and will not be able to be there for my little girl as much as I used to. Looking for a young adult with a basic schedule.”

Seems simple enough.

I pulled up to the house. It was cute. In a suburban little neighborhood not too far from Round Up actually. This made me ache a bit but I had to get it together.

I put on my best customer service smile and knocked on the door.

When it opened I gasped and nearly fell to my knees.

It was fucking Joel.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #pedrohub #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #sarah tlou #thou #nickleback #she keeps me up #2001 #country #age g4p

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writerinlearning · 5 months ago

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𝐂𝗼𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐫𝐬 | Soulmates AU. Part. Two.

plot: part two of the luke soulmates AU, or in which you do not only see colours when meeting your soulmate but feel their pain as well.

pairing: luke patterson x mercer!fem!reader | sunset curve x mercer!fem!reader | alex mercer x sister!reader | julie molina x mercer!fem!reader

show: julie and the phantoms

warnings: like one or two swear words, maybe?

word count: 6,0k

author’s notes: english is not my first language, apologies for the possible mistakes. this is the second version of this fic. first version has been unpublished. let’s just roll with the fact that julie can see other ghosts for the sake of this story. and also that carlos can see the sunset curve boys after julie saves them from caleb’s stamp, but he cannot see neither reader nor willie.

luke patterson masterlist || part. one. || main masterlist

Los Angeles, 2020

Finding your soulmate again in the afterlife should come with a handbook. Yes, the colours had come back to Y/N, but every day they seemed to flicker away from her sight. Whenever that happens, when the world around her turns black and white for an hour or so, she’d sit in a corner of her room, where she’s been locked up for the past few days, and she’d pull her legs against her chest to bury her head between her knees as silent tears roll down her cheeks. She has no idea why this is happening; maybe because both Luke and her were dead, and being dead and soulmates isn’t the same thing as being alive and soulmates. Or something is happening to Luke, and she has every right to be worried; she’d just gotten him back, after twenty-five years. If something happened to him, or to her brother and Reggie because of her, she’d never forgive herself for it. And on top of the colours fading and coming back, jolts of electricity keep coursing through her body, sending her flying backwards into the wall or the couch in her dressing-room, the pain spreading to her chest as the little purple sparks on her wrist fade. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, boy does it hurt like a bitch.

Tonight is no exception. Like usual since she’d found her boys again, Caleb orders her to stay inside her room, as a punishment for the last time she went up against him; which coincidentally was when Willie introduced her to the boys. Every day she wonders what they’re doing, only having occasional information from William when he sneaks into her dressing-room to let her know how the boys are doing whenever he goes to see them. What she doesn’t know is why Willie goes to see them that often, but she knows he’s got his own reasons. Willie, on the other hand, well… He simply can’t find it in him to tell her the truth. He wants to protect her, he’d promised Alex as soon as she’d disappeared that night and did not show up for Caleb’s little show. He couldn’t tell her that Caleb had managed to put his stamp on her brother and his friends, leaving them no choice but to work for him. He doesn’t tell her that they’re planning on crossing over, to be free of Caleb’s stamp, nor does he tell her that he’s helping them do it. He knows she’d been waiting so long to see them again, and he couldn’t tell her she’d never see them again, no matter the outcome of everything. So, he’d decided to keep her in the dark about everything, for a whole week.

Y/N can faintly hear the musical number beginning downstairs when she returns to her senses, but she’s too preoccupied by the pain spreading from her chest and down to her body. It feels like dying again, the floor being swept off from under her feet as she crumbles to the ground, clutching her stomach. Tears prickle the corner of her E/C eyes, threatening to spill down her face and ruining the make-up she isn’t able to take off. Talk about Caleb’s magic. She despises the place, now more than ever knowing there isn’t even the slightest chance she’d see her boys again. She’s trapped in the Hollywood Ghost Club, ever since she’d agreed to that deal. Y/N knows she’ll forever regret that mistake.

Her body is taken with a slight startle when Willie suddenly appears in the middle of her room. Her eyes go round, mouth hanging open in surprise. She hadn’t seen him in two days, and he seemed rather panicked.

“I’m so– so sorry, Y/N.” William mumbles, kneeling beside her. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you…”

Y/N’s lips, covered in red lipstick, curve into a thin-lipped smile, a trembling breath leaving her chest, and she shifts in her spot to raise a hand against Willie’s cheek. How long do they stay in the comforting silence of her room, they don’t know, but Willie snaps out of it when he hears the faint screams from below them. Y/N then notices that the music's over, and her pulled brows create a frown on her forehead as another jolt of electricity shoots through her body. She doubles over in pain, a groan leaving her lips as she rests her forehead against William’s chest. Her eyes go shut, the prominent lines under them a visible sign of her lack of rest. Sure, ghosts don’t need sleep, but it’s always nice to take a nap once in a while. And Y/N is the female version of her twin brother, a very anxious person. She’s never liked being stuck in a room, alone. This past week has been the worst she’s experienced so far. Well… apart from the year she was alive after the boys’ deaths.

Willie shakes his head solemnly when he sees her state, a sigh leaving past his lips as he scoops the girl in his arms, the coldness of her skin spreading through his. She’s heavy breathing, clinging around his neck as another jolt shocks her, sending her in a coughing fit. The skater knows he won’t be able to poof them both out of the Club and back to Julie’s garage, especially in Y/N’s state. He can only go as far as the street opposite to where the Club is, but they’ll have to walk the rest of the way. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he focuses on the location, before he poofs himself out, still holding onto Y/N.

When the cold air hits her face, Y/N opens her eyes and looks at her surroundings.

“W– why are we here?” She asks, voice wavering. “I– I can’t be out here, I–”

“I need to take you somewhere safer than this place.” Willie interrupts her, his eyes darting to her weak frame. “I won’t let Caleb hurt another one of you.”

At first, she doesn’t understand that he’s speaking about Alex, but it doesn’t take her long to put two and two together as a frown creases her forehead, scrunching up her nose as she overanalyzes Willie’s words, biting on the inside of her cheek. She can tell he’s filled with remorse, and she wonders what has happened while she was locked inside her room. Many thoughts fill her mind and, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, she knows Caleb had had his ways with the boys that night. Everything suddenly makes sense; the colours fading at the same time as she feels the jolts of electricity, and the colours coming back to her eyesight an hour or two later, the excruciating pain spreading from her chest and down to her body whenever that happens. Caleb had put his stamp on the boys and, because Luke is her soulmate, she can feel his pain. Yeah, soulmates in the afterlife definitely should have come with a handbook or something.

—

“I think the band’s back.” Luke whispers, smiling at Julie.

A golden aura radiates from his body, his thumb softly brushing against his wrist where the purple stamp had just vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.

“Do you think we could try that hug thing one more time?” Alex asks, his voice soft.

Julike chuckles, nodding her head as she wraps her arms around Alex’s and Reggie’s shoulders, their own arms going around her waist and over Luke’s shoulders, the four of them jumping up and down as they celebrate playing the Orpheum stage. However, their happiness doesn’t last long when Luke breaks away from the embrace, backing away until he falls flat on his butt to the ground as he doubles over in pain. His hands clutch onto his stomach, and he lifts his head up to see the concerned looks of his bandmates.

“Are you okay, Luke?” Julie asks him, voice trembling.

