#Golf Clubs Without a Course
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psuejo · 9 days ago
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❥ boynextdoor!gojo and his adorable loser!neighbor :c
you never leave your house. like, ever.
the last time he saw you even step outside was two weeks ago on saturday at 1:02pm, and that was because you had to bring in the garbage can and mail since your parents were off on vacation.
how could you live like that? you just stay cramped up in your room, surrounded by anime posters and weird figures, hunched over some silly pc playing an even sillier game. it’s an absolute mess in there, too — empty cups and bottles everywhere, dishes that really need to go into the dishwasher, an ever-growing pile of unfolded clothes.
satoru can’t let you go on like this. the last time he snuck into your room for a little gift from your hamper, he’d nearly broken his neck. your room needs to be deemed a serious health hazard!
so, like any good neighbor would, the next time your parents leave to travel somewhere, satoru offers to stay at the house with you. y’know, for double protection. he wouldn’t want anything to happen to your parents’ precious baby girl!
you, of course, were not amused. c’mon, seriously? satoru gojo, the city’s it-boy, wanting to stay in your house that’s practically a shed in comparison to his massive mansion? it’s gotta be some cruel, twisted joke — an extra rusty knife shoved into the shitshow of your life.
but, no, unluckily for you. satoru is dead serious, and he pulls out all the stops to get your worrywart parents to agree: that bright, charming smile, a hefty compensation if anything goes awry, a voucher to some snobby golf club, and even an invitation to have dinner with his family.
what aspiring business person wouldn’t want to talk to the most influential clan in japan? they wouldn’t say no even if they wanted to.
it’s a win-win — they get to schmooze and network like the power-hungry vermin they are, and satoru gets to have you, his little cutie pie, to himself for a weekend, without any interruptions.
what could possibly go wrong?
you quickly realize that it is everything.
satoru is a pest. sure, you knew that already, but somehow his need to and the success rate of agitating you had skyrocketed in the past six months that you hadn’t seen him.
he’s always touching you — sitting too close on the couch, lanky arm slung along the back of it, his big hand ruffling your already messy hair whenever he walks past, or his feet brushing yours underneath the kitchen table.
and if that wasn’t bad enough, he never. stops. talking. it’s like when he was born, his genes forgot to put a switch to turn him off, because you swear he just goes on and on and on and on about nothing.
all you want is peace and quiet for a weekend. that’s it! your parents aren’t home to pester you about transferring to in-person classes at university or about finally applying for a job. alas, he’s here to spoil your damn plans.
your frustrations eventually reach a boiling point, and you relax the best way you know how: with that tiny pink vibrator.
you just didn’t expect satoru to walk in and offer to help.
which is precisely how you’re now in his lap, trembling legs spread as satoru pumps two long, slender fingers in and out of your needy cunt. they go way deeper than yours could ever hope to, curling and scissoring right against that sweet spot that has your back arching against his chest.
his other hand is clasped around your smaller one, making sure you keep your precious vibrator right on that puffy clit. if you wanted to get off so bad, all you had to do is ask!
but you didn’t, so he had to wait ‘til he heard those poorly stifled whimpers before casually strutting in for his forgotten phone.
oopsie.
“feels good, right?” he whispers, warm breath ghosting across the shell of your ear, and you don’t even need to see his face to know he’s smiling. bastard.
you nod your head, though, too far gone in the lusty haze to bother with being snarky. that delicate coil in your gut is so close to snapping, much closer than it usually is when you do this yourself. “mmf, yeah...”
and satoru knows it.
he moves your thumb to press the up setting twice on your toy, and his cock gives a happy twitch from its confines in his boxers when you squeal, hips bucking up into the vibrator and pushing his fingers deeper.
another oopsie.
one he doesn’t regret the second your moans get louder, gooey walls fluttering around his fingers as you grind up. “ohh, fuck, ‘m g’na cum, oh my god—!”
you’re so beautiful when you cum, eyes sliding back and squirt spraying the towel beneath you and satoru’s hand as you clamp down on his fingers, entire body shuddering and twitching.
he has to think about some long-winded chemistry formula to not cream his pants right then and there.
when you finally start to get your breath back, chest heaving and face flushed with what he’s sure is both arousal and embarrassment, that’s when satoru pulls his fingers free with a loud squelch.
“aww, she misses me already,” he coos, and you don’t even get a moment to be confused before he pops his fingers into his mouth, lapping up your essence like it’s his last supper.
it’s gross, hearing those wet slurping noises behind you, but your gut tightens anyway, and you ignore the small feeling of disappointment when he takes his fingers out of his mouth.
“don’t worry, baby.” with two big hands on your waist, he shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back. “i’ll stuff ‘er full with something bigger, how about that?”
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aureatelys · 3 months ago
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nobody does it like you do
pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here
summary:
You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.
c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, kinda flirty/brat!reader, car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn
read below or on ao3 here <3
You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.
It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.
You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.
Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.
You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.
You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.  
You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.
“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”
You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”
“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.
You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.
You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?
You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.
“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.
You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.
“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”
You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.
As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.
You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.
And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.
Interesting.
“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.
You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.
When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.
“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.
You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”
“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”
“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.
“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”
You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”
“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”
“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”
“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.
And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…
Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.
You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.
He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”
Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.
Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.
But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.
You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.
“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.
His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.
“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.
Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.
“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.
You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.
You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.
“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”
Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.
It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?
-
Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.
You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.
You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.
You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.
So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.
By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.
A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.
You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.
“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.
Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?
And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.
“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”
He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.
“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”
“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.
You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”
Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.
You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.
Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.
You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.
The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.
But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.
He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.
He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.
He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.
Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.
“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.
“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.
“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”
Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.
“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”
Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.
“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.
Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.
“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.
Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”
And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?
You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.
You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.
He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”
And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.
The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.
Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.
If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.
“Good girl.”
-
The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.
You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.
You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.
Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.
So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.
The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.
Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.
You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.
You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.
You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”
You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”
The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”
“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.
You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.
“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”
The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.
And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.
So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.
He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.
The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.
You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.
He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.
He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.
“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.
The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.
You place your hand on his crotch.
He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.
“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.
You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.
You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.
You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.
Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.
It's intoxicating, and you want more.
Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.
“You really can’t listen, can you?”
That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”
 “Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”
Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”
He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”
And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.
You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.
“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.
Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.
You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.
A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.
He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.
“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”
You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”
He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”
It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”
Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.
“Keep going.”
Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.
“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.
“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”
You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?
“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.
Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.
“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.
Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”
You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.
“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.
He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.
When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.
“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.
“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”
He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”
You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.
The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.
When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.
You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.
He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”
It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”
Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”
Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.
“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”
“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”
He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.
His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.
“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.
Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”
Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.
No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.
Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”
It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.
His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”
You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.
Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.
You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.
He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”
You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.
“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.
He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”
He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”
“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”
You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”
Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.
You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.  
Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.
“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.
“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.
A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.
He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”
Jesus Christ.
Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.
You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.
“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”
He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.
He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.
He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”
You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.
“Fuck, Aaron…”
He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”
Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”
Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”
And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.
You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.
His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”
You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.
You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.
You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.
He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.
“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.
You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”
He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.
He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.
He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”
You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.
You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.
“All of your clothes are still on.”
“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.
Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”
“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”
And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.
You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.
“Come on, let’s get going.”
-
The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.
To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.
You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.  
You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.
You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.
You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.
He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.
“We’ll figure it out.”
When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.
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itneverendshere · 6 months ago
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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c
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pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe
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you needed to stop taking other people shift’s. 
it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.
all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.
you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it. 
fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa. 
today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.
nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.
“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”
wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?
don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”
yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.
it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."
you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.
at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.
but these brats?
half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard. 
painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.
“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.
he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.
“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.
but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”
jesus christ. here we go.
you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head. 
“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.
they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.
“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.
who do you think you are, pitbull? 
he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”
fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.
you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.
“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.
you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.
“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”
best thing?
the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.
you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.
“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”
that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.
his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.
“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”
ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.
you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.
you're not impressed.
you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”
they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.
finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way. 
oh, wow, big spender. 
you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”
you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.
you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.
something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.
one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.
for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.
a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:
“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”
oh, for fuck’s sake.
your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first. 
one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.
“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”
legend? you almost laugh.
the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.
the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.
you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.
wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has. 
yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.
“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.
you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.
the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.
“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”
yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.
rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.
you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.
“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?
“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”
you never cringed so hard in your life.
rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”
you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you. 
everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.
“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”
here we go. 
you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.
the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.
and then, like clockwork, it happens.
“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”
oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.
you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.
there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.
“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”
my girl? my fucking girl?
one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”
you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.
no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.
still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.
he's only saying it to mess with you.
one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.
rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”
you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.
rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.
“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.
you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.
“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”
you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.
the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.
“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”
one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”
you don't let him finish. “one. minute.” 
they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.
like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.
the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.
“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”
“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.
they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.
finally, a moment of peace.
except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there. 
as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.
"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”
he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”
“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”
his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"
“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"
he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”
“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”
rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”
you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.
“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”
he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.
everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.
finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”
you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”
he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”
"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.
“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”
rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration. 
“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”
you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.
“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”
he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.
“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”
rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.
his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”
you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”
“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”
you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”
“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”
you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.
“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”
rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it. 
“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "
“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”
his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.
“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.
“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”
you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.
“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.
“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”
just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.
the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.
that’s when he takes his chance.
with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.
it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.
he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.
his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.
logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.
his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.
and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.
rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.
“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.
but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.
you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.
his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.
especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.
and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.
“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.
“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”
god, maybe you did.
the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.
within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.
“we miss anything?”
“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.
you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.
one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”
no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed. 
real, scary, big girl feelings. 
no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.
 “better than ever.”
eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.
“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”
his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.
he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to. 
you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.
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1K notes · View notes
whytheylosttheirminds · 7 months ago
Text
LUNCH
(rafe cameron blurb)
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pairing: waitress!reader x rafe cameron
content: smut, 18+ minors do not interact!
‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿
You usually liked your job. Being on your feet all day sucked, and some of the members here were assholes, but they were rich assholes and you never left without your purse overflowing with tips.
It only took a few weeks of waitressing at the Island Club’s restaurant to learn what kinds of things had you clocking out with pockets full of twenties and fifties. You weren’t even from North Carolina originally, but you adopted a sweet, southern drawl to match your fake smile. When you were back-of-house waiting on food for your tables, you’d drop the act, fucking around with the cooks and swearing like a sailor, immediately codeswitching to an angelic southern belle when you were back on the floor.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” the old men would say when you dropped off their burgers. 
“You’re welcome, hun,” you’d say to their face, followed by “get fucked, creep,” once your back was turned.
Somehow, the younger guys were even worse. At least the older men had some subtlety, but the twenty-something, trustfunded Kook boys that would come in had absolutely no tact, and they tipped like shit.
Today, none of your work friends were scheduled with you, your new manager had laid into you about your dress being too short for a professional environment, and to top it off, you were working a double. You were actually considering quitting when a herd of local boys came barrelling into the restaurant, fresh off of making fools of themselves on the golf course - all swagger and no skill. You groaned when they sat themselves in your section.
You had absolutely no patience left in you. Instead of your usual chipper greeting and the list of today’s specials, you arrived at their table snapping, “you’re supposed to wait to be seated.”
The guy closest to you looked up under the shadow of his Titlest hat, a smug glint in his eyes as he said, “y'know, you’d be prettier if you smiled. You’d make a lot more money too.” His buddies erupted in laughter, as if he’d just brought the house down with his wit.
You were so fucking done, not even caring if you lost your job.
“Eat me,” you bit back at him. A casual flick of your middle finger in his face as you spun and sauntered away. He watched your hips swing as you left.
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Your dress was bunched up around your waist and apron thrown on the club’s bathroom floor. He kneeled behind you as your nails dug into the marble countertop. Fingertips digging into your ass cheeks, he shook his head back and forth rapidly, dragging his tongue all over your pussy. His pornographic slurps made you whimper helplessly, so incredibly frustrated and turned on. He turned his hat around backwards so he could get deeper.
His big hand came down hard on the side of your thigh with a loud thwack. There would be a red handprint at the hem of your dress when you returned from your 15-minute break. If your boss wasn’t pissed at you before, you were in for it now. But you were too fucked out to care, forgetting all about your bad shift. You let him devour you, your whole body shuddering with every precise flick of his tongue against your clit.
He nibbled at the skin of your inner thighs as he hooked his fingers into you skillfully, drunk on the sound of all the pretty profanities that flowed from your lips.
You came so hard he had to hold you up against the bathroom sink, your knees shaking as you struggled to pull your panties back up. He stood behind you, wiping his mouth sloppily with the back of his hand. He caught your eyes in the mirror, smiling arrogantly at your bright red cheeks and smudged makeup.
“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” 
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Your legs wobbled as you walked back to the table with only his drink on your tray. His friends were already getting up to leave, complaining about how long their food was taking. You'd forgotten all about their orders. He took the cold glass from you with a wink, throwing it back before following his friends to the door.
“You gonna pay for that?” You scoffed.
“Put it on Cameron!” He called back.