The golden aura around him has faded away, a bright flash of purple appearing on his chest instead. Another groan leaves his lips as he throws his head back against the grand piano behind him. The pain is worse than anything he’s experienced so far; even dying from bad hot dogs seemed sweeter than whatever this is. The colours flicker from his sight and suddenly, Alex’s pink tuxedo blazer becomes a light grey, Reggie’s red vest turns a dark grey, and the blue shirt Julie’s wearing turns darker.

“I– I think something’s wrong with Y/N…” Luke manages to say, a breathy sigh following his words.

“Wh– what do you mean something’s wrong with Y/N?” Alex asks, visibly worried. “Luke, what’s going on?”

Julie watches as Alex walks up to his friend. She knows who the girl is, from the moment she’d met the boys. The blond drummer had told her about his twin sister, admitting that he’d often wondered what Y/N had become since he’d died. Well, that is until he found her at the Hollywood Ghost Club a week ago. But Julie remembers offering her help to look for Y/N with the help of the internet, and she apologized when she couldn’t find anything. She’d found out from Reggie that they’d found her at the Hollywood Ghost Club the night they’d ditched her school dance, but he’d waited until she knew about Caleb to tell her.

Julie also knows Y/N had been Luke’s soulmate when they were alive, and that she still is even in the afterlife. And, as much as it hurts her because she’s had a crush on the lead guitarist since she’d met him, she knows it’s better as such because she’s aware of who her soulmate is, and it isn’t Luke.

Julie shakes her head, worriedly glancing towards Reggie before her eyes land back on her two bandmates by the grand piano.

“Th– the colours…” Luke breathes out as another jolt of electricity courses through his body. “They’re fading… again.”

“Wh– wh– what do you mean they’re fading again?” Alex speaks fast, his anxiety rising. “That only happens when your soulmate dies, and you’re both already dead!”

“I don’t– I don’t know Alex, okay? They’re just– all I see is black and white, alright?”

Tears prickle the corner of Luke’s already swallowed and bloodshot eyes as another jolt reaches his chest. He groans in pain, clutching his stomach and biting down on his lower lip, throwing his head back again to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Alex stands up from his kneeled-down position, and he begins to pace back and forth in the studio, tugging at his blond hair in frustration. Reggie takes it upon himself to stand by Luke’s side then, rubbing a hand up and down his bandmate’s back in hopes to ease his pain away

Julie wants to help, too, but she knows nothing about having a ghost soulmate, nor why Luke keeps having the jolts from Caleb’s stamp when she’d witnessed the purple mark vanish from his wrist. She wants to do something, she really does. She hates to see her bandmates, her friends, in pain but she feels utterly helpless in the moment.

“Hey Julie!”

The teenage girl turns around at the sound of her name, and she sees her little brother standing by the garage doors with a smile on his face. It soon falters, however, when he seems to notice the two ghosts by the grand piano, and the third one pacing back and forth in the middle of the room.

“What’s wrong with your ghost bandmates?” Carlos asks, pointing to the three boys.

Julie widens her eyes in surprise, spinning on her heels to see the boys’ reactions. Alex stops in his tracks, standing frozen in his spot with his eyes wide open in shock as he looks up to Carlos. Reggie seems equally stunned, lips parted and mouth agape. And Luke… Well, Luke would probably have had the same reaction as his two bandmates, if he wasn’t so focused on the pain in his chest.

“Y– you can see them?” Julie asks her brother, dumbfounded.

“Well, yeah. Now I can.” Carlos smiles.

This is all too confusing for Julie; first she manages to touch them. Then, somehow, hugging them and saying she loves them (which is entirely true, she’d tell you) made the stamp on their wrist vanish. And now, it seems that Carlos can see them too. But she doesn’t have time to ponder her questions, because Alex’s voice cuts through her train of thoughts.

“Willie?”

Julie lifts her head to look at the drummer, watching as his face falls from shock into concern as he looks past Carlos’ head.

“Oh, my god! What happened?” Alex asks as he rushes outside the studio.

Julie’s eyes follow him, landing on a boy with long brown hair and holding a girl in his arms. She instantly knows who they are, as Alex takes the H/C-haired girl from the boy’s arms, taking her back inside the studio and carefully laying her down on the black-leathered couch. His hand brushes against her cheek to push away the hair stuck to her face. Her eyes are screwed shut, a frown on her forehead whilst her lips are turned upside down into a pout, hands clutching on her stomach. Her body shakes with another jolt, purple sparks erupting from her chest, and Julie watches as Luke’s body does the same thing, sending him backwards into the grand piano.

“I– I think Luke and Y/N are connected in more ways than just the colours.” Julie mumbles, getting all the boys’ attention.

Even Carlos seems suddenly interested, though he can neither see Willie nor Y/N. All he sees is a body print onto the couch, and Alex leaning against the void, his arm wrapped around nothingness. The situation would have been funny, if his sister did not have that worried look on her face.

“I think,” Julie says, getting closer to Luke, “that, since Luke and Y/N are soulmates, they can feel each other’s pain in the afterlife.”

“So…” Reggie trails out, trying to understand where she is going with her explanation. “Luke isn’t freed from Caleb?”

“It’s Y/N who isn’t.” Alex answers for Julie, his voice wavering. “And the colours vanishing from Luke’s sight means that she’s dying. Again.”

“But– if I was able to save you guys because we’re somehow connected, doesn’t that mean Luke is able to save her?” Julie wonders. “Since they’re soulmates, and all.”

Another jolt causes Luke to bring his knees to his chest, Y/N’s body jerking up onto the couch. She does, however, manage to open her eyes, eyelids half-open over her retinas, but still. She can see the lights around her, something different than when she passed out from the pain in Willie’s arms. She can also no longer feel Willie’s arms, but rather a soft material under her back. Faint and muffled voices reach her ears, but a groan stumbling past her lips makes them stop talking. Y/N tries to sit, pushing herself up with her arms, but she fails and falls back into the couch. She begins to cough, her throat itching as another jolt sends a wave of pain in her chest. She hears someone’s footsteps coming closer and, through half-opened lids, she extends her hand for them to take.

“Hey Y/N.”

Alex’s soft voice reaches her ear, a thin-lipped smile growing on her lips.

“Can you hear me?” He asks, brushing the hair away from her face with his free hand.

Y/N nods her head, letting out a small sob as the pain spreads through her body. With the little strength she has left, she squeezes her twin’s hand, her head falling onto the armrest of the couch.

“It’s okay Y/N. You’re safe here. And– we’re going to find something, alright?”

Alex doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure himself or his sister, but he isn’t certain it’s working for either of them. Still, he smiles when she slowly nods her head, letting him know she’d heard him.

“L– Luke?” Y/N croaks out, coughing. “Wh– where’s Luke?”

At the mention of his name, the lead guitarist from Julie and the Phantoms lifts his head up, glancing at Alex and who stands by the couch. The blond drummer nods his head softly, and both Julie and Reggie help Luke as he tries to stand up, making his way to the couch.

“Hey you.” Luke chuckles, kneeling down next to the couch. “Where have you been for the past week?”

He can guess where she’s been, but he just felt the need to ask her. He’s not certain she’s able to answer, but when he sees her lips turn upwards in a broken smile, he knows she’s heard him. He holds her hand when he catches a glimpse of her trying to reach for his, and he uses his free one to run it through her hair, knowing how much she loves it when he does so. Another chuckle leaves his lips, tears silently rolling down his cheeks as she laughs a little, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Does it–” Y/N tries to speak, her voice hoarse from the pain. “Does it hurt you– as much as it hurts me?”

Luke nods his head, closing his eyes when he leans his forehead against hers, and he feels her try to weakly squeeze his hand.

“I love you, Y/N.” Luke whispers through tears.

It’s not the first time that he says those words, but it’s the first time in twenty-five years that Y/N hears them again. And she knows that, if she still had a heart, it would be beating out of her chest while butterflies swarm the pit of her stomach, just like when they were alive. She can still remember the feelings, even when on her deathbed. Again.

“I love you more.” Y/N whispers back, somehow managing to press her free hand against his cheek.

The pain subsides inside Luke’s chest, his body quickly recovering from all the jolts of electricity he’s endured. He’s surprised, at first, and it takes a minute for his brain to process what’s happening. He sees Y/N’s hand fall limp at her side, the loss of her touch against his cheek sending shivers down his spine, and he watches as her eyelids drop shut at the same time his vision turns black and white. He backs away from the couch with a jump at the sudden change in his eyesight, almost knocking Julie off her feet as his back collides with her front, but in the same minute he’s kneeling back in front of the couch; his teary eyes roaming across Y/N’s peaceful features as he cradles her face in his hands.

“Luke?” Julie calls him, brows furrowing together. No answer.

“Y/N?” It’s Alex who calls out his twin next, letting go of Willie’s hand as he gets closer to the couch. “Y/N?”

No answer. Alex turns his head to look at Willie, eyes wide and filled with worry and fear. But William can only shake his head as his shoulders rise in a little shrug. He doesn’t know what’s happening either. He’s seen what happens to ghosts gone rogue, however, and to his knowledge they cease to exist after they’ve been stamped by Caleb. He’s seen how it goes, and he knows that the jolts should have killed Y/N, making her disappear from the face of the Earth. Even if she went against Caleb only once.

“What’s happening, Julie?” Carlos asks his sister.

He still cannot see neither Y/N nor Willie, so seeing everyone getting agitated and teary-eyed is all the more confusing to him. Julie has almost forgotten that her brother could see the boys now, and she’d certainly forgotten that he’s still in the garage, with everything that’s been happening in the last hour or so. She wants to answer him, but she sees Reggie standing besides her brother, and she shakes her head when he jumps slightly the moment Reggie’s hand finds his shoulder. Reggie is even surprised that his hand doesn’t go through the boy, like it normally should have. He doesn’t complain though, nor does he say anything. He only pulls the younger boy in his arms, engulfing him in a hug. Julie and Carlos only leave the garage when they’re forced to go; Alex pleading with them to at least have a couple hours of sleep, and telling the siblings they’d still be here in the morning.

When morning comes, Reggie goes to join the Molinas for breakfast, although he still cannot eat anything. He just enjoys their company. Alex stays by his sister’s side, brushing his hand through her hair gently. She looks the same as he had last seen her, with the same slightly red cheeks, her lashes perfectly hitting her cheekbones when her eyes are closed. He spends his time watching her, afraid that if he’d look away, she’d disappear from his sight. He remembers all the childhood memories they shared, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. The only difference now between them is the fact that she’s a year older than him, dying when she turned eighteen while he passed away a while after their seventeenth birthday. But in his eyes, she’d always be his little sister, younger by twenty minutes.

And then, there’s Luke. Luke handles it the way you’d handle losing your soulmate. One day, he sees the colours again, and a week later his world suddenly goes black and white. And while you’re supposed to experience this only once in your life, he’s experienced it twice. And he hates every part of it. He knows now what Y/N had to go through, when he died back in 1995, and it’s way worse than what he’d imagined. Having the colours snatched from you, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see them again, it’s heart wrenching.

Luke sits in a chair facing the couch, with a song book in his lap. He holds a pen in his right hand as he angrily scribbles down words and words on a blank page, crossing those who do not fit into the lyrics he’s trying to put together. It keeps his mind busy, allows him to think about something other than Y/N’s body laying on the couch. But his swollen eyes betray him, letting everyone know just how much he’s been crying since Willie showed up with her the night before. And Alex can hear his soft crying from where he sits; it’s the only sound in the studio. From time to time though, Luke does lift his head up to glance at the couch, as a way of making sure she’s still here; that she hasn’t vanished. Willie did tell them that Y/N should have ceased to exist when the jolts stopped, and that her still being here must mean something. It’s that little spark of hope that Luke holds onto, as he goes back to writing more words onto the pages in front of him.

Eventually, Alex leaves his sister’s side when Willie shows up to the garage. He knows how close to his sister his friend is, and if there’s a way to save her, they’d find it together. Even if it means getting caught by Caleb. Again. His sister is worth taking the risk. And if Willie is willing to risk his afterlife for Y/N, then so is Alex; for the both of them.

It’s only when Willie and Alex poof out of the garage that Luke gives up on writing lyrics. Instead, he finds himself wandering to the couch, sitting himself on the floor as he takes one of Y/N’s hands in his. His calloused fingers draw small circles against the back of her hand, his tired eyes never once leaving her peaceful features. He leans his forehead against hers, his free hand running through her hair and gently grazing at her scalp, tears escaping the corner of his eyes.

“I love you.” Luke whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing. Maybe because he feels guilty; guilty that she’d suffered the jolts because she only tried to protect him from Caleb. Or maybe it’s because he knows what she had to go through after he died, and he doesn’t understand how she went on with her life for a year, knowing she’d never see colours again.

He lifts his head up when he hears the garage door creak open, and he looks over his shoulder to see both Julie and Reggie standing in the doorframe, with sadness in their eyes. Luke sighs, removing his hand from Y/N’s hair to wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

“Are you okay, Luke?” Julie asks him, her voice filled with concern.

The guitarist doesn’t say anything, his voice getting caught up in his throat. But Julie knows he isn’t fine, from his bloodshot eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. Just as he’s about to stand up, he stops dead in his tracks when he feels a weak squeeze on his hand. He stops all movement, holding his breath (as if he needed to breathe) as he whips his head around, eyes wide open in shock as he watches his soulmate’s eyelids flutter open slowly. His mouth hangs agape, and he drops back to the floor on his knees. His free hand finds its way back into her hair, caressing it softly, his own eyes teary as hers open slowly.

It’s as if the world stops, when he can finally see her E/C irises; now bright and colourful in his sight. Shades of black and white fade around him, slowly being replaced with the many colours he’d come to love so much when he could see them. He lets out a relieved sigh, closing his eyes for a brief second, before he looks at her again. His hands cradle her face, and he brushes his thumbs across her cheekbones, afraid that if he’d let go, she’d disappear.

“L– Luke?” Y/N calls out his name, her voice hoarse, but he knows it’s real. She’s here. “Wh– what happened?” She asks him. “Wh– why are we in the studio?”

Although it had changed a lot since the last time she’d been there, she’d recognize the walls and the ceiling anywhere. And besides, the boys’ instruments are still there so it’s an easy guess for her.