You rolled your eyes.
Maybe you’d keep this job a little longer.
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rafesangelita · 9 months ago
Note
can you pleaseeee do some angst with pogue!sweetheart!reader, like she overhears some of the girls at the country club talking about her and saying things like “i don’t know what rafe see’s in her, she’s still a pogue.” and rafe possibly reassuring her? thank you!
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warnings: bullying (?), classist comments, slight fluff
a/n: i got carried away (like always lol) leave requests if you’d like!
“rafe, as much as i love you, i don’t think i can stand out here much longer.” you fanned yourself, using your hand to block the sun from hitting your face. rafe and topper were currently playing golf while you played cart girl for them, the summer heat quickly becoming far too hot for you to handle. rafe paused their game, jogging over to you as he took his wallet out of the pocket of his pants.
“start up a tab at the bar, go ahead and cool off, baby.” you accepted his card, silently asking ‘are you sure?’ before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “go, on.” rafe reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you make your way inside the country club.
you couldn’t help but sigh in relief when a gust of cool air blew past you, immediately ordering a virgin piña colada as you took a seat at the rather empty bar. rafe loved to bring you over to the country club, especially since you pretty much knew everyone from all the times you came to sell your baked goods, although it wouldn’t hurt to make some actual friends instead of acquaintances.
speaking of friends, you spotted a table not too far away, all three girls already looking at you before you smiled at them. no one smiled back. clearing your throat awkwardly, you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you waited for your drink to be made. “you see rafe out on the golf course today? he is just so handsome.” oh, god. your breath hitched, your heart dropping as you continued to listen in on their conversation.
“he is! why he’s dating some pogue baker girl? i’ll never know.”
“that’s literally her over there.”
you shut your eyes, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. “i mean.. she’s pretty and all, but at the end of the day she’s still a pogue.” the girl’s laughter echoed in your ears, your skin flush with embarrassment. “well, it’s obvious that she’s just a charity case. rafe probably feels bad for the girl.” the way they all collectively agreed with one another made tears prick at your eyes.
just when you thought the comments couldn’t get any worse, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the next accusation. “maybe he’s paying her to have sex with him or something. i could imagine she has to scrape for some kind of change if she lives on the cut.” you were crying now, refusing to let them see any kind of tears running down your face. “one virgin piña colada.” the bartender placed the pretty drink down in front of you, a round of laughter erupting from behind you.
“a virgin piña colada? what is she? twelve?”
deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you left a cash tip on the counter and muttered a ‘put it on on rafe cameron’s tab, please.’ before leaving without sparing them a single glance. to say you were mortified would be an understatement. rafe was probably going to freak out once he saw that you just up and left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there another second.
you didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when you heard rafe’s voice calling after you. “y/n!” he was panting when he finally got to you, “hey, wait a second baby.” you quickly wiped your eyes before turning around, your boyfriend immediately sensing something was wrong. “woah, woah, what happened?” rafe tucked your hair behind your ears, cupping your chin before using his thumbs to stroke your tear-stained cheeks.
“nothing, i just don’t feel so good-”
“it’s not that.” he cut in, eyes flickering between yours. “what happened?” rafe asked once again. you knew it was impossible to lie to him. “tell me, baby, so i can fix it.” his jaw clenched, blue orbs wide with concern. you laughed bitterly. “you can’t fix girls who gossip.” at your words, rafe blinked before looking back at the country club. “are you talking about the snobs at the table near the window?” rafe took your silence as his answer, nodding slowly before draping an arm across your shoulders.
“what did they say?” his voice was eerily calm as he walked you two over to his truck. “it’s stupid, really.” you sniffled, letting rafe place you in the passenger seat. he kept the door open, leaning on the frame as he took your hand in his. “tell me.” rafe’s voice was stern, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you sighed, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “they said that you have to be paying me to have sex with you because apparently i’m ‘scraping’ for change since i live on the cut.”
rafe’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he took your words in. “is that it?” he cleared his throat, his vision slowly blinding him with white hot anger. “they also said that they couldn’t understand why you would want to be with a ‘pogue baker girl’.. maybe their right.” rafe’s head shot up at your last statement, his face twisting in confusion. “what are you talking about?” he took your hand in his.
“i’m not even worth half of what these girls are,” you bit your lip to keep yourself from crying again, “i don’t have rich parents, i don’t have a trust fund that ensures i don’t have to work a day in my life, who am i kidding?” you shook your head. rafe studied you for a moment. “you know what you do have?” he lifted your chin, “a heart.”
“that’s something that no amount of money can buy. you have something priceless, y/n. you carry it with you everywhere you go.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, mumbling a ‘i’ll be right back.’ before he shut your door. you were a mess after that, his words not only being a comfort to you, but affirming.
rafe was gone for a few minutes before he strided out of the country club, a new piña colada in his hand. “here. now we sit and wait.” you took the drink from him, taking a sip as you watched two security guards escort the group of girls out. “what did you do?” you relaxed in your seat, glancing between rafe and the scene before you.
“got them blacklisted from the club. their parents aren’t as rich as you think.” he laughed, moving his attention to you. “don’t ever question yourself like that again. please.” he turned the engine on. “where are we going?” you asked. “we are going to go get you your own card, with your own little ‘trust fund’, alright?” he nodded.
“you’ll never have to worry about anyone talking like that about you ever again.”
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sturniqlo · 8 months ago
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WANT YOU- CHRIS STURN
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summary: headcannons of bff!chris who is in love with bff!y/n but they're both to afraid to say anything so they just flirt and do couple things without being official.
cw: cursing, suggestive material, fluff
an: lowercase intended | mix of both sfw and nsfw
masterlist
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bff!chris who cuddles you no matter what
"time for the best part of my day." chris says before hopping into his bed, wasting no time in cuddling his best friend y/n. "which is?" y/n says jokingly, even though he always says that anytime she stays over. "being able to cuddle you all night, you know i hate sleeping alone." he says, pressing a small kiss to her hoodie covered shoulder before hiding his face into her neck. "i know, i know." she says while running her hand in his hair.
"let her breathe, chris. my god." nick says as he comes down the stairs and sees his brother laying on top of y/n. "shut up, you're just jealous." he says lifting his head slightly before putting his face back in her neck. y/n only giggles, continuing to lightly scratch his scalp.
"wait, scroll back up. i wanna watch it again." he giggles and lifts his arm from around her waist to wipe his tears from how hard he was laughing. y/n scrolls back up and they rewatch the video and busy out laughing at the stupid video. chris buries his face in her tummy and continues laughing.
bff!chris who gets jealous whenever a guy looks at her
"what?" she says as she feels chris wrap his arm around her waist. they were currently at a club for their friends birthday. "that guy is looking at you." he nods his head towards the guy. y/n looks at the guy and decides to mess with chris a bit. "ouu, he's kinda cute" she teases "y/n, be serious." he says in her ear. "i'm kidding, i have my eyes on someone else."
"see that guy over there?" chris says as y/n looks through a rack of clothing. "where?" she looks around. "that one wearing the ugly brown tie dye shirt." y/n spots who's he's talking about. "what about him?" she continues to look through the clothes. "he keeps staring at you." chris glares at him. "stop glaring."
bff!chris and bff!y/n who accidentally kiss when saying goodbye
it started off with a kiss on the cheek. when y/n would go back home, chris would kiss her cheek as a form of saying goodbye, soon enough y/n picked up on the habit and also started doing it. one day, they accidentally kissed. "bye, chris." y/n hugs him. "bye, y/n i'll see you tomorrow, okay?" he goes to kiss her cheek and y/n does the same not realizing he's doing the same. suddenly their lips touch and they freeze. "oh my god- i'm sorry!" y/n's face is red. "it's fine, really." he giggles and blushes.
"bye, y/n." chris grabs her chin and places a small kiss on her lips. "oh- bye chris." she connects their lips again and pulls away once they are both gasping for air. "sorry, my lips slipped, see you saturday?" chris opens the door for her. "of course." she nods before walking out to head to her car. once her car is out of sight he closes the door smiling. "that was a very friendly goodbye between you two." nick teases. "shut up."
bff!chris who always gets hard whenever she sits in his lap
"y/n, s- stop," chris grips her hips to make her stop moving in his lap. y/n and chris were currently on their way to top golf with thier friends and she had to sit on his lap due to the lack of seating in the car. "chris, the car is moving, i can't help-" y/n is interrupted when she feels something poking her ass. "chris are you-" he puts his hand over her mouth. "shut up."
"hey, give it back! it's my turn to pick a movie!" y/n tries to reach for the remote that chris took from her hands as they were laying down on his bed. "no, you're probably going to choose one of those rom coms. we've already watching one." he lifts up his arm where y/n can't reach. "come on, chris. i know deep down you love 'em." she teases, getting rid of the blanket covering her and crawls to where chris is. "do not." he scrolls through the movies. y/n goes on his lap and tries to snatch it from him. chris freezes and he starts to feel a tightness form. "thank you." y/n grabs the remote and goes back to her spot. "i'll be back." chris coughs and heads to his bathroom.
bff!chris and bff!y/n who are always touchy with eachother
"excuse me, chris." y/n passes in front of chris and teasingly rubs her hand over her sweatpant covered dick. chris turns flustered and looks around to make sure his brothers or thier friends didn't see. he goes over to y/n who's three feet away from him and whispers in her ear. "don't start something you can't finish."
"chris!" y/n scolds him quietly, pushing his arm that was currently wrapped around her shoulders specifically his hand that was comfortably resting on her boob. "oops!" he looked at her with a knowing smirk on his face.
bff!chris who makes a playlist specifically for her
"go to my spotify and see what i made for you." chris giggles handing his phone to y/n. "im scared." she teases. "just go." chris watches as she unlocks his phone, the wallpaper being the two of them and she scrolls to the next page of apps, clicking on the app. the app opens and its opened to his many playlists. however, she spots a new one. for y/n 💫
chris was currently moping in his bed. it was day one of fourteen that y/n will be on vacation with her family for her parents wedding anniversary. he sighed, unlocking his phone seeing his favorite picture of the two of them, he opens his spotify app and plays his for y/n💫 playlist and opening his messages app. i miss you :( come back already. he sent it, a song and a half later, his phone pinged. it hasn't even been a whole day.... but i miss you too. i promise i'll stay over a while weekend at your house like we mentioned <3
bff!chris who always shows up to her house unannounced
y/n was sitting in her living room, rewatching her reoccurring obsession, twilight. she was two movies in when she heard the doorbell ring. she wasn't expecting anyone today. maybe it was one of her parents or siblings who forgot their house key. scoffing, she pauses the movie and gets up to head to the door. she opens the door and is met with chris. "what are you doing here?" she says confusingly. "y/n! i also missed you very much, and i glad you're happy to see me!" chris says. "sorry," she giggles, moving aside to let him enter the house. "i just wasn't expecting you here."
"there's a surprise in your room." y/n's younger brother says as soon as she enters the house. "what are you talking about?" she goes up the stairs, shopping bags in hand. opening her door, she sees someone comfortably laying in her bed. "oh good, you're back." chris rolls over and sits up, his hair a mess. "how long have you been here?" she laughs.
"y/n! there's someone here for you." her mom yells from downstairs. "coming!" she exits her room and walks down the stairs spotting chris right away, a fast food bag in one hand and a cup holder in the other. "chris? i didn't know you were coming." she signals her head so they can go upstairs. "thanks for the shake and fries, chris!" her mom says as they head up. "no problem!" he says back. "i heard from you mom that you weren't feeling well about your exam score, so i brought shakes and fries. thought we could watch some movies."
bff!chris who always get shit from his brothers because he still hasn't asked you out
"so, when are you gonna ask y/n out? still scared she's gonna reject you even though she gives you heart eyes every time she looks at you?" nick tells his brother, he knows how stubborn both his friend and brother are at expressing their feelings vocally. "soon." is all he says. "soon, soon, soon. you always say that." he mocks him. "i bet she's counting down the days until you ask her out officially."
"did you tell her?" is the first thing chris hears from his brother matt as soon as he walks through the door. "tell who what?" he puts his keys on the table. "don't act stupid, kid. did you ask y/n out officially?" matt explains. "not yet, soon though." chris says before heading down to his room. "soon, soon, soon." he hears matt say.
bff!chris who officially confesses his love for you
"i have to tell you something, and i think it's about time." chris says next to y/n. they were currently sitting on a huge rock watching the sun go down and seeing its reflection in the water. "what is it?" she picks up her head from his shoulder. "i really like you, like really really like you. i think it's safe to say that i love you. so much. and we've practically been acting like a couple for so long now, i think i want to make it official if you're okay with it?" he looks into her eyes, searching for an answer the bright sunset making her eyes pop. "really?" he nods. "really." he says, and she smiles. "so, can i be your boyfriend?" chris tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "only if i can be your girlfriend." she presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.
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erwinsvow · 11 months ago
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we need more moment where shy!reader was studying and practicing new things to show rafe!! ik that girl is so kinky and it’s always the shy girls <33
YESS omg i srsly love that drabble when i reread it im like she was cookin.. i feel like shes the type to try to prep herself with a dildo bc she can never take all of rafe but imagine he found it n was like ?!!?