“Willie brought you here last night.” Luke tells her, a smile on his lips. “You were feeling the jolts I felt and– and it nearly killed you. Again…”

His brows crease a frown on his forehead. He hasn’t seen the mark vanish from her wrist, or at least, he doesn’t recall it disappearing. He remembers she told him she’d been stamped; she’d made a deal with Caleb after she died. He does the first thing that comes to mind, picking up her arm and inspecting her wrist. He’s surprised to find black ink on her skin, instead of a purple stamp, but most of all he’s relieved he cannot find Caleb’s mark on her anywhere. It means she’s free.

“Well, that’s new.” Luke comments, chuckling as he points at her wrist.

“Yeah…” Y/N breathes out. “I got it two months after you guys died. You were the closest I had to a family. Well, Alex really was my family.”

“I love it.”

“Me too.”

Y/N, with Luke’s help, pushes herself up so that she’s now sitting on the couch. Her eyes on her wrist, she admires the back ink in the shape of a sun setting down behind the horizon, the ocean waves forming a curve under it. It’s simple, but Y/N loves that tattoo more than anything. Alive, it’d been a reminder that the boys would always be by her side, no matter what happens. Seeing it again after twenty-four years is a relief. She’d known it was there all along, but Caleb’s stamp had been a constant reminder of the freedom she had given up over his fake promises. But now, she’s not tied to Caleb anymore, and she isn’t quite sure of what to do with this newfound freedom. She’d probably do something stupid with the boys, like they’d always do back in 1995.

Smiling softly, Y/N lifts her eyes from the ink on her skin, hearing the sound of footsteps coming closer. She glances up at the garage doors, now noticing her brother, her best friend, Willie, and a girl she doesn’t know.

“Y– Y/N?” Alex stutters, his voice going an octave higher in surprise.

“Hey Alex.” Y/N greets her twin brother, waving her hand. “Hi Reggie.”

“Please don’t scare us like that again!” The bassist exclaims, sighing in relief.

Y/N giggles, her body falling back a little under the weight of two seventeen-year-olds engulfing her in a bear hug. She wraps her arms around the both of them, glancing over Reggie’s shoulders with pleading eyes to Luke. He only smiles, shaking his head a little in disbelief.

“I don’t know how or why this is happening.” Alex begins, waving his hands in the air once he pulls away from his twin. “But I am so glad you’re back, shortie!”

“Hey!” Y/N pouts, hearing that nickname. “Do I need to remind you I’m actually a year older than you now?”

“Yeah, well… you’re still short in height.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Y/N?” Luke calls her, taking her hand in his.

He helps her stand up from the couch, leading her to the garage doors where Willie and Julie still stand, observing the scene. Y/N glances at Willie, letting go of Luke’s hand to wrap her arms around the skater’s shoulders, going onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Thanks Will.”

Willie smiles; she’s the only one allowed to call him that.

“I’d do anything for you, Y/N.” Willie states, tightening his embrace around her. “You’re like a sister to me.”

A small smile curves Alex’s lips; he’s glad they’re getting along, because he’s yet to tell his sister that he’s finally found his soulmate in Willie.

“Y/N.” Luke calls out for her once again, his hands over Julie’s shoulders. “This is Julie. She’s a Lifer, and she can see us. They guys and I are also in a band with her, and when we sing together, she can make us visible to other Lifers.”

“Y– you can see me?” Y/N asks when her eyes land on the teenage girl.

“Yeah.” Julie chuckles. “You’d think I’d be used to it with these three,” she says, pointing at the three boys. “But I’m not. It’s nice to meet you, and to finally be able to put a face on a name.”

Y/N tilts her head in confusion, brows pulled together and creasing a frown on her forehead.

“When I found out about the Hollywood Ghost Club and Caleb,” Julie begins to explain. “The boys also told me they’d seen you. And they haven’t stopped talking about you since. Especially Luke.”

Y/N chuckles. “I’m sorry you had to deal with them alone.”

A chorus of ‘heys!’ and grumblings reach her ears, which only fuels her laughter, especially when her eyes meet with Luke’s angry puppy face. Oh, how she had missed her boys.

Y/N and Julie spend the rest of the morning getting to know each other, until Luke comes and claims to ‘steal Y/N for the rest of the day’ as he puts it to his bandmate. And here they are now, walking hand in hand by the seashore, bare feet into the sand. Kids’ laughter is all around them, the waves crashing near their feet producing a peaceful sound. Luke soon finds a quiet spot, where no one but them is, and he spins on his heels to face Y/N. He lifts a hand up to cup her cheek against his palm, his thumb brushing over the soft but cold skin of her cheekbone as he delicately wipes away a lash that had fallen on her face. His touch is light against her skin, like a feather, and it results in a thin-lipped smile to grow on her lips.

Y/N blinks twice, tilting her head against the palm of his hand resting on her face. Her E/C eyes are locked onto his hazel ones, glistening with the adoration and love she has for the seventeen-year-old boy before her. He’s heavenly looking; his mop of brown hair falling in strands on his forehead, covered by that orange beanie he loves so much, his hazel green eyes gazing back into hers with love and tenderness, and the gentle smile that graces his features. Just the sight of him could have made her heart flutter, if she still had one, and the butterflies to erupt at the bottom of her stomach.

The world around them seems to have vanished, the kids’ laughter now a distant memory and the waves crashing down the shore a distant sound. The warm Los Angeles wind is blowing, caressing their faces in soft breezes. The birds chirp their joyful melody in the distance, harmonizing together as the sun shines bright into the clear blue sky. Y/N’s bare feet dig into the cold sand, and she lets her gaze fall from Luke’s face, turning around to look at the vast blue ocean before them, settling her back against his chest.

Luke’s arms find their way around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and he rests his chin atop the crown of her head. His smile grows wider when she begins to play with the rings around his fingers, balancing their bodies back and forth.

“I think blue’s my favourite colour.” Y/N says after a while. “Any shade of blue, actually.”

“Why’s that?” Luke mumbles against her temple after pressing a soft kiss there.

“Sometimes, the ocean reminds me of your eyes. They were the first colour I ever saw, dead or alive. And I’ve noticed, over the years, how their colour would change. Sometimes they’re green, or hazel. But there are these occasional times where your eyes turn blue, the same shade as the ocean. I could– I could drown in your eyes if I wanted to.”

Y/N turns in his arms to look at him, her hands on each side of his face. Luke’s hands stay on her waist, his eyes boring into hers.

“Which colour are they now?” He asks, a love-struck smile on his lips.

“As blue as the ocean.” She whispers, smiling, before she kisses his cheek.

Luke chuckles, inching his face closer to her again, his lips brushing against hers. Y/N giggles, shaking her head in disbelief as her hands find their way at the back of his neck, her fingers tangled into his hair, and her lips crashing against his. His grip on her waist tightens, pulling her even closer if that were possible, an euphoric feeling fogging both their minds. Y/N stands on her tiptoes, deepening the kiss, and Luke uses this as his opportunity to bite down on her lower lip, eliciting a surprised moan from her. He smiles victoriously against her lips before he takes her bottom one between his teeth, and he pulls at it slightly before watching it fall back into a pout on her face. His right hand moves up from her waist, pulling a strand of hair away from her face before resting on her cheek. He gazes into her eyes, love and adoration in his, whilst his lips carve a gentle smile on his face.

“I’ve missed you, baby.” Luke whispers against her lips.

“I’ve missed you more, rockstar.” Y/N smiles. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I’d never dream of it. I love you too much to let you go.”

“Good. Because I love you, too. And I’m not planning on letting you go either.” Y/N states, pulling Luke in for yet another kiss.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms imagines #luke patterson x reader

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sunshinegirl29 · 7 months ago

Text

Petrichor

SO hi! This is the first smut I've written in 5 years. So I'm sorry if it's a little dodgy. Anyway, it was raining when I wrote this, hence the imagery!

Summary: A rainy day, coffee between friends leads to something more, but it's not always that simple with Spencer.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: swearing, smut, alcohol.

I'd love to hear some feedback xo

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You learned in Art History class, that hands were the hardest thing for an artist to master. His were slender and gentle; caressing the words on the page, brow pinched in concentration. His nails, trimmed, cuticles soft and small. That was Spencer, most things about him were put together and careful to a point. He rubs the heel of one into the hollow of his eye, squints and continues to absorb the words of his novel like patterns on a lover’s skin.

A simple cough catches your attention and you blink slowly, coming to from your reverie.

“Are you okay?”

Alex Blake’s tone is soft and low. She’s gentle and warm, chocolate brown eyes swimming with concern. An answer doesn’t come at first; what words would you choose? You couldn’t look her in the eye and call it what it was.

“Tired, you know? Tough case.”

Your words wither like dry leaves under her gaze. Alex you’d learnt early on, held them in high regard – the way they stretch and curl and hold more weight than you realise. But she doesn’t push and squeezes your shoulder, before resting back against her seat. You glance back toward Spencer once more. His eyes closed, soft brown rivulets curl behind his ears, messy against the small pillow he never leaves home without.

A small breath hitches as you eye his collar, the usually tight purple tie is broken and free from the confines of the material. It reveals the innocent edges of bare skin, and your stomach feels like a knot in a chain. The tighter it gets, the harder it is to take apart. You allow the thoughts to flow unfiltered for a moment longer, wondering how he’d react to your touch, both palms pressed to his chest, your lips mapping a path of devotion on his skin.

Then the jet rumbles its warning and you breathe again. Slippery hands grip the sides of the seat and the jet tips, shaking the dredges of cold coffee from your abandoned mug.

The next day, it rained. You wake to the sound of it, watery fingertips tapping a beat on the conservatory roof; you’d fallen asleep there, drowning in dreams of soft touches and stuttering breaths. You wipe sweat from your chest and pad on bare feet into the small kitchen, working through neglected pots and pans to find your Sunday morning mug teetering on the edge of the kitchen island.

“There you are.” You hum smiling around the imperfect rim, inhaling the rich black coffee that had become a tradition over the last few months. You spend the next few hours, cleaning the skeletons of the last week off the floor; being away from your cosy suburban home most of the week left little time for housework and it was about time.

The kitchen was pristine by the time the sky had given way to heavy biblical rain; the windows misty with condensation. It didn’t take long for the house to fill with the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee once more as you hum to the radio and sway in between sips. The music trickles into something slower, sensual and you smooth your hands into your hair and remove the tie, letting it hang loose instead. Hips sway in slick circles as you lean back into the counter, running your hand along its wood grain as if a broad back or the gentle slope of his neck. The chain knot is back, low in your stomach, tightening with every move. The island bites into your back as you slide across it, a hand ghosting the bare expanse of your leg and into the waist band of your shorts. It’s slow at first, the image that comes; he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, books piled up around him and a discarded coffee in the wings.

Spencer holds books like you imagine he’d hold a lover, careful but with meaning and unbridled need. His soft fingers dance on the page, mirroring yours in short circles, short gasps as he finds a lead hidden within the letters. He knocks a book with his foot, rearranging his position on the floor and the muscles in lean arms twist when he gets to his knees. Your own sock clad feet crush the rug beneath them as the feeling builds. Spencer reaches for a new coffee, but jumps at the heat sending liquid down his chin. He wipes it from his lips with an index finger, dipping it into his mouth savouring its rich sweetness. This image alone was enough to tip you over the edge, waves crash and ebb leaving you panting and spent on the kitchen floor.

It's then that the murderous cry of your cell phone shatters the post orgasm comfort, shocking you into rising from the floor on unsteady legs. It’s screams for attention from the couch, buried in pillows and a neatly folded blanket that’s thrown to the floor in frustration.

“For god’s sake I—”

Hotch’s name lights up the screen and it’s like ice water down your back.

“Hello?” you cough, attempting to cover any signs of breathlessness but he doesn’t bother a greeting; “we have a case, local, bad – Spencer will pick you up on the way, be ready in an hour.”

In a world with boundaries, you could say no; that you spend sometimes fourteen-hour days, six days a week on cases and you were owed at least one day to rest. But the shining reward gives you pause at the entrance to your bedroom. Spencer will pick you up. You dress and return to the bright and airy front room to pace in anticipation, the sweet delay.

Out the window you watch as rain rushes down the street, lifting leaves and litter from pregnant drains. They disappear as a black SUV pulls up, he’s early. You half expect him to blare the horn but he slips from the driver’s seat and runs up wet steps, sliding a little before coming to stop. Greed urges you to answer the door, but you hold steady waiting patiently for him to knock – which he does, neat and direct.

The wind blows spatters of muddy water on the oak floors as you open the door. Spencer waits politely for invitation which you readily provide him, instinctually grabbing his bicep to shelter him from the pouring rain.

“Sorry—hi.” He stammers, gesturing at the puddle that follows him in like an obedient dog.

“It’s okay, it’s horrendous out there!” you huff a nervous laugh and twist back toward him, he’s closer than you’d anticipated and you have to look up to drink him in

His hair curls with rain, dripping onto the dark wool of his coat. His lips part and close slowly, as if wanting to confess a lie but nothing comes. You swallow thickly, daring a look at his mouth for a needy second before coming back to his hazel eyes. They hold a weight with an unknown name and dart away, the burgeoning anticipation ebbing slowly.

The growing silence lingers on for a few more seconds before he steps back, wiping both hands down his coat, looking anywhere but you.

“We have a case.” His voice ticks up and he coughs, wrapping those long fingers around his opposite wrist.

“Yeah, Hotch said.” You beckon him to the kitchen in an attempt to defuse the tension. “Know anything about it?” He crosses the room in two strides, the kitchen island a wedge between you.

The BAU had been your home for six months and after a few growing pains you fit in nicely, spending slow evenings in Penelope’s apartment and even began to get Aaron to smile now and again. Spencer though had been slow to trust, not that you blamed him but eventually he began to thaw. His shield of intelligence had melted into trickles of kindness that leaked into your life; he’d have your favourite mug filled with black coffee how you liked. After particularly hard cases he’d taken to sharing half his blanket and somehow a luxury pastry ended up on your breakfast plate before landing each time.

“Yeah, a home invasion homicide, mother and two children both dead. Did you know, the odds of being killed in your own home by a stranger are dependent on gender! With twenty one percent being men and only twelve percent being women.” Spencer smiles, in his element leaning into the counter. A heartbeat goes by before you note where he stands. Only an hour earlier you sat alone with fingers buried deep in your shorts, panting and writhing against the tile, all for him – its almost too much to bear.