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really—your boyfriend was too big. it was excessive, and though you could never find the words to tell him to stop or slow down—mostly because you didn't want him to—he always did anyways.
no matter how much you insisted that you could take all of him, rafe didn't like to listen. so you were stuck in a conundrum, and your choices were either lying to your boyfriend that it didn't hurt or accepting the fact that he'll never be as rough with you as you want.
you were willing to sit down and accept a lot of things without a fight—but this was not one of them.
one discreetly wrapped delivery later, you had yourself your very own rafe-sized dildo—a pretty pink color and of such a size that it had your insides churning with anticipation. about half an hour later with the use of some lube and lots of work, you were successfully able to fit about three-fourths. it wasn't perfect, yet, but it was a work in progress.
you didn't want to overdo it and end up insanely sore either, and you were beginning to realize even half was enough to have you cumming over and over again. so much so that you almost forgot about the date you had planned with rafe for that night—scrambling to get up and get ready.
that night, after a nice date and way too much ice cream, you realized you were too fucked out from your afternoon activity to go for another round for rafe. it was no big deal—except it happened the next day. then the day after that. and the one after that.
you had mastered the rafe-sized dildo, and you could take the entire thing after week of practice. but it also meant that it had been a full week without your boyfriend fucking you—something that hadn't happened since you had lost your virginity to him.
a little too clueless around rafe like always, you hadn't realized anything was wrong. rafe was on edge—pent up and unable to keep taking out his frustration on the golf course after almost breaking one of his clubs—but you didn't really notice.
you were waiting for tonight, after another date to show him your new-found skills, but of course, he didn't know that.
getting ready in your bathroom, blasting music and doing your makeup, you don't even hear the door open to your bedroom. rafe came to get you early, knowing you would need more time but way too antsy to wait alone in his car.
he sits on your bed, listening to the muffled music from behind the closed door. he's not impatient with you and hardly ever like this, but the current situation had left him more desperate to see you than usual.
leaning against your headboard, he feels something under your pillow. lifting it to move whatever it was—knowing you, the book you had been reading last night—his jaw clenches when he sees it. a dildo. not just any dildo—a huge dildo. under your pillow like you'd just been using it or something.
the pillow stays in his hand but he has an overwhelming urge to chuck it across the room. was this the reason the two of you hadn't had sex in a week? were you finding pleasure from some stupid toy instead of him?
"rafe?" you ask, stepping out of the bathroom and staring at the scene in front of you with big eyes. you're distractingly pretty everyday but even more so today with a short skirt and done-up face for the date he's not sure if he'll be taking you on.
your face burns with humiliation—stupidly realizing you hadn't put the damn thing away after last night. rafe is looking at you and then looking back at your bed, his fist tight around your pillow.
"um, i-"
"do you wanna explain? i'll give you five fuckin' seconds to explain-"
"no, it's not what it looks like-"
"really, kid? what it looks like is you're fuckin' this stupid thing instead of me. y'know, i'll just fuck off and you can have fun-"
rafe stands, not really angry but still sounding like he is. it's more pent-up frustration bubbling up, but you rush over to him anyways, looking so panicked he feels bad the second he said anything. he can't stay mad at you for longer than a minute.
"it's not what it looks like, i swear-"
"what is it then, huh?"
"i was just practicing! i was just trying to get better for you. see, it's yours." you motion to the toy still on the bed.
"huh?" rafe asks, looking between you and the bed.
"it's you. see. it's like... your size. um-" you get flustered again, shutting up in the fear that you've just said something to rafe that you should have kept to yourself. "i'm.. sorry?"
"no you're not."
"no, but i feel bad. are your feelings hurt? i'm sorry."
when rafe glances back at you, tearing his gaze away from the bright pink that's beginning to hurt his eyes, he realizes how sad you look, thinking you've done something to upset him.
"no, m'fine. just.. tell me next time. it was a jump scare."
"okay.." you stay still infront of him, awkwardly playing with your hands waiting for him to say something. you're a little concerned rafe's still upset, but he doesn't seem to look it, rather looking at you expectedly.
"what?" you question immediately, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"what? get on the bed. you've had enough practice. time for the real thing."
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ariesangelxo · 10 months ago
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okay so i was thinking something like rafe always gives like reader butt pats and she’s gotten used to it so much that she can’t go a day without it. so one day rafe doesn’t do it and she automatically thinks he’s mad at her but rafes not he just does the but pats without thinking. so then their whole day goes along with them fighting abt small things till rafe asks her what’s wrong and they make up🤗
🌶️anon!
rafe cameron x fem reader
minors & ageless blogs dni
cw: a bit of angst, a lil bit of comfort in the end. some suggestive content, spanking, reader is an overthinker, reader also isn’t good about talking abt her feelings
a/n: i’m sorry this took so long! i hope i did this justice <33
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being by rafe’s side was ninety percent of your daily routine. he’d asked you to move into tannyhill not long after ward passed, and being his loving girlfriend that doted on his every step, you did.
you couldn’t have been happier to spend nearly all of your time with him. rafe treated you like a princess. despite his rough reputation around outerbanks, you knew him to be the most loving man you’d ever met.
he could tell when you were upset, the small tells of you avoiding eye contact and biting down on your bottom lip made it obvious to him when you needed him most. he was usually able to get you back to your sweet and happy self with just focusing his attention on you. his touch, his voice, his presence, it comforted you in ways nothing else could.
rafe always gave you small pats on your ass throughout the day. it was something you’d grown accustomed to and you adored it. it was one of those little things he did that unknowingly made your heart swell. his casual dominance allowed you to turn your brain off, every thought in your pretty head revolved around him.
today, however, had been a bit different. it started with him not giving you the normal pat when you got out of bed this morning. you didn’t think too much of it, figuring he was probably concerned with work-related emails on his phone.
then it was the lack of attention while you made him breakfast. you enjoyed your small housewife-like duties. rafe walked into the kitchen, leaning his back against the granite countertop. but when he didn’t come up behind you and place a sweet kiss against your neck while aggressively claiming your ass as his, a slight pout formed on your lips. rafe was too engrossed in his phone to notice it though.
when you put a plate of food in front of him, he barely looked up to give you a half smile. you quickly went back to busying yourself in the kitchen, trying to keep your mind away from the anxious thoughts beginning to swirl around.
much to your dismay, washing the dishes wasn’t helping. did you do something wrong? could you have said something last night that, unintentionally of course, upset him? were you being too clingy? was it really just work?
you let out a deep sigh as you finished drying off a frying pan. “you okay?” rafe called out to you.
you turned to look at him, placing a small smile on your face that was definitely not genuine. “yeah, ‘m fine.”
he didn’t look satisfied with your answer, but he didn’t push any further. you didn’t want to share any of your current thoughts. if it was really only him being stressed with the business, you would feel bad for assuming otherwise. you didn’t want to overthink small things, but it was one of your unhealthy habits.
shortly after eating and cleaning up, you were upstairs in your shared room getting ready to go to the country club with rafe. he’d made plans a few days ago to go golfing with topper and kelce, naturally, you were going. rafe brought you with him almost everywhere.
you put on a short white tennis skirt, one that you knew drove him wild, along with a tight pink tank top. as you finished applying your layer of lip gloss, you looked yourself over in the mirror. there was no way rafe could resist giving you a firm slap on the ass when it looked so good in the tiny skirt.
“c’mon, kid. don’t have all day here.” he called out from the bottom of the stairs.
“‘m coming,” you responded, grabbing your small pink purse and heading down.
you walked out of the bedroom with a big smile on your face, nearly skipping down the hall. once you got to the top of the stairs, rafe looked up, giving you a quick smirk.
he held the door open for you on the way out of the house, and of course as you got into his truck, but still hadn’t given you a single pat today. you were genuinely beginning to grow concerned at this point. you could brush off not getting them when you got out of bed or while making breakfast, but when he didn’t give you one while you walked out of the front door, swaying your hips, or stepping up into his truck, purposely bending over so your mini skirt rode up? that was extremely unusual.
you buckled yourself in, leaning your knees closer to the door than him and stared out the window.
“you have an attitude?” he questioned you, his tone having a bit of edge to it.
“nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’, “‘m fine.”
you glanced over just in time to see rafe rolling his eyes. he didn’t verbally say anything, but his actions spoke loud enough for you.
you crossed your arms, childishly leaning further into the door to put what distance you could between the two of you. rafe let out a sigh, but still didn’t say anything.
the short drive to the country club was filled with tension. it was uncomfortably silent, neither of you speaking a word to each other.
rafe stepped out of the truck when you arrived, slamming his door shut a bit harder than usual. he still came to your side though, opening up the door for you to step out. he once again didn’t offer any touch to you. your heart sank, you truly didn’t know what was going on.
he grabbed his clubs from the back, walking ahead of you to go meet topper and kelce on the course. you followed behind, slow and stubbornly, your arms crossed and your brow furrowed with a pout on your lips.
you sat in the passenger seat, legs and arms crossed as your manicured nails tapped against your bicep in an irritated manner. you looked cranky, and you knew it based on the looks topper and kelce gave rafe when you initially followed behind him. you usually wore a bright smile and clung to rafe’s side, excitedly greeting the boys.
“what’s goin’ on with her?” you heard topper ask rafe. he attempted to keep his volume low so you wouldn’t hear, but with his naturally loud voice, he failed miserably.
your eyebrow quirked up. you were curious to hear rafe’s response.
“no fuckin’ clue.” rafe grumbled out, trying to focus on his swing. you rolled your eyes, it was his fault you were in a bad mood. he’s the one that’s been neglecting you since you woke up.
topper glanced over at you, letting out a slight laugh at your pouting. rafe’s eyes followed, he pinched his nose in annoyance.
he walked up to the cart where you were sitting, crossing his arms as he looked down at you.
“okay, kid. what’s goin’ on? why are you pouting?”
you let a small scoff out, furrowing your brows, “don’t act so interested now just because your friends noticed.”
rafe was taken aback at your tone. you never spoke to him with an attitude like that. his eyes narrowed, looking at you in a way that made you feel minuscule.
“you can lose that little attitude you’ve got goin’ on, now.” his voice was stern, dripping with annoyance. you wanted to disappear, you were so frustrated that he didn’t understand he was the reason for your attitude.
you looked away from him, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes as you said nothing and stared forward, not particularly focusing on anything.
rafe muttered a “whatever.” before walking back to where topper and kelce were.
you did feel bad for having an attitude, but the way you felt like you were being rejected by him made you want to shut down. it made you want to disappear from the face of the earth for a while. you felt embarrassed, upset, and now overwhelmed with your brain going into overthinking.
you didn’t say a word to any of the men as they played through the course. not even when rafe would get into the drivers seat and bring you two to the next hole.
you instead spent that time biting down harshly on the inside of your lip, fighting to keep the tears of frustration from falling past your eyes. you tried to focus on literally anything else, but the constant noise of thoughts swirling through your brain made it impossible.
they’d wrapped up the last hole. you heard rafe saying something about possibly meeting them around the country club after for lunch.
you refused to look up at him, even when he started heading your way. you missed the way he wore a half smirk as he looked at your pouting figure. he knew you were upset about something, but you weren’t great about vocalizing your feelings.
“d’you want to go back to the restaurant for lunch?”
“don’t care,” you muttered out, looking down at your nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.
“well, your options are either that or we can go home. your choice, kid.” he wasn’t feeding into your baiting tone, and that just irritated you further.
“said i don’t care, rafe.”
“s’okay. we can go home and you can take a nap, because you clearly need one.” he rounded the golf cart, hopping into the driver’s seat as he brought you back to the entrance.
you got out before he could, beginning to storm your way to his truck.
“hey! slow the fuck down. you know you don’t walk into a busy ass parking lot without me.” he called out to you.
you halted, but didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. you mumbled an “okay, asshole.” under your breath, not thinking he’d hear.
boy, were you wrong. it took a matter of seconds for rafe to be in front of you, one of his large hands squishing your cheeks as he moved jaw up to look at him, “wanna say that again, princess?” he said challengingly.
you didn’t respond. wrong answer. his nostrils flared as he squinted at you. he gripped your wrist, harshly dragging you to where the truck was parked. he brought you around to the passenger door where it blocked onlookers from the country club from seeing you.
“i don’t know what the fuck’s goin’ on with you today. but i will not put up with this shit in front of others. you know i- i have a reputation to uphold here, right? you think it looks good on me for others to see my girl being a bitch towards me, huh?”
your lip wobbled as tears began to fill your eyes. you wanted to look away, to look anywhere besides his mean stare, but his rough hand on your face wouldn’t allow it.
“no!” you cried out, “just- just wanted your affection. dunno why you’re mad at me.” you whimpered out, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.
“kid. why do you think i’m mad at you?” he quirked an eyebrow inquisitively.
“b-because you haven’t given me a single pat today! ‘nd you give me them everyday!”
he closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale to calm himself.