The carafe rattles imperceptibly against the mug, you fill it with sweet coffee for him without thinking;

“Are you alright?” it’s evident you can’t escape a profiler’s eye “if it’s what I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, the odds are—”

“It’s fine Spence, here you look like you need it.” You’re brutally aware that you’re rambling and he doesn’t miss a beat, but graciously doesn’t press any further. Instead, he takes a sip of the coffee, humming contentedly. The small noise starts a raging desire that burns through your blood.

“This is great coffee. You know, coffee is a language in itself...”

He walks around, coming to rest opposite you without the barrier of the island. You’re drunk on the scent of damp clean hair and faint cologne, it’s a force you have no name for that fills your chest, fuelling the beat that matches the way panicked rain hits the windows behind your head.

“What’s it telling you?” You whisper, looking up into a blown-out gaze.

It was in your nature to burry intense feelings, but you wonder if he can see it all over your face, the pure naked wanting.

Suddenly aware of his animal warmth much closer now. The knotted chain pulls tighter, burning low and you press your thighs together for any scrap of relief. He doesn’t say anything and for a slow second you worry you’ve misread the situation. But any reservations die as Spencer reaches for the mug in your hands with the soft fingers you’d mused over so much in the last few days. He takes it from your hand, placing it on the sink behind you absentmindedly.

““Spence…” you plead, body trembling as his gaze covers your face, asking...

The first brush against you is chaste, a whisper of a kiss that barely touches the skin, it’s almost as if he breathes across your upper lip. He pulls back, barely, just enough to lay a question between you.

“Please.”

You step into him as the first rolls of thunder come in. Damp ropes of hair drag across your face and you can’t hold back from touching it, pushing it back like water. You anchor yourself to it when he kisses you again, just as brief but more firm, lingering against your mouth.

“Is this okay?”

His question is lost on your lips as you grasp the damp collar of his coat and pull him down toward you, swallowing his yelp with a deep kiss; it feeds the hunger for him and you can’t help but moan into his mouth, savouring the sweetness.

You’re nothing but him, drowning in the press of his lips, so soft and strong as you lick into his mouth, surprised by the strength he uses to lift you up onto the biting edge of the counter.

His fingers arch around the side of your neck bringing you back to his mouth like a man starved; your free hand that isn’t wound in his curls sears a path along his neck, diving into his shirt. He’s muttering something, you suspect a flustered fact about pathogens and almost laugh, but you can only feel the syllables of hot and wet before he jerks so violently your lips wrench away from his.

You both freeze. One hand in his hair, the other on his chest, his own still grasp the swell of your ass.

“I don’t normally do this.” He stammers again, taking a shaky step backwards and you mourn the loss of him. The heat that simmered low between your legs is doused in shame.

“Don’t, don’t do tha---”

Your words die in your throat as his cell phone screams from his coat pocket, sending him away from you, a crease of concern between his brows.

“Okay, we’re leaving now. Thanks Morgan.”

Spencer glances at you, as if waiting for a scolding – it doesn’t come. You just sigh, letting him sweat in silence; his mouth is swollen, both cheeks flushed in an uncharacteristic bloom of colour. You gaze at him despite yourself, a sad smile passing your lips.

“Spence..” you press, striding forward to meet him.

You reach for him, tugging on the sleeve of his damp coat like a child. He shakes his head ever so slightly, but grasps your fingers gently in his own anyway.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles into your hair, releasing your hand with a small squeeze.

“Are you..” you sigh, not bothering to wait for an answer before heading out and into the rain.

By the time you arrive back at Quantico rage had made its home in your gut. Rage at him, because how dare he kiss you out the blue, in your own home and run off like he’d been burned. JJ is the first to notice when you speed from the car, barely putting it in park before slamming the door and standing at her side.

“Everything, okay?” She whispers, eyeing you and a jittery Spencer who’s pointedly staring anywhere else.

“You know, working on a Sunday sucks,” You huff, glancing at her before turning toward him “and the middle of the day too, it’s almost as if you thought you’d get one thing, but ended up being sorely disappointed.”

A beat of dead silence passes but no one gets to push the subject. Hotch appears from the SUV with a peaky looking Rossi at his side, the case had been brutal and a complete bust – two children and a mother dead with a missing top suspect and a suspicious Grandfather to boot. No one liked going home empty handed and it showed.

“Thank you everyone, I’m sorry to call you in on your day off. Finish off your paperwork and take tomorrow to yourselves. You earned it.” you almost hugged him, the ever stoic Aaron Hotchner, but instead followed the rest of the team inside toward Penelope who waits with freshly baked goods and an award winning smile.

“Hello my heroes! I bare the sweetest of treats and that’s just on the plate--” she laughs, cut off but Aaron who pats her gently before swiping a Danish and disappearing into his office. Penelope’s keen eyes miss nothing – not the way Spencer whips past the others, muttering about callings his mother, not the way your own eyes follow him until he disappears.

“Hey gorgeous, cinnamon roll?” Penny smiles and you look at her at last, gratefully taking the gift – a sweet cushion to the bitter blow of Spencer’s rejection.

“I know it’s none of my business” Penny starts, walking toward your office side by side. You shoot her a withering look, knowing that it wouldn’t matter if it was her business or not – Penelope needed to know things. But in a painful reality, there was nothing to know and there never would be, not now, not after this.

“Working on a Sunday.. not what I had planned! Thanks for the treats, I’ll see you.” You smile, putting on the brightest facade of happiness before fleeing into the unpersecuted safety of your office.

On the last day of the month you take the train downtown. The sharp November air slices the bare skin of your legs as you head into the depths of the city; the Saturday evening buzz is strong and floods of intoxicated partygoers filter in and out of clubs on each side of the street. The claustrophobia thins out as you approach the affluent section of the city; harsh neon lights fade into comforting warm candlelight, they reflect gently against the black gloss of Emily’s hair as she stands in the sheltered awning of the Gilded Lilly. You linger under the guise of adjusting your shoes and observe her for a moment; a lighter sparks in the dark, long inhale, a long exhale – the first curl of smoke, grey against black.

“Over here!” She calls your name, waving a gentle hand to beckon you forward.

She looks different, her cheeks are pink and her dark hair falls softly around her face, flushed and girlish and completely alive,

“You’re wearing a dress?!” You grin at her not so typical outfit and squeeze at her hand, readily accepting the invitation inside.

The polarising temperature is gratefully welcomed and you can’t repress a comforting hum as feeling comes back to your toes and hands. Emily chatters absentmindedly, pulling you by the wrist toward the bar where an opulently dressed man prepares a drink with loving precision and for a moment panic sets in. Emily, seemingly reading your mind, wraps her arm around your waist and huffs a laugh.

“These are on Rossi, this is his bar after all.”

A rich green path of marble leads you toward a large backroom where luscious velveteen couches surround solid oak tables and glistening chandeliers ricochet off art lined walls. You catch Rossi’s eye across the room and he smiles proudly.

“Kiddo! You made it!” he smells of faint cigars and expensive cologne when he envelopes you in a warm hug and tugs you down into the seat next to him.

It takes you less than seconds to deduce they’d been drinking long before you arrived – Morgan’s laugh carried louder and farther than usual, thick and low with drink. JJ and Emily snuggled into the rounded corner, laughing with Garcia around elaborate cocktails. Rossi and Aaron, older and more demure than their younger counterparts are blurred slightly at the edges, both follow your eyes and catch them when you turn.

“Where’s Spencer?”

The anger had simmered comfortably under the surface for weeks since that day in your kitchen, your relationship never fitting back into the boundaries of friendship. Penelope tried her best to prod at the wound, egging for blood but nothing came, you couldn’t admit the rejection even to her. The rest of the team sensed the mounting tension, but you waved away their concern with a decorative excuse and it seemed to placate them.

“I’m not sure he’s coming kid..” Rossi sighs, patting your shoulder as if he knows something he shouldn’t. “come on now, have some fun. Too much thinking isn’t good for anyone. Right Aaron?” Dave laughs, sliding a fresh cocktail to join the one Morgan and Emily bought you.

Before long three more empty glasses join the others and it had started to get rowdy. The copious amounts of liquor had bounced straight from your head to your bladder, it forces you out of your seat and you climb awkwardly over a blushing Aaron who pointedly looks anywhere but the low neck and short skirt of your new dress. It’s then a sharp choking cough breaks the mounting tension;

“Spence..” you breathe, scrambling away from Aaron who’s face blanches like sour milk.

He’s beautiful and still, spots of light rain litter his lambs wool coat like glass.

“Spencer!” Garcia squeals, and at that moment you could have kissed her. Spencer's expression cracks open, a rare smile and even rarer hug.

You blink at that, still stunned slightly dumb at the sight of him.

“Good to see you kid! Let’s get you a drink!” Rossi cheers and then they’re gone, bundled off toward the distant bar.

You stand silently for a minute, looking toward the hallway but turn at the sound of your name.

“So, are you going to tell us why pretty boy looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust every time you’re within fifty feet?” Morgan grins, smirking round a spectacular old fashioned.

You find yourself flinching at your own words, teeth clattering against the cold hard lie of;

“We had a disagreement that’s all. It’s nothing.”

It never really went away. You’d deliberately ignored the symptoms, but days and weeks went by and your craving for him never abated. Despite the disappointment of his rejection you’re happy he’s here and begin to relax.

It’s smiles all around when you deposit drinks to each member of the team in turn, including Spencer who’s shed himself of his coat, revealing a grey herringbone cardigan and white shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice you, he’s rambling about the origins of a Bloody Mary with unbridled passion and your heart melts like the ice in his glass. Whether it’s the heightened buzz of multiple cocktails or not you decide it’s a question for tomorrow and a squeeze his arm;

It happens in slow motion, the way Spencer jumps. The action sends the drink in your hands backwards and all over the front of your dress.

“What the hell?!” you gasp and stagger backward, taking a bunch of napkins from Emily who’s wide eyed along with the rest of the team who’ve lapped into uncomfortable silence.

Spencer stammers, gawping like a fish out of water, flapping about the mess on the table which he wipes erratically without sparing your wet dress and thunderous expression a second glance.

Aaron and Rossi, no longer blurred by liquor mutter to each other in your peripheral.

“Care to tell me what the hell that was about?” You’d had enough, weeks of icing each other out you thought he’d be receptive to your warmth but he says nothing instead. You almost laugh;

“A man with an IQ of 187 and nothing to say. Typical.” You hiss, slamming down the glass, splashing the residual whisky onto his jumper.

Aaron stands, stepping toward you with a pleading expression and his jacket. You ignore him, staring at Spencer who still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Spence..” you plead and reach out but stop half way, thinking better of it. He seems to relax for a split second but visibly tenses when Aaron wraps his suit jacket around your shoulders.

You’re grateful for it’s warmth against your skin and step into it, pulling the inky black lapels around your exposed chest gratefully.

“Come on. Let it go. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Yeah.” Spencer snaps, his hazel eyes cutting, looks you and Aaron up and down “back to her place right?”

A collective intake of breath. A sharp snap of heels against marble. You’re dragging him off the chair by his cardigan, nails dig into the lean flesh of his arm. Rossi’s protests and Garcia’s high pitch yells are ignored and disappear as you shove a squirming Spencer out into street.

The sharp winter air ruffles Spencer’s hair, his back to you, pacing. Your arms folded against the cold, stoic and thunderous.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the echo of your breath comes out in plumes of white, hard and fast. Spencer paces, large fingers curling into hard fists at his side.

“With me?” he squeaks, spinning to face you, honeyed eyes tear you in two . It’s almost a relief, a weight lifted as he finally sees you, holds your gaze for the first time in a month;

“You should look in the mirror.” He spits, the alcohol on his breath fanning your face; “throwing yourself over our boss because you can’t take rejection!”

It’s your turn to say nothing. You do nothing but shake like a trapped bird, winged and frantic. Whatever your face conveys, Spencer’s is stiff, a stoic mask giving nothing away.

“Yeah” you scoff, a wave of rage rising from your stomach hot and forceful “I see.”

How dare he make such a foul insinuation. You loved Aaron but wouldn’t cross that line, but Spencer didn’t need to know that. It didn’t take a genius, clearly to realise what was really going on here and you almost laugh in his face.

“See what exactly?” you’ve peaked his interest but hold steady.

He’s so close now, so close you don’t feel like one person anymore. Standing in place in the cold, gravitating toward his warmth. Brown rivulets fall in pieces around his face like a shield. The heady smell of faint cologne and black coffee fill your nostrils when you close in on him, ignoring the blaring of sirens and faint chatter from across the street.

“It’s funny. Your tongue in my mouth didn’t seem like rejection to me. But who cares?” You breathe in shakily, emboldened by a heady cocktail of liquor and adrenaline grab his forearm. “I’m going home with Aaron, right Spence?”

“Right..” Spencer breathes and steps in close, the ice in his eyes seem to crack imperceptibly.

“He’s going to touch me. Is that okay with you?” Spencer’s breath hitches as your voice purrs between you. He’s not running and the low throb between your legs begs for more.

“He’ll lay me down.” You continue, trailing numb fingers up his arms to come rest at his neck revelling in the way he trembles. “he’ll taste me.” Spencer moans; a breathy thing, barely heard, barely there. You sway, overtaken by the pleasure of such an innocent sound.

Spencer stutters your name more earnest, more desperate, and you aren’t even pretending to argue anymore. You lick your lips and almost catch his chin with your tongue and he moans again, breathy and begging. Begging for something, begging for you.

“And you know what?” you giggle now, pressing flush against him and feel just how much this is effecting him too. “He might just make me cum..”

The remnants of your laugh drown in his kiss; it’s flooded with frustration, hungry and wanton and the confidence of it knocks you back. He tastes like whisky and something sweet and soft that echoes through your body like a hiss down your spine. Moaning into it you know he feels it in his tongue where it strokes against yours. He snakes a long arm around your lower back and swings you closer, his other hand continues its path up your neck to grasp your jaw and it takes all your self control not to drop to your knees in public. As if reading your mind, Spencer pulls away, flushed and panting and hails a cab;

“Where are we going?” You laugh, a breathy wisp like sound but don’t get answer until he rambles your address, shoving a bunch of tens to the cab driver and suddenly you’re back where it all started.

You fall together in the dark, grappling with his coat and your shoes that he bends chivalrously to undo; the simple act elicits a moan from your lips that stops Spencer in his tracks and you can’t help but clench your thighs together for any scrap of friction. Spencer isn’t unaffected by the wanton noise but surprises you with a smug chuckle and the slow trail of his fingers against the pad of your foot as he divests you of the stiletto. It’s downright perverse, the jolt of pleasure that runs through your body, an erogenous zone only he would remember – damn that eidetic memory.