“you think i’m mad at you because i haven’t smacked your ass today?”
when he said it like that, it sounded stupid. but it felt like so much more than that to you.
he rolled his eyes, using his hands to wipe away the tears on your face. he made sure you were looking at him, “sweetheart, ‘m not mad at you. i’ve been busy with some clients that aren’t following through on their payments today.”
you looked at him hopefully, hiccuping as you brought your hands up on his.
“do you pinky promise you’re not mad at me?” you asked him softly, holding out one of your pinkies.
“pinky promise. but you’re not gonna be able to sit tomorrow with the spanking you’re getting when we get home.” he reached out his pinky, stifling back a smirk as he intertwined them.
“m’kay!” you responded happily, the tears stopping and a smile appearing on your face.
he opened up the passenger door, holding his hand out to help you get in before he gave your bottom a firm pat and buckled you in.
he chuckled to himself as he rounded the truck, “all that attitude because she didn’t get her ass smacked, huh?”
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rafedaddy01 · 4 months ago
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rafe fucking the Bev cart girl and recording it for black mail
love your work 🥰
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You drove the little golf cart around the entire course, making your usual stops, greeting customers, and taking their drink orders. You flashed your pearly whites and bent over just the right way in that mini skirt, hoping for extra tips. Your last group of players was particularly annoying: Rafe Cameron and his friends Topper and Kelce. The trio were regulars at the club, and you had the displeasure of being their bev girl nearly every time. Rafe, in particular, was an asshole—one of those guys who spends daddy’s money without a care for anyone else’s enjoyment. You’d never admit it, especially to him, but he was as gorgeous as he was insufferable. The other two weren’t as bad as Rafe. They’d throw out comments, but only after Rafe did, almost like they were trying to win his approval.
You drove the little wagon over to their usual spot, offering your greeting with a practiced smile—though this time, you flashed a little less of it, just enough to still earn the tips you desperately needed. As expected, they ordered the usual: two beers and a whiskey for Rafe. You bent down into the cooler to grab the beers, the cool air hitting your face as you heard a whistle from behind you. You turned around, finding Rafe standing there with a golf club positioned behind his neck, his arms gripping the metal ends as his biceps flexed against the fabric of his shirt. The sight made your legs clench involuntarily, and for a split second, you couldn’t help but imagine how effortlessly he could pick you up and toss you around, no problem at all.
He took a step closer, his eyes roaming your body like a man starved. “Lookin’ good, princess,” he murmured, his voice laced with lust. You rolled your eyes, annoyed but not surprised, handing him his drink before turning to walk toward the boys behind him. As you approached them, you handed off their beers, exchanging a polite smile with Topper and Kelce. You could hear them chuckling quietly, no doubt feeding off Rafe’s energy. When you turned back, you found Rafe leaning casually against your cart, his smile almost charming for a moment. His eyes lit up when he spotted you, a glint of amusement in them. You couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter in your chest, but then you remembered exactly who you were dealing with. With a sigh, you walked back to the cart, preparing to take off. “That’s right, keep walking, princess,” Rafe called out, his tone cocky, but his eyes following closely. You didn’t respond, hopping into the seat and starting the engine, ready to leave the group behind. But then, just as you were about to pull away, you heard him again, “when are you gonna let me taste that pussy of yours, y/n?” The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you could fully process them, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck your head felt dizzy as you realized how close he was, his voice low and taunting, practically breathing down your neck as he leaned over the cart. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The scent of his cologne, that signature mix of sandalwood and whiskey, flooded your space, making it hard to think straight. You didn’t even know how to respond, your body tensing as you fought to regain your composure.
“Gonna let me do it right now?” Rafe smirked, clearly enjoying the shock on your face. He’d always made those flirty little comments, teasing you about how you made his drink or how you looked in that uniform. But this was different—he’s never come on this strong before. The sudden directness made your heart race, and to your dismay, a tingle shot through your core. You hated that you craved more of it.You nodded slowly, unsure of what the hell you were getting yourself into, but feeling a pull toward him that you couldn’t deny. Rafe tsked in mock disappointment, but there was no hiding the amusement in his eyes. He threw his golf club back toward his friends with a casual flick of his wrist, informing them he’d be right back. Without missing a beat, he slid into the empty seat beside you. The engine hummed to life as you started to drive away, your mind spinning, not entirely sure if you were making the right decision—or if you even cared anymore.
Next thing you knew you were parked off not to far from topper and Kelce, it wasn’t exactly a secluded spot. Just an area with some trees and tall grass. Anyone could walk buy and see you shamelessly bent over the seat to your cart, skirt covering the way Rafes cock pushed in and out of your sticky folds, teasing the poor hole he’d been abusing for 10 minutes straight.
Rafe made to his promise and ate you out like a mad man, before. shoving his tongue inside you and sucking all the liquids you had to give him. He made you see stars with the way his tongue danced on your clit, licking and sucking. Pulling away when you came all over his face and licking his lips like he had just sucked a lollipop.
You thought that was as good as it was gonna get until he flipped you over and shoved his cock inside you. His tip hitting your g-spot instantly. His palms coming to the front of you and pushing the flimsy top you had on to grope at your breasts.
“Such a pretty whore” flipped the little skirt up and swatted your ass, watching as the skin jiggled. “Takin my cock right here out in the open, where anyone could see” he smacked the skin again, watching it turn red and groaning when you moaned in pain. “Why don’t you turn around and say hi to the camera, baby. Wanna make sure I get the good shot of your fucked out face” the sentence makes all the pleasure dissipate as you look over your shoulder to see his phone camera pointed right at you. “Just a little reminder that I own you. Ever refuse me again and the whole island will see what a slut you really are”
He thrusted his hips faster, chasing his own high and forgetting completely about you as you hugged the seat you were pressed against and covered your mouth so he wouldn’t hear you moan, your tears spilling down your cheeks as you realized you now belonged to rafe Cameron and this was his plan all along. You fell right into his trap.
Taglist
@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10 @writingroom21 @wtfdudesblog
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withjaejae · 5 months ago
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Hole-in-one | JJK
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A day of golf goes better than expected despite being ditched by your bestfriend and spending the afternoon with your so-called rival.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
High society of sorts, Richie Rich type of wealth.
Warnings: Oral (m/f), sexual jokes, dig bick Jk, playful banter, unprotected sex, squirting, throat fucking, sexual tension, one-shot. (Did I miss something?)
A/N: I wanted to write more but I thought it ended ok. My knowledge on golf is based on Wii which I stopped playing a long time ago. So bear with me.
I have no way to know how long but enjoy.
Because some of you asked nicely
PART 2 PART3 PART4 PART 5 Complete
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You groan in frustration as you read Namjoon's text saying he left with the girl he met at the club lobby.
It was a nice sunny afternoon, perfect for golf. At least Namjoon was gonna fill holes either way and that irks you the most. He's had women, left and right, while you struggled with your types.
All you want was a man who shared the same things you like. Golf was your thing, Namjoon came for the women who thought they were stealing him from you. When in fact, Namjoon was your cousin/best friend.
"Alone today?" The attendant, Jean, always met you with a smile and your golf clubs.
"Yeah, unfortunately my cousin can't last a second without a mouth around his dick." Her face flushed a deep crimson. "No offense." Yup, she and Namjoon did it too.
"None taken, I'm over it." She shrugs and grabs the golf kart key from the shelf. "Shall we?"
"I think I wanna go solo today, Jean. Thanks." You take the key from her and she nods. She knows better than to say no to you.
Your custom lavender colored Kart waited for you, your initials in mettalic purple on the front. It was parked next to several other custom karts.
You arrived at your first course. A man was already standing there, setting up his own stuff. No caddie in sight, you notice his arms and very much know who he is. You look at the deep purple colored kart next to yours.
"No girls to fuck on this fine afternoon, Jeon?" You smirk as you step out of your kart.
He stands up straight at the sound of your voice, he doesn't need to turn around to know its you.
"I wondered why the birds stopped singing." He continues to set up his tee. "No dicks to suck?" He quips.
"I don't fuck on the weekends." You're unfazed having been bantering like this for about a year now.
"Oh look, we do have things in common." He calls 'fore' before swinging his club.
You both watched as the ball lands near the hole. Out of respect you clap your hands, that was a good swing.
"Namjoon?" He finally turns to look at you, his eyes rake over your legs, your skirt is too short for golfing and your top hugged you so well he could outline your tits.
"Found a poor soul in the lobby before he could even touch some grass." You snort and pull out your own driver and ball.
He steps back, clearly you both could use the company even if it meant mean retorts.
You take position, he doesn't even try to be subtle about oggling at your ass.
You and Jungkook are neighbors but you studied abroad for middle school and highschool. Why you chose to come home for college, you're not sure. But you and Jungkook are in senior year now and you have common friend groups but not really that close until...
A year ago, you finally joined your parents to the Jeon's hunting weekend, it was an annual thing. It was going smoothly for the most part but when you and Jungkook shot the same boar at the same time, that's when the mean comments started. It was a rivalry of sorts, one trying to become better than the other.
Contrary to what he said earlier, you have too many things in common being raised in high society.
You see each other all the time at sport events and even charities but nothing beyond those events.
To be here with him, without anyone else is a first. You both won't admit that you've been crushing on each other but your society knows there's tension between you two.
"Nice ass." He comments just as you swing. Your ball landing a bit far from the hole.
"You did that on purpose." You frown at him, he was already smirking with that cute bunny looking face, his nose scrunched up.
"I did. Now look, looks like you need two more strokes to make it." He snorts as he walks towards his kart and you groan as you follow him.
"Title of your sex tape." You comment under your breath, he laughs.
You both drive down the path towards the hole.
You study the distance of your ball to the hole and his distance. You can make it in one, if you're lucky.
He lines himself up.
"Nice ass." You say back as he swings and it goes right in. You roll your eyes.
"Two strokes." He winks and moves to stand next to you. Shoulders touching, suddenly it feels warmer.
You stop to feel the wind, you work on your angle and with one stroke, it goes in too.
"Impressive." He claps his hands too and you made a little curtsy. "Never thought you'd be this good at golf."
"You see me here all the time. Doesn't that make sense?" You take both balls from the hole.
Instead of putting the ball in his palm, you make a bold move of standing in front of him while slipping both in his pockets.
"There, now you have a pair of balls." You look up at him, for a second his eyes darkened but the smirk was back.
He leans down, lips nearly touching. "YN, if you wanted to touch my balls, all you need to do is ask."
Your cheeks feel hot and it doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook. But you never back down.
"I thought you didn't have any." You lean closer, one more move and your lips would be touching.
"I can show you right now." Your face moves back. "All talk and no walk, a shame." He stands up straight. "But if you want it so badly. When I do a hole in one, you be my caddie. And if you do a hole in one, I'll fuck your brains out."
You snort but can't help feel the rush of wetness from between your folds.
"You say that like fucking you is a prize." You step away from him. "The only hole you'll get to fill today are on the course. But..." You flip your hair to the side, a mischievous glint in your eye. "If you wanted to, all you have to do is ask."
"Oh? Then, YN, can I fuck your brains out?" Oh, he's bold. You roll your eyes and walk back to your Kart.
He follows you, with a grin plastered on his face.
"Are you scared you might actually like it?" You scoff and look at him. Your heartrate suddenly spiking.
"I'm afraid I might get disappointed." You start to feel hot. Its only been one course, if you go back now. Jean will definitely say something.
"Oh baby, I could live up to your gold standard. I am gold standard." He's cocky and arrogant but god it would be a lie to say you're not turned on.
"See you at the next course, Jeon." Your kart starts backing up and he rushes to follow you again.
You both arrive at the same time, this time at a more difficult course.
"The next course we should do is intercourse." He hasn't even reached you yet and he's already teasing.
"Shut up before someone hears you." You forcefully stick your tee on the ground.
"Why? Its not like we're both kids, plus nobody is around." He looks around, the next group of golfers are a hectare away.
You sigh and face him again. He loves riling you up, it was just playful banter before and now that you've entered this kind of teasing, he loves your reactions.
"Okay." You declare. His grin ceasing a bit, his eyebrows raised. "I'll tee first, if I do a hole in one, you get on your knees and..."
"Beg for your forgiveness? Princess I don't beg." He smirks again, he licks his lip piercing.
You step even closer, your tits touching his chest and he loves the feeling. "No, I want the golden boy to get on his knees and show me what that mouth can do other than tease." His throat runs dry.
Shit. "Is that supposed to be a punishment? You'd probably beg for more once I'm done." He kicks his leg, hopefully to free some space in his pants for his growing boner.
You hum. "Another thing we have in common, I don't beg." Lie, you always beg in bed.
"Deal. But if I make a hole in one, you're the one getting on your knees." He's confident. Given your 'punishments' aren't really punishments. He'd love to eat you out, but he won't tell you that.
But you know this course, you've hit holes in ones in this. Yout heart is beating loudly almost clouding your senses. Jungkook has a permanent teasing smirk on his face you'd like to kiss off.
Out of all the places you could have teased each other into fucking, you didn't expect it to be at the golf course.
"Don't worry princess, I'll be gentle... At first." He chuckles.
You take a deep breath and swing. You both watched the ball as it flies over the field. You bit your lip at it lands an inch away and it falls right in. Your hands fly in the air cheering for yourself.
"Are you this excited to have me eat you?" He was standing directly behind you, his warmth and scent engulfing you. "My turn."
You step away and wink at him. He takes a deep breath and swings. You both watch as it takes the same speed and the same arch and his ball lands the exact same way yours did. A hole in one for the both of you.
He turns to you with a satisfied grin.
"I hope your throat is ready for me princess." Your nerves are going haywire at his voice. Did it get lower?
You quietly head to your kart, you nod to the side, gesturing him to follow you and you drive away.
The thing with this club house is, both your parents are partial owners, hence you have access to the many rooms the place offers if you asked.
Lucky for you, you already planned on staying the night since it was a free weekend.
You barely parked properly, tossing the key to the valet. You meet Jean and you ask for a room key, she eyes you then behind you, sure enough Jeon Jungkook was standing there, watching your ass again.
She hands you the key card. No more words exchanged between you, sexual tension builds in its wake.
You head to the elevator and head to the third floor. The suites.
Your breathing is starting to get ragged as you feel the fragile tension inside the elevator. Jungkoom just stood there, eyes forward, hands in his pockets. He refrains from moving since this place had security camers and your neighborhood would have a field day if you fucked in the club elevators.
But all he can hear is his heartbeat, all he can smell is you, and all he can feel is the tightness in his pants.
He follows you down the hall, and you swipe the key card. The moment the two of you cross the threshold and the door securely locked. You turn to face him and his hands are already on you, pulling your face into feverish kiss. You moan into the kiss as he lifts you up, your legs wrap around his torso.
He takes you to the couch. He grins into the kiss.
"What?" You pull away, you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.
"I was thinking who should get their prize first." His hand was on your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip. You take it into your mouth and suck on it. "fuck." He mumbles and his breath gets caught in his throat.
"Since I'm being generous." You get off him and get on your knees in front of him. "Wouldn't want to keep my goldben boy waiting." The way you called him yours made his heart skip a beat.
It was a joint effort to take his pants off. What he didn't expect was for you to take your top off, a sexy lace bra underneath it. Usually, you wear a sports bra but you didn't feel like it today. Now you know why.
He's huge. Your wetness growing in your panties. Eager to have him, you take a hold of his base and rub his dick over your face.
You moan and finally take him into your mouth. He hisses and moans.
His fingers weave through your hair. The way you look up at him as you take him deeper almost made him cum. Fuck, for years you basically ignored each other despite everyone teasing you about ending up together since your parents were basically best friends, had you known that his dick would fit perfectly in your mouth.
You moan around him, the vibrations sending Jungkook into pure bliss.
"Keep going." His head was thrown back as he moans loudly. "So fucking needy." You took him deeper to show him how needy you can become.
He takes your hands and places them on his thigh. "Double tap if you can't take it." You nod knowing what he'd do next. He did say he'd be gentle at first.
He weaves both hands into your hair this time and fucked your throat. Your tears and drool flow freely, you look like a fucking porn star and Jungkook loves it. You're taking him so well he moans out loudly.
"I'm gonna fucking cum down your throat." He forces his words out and you simply take in his thrusts. With one last shove he shoots his load down your throat, you swallow around him. "Holy fucking shit, where the hell have you been all my life." His breathing was ragged as you pull off him, grinning like the slut you are. "Who knew that a princess like you loved to be treated like a whore, my whore."
He makes you stand up, you use your shirt to wipe off the drool, you avoid your tears that made makeup run down your cheeks, that's going to stain.
Jungkook kisses your pelvis as he rids you of your skort. The lace thong that matches your bra peek through and he's starting to get hard again.
He takes off his shirt and pulls you down for you to land over his shoulder. He stood up like you weigh nothing, you shriek and giggle at the way he's handling you.
He literally throws you onto the bed, but the way you landed seemed so graceful in Jungkook's eyes. So pretty, so delicate, like you were made of porcelain with the sex drive of a succubus.
His eyes were glassy, hazed from the mindblowing head he received. Crawling towards you as you scoot up to the headboard.
"Time for your prize princess." He uses his teeth to pull down your thong and expertly unclasping your bra.
"I better get my money's worth, Mr. Gold standard." He captures your lips in his before slowly kissing down on your skin, your eyes roll to the back of your head as he finds the sweet spot near your clavicle.
Your scent is addicting, what he'd give to get a taste of you everyday. He can make that happen, he will make that happen.
After all, high society is all about marrying each other to keep the weath from seeping out of your grasp. He's hypnotized by the way your chest rises and falls as he inches towards your needy pussy.
You've lost it the moment his tongue comes in contact with your folds. He wastes no time devouring you, you sound so good.
This is bad, so bad that he hasn't even fucked you properly and he already wants to marry you. Keep you close because nobody else should see what he's looking at right now.
His tongue works wonders, lips sucking on ever inch. You were chanting his name like it was a prayer. "Holy fuck baby." The petname sounds so nice coming from you.
It wasn't long until your moans become more high-pitched as you fuck yourself on his tongue. What threw you over the edge were the two fingers he inserted. You were squirting all over his face, your body shaking like a leaf.
"That was hot." He smirks up at you, putting both hands on your face as you tried to control your breathing. "You okay?" He moves up to hover over you, prying your hands away.
"I've never... I—I haven't..." Squirted but you can't seem to say it. Jungkook captures your lips again, you taste yourself.
"I'm honored, princess." He teases and you blush. How can he make you feel giddy when you literally just came all over his face.
Something inside you tell you that you'll never find another man who can make you feel like this, who can make you cum like that. No, you need this everyday.
"Jungkook." You reach down towards his erection. "I want you to fuck my brains out." Referring to your earlier conversations.
"Fuck yes baby." He dives in to kiss you with much more need than the previous one.
The tip of his head was rubbing against your opening, he was waiting for you to protest and ask him to wrap it up but you dig your heels on his ass instead.
"Fuck me." Your fingers scrape through his hair. "Please, baby." He chuckles.
"I thought you didn't beg?" He finally pushes in you, your mouth falls open but you don't make a sound other than a small squeak. "You're made for my cock. So fucking tight." He grunts.
You start begging him to go faster and harder, Jungkook happily obliges. With your thighs thrown over his shoulder, his hand wrapped around your throat, he could get used to this. You feel so good and he wasn't holding back from telling you what a good whore you are.
He lifts your ass up just a little hitting you at an angle you never knew felt so fucking good you're cumming again.
He fucks you, over and over. One orgasm after the other, you've lost count of how many. It wasn't until he spills his load all over your tits that he finally collapses next to you.
After care be damned, you both fall asleep in each other's arms covered in cum.
Your phones ring at the same time. 6pm sharp.
"Hey dad." He groans into the phone.
"Mom." You pick up your own phone.
Legs still tangled around each other as you both spoke to your parents. You both answer the same thing.
"Let me guess, dinner?" Jungkook tosses his phone on the night stand as you lay yours gently.
"Yeah, at your place." You mumble. "I think we passed out." You giggle.
"Fuck yeah we did." His bunny toothed smile. "Wanna shower together?"
With your body aching like crazy you decide to shower here. The warm bath helping you recover, of course you two fucked again.
He drops you off at your house before parking his car at their mansion next door. He waves at you as you both enter the house.
Your mom was standing by the window with a huge grin on her face.
"Did Jungkook drop you off? I though you weren't close like that?" She asks as you step up the stairs.
"Yeah, but we... We went golfing today. It was fun." You smile, and your mom simply nodded.
It was more than fun. It was definitely gold standard. The best hole in one you've had.
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Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Complete)
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vainvenus · 1 year ago
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⌲;꒰ Pretty please!! ꒱
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Characters :: John "B" Routledge, JJ Maybank, Pope Heyward, Rafe Cameron.
Synopsis :: You ask your boyfriend to do a simple task for you just to see if he will.
Includings :: Short drabbles, established relationships, acts of service, nicknames, just lots of fluff, maybe ooc Rafe
An :: Just because I think this trend is adorable
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« J. Routledge »
"JB, can you pick out the pomegranate seeds for me? I don't like how sticky it is."
John B glanced back over at you as he stated at the Pomegranate and his lips press together in a thin line.
"Why didn't you get it in the cups? Where it's already all seeds?" He asks and you shrug, still holding the fruit out.
"It's sweeter this way. Please?"
He doesn't want to do it, not because he just doesn't want to; but because he doesn't really know how to peel a pomegranate.
But he nods with a smile as he grabs it from you and moves to grab the cutting board. "Of course, baby."
|★|
« J. Maybank »
"JJ can you pretty please with cherries on top peel this orange for me?"
JJ chuckles a bit as he raises his brows in slight amusement, tilting his head towards you.
"What? Can't peel it on your own?"
He snickers, sort of making fun of you and you just shrug, holding it out to him again and he rolls his eyes playfully as he takes it from you.
He digs his nails into the skin of the fruit as he peels it back. He's a bit messy with it, but he gets the job done.
He takes one of the slices, popping it into his mouth and hands you the rest.
"There. Is there anything else of yours that I can peel off?"
|★|
« P. Heyward »
"Pope! Tie my shoe, please."
"Of course." Pope hums and stops right in his tracks, he doesn't even question it or give you a confused look.
He gets down on his knees, patting one for you to place your shoe on his knee and he brings your hand to his shoulder to use as leverage.
He smiles as he ties your shoe, a simple task that he knows you could have done yourself but he doesn't mind doing it for you.
He taps your other shoe so both of them are tied the same and have less of a chance of untying without you even having to say anything.
He finished both shoes and dusts off his knees as he grabs your hand, entwining it with his and he places a kiss on your temple.
"There. Anything else you need?"
|★|
« R. Cameron »
"Rafee! Can you reapply my lipgloss?"
Rafe looks over at you, not quite hearing you the first time so he walks over to you, leaning his golf club against the golf cart where your seated.
"What was that, princess?" He hums when he finally got close enough and you hold out your [f/color] lipgloss tube.
"I asked if you could reapply my lipgloss for me."
He's amused and a bit astonished at your request because it's so simple for you to do it yourself. He even narrows his gaze at you a little bit and you only smile.
"Are you fucking with me?"
"So is that a no?"
He inhales deeply and sighs, grabbing it from you. "Fine."
Rafe grabs your face softly to tilt your head up as you pucker your lips at him and he applies the lipgloss to your top and bottom lip in a fresh glossy coat.
"There. All better now?"
You nod, smiling and he can't help but smile back as he places a kiss on your lips and you groan that he messed it up.
He only shrugs and leans back in for another.
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httpsserene · 7 months ago
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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒
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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)
⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻
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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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ch33z3grits · 2 months ago
Text
Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series
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pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson
summary: Camille tries to push away her feelings as she navigates her hesitation surrounding her engagement. Terry lays the foundation for the most important part of his plan so far.
warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, obsessiveness/possessiveness, stalking, angst, mentions of blood and violence, fluff
word count: 7700
a/n: as promised, posted a day early 🙂‍↕️ (only roughly edited tho lolll) lmk what y'all think of the new POV 👀
Camille’s song: You Right-Doja Cat | Terry’s song: I Luv Your Girl-The Dream
Pt. Four
Camille
Camille woke up feeling refreshed, an undeniable excitement flowing through her. It had been about a two months since she started rotating between Aston and Terry, and the difference in her energy and happiness was stark. And it was all thanks to Terry, the man who made every week vibrant for her. He had a way of making each day feel full of purpose—whether it was high-energy and spontaneous, or laid-back and easygoing. He knew how to balance it all, and Camille found herself eagerly anticipating whatever he had in store next. One day, he was patiently showing her how to swing a golf club as they entertained his clients at Top Golf. The next, they were hunched over case files, dissecting old archives over a quiet lunch. He had a way of seamlessly blending work and play, of making everything feel interesting and engaging.
On other days, he would take her to community events, like mentoring young Black men eager to get into law. Or they would spend hours tracking down secondary sources to support a particularly tricky case. With Terry, even the most mundane tasks became something she looked forward to.
And with each passing rotation, Camille could feel herself slipping further into the pull of her crush on him, which she still refused to fully acknowledge. It wasn’t just his gorgeous face, his sharp intellect, or his easy confidence that captivated her. It was the way he made her feel valued and understood. She felt safe in his presence. And, there was an almost cherished feeling that washed over her when he looked at her, as if she were more than just a colleague to him.
Now, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case. He had plenty of people fawning over him in the office. Especially Stephanie, who hovered around him, doing whatever she could for his attention. Stephanie’s beauty and sex appeal was unmatched in the office. So Camille knew that she didn’t stand a chance. Besides, she couldn’t be with Terry anyway. She needed to finally get her father’s acceptance and protect her family’s financial security. A one-sided crush couldn’t get in the way of that. 
The best part of finally feeling rested was that Camille had the energy to dive back into the things she truly loved. The first thing on her list was the early morning yoga sessions led by her best friend, Kali, every Saturday. The classes were always a space where they could reconnect. 