“Tell me” Spencer breathes out finally, adjusting his slacks with a pained grimace

“God, Spence..” you reach down and card a hand through his hair, suddenly shy “taste me..please.”

Spencer’s hands swallow your thighs, pushing your dress to sit around your waist. Your pulse pounds with anticipation and nerves, but you don’t miss his reassuring smile. Your nod of permission is all but lost against the wall when he dips a finger into the silky fabric of your underwear, just grazing you to pull the scrap of material to pool at your feet.

“Oh...my god.” You cry out and pull in a breath at the first wet press of his soft mouth, you’d spent more time than you’d admit out-loud staring at his lips – round coffee cups and pens, imagining this very moment. What you didn’t imagine is him being so damn good, the flat swipes of his tongue just where you need, the desperate sounds that vibrate against your clit. It doesn’t take much time to push you toward the edge, teetering – but his strokes turn languid, earning him a choking groan.

“Please, don’t..” you moan and grasp and the hair you can reach, desperate to put him back to work “don’t stop now..” a small wave of dread follows the memory him a few weeks earlier.

“I—I’m not.” He begins, you know him enough to see the nerves bubbling up amongst his arousal and step forward, reaching for the top of his waistband. Spencer’s throat jiggles, swallowing a squeak as you slip a hand into the fabric and choke on a gasp at what you find;

“Jesus...” He’s rock hard and thicker than you expected. It seems to embolden him, your reaction and his awkwardness is stifled to a small laugh that morphs into a groan of pleasure when you wrap a hand around him. He whines, bucking against your hand and it makes you weak, the whimpers coming from his perfect lips fuel to the fire.

“I’m, not going to last.” Spencer shimmies out your grasp, haloed by the moonlight pouring in from the uncovered window, tall and beautifully undone.

The first time you’d touched each other it’d been desperate, the way you came together , grappling for each other. You remember his face before he kissed you for the first time, much like the one he wears now, slinking forward, capturing your lips in a heady kiss that doesn’t stop until you hit the edge of your unmade bed. In another world, you’d be embarrassed at the chaos that hints to your unravelling but he’s turning you round to straddle him, both hands working expertly at the material of your dress. He’s impossibly hard and groans deeper than you’ve ever heard him and it shoots a bolt of pleasure so deep you ground down against him, ripping at the material of his shirt to marvel him. Spencer wasn’t like Derek, but god your imagination never put the pieces together quite like this.

“You’re so damn beautiful” you gasp, not giving him time to respond more than a muffled groan as you shove him into the bed. You don’t wait for him to respond, a slave to the throb between your legs, it takes seconds to strip him of all barriers. Spencer says nothing, his mind seems blank for the first time, you watch his honeyed eyes commit you to memory forever, the swell of your breasts, the taste of your skin and the intoxicating wetness that drenches his lap.

“Please, I need you..” you beg, as if he has control, as if you’re not just seconds away from sinking onto him.

Your gasp is strangled when he juts upwards, burying himself to the hilt. You almost don’t recognise yourself the way you cry in between dirty kisses that cover his neck, something that Morgan would definitely pick up on later – the thought of everyone witnessing your claim on him, the way you’ve made him your own sparks something like wildfire in your gut it drives your forward and you meet him in sloppy bobs of your hips.

The action sends Spencer reeling, his cock slipping easily out of you and before you grieve the loss of pleasure he’s looming above you, messy and wild and so fucking gorgeous it takes tremendous self control not to cry right there.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asks, nuzzling his question into your neck, smoothing the tip of his nose up and under your ear, to place a short kiss.

“God, yes please.” You gasp at the bite of pleasure soaked pain when he stretches you open, tortuously slow.

Spencer was a late bloomer, you knew that, but at this moment, when his expert fingers deftly catch the edge of your clit you’d never believe it. The exquisite friction causes you to whimper into his ear, tugging a little too hard on his hair that fans your face as he thrusts. You’re stuttering something akin to a plea, but he doesn’t give in that easily.

“Use your words.” Your brain short circuits for a second, watching him draw back from your neck, pupils blown out with lust “ communicate, that’s a good girl.”

Any words you’d conjured up in your head die in the water, engulfed in moan that you’re sure three houses down could hear. Spencer folds then, swallowing your moans in a bruising kiss.

“Make me cum Spence” you purr, rifling through his hair with one hand, pawing at his clenching stomach with the other. He rewards you with rumbling growl, his fingers finding your clit without effort, tight rapid circles that have you bucking into his thrusts, pushing the both of you closer to the edge.

You can’t stop it, you don’t even want to, for once in your life you let go. It crests like a sea, flooding through you and Spencer who growls and bites down on the gentle slope of your shoulder.

Spencer collapses against you, sweating and gasping in what you think is pleasure but you quickly realise he’s laughing.

“What’s so funny Mr 187?” you can only guess, but ever the educator, doesn’t leave you in the dark for long, rolling away he snuggles into your side.

“I can’t believe it.” He sighs, lush with the heavy weight of post orgasm sleep “I wanted to do that for so long..”

You can feel his nervousness in the beat of your silence and have to keep yourself from squealing in excitement like a love struck teen. You turn slowly, eyes shining with unshed emotion that you know he can see laid bare.

“Me too..” you sigh, entangling his fingers into yours, rolling over to hook his arm across your stomach “you’re so damn good. For a late bloomer..” you snigger, erupting into giggles when he nips at the back of your neck. You clench your thighs at the pleasure and can’t ignore the hard weight of his already hard cock at your back, but instead follow Spencer into sleep, cradling each other like sunken lovers on the ocean floor.

When the sun drenches your bedroom in hazy light do you let yourself remember, grinning as the weight of Spencer Reid’s naked body wriggles against your own. You catch yourself, just for a second, imagining a distant future of endless morning of this, but your dreaming is eventually interrupted by the rapid pulsing of a vibrating cell phone. Lurching your heavy body awkwardly across the bed you pick through discarded clothes and answer the 8th missed call from Aaron Hotchner.

“Reid, where are you? We have a case.”

A beat passes, a slow second of horrendous silence. You’d answered Spencer’s phone by mistake. Letting out a deep breath, resigned to the fact this is how they’d all find out if they hadn’t guessed already.

“Sorry Hotch. We’ll be there.”

With that, without saying another word you hang up and throw the phone into the corner of the room like it burnt.

“I hope you’re prepared to answer so many questions about my sexual performance when Garcia gets hold of this!” Spencer laughs, and you debate giving him blue balls for not coming to your rescue sooner. But the near constant buzzing of your own phone on the other side of the bed tells you in no uncertain terms that Garcia had been privy to your very brief phone call with Hotch, who undoubtedly told them all to behave but you know better.

Later, in the crisp afternoon air do you hook Spencer’s fingers in your own, a small gesture of solidarity and intimacy you can tell he greatly appreciated. From the end of the hallway, you spot the team who twist in a hilarious synchronicity.

Spencer squeezes your hand and you bring them up between you kissing interlocked fingers.

Art history class taught you that hands were the hardest thing to master, but you’d hold his forever.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #mathew grey gubler #spencer reid fanfiction

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