Camille and Kali had met during their freshman year at a Black Student Union meeting. They quickly became inseparable, their bond growing stronger with every shared experience, every late-night conversation, and every laugh that made their sides ache.
When Camille moved to Houston three years ago, she was gripped by a crushing homesickness that left her feeling isolated and making friends seemed impossible. It didn’t help that her job at the time was draining her spirit. Each day felt like a struggle to just get through.
She poured her heart out to Kali about how difficult it had been to adjust. Without hesitation, Kali packed up her life and moved to Houston a month later. When Kali’s father, who raised her by himself, passed away the following summer after a battle with lung cancer, Camille became Kali’s rock. She stayed at her apartment for weeks, helping her with chores, managing her commitments, and comforting her through the grief overall. 
Through all the highs and lows of their twenties, they had always been there for each other, whether it was celebrating achievements or pulling each other out of the darkest moments. But as time passed, life got busier. Camille’s career demands intensified, and the frequency of their interactions dwindled. Weekends that used to be filled with laughter and long talks now felt like rare treasures.
So, Camille had been counting down the days to this Saturday, eagerly anticipating the chance to spend time with her best friend again. It had been too long, and she was ready to pick up where they left off, to feel that comforting sense of sisterhood again.
Camille got to the studio right at 7 AM, jumping into Kali’s arms as soon as they saw each other. “Bitch, I’ve missed you soooo much,” Kali shouted as Camille pulled away. “We have so much to catch up on. Especially whatever this tea is you could only tell me in person.”
Camille hadn’t yet told her, or anyone for that matter, about Terry working at her firm and the feelings it brought about for her. It was the kind of thing that she was too afraid to discuss over the phone, just in case Aston was in earshot. Since they hadn’t seen each other since Chloe’s wedding, she had nearly three months of stuff to tell her about. 
She buzzed with anticipation as the class came to a close. As she wrapped up her yoga mat, Kali waved bye to her last client before turning back to Camille. They squealed, hugging each other once more. 
“Cammie, I’m just so happy to see you! It’s about fucking time that Aston gave you a damn break,” Kali scoffed. Camille sighed. Kali had witnessed the entirety of Aston and Camille’s relationship. She was there for her when Camille first found out about him cheating. She was her shoulder to cry on when she went through the heartbreak. When they got back together, she was very vocal about her dislike for him. And she still can’t stand him, even all these years later. It’s gotten to the point that Aston and Kali aren’t allowed to be in the same room, due to Kali throwing a drink on him at Camille’s graduation party. Camille had to beg him not to press charges and Kali had to promise to skip future functions that included him, unless it was their wedding.
But it worked out for Camille in the end. She never had to worry about Aston tagging along to their outings, so she could be as unfiltered as she wanted to be around Kali. No code switching. No tone policing. Just her being herself.
They chatted about minor things as they walked to a nearby coffee shop. They wanted to have their matcha lattes in hand and start their walk in the park before getting into the juiciest updates in their life. Once they got to the park, Kali immediately got down to business.
“Alright, Cam,” Kali said, sipping her drink. “What’s got you glowing?” 
Camille smiled shyly. “I kinda have a new boss now. Working with him has been such a relief. I still get cases from Aston, but I don’t work with him as much–”
“Thank. God,” Kali cheered, making Camille playfully roll her eyes. 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Camille started again. “But that’s kinda the problem. My new boss has been…somewhat of a distraction for me. You remember the guy I danced with at that last club we went to for Chloe’s bachelorette party?” 
Kali’s eyes lit up. “That fine ass nigga with the braids? Who looked like he was gonna fuck you in front of everybody?” 
Camille’s cheeks heated up. “Yes, him,” she nodded. Kali gave her a look. “What about him?” 
Camille sucked in a breath, “He’s my new boss.”
Kali’s jaw dropped, stopping in her tracks. “That man who owned the club? He works with you?!” Camille nodded, biting her lip. Kali slapped a hand over her mouth, bursting into a fit of laughter.
“Omgggg, Camille! I fucking love this for you!” she shouted, prompting other park goers to look their way. Kali calmed down a bit before grabbing Camille’s hand, pulling her close. “Please, Camille. Please tell me you’re fucking him,” Kali whispered excitedly. 
Camille's eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and shock. "Kali! Don't say that! I'm in a relationship," she protested, her eyes scanning the park for anyone who might know them.
Kali wasn’t deterred by Camille’s protesting. Instead, a sly grin played on her lips. “Yeah, and I absolutely hate the relationship. But that nigga from the club?! I’d support that ‘til the day I die.” 
Camille groaned, her fingers running through her hair. “I really wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” she muttered.
“Too late, I already did," Kali shot back with a shrug, clearly unbothered. “Now tell me more. Are you at least going to try to take him to bed? Has he tried to make a move on you?”
Camille shook her head quickly. “Not at all. He’s been very sweet about the situation. He pulled me aside to tell me he would keep everything between us. He’s been nothing but professional.” She tried to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks warming from Kali’s lewd suggestions. 
Kali’s shoulders slumped, a disappointed frown curling on her lips. “So he hasn’t given you any hints? Nothing?!” She raised an eyebrow.
Camille chuckled softly, shaking her head again. “No, Kali. He’s just been a perfect boss. I’ve been working on some of his cases for over a month now, and honestly, it’s been amazing. Everything’s interesting, there’s no pressure, just the best balance.” She smiled, the words coming from a place of genuine satisfaction. Camille’s stomach dropped as an amused, knowing look crossed Kali’s face.
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a teasing glint. “And how do you really feel about him, Cam?”
Camille shifted awkwardly, looking down at her hands, and mumbled, “I think… I think I have a crush on him.” She couldn’t help but shrink into herself, afraid of what she had just confessed.
Kali’s laughter rang out loudly. “So there’s still hope! Y’all are gonna fuck, I just know it!”
“Kali–”
“Yeah he’s just frontin’ ‘cause y’all are at work, but that man was all over you at his club. You give him the green light and I’m sure he’ll have you folded like a pretzel in no time.”
“Kali…please. I’m engaged. Can we please respect that?” Camille’s voice trembled slightly, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. Kali rolled her eyes in the dramatic way only she could. “Camille, it’s never too late to back out of that arrangement. I want you happy more than anything. And I don’t know… maybe your new boss is like a wake-up call or something? I mean, a stranger you had so much chemistry with coming into your life again? That could be your way out. Or at least a little opportunity to get back at Aston?” Her eyes searched Camille’s face for a reaction.
Camille’s fingers froze on the cup, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She stared back at Kali, unsure of how to respond.
Kali’s eyes softened, though her voice still held a firm edge. “I get it, okay? You’ve made a commitment to your family, and I respect that. But an arranged marriage is a big deal, Camille. You have one life. You can’t just walk down the aisle because it’s expected of you.”
The silence between them stretched out as Camille struggled to find her words. 
“I’m not saying you should act on whatever you’re feeling, or that it's all about getting back at Aston,” Kali continued, her voice lowering. “But maybe it’s time you started thinking about what you want, and not just what Mr. DeWaterson wants. His world won’t end if you don’t go through with it. And if it does… I don’t give a fuck. You’re my friend, not him.” 
After a few beats, Camille spoke, her voice low. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from it, Kali. It’s been planned for so long... My family, his family, everything... I’ve spent years trying to make this work in my head.” She shook her head, her voice cracking slightly. “But when I’m with my boss—his name is Terry by the way—it’s like... I’m able to escape reality and hope for something different. Something more loving, more passionate…,” Her eyes met her friend’s. “But like I said, he’s only been professional. There’s no chance of us getting together. I mean, he’s already sleeping with someone at the office. I can’t–”
“Wait, what?!” Kali nearly choked on her sip of matcha. “He’s that out in the open with it?”
Camille paused, thinking over the interactions he’s seen between Stephanie and Terry. There really wasn’t anything sexual about them. Stephanie definitely liked him and flirted with him all the time. But he just reacted with a cool amusement, nothing that really hinted at something going on outside of that.
“Well…no. I haven’t seen him do anything that hints at that. But Aston said he saw–”
“Fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s probably jealous of him and doesn’t want you to get too comfortable with him,” Kali stated with a definitive nod.
Camille’s heart began to race again. Was Aston just making things up? Was he lying to make sure I keep Terry at arms-length?
“Kali, I don’t think he would do that–”
“Camille? That you?”
The deep, familiar voice called out, washing over Camille like a wave. She froze in place as her mind scrambled to determine where it was coming from.
A tall, muscular figure jogged towards them. Though his face was momentarily obscured by the distance, the deep baritone of his voice, the bronze sheen of his skin, and the way his perfectly sculpted six-pack glistened in the sun made it unmistakably clear. It was Terry.
Camille’s gaze swept over him as he got closer, everything seeming to move in slow motion. Sweat trickled down his torso and his ocean-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. His full lips parted, a flash of white teeth widening with recognition. The sight of it all sent an unexpected flood of heat to Camille’s core.
Terry came to a stop right in front of her and Kali. His presence seemed to fill the space between them, his masculine scent drifting into the air. Camille snapped out of her daze, blinking rapidly.
“Hey, Camille,” he said, licking his lips.
Camille cleared her throat, fighting to regain composure. “Terry,” she managed to say. “How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. How ‘bout you?” Terry’s voice was smooth, his words rolling off his tongue with effortless ease. His eyes traced every curve and line of her figure in a way that made her skin hot. She suddenly felt aware of every inch of her skin, regretting the choice of just biker shorts, a sports bra, and an open hoodie.
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She shifted, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m pretty good,” Camille replied, her voice catching slightly, betraying the flutter of nerves she felt.
They stood there, locked in a moment that stretched on too long. Their eyes held each other’s, the air thickening between them with an unspoken charge. The silence grew heavier, each second stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. Just as Camille opened her mouth to speak, the sound of a throat clearing beside her shattered the bubble between them.
Both Camille and Terry’s eyes snapped to Kali, who stood there with a smirk on her lips, clearly amused by the tension in the air. Camille's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel relieved. The moment had been too electric and she was grateful for the interruption.
"My fault," Terry chuckled, the rich sound of his laugh wrapping around Camile like a blanket. He extended his hand toward Kali. "I’m Terry. You look familiar."
Kali, smirked and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Kali! Yeah, I was at that club with Camille that one time,” she said with a playful gaze that flicked to Camille, her lips curling into a bright, teasing smile. Camille felt a chill of dread settle in her stomach. Please don’t embarrass me, she silently pleaded.
Terry’s eyes lit up, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. His grin spread wider. “Oh shit, that’s right! I’m sorry y’all’s night had to end like that," he said, his tone laced with playfulness and a touch of sincere remorse.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Kali replied breezily. "I think something amazing came out of that night. Right, Camille?" She glanced at Camille, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 
Terry’s attention shifted back to Camille, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, word?" he chuckled. "You’ll have to tell me about that." His eyes locked with hers, making her gulp.
Kali continued with a sly grin. "Are you visiting from New Orleans?"
Terry shook his head with a light chuckle. "Nah, I only check on that place sometimes. But I don’t live in New Orleans. I work here now, with Camille."
Kali’s smile broadened. “Really?! What a lovely coincidence—”
“Right,” Camille quickly interrupted, her voice almost too sharp. “It’s just crazy how small the world is.” She shot Kali a glance, her eyes filled with an unspoken warning. Kali merely smirked, unfazed by the stare. “But don’t let us hold you up from your run,” Camille added, eager to wrap up the conversation that she knew her friend would take too far.
“Nah, y’all not holding me up,” Terry said with a relaxed shrug. "But I’ll let y’all get back to y’all’s girl talk. It was nice meeting you, Kali." He flashed them both a grin before turning, jogging past them to continue on the trail.
Both Camille and Kali stood in silence for a moment, their eyes following his retreating form. Kali was the first to break the stillness, her teasing smile returning in full force as she glanced sideways at Camille. “That little moment y’all had? Oooo, bitch! I thought he was about to turn you every way but loose.” She let out a mock swoon, dramatically fanning herself.
“Kaliiii,” Camille whined as she resumed her walk, trying to brush off the flurry of emotions that had hit her all at once. Kali, unrelenting, fell into step beside her.
“Did you see how he looked at you?” Kali’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "Girl, he would devour you if you let him." "Ughh, not this again," Camille groaned, her mind spinning. But, was he looking at me like that? Or was Kali just being funny? She couldn’t quite shake the image of his gaze locked on hers, how it had made her feel exposed, yet... alive.
"Okay, okay, I’ll give it a rest," Kali sighed dramatically, making a show of looking away. But her smile didn’t fade. “But... I think you should try to entertain Mr. Terry. Who knows? The universe might be giving you an out from becoming Mrs. McCoy.”
They continued their walk, abandoning any discussion of Terry for other updates in their life. But in the back of her mind, Kali’s suggestion echoed. Was Terry’s sudden reappearance a sign? A chance at real love? Her mind kept circling back to Terry, the way he’d looked at her, the tension between them. Was she making a mistake, choosing to put her family’s expectations and her fiancé’s needs above her own desires? Her chest tightened with uncertainty, the thought of her impending wedding now feeling more like a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear.
Terry
Terry sat in the parking deck of Watkins & Glen, patiently waiting for the arrival of a particular colleague. Terry knew if he came to the office at the early hour of 6 AM on a Monday, only two people would be there: him and Aston. Terry couldn’t believe he showed up at that time every day. No wonder he wasn’t moving up the ladder. His ass-kissing was too obvious. 
To keep his mind occupied, Terry thought about how getting closer to Camille these past two months had been absolute bliss. Each moment alone with her was intoxicating, as though it was just the two of them, suspended in their own little universe. She captivated him so effortlessly. Her curiosity, the way she dove into everything with passion, it was all alluring. He found himself lost in the grace with which she moved, always so composed and beautiful, yet there was an unspoken vulnerability that made her even more magnetic.
Her shyness had slowly dissolved, giving way to a new, playful side of her, one that seemed to emerge more and more as they spent time together. It was in the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, in the subtle teasing that had become a part of their easy rhythm. Every time Camille smiled at him, his heart stumbled, driving him further into his obsession. 
And Camille, she was falling for him too. He knew it by the way her breath would catch when he was close. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, he would catch her staring at him, her eyes soft with affection. And her voice—oh, her voice. It took on that sweet, innocent tone when she spoke to him, like she couldn’t help but let the warmth slip through.
But beyond all of that, what made his heart swell the most was the happiness that seemed to radiate from her more and more each time they were together. He had become her quiet gardener, nurturing her little by little, seeing her blossom with every passing rotation. A flower he was allowed to water, watching her unfold more beautifully with each moment they shared. And for Terry, that was everything.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he caught a glimpse of a familiar Porsche Cayenne rounding the corner of the deck. It reversed into a spot right next to the elevators. Terry’s jaw clenched as he saw Aston open the door of the car.
He had often thought about just killing him to speed up his plan. Tear out his throat or rip out his lungs. Let dogs feast on his remains. It would save Terry a lot of time and energy. But he had no idea how Camille would react to Aston’s death. Terry didn’t think she loved Aston. At least…not in that way. But he couldn’t risk her slipping into a depressive episode. Especially if he wouldn’t be able to properly comfort her. So he refrained from causing him any physical harm. But, Terry was more than willing to cause psychological harm. 
He got out of the car, shutting the door softly so Aston wouldn’t notice him yet. He quickly approached the elevator, Aston’s back still turned. Quietly, he peered over his shoulder as Aston looked at his phone. He was already checking betting apps. Terry smirked.
“Morning,” he spoke. Aston’s body jerked, turning to face him with wide eyes. Genuine surprise flickered across his face before quickly being replaced by that fake ass smile he always pulled. “Terry, morning…I didn’t even hear you.” The elevator softly dinged and Terry smoothly stepped past him, making his way inside. “Yeah your head was pretty stuck in your phone so I’m not surprised,” Terry returned, barely containing the smugness in his voice. He didn’t miss how Aston’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly with irritation. God I just want to knock his fucking head off, Terry thought as the elevator doors closed. “I get it though! I used to be on the apps all the time.” 
Aston blinked, confused and a tad bit embarrassed as he looked at Terry. “What do you mean?” Terry just smiled and gestured to his phone. “The betting apps. I used to be on those all the time. But now…” Terry paused, letting the silence stretch to add to Aston’s anticipation. “Now, I prefer the stuff that gets you real money.” Aston tapped his finger lightly against his phone, trying to interpret what he was saying. Terry could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Well, the parlays I’ve hit are pretty huge,” Aston stated arrogantly. Terry nearly rolled his eyes. But instead he just shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, man. I’m not talking about the $2000 here, $6000 there. I’m talking about the shit that could be a down payment for a house.”
Aston laughed in disbelief, “What kind of stuff gets you that kind of money?” Got him, Terry thought, fighting a smirk. “Between you and me,” he lowered his voice, leaning in just enough to make Aston feel like he was getting an exclusive secret. “I host some underground poker shit on the side.” Terry watched his eyes widen, his mouth opening subtly. “Woah…really? Terry, you just don’t seem like that kind of guy.” Terry shrugged nonchalantly. “That makes it even easier for me.” Terry took a few steps back to lean against the elevator's walls. “But, you should see some of the stuff I’ve walked away with. One night, I made three hundred grand.” Aston’s pupils widened. He tried to find words to react, but the elevator dinged. Terry would make sure he had the last word. “But like I said, I host. So let me know if you ever want to play.” He smiled, patting Aston’s arm before stepping out of the elevator.
Terry knew he had him. Aston was a man choked by his addiction, and it was only a matter of time before he took the bait. And take it, he did. A little over an hour later, with the office still empty for the most part, Aston came knocking. A soft, hesitant tap at the door. Terry’s lips curled into a sly smile as he greeted him, his eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and cold calculation. I’ll let him bring it up, Terry thought. Let him think he's still in control.
Aston awkwardly coughed, swinging his arms nervously as he approached Terry’s desk. His eyes were shifty, and just the slightest bead of sweat slid down his forehead. He was nervous, desperate. Damn, he must need this money more than I thought. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick that only deepened Terry’s amusement. The guy was unraveling right in front of him.
“So, uh…” Aston’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, betraying his nerves. “About those games you were talking about? How do they really work?”
Terry leaned forward, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he studied Aston. 
“It's pretty simple,” Terry said, his tone casual but low. “I host them every Thursday night, just me and a few other guys. You send a deposit to lock in your spot, and you’re in for four games. All winnings remain confidential. No IRS. No paperwork. Everything under the radar. Real simple.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, watching Aston’s eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Terry’s voice dropped an octave, darker, heavier.
“But—” He began, fixing Aston with an intense stare. “Anything that goes on there, stays in there. Understand?”
Aston shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, his eyes flicking away to the floor. The words settled in the air, adding to his unease.
“Yeah,” Aston muttered, his voice tight. “Yeah, seems straightforward enough…how much is the deposit?”
Terry let out a soft, humorless sigh, his eyes never leaving Aston’s face. “$30,000,” he said flatly. “And you gotta put up another $50,000, at least, to play.”
Aston’s face drained of color. His eyes went wide, as if the numbers hadn’t fully registered. He took an audible breath, his hand coming up to tug at the collar of his shirt.
“That’s…that’s a lot man…” Aston trailed off. He was visibly rattled now, his composure slipping away. Terry smirked, watching the man squirm.
“Yeah, bruh, no pressure. I know it might be out of the budget for an associate.” Terry’s tone dripped with sarcastic sympathy. Aston’s expression visibly changed. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared slightly, his gaze hardened. There it was. The envy, the bitterness. Terry could see it clearly. 
Terry leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch for a few moments, savoring the tension. He had him.
“No,” Aston said, his voice more relaxed, but with a razor-sharp edge. “That’s not a problem. I’ve got more than enough to cover that. I’ll even send it today.” The words came out through gritted teeth, a mixture of pride and barely-contained frustration.
Terry’s smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Perfect.
“That’s great, man!” Terry said, his tone suddenly light and jovial. He slid a notepad and pen across the desk. “Just write down your number, and I’ll send you all the details.”
Aston paused for a fraction of a second, but he wrote his number down anyway. As Aston slid the notepad back, Terry’s eyes caught the brief flicker of hesitation in his gaze. But it was fleeting, gone before it could become a problem.
Aston turned to leave, his body language still tense. But just before he opened the door, he paused to look over his shoulder back at Terry. “And Camille… she won’t find out about this, right?”
Terry froze, the name making his heart beat just a touch faster, but his face never betrayed him. He kept his expression casual, his voice smooth.
“Nope, not at all,” Terry said, his words dripping with casual assurance. “Not from me. Not from you.” Aston nodded, his lips pressed thin as he stepped out the door.
Camille
Camille took her time walking through Watkins & Grant. Not only was it Monday, it was the start of a two-day rotation with Aston. She was ready to dive into the day’s work, but if she were honest, she’d much rather be working with Terry. Despite her newfound enthusiasm for the job, working with Aston was still…draining. His demeanor had softened since her rotations began. He was less snippy and wasn’t as strict with deadlines. But his animosity towards Terry had only grown, a simmering resentment that Camille couldn’t ignore. Initially, she’d thought his sharp comments and tense glances were the result of him still grieving over not making partner, a bitter disappointment he hadn’t quite come to terms with. 
But as the weeks passed, she realized his feelings had shifted into an intense, unrelenting jealousy. Aston’s eyes would narrow into icy daggers whenever Terry entered a room. Whenever the team celebrated one of Terry’s achievements, Aston’s hands remained firmly by his sides. It was as if his pride couldn’t bear to acknowledge Terry’s success. And every time Camille spoke about him, even in passing, Aston couldn’t help but drop snarky comments. His disdain was impossible to miss, and though Camille was determined to focus on work, she couldn't shake the discomfort it caused her. But outside of that, Aston was still pretty pleasant. So she just let the whole envy thing roll off her back.
Camille pushed open the door to Aston’s office, expecting to greet him with a simple “good morning.” But as soon as she stepped inside, her words caught in her throat. Aston was sitting at his desk, but he looked nothing like the put-together man she was used to. His usually sharp appearance was now disheveled, as though he’d been awake for far too long. His eyes were unnaturally dilated, the pupils wide and unblinking, while his leg bounced erratically beneath the desk. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he was completely unaware of her presence.
A wave of concern washed over Camille as she took in the scene. “Aston?” she called out gently, her voice tinged with worry. “Are you doing alright?”
His head snapped up in an instant, his gaze locking onto hers in a way that startled her. He had a frantic, almost fearful look. But he quickly wiped his hand across his face, as if trying to reset his expression.
"Morning, Millie," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and forced a strained, dry laugh. "Sorry, what did you say?"
Camille didn't buy the forced cheerfulness. She took a step closer, setting her bag down on her desk slowly. "Are you okay? You don’t look so good," she asked, her concern deepening.
Aston waved off her concern with a flick of his hand, his smile stretched thin. “Me? Oh, I’m doing great!” he said too quickly, too brightly. “I mean, my stocks went down a little, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
She nodded slowly, but her suspicion lingered. Aston was obsessed with his stocks, always checking the market, always fretting over numbers. But there was always something that told her that there was more to it than stocks. Something more risky that had him far too invested and far too tense. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.
At that moment, their finances remained separate. Camille paid her half of the rent, her share of the groceries, and contributed to other household bills, but there was no blending of accounts, no pooling of resources. She never had the intention of opening a joint account with him. There was something about the idea that didn't sit right with her. Whatever financial turbulence he was navigating, she hoped it would be sorted before their wedding day. 
Aston, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You ready to get started, babe?" he asked, his tone brisk as he passed her a thick stack of papers. Camille glanced down at the pile, already estimating that it was at least 150 pages. She nodded as he continued. “Great. I need you to proofread these contracts. Can you do that by COB?”
Camille flicked through the papers, her brows furrowing as she flipped page after page. She could feel the weight of the task sinking in. Who could possibly get through all of this in a single day?
“That’s a pretty tight deadline...,” she breathed. Aston’s face fell for a moment, a brief flash of disappointment. But he quickly masked it, offering a small, almost apologetic smile.
“You know what, don’t even worry about it,” he said. “Just do the best you can.”
Camille returned a small smile, but her mind lingered on the sheer volume of work. She let out a quiet sigh before sinking into her chair.
“Oh, by the way," Aston’s tone shifted, a strained undertone creeping back into his voice. "I can’t go to lunch with you today. I’ve got a meeting across town that’ll run from 11:00 to 3:00." His words were casual, but there was a subtle edge to them, as if he were trying to brush off a reason he didn’t want to share.
A cold knot twisted in Camille’s stomach at the change in his voice, but she pushed it aside, choosing not to press. "Okay," she murmured, her eyes focusing on the highlighter in her hand. 
Around 10:40, Aston sprang from his chair with urgency, his movements frantic. She couldn’t help but watch, her eyes following him as he muttered a hurried “bye” under his breath, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Something’s not right, she thought, the feeling settling into her gut. The thought crossed her mind before she could even stop it: follow him. Her eyes narrowed as she mulled over the possibility. But that would be crazy, she reasoned. What good would it do to sneak after him? Whatever she found out wouldn’t change anything anyway. And yet, the nagging curiosity to uncover just a sliver more about this mysterious meeting gnawed at her.
But before she could dwell on it further, the blare of her phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced down, surprised to be getting a call so early on a workday. Terry’s name flashed across the screen, making her heart skip a beat. A smile instantly tugged at her lips as she scrambled to answer the call, her fingers fumbling with the screen in her haste.
“Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound casual, though her voice betrayed the excitement bubbling inside her.
“Hey, Camille, sorry to call right now. You got a minute?” Terry’s voice washed over her, rich and smooth. She felt an instant flutter in her stomach.
“Yeah, sure! What can I do for you?” she replied, her voice coming out girlier than she intended.
“I left a file I need for this presentation I’ve got in the top drawer of my desk. I won’t be able to make it there and back in time. You think you could drop it off?” he asked.
Camille hesitated, torn between her professional obligations and her personal desire to see him. Helping Terry would mean taking time away from her assignment, something that would surely upset Aston. But the thought of seeing Terry, especially after missing their usual morning exchange, was hard to resist.
“Of course! Just send me the location,” she breathed, her voice catching slightly, a soft smile creeping onto her lips as a deep chuckle echoed in her ear.
“Thanks, Camille. I appreciate it. I’ll send a pin now.”
“Okay, see you soon!” she said, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. Slightly embarrassed at how eager she sounded, she quickly hung up the phone, grabbing her bag with haste. She made her way toward Terry’s office, the joy of hearing his voice still hanging in the air.
But before she could reach the door, Camille was stopped in her tracks. Stephanie appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly into her path with a forced smile plastered on her face.
"Hey, Camille. You know Terry’s not in the office now, right?" Stephanie’s voice came out with an odd, strained edge. Camille blinked, taken aback by the abrupt question. 
“Oh, yeah. He just called me! He left something in his office and wants me to bring it to him,” Camille replied, keeping her voice polite. She moved to step around Stephanie, but Stephanie sidestepped, once again blocking her path.
“Really?” Stephanie said, her tone dripping with a sickening sweetness. “I can do it for you if you’d like. Aston mentioned that you had a lot of work to do.” The suggestion hung in the air, as if she were doing Camille a favor. Camille’s brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. Why would Aston mention that to her? 
Camille let out a weak giggle to break the tension. “That’s alright, he’s already expecting me,” she said, her voice firm but laced with the tiniest edge of irritation.
Stephanie’s smile faltered just a fraction, the expression slipping for a moment as she frowned slightly, her eyes flickering with something Camille couldn’t quite place. But after a beat, she stepped aside, finally allowing Camille to pass.
Weirded out by the whole interaction, Camille quickly walked through Terry’s office, grabbed the file and made her way towards the elevator. The feeling of Stephanie’s unblinking stare burning into her back the entire time.
That was odd, Camille thought, as she slid into her car. She grabbed her phone, pulling up the directions Terry had sent her. The map loaded slowly, and she took a deep breath, letting it steady her as she clicked her seatbelt into place. Once the directions finally pulled up, she reversed out of her parking spot and navigated the car out of the parking deck, her thoughts drifting as she hit the road.
Twenty minutes later, Camille pulled into a packed parking lot, her eyes scanning the area until they landed on the only figure outside. Terry stood near the entrance, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the morning sun. He wore a deep purple shirt and well-tailored black slacks, and for a moment, Camille was entranced by the way the colors seemed to highlight the goldeness of his skin. She sighed softly, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she gazed at him from a distance, glad she made the drive.
I can’t have him, she thought, her heart aching slightly, but it doesn’t hurt to look. To admire. She pulled into a parking spot adjacent to him and watched as he turned toward her car, his smile confident and inviting. She didn’t want to acknowledge her feelings for him, but in moments like this, it was impossible not to.
“Hey,” he greeted as she stepped out of the car and made her way over to him. She gave him a bright smile. “Hey!” she replied, passing him the file. “This is the one, right?”
 He smiled down at her, grabbing the file.
“Yes ma’am. Thanks for taking the time to come down here,” he spoke. “I owe you.” Camille’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. “Don’t mention it, happy to help,” she replied softly, trying her best to not giggle like a schoolgirl. “Have a great presentation,” she said, turning back towards her car. 
“Hold up,” he called. Camille brought her attention back to him. “McCoy got you that busy? I was thinking I could treat you to lunch after this? It’ll only take an hour.” 
Camille hesitated, chewing on her lip. She really had to get back to work. Terry fake pouted, tilting his head. “Please, Camille,” he pleaded softly. “Like I said, I owe you one.”
Her chest tightened. He really wants me to stay! She thought. And Aston would still be gone by the time I got back…
“Okay,” she said, “Since you asked so nicely.” It’s just a harmless lunch. “I’ll just grab my phone out of the car.
She reached down into her purse as she walked back towards her car, her fingers brushing through the clutter in search of her keys. As she rummaged, her hand brushed something sharp. An unexpected jolt of pain shot through her, forcing her to yank her hand back. It felt like a scalpel had sliced her skin. A deep gash ran across the pad of her index finger, and bright red blood began to bead up, dripping down in fast, heavy drops onto the dark asphalt below. She stared down at the wound in confusion, the sharp sting still pulsing through her hand. 
“Huh,” she muttered softly to herself, not fully processing what had just happened. “I must’ve cut myself on my key–” 
Suddenly, a new, much sharper pain pierced through her neck, cutting off her train of thought. It sank deep, the sensation burning through her like fire, making her yelp. A split second of agony. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was replaced by an overwhelming, mind-numbing euphoria. Her senses were flooded with a pleasure and delight that seemed to drown out everything else. Every nerve in her body seemed to hum with a strange, fulfilling electricity she couldn’t comprehend.
Her vision blurred, the world around her tilting to the side. Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled, her body swaying like a leaf caught in a breeze. She had to fight to keep her balance, but it was a losing battle.
Although her strength faltered, firm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, steadying her body. The warmth of the figure against her sent another strange thrill through her, though she couldn’t focus enough to make sense of it. She could feel the strength of the mystery person, his body solid and real against hers, but the haze of pleasure and confusion made it hard to think.
"T-Terry?" she whispered, her voice coming out weak and shaky, her boss’ name the only thing slipping through the fog in her mind. She reached up, her trembling hand brushing against the chest she was pulled into in a futile attempt to ground herself in something familiar. But the world was slipping from her grasp too quickly, her vision swimming in and out of focus. Before she could say another word, everything went black. The strange sensation she was feeling was her only comfort as darkness consumed her.
Stephanie’s song: Streets-Doja Cat
Stephanie
From the concealed safety of her car, Stephanie watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the scene unfolded before her. Terry, the man who had her completely under his spell, suddenly and violently sank his teeth into Camille’s neck. The act was so swift, so shockingly predatory, that it left Stephanie frozen. Camille, with a look of confusion, had pulled her bloodied hand from her bag. Then, moving with unnerving speed, Terry was behind her. His teeth punctured her skin with an animalistic precision. Camille yelped in pain, but the sound quickly faded as her eyes fluttered and began to droop. Her body swayed as if she was in slow motion, and she crumpled in Terry’s grasp.
When Stephanie had first decided to follow Camille nearly thirty minutes ago, she had envisioned a confrontation, a way to make her intentions clear. She could see how Camille had developed a crush on Terry. The way she always looked at him coyly. How she would act so clueless to get him to treat her like some fragile puppy. It was a constant reminder that he didn’t belong to Stephanie, even though he's what she craved most. Terry and Stephanie weren’t a couple, but that would change. She would make sure of it. Stephanie could admit it without shame: she would do anything to have him. And that included scaring off the paralegal who had feelings for him. She had to mark her territory, to make Camille understand that she had no place in his world.
But this… this was beyond anything she had ever anticipated. The man she lusted after, the man she wanted with a ferocity she couldn’t control, was something more than human. Some sort of… supernatural creature. Stephanie’s pulse quickened, her chest tightening, but instead of revulsion, an overwhelming wave of attraction surged through her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way Terry’s strong arms wrapped around Camille’s collapsing body, how his mouth moved with such raw intensity against her neck. The sight stirred something dark and primal inside her, making her pussy throb.
God, that’s so hot, she thought, her breath catching. That should be me. The raw power, the dominance in the way he held Camille, it wasn’t terrifying—it was an erotic fantasy come to life.
In a daze, she reached for her phone, her fingers trembling with excitement. She quickly pressed record, capturing the moment as Terry’s fangs withdrew from Camille’s skin, leaving behind two circular wounds. He blinked down at her in shock, his eyes flashing with panic. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from the puncture, as if to somehow erase the evidence, before he swept Camille up in his arms, cradling her against him.
Stephanie’s lips curled into a sinister smile, her heart racing. She stopped recording and sank lower into her seat, knowing that the shadows of the car would keep her hidden. The weight of the discovery settled over her darkly.
I know your secret, Mr. Richmond, she thought, her mind spinning with possibilities. Let’s see how I can use it to my advantage.
------------------
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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 month ago
Text
Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 9 (part three)
(Rafe Cameron x reader series, 9.6k words)
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series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.
tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder
series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues
⇢ series masterlist
additional chapter content warning: descriptions of blood and violence, drinking and overconsumption, side characters make mentions of noncon but it does not happen, this chapter is 18+ MDNI, please read this disclaimer before reading!
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Rafe was dying inside.
Actually, no, Rafe was dead inside. The dying had already been done, it happened when you said you hated him. Now he was just a ghost, walking around in some guy’s body and playing golf like he hadn’t already breathed his last breath.
It was hard enough keeping his gaze off of you when you came downstairs to load into the shuttle, having to literally close his eyes on the ride to keep from searching your face for any sign you were ever going to speak to him again. Then you changed into yet another dress that made him forget how to breathe, one glance at you and the way the crisp white fabric gripped your body and he could feel his brain cells dying out from lack of oxygen.
He tried to mask his slow, painful death in politeness, saying “have a good game” with a casual smile as fake as a halloween mask. He might as well have been wearing a costume the way he felt like he was living someone else’s life, his own had ended in your bedroom when you said the worst three words he’d ever heard.
It’d be better just to avoid you, he figured, turning his attention toward his golf game. He’d never been a huge fan of the sport, but growing up with money and country club memberships, his exposure to it was inevitable. He was good at it too, the same way he was immediately good at everything. Everything except for being with you, apparently. A game he’d lost in record time. Maybe he should just forfeit, maybe he should leave Miami on an overnight bus like the teams that lose the Superbowl. 
So he kept his eyes off of you, a feat akin to not staring directly at an eclipse, and played through the pain.
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“I’m in love, I’m in fucking love, and I’m drunk.”
The second fact was made even more obvious by the fact that the audience you were currently confessing to was a family of ducks.
It was silly, but you were so far gone you didn’t even realize you were speaking out loud. Then the laughter came. Clutching the railing to keep from falling over, you burst out into manic cackles. It was all so ridiculous - of course you were in love with him, you always had been, but this new realization was about something else entirely. It was about the permanence of it. Because, let’s be honest, if these feelings hadn’t gone away after four years and this insane fucking week, then nothing was going to shake them. God, you needed another drink.
And like an answer to your prayers, Ryder and Chad showed up at just that moment, a fresh, ice cold vodka cranberry in tow.
“There she is,” Chad smiled at you, handing you the drink.
“What’s funny, beautiful?” Ryder asked, cozying up to your side, a little closer than you would’ve liked, but your brain was just fuzzy enough not to care.
“Oh, y’know, just like, life,” you smiled at him before taking a long sip from the little plastic straw and continuing your way across the bridge, the boys following close behind.
You finished this drink off faster than any of the ones before it, officially crossing the line between tipsy and drunk.
Somewhere, somehow, Ryder and Chad had scored themselves a golf cart, convincing you to climb in the bed in the back and ride with them. You yelped as the cart flew, going way faster than the little speed limit signs along the cart path allowed for.
The thirty minutes following that drink were a blur. You only remembered flashes of the course, stopping every so often to catch up with your group before Ryder and Chad would whisk you away on the cart again. 
“They were supposed to be my caddies,” Sabrina grumbled when you got the group’s attention by letting out a loud chorus of giggles. “I’m so getting my twenty bucks back.”
The group had reached the thirteenth hole, and you were punching your number into Ryder’s phone, though you couldn’t really remember why. Carter followed Sabrina’s gaze over to you, frowning when she saw you grab Ryder’s arm for stability, the boy giving his friend a smug look when you touched him. 
She was trying her best to give you space, which you so clearly wanted. She didn’t know why on earth you were hanging out with these fuckboys, but she was your sister, not your mother, and she figured she’d done enough criticizing of your decisions this week. Plus, she had her hands full with Topper, who was now so far past drunk she was basically carrying him through the course.
But when she realized you were handing out your personal info to these scumbags while happily accepting another drink, she decided she had to step in. 
“Hey, think maybe it’s time to switch to water?” She suggested gently, stepping in between you and Ryder.
“She’s good,” Ryder told her.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Carter said, turning towards him and getting in his face. “Who the fuck even are you? You think it’s funny, messing with her while she’s clearly drunk?”
“I’m not drunk!” You protested, though your stumble forward completely betrayed you. 
Carter turned back to you, grabbing you before you tripped over your own feet. “Okay, well maybe we can go get a coffee or something, yeah? How about -”
“Oh fuck I’m gonna be sick,” Topper interupted her with a groan, running away from the group and towards a patch of trees in the distance.
Carter watched him with worry, and you nodded in his direction, “you should go after him.”
She hesitated, looking back at you with worry, torn between your need for her and the very real potential that Topper was in even worse shape.
“Carter, go, I’m fine,” you urged her.
She sighed and shot Ryder an absolutely menacing look as she called Rafe’s name, waving him over from his spot behind the tee. He approached nervously, looking between her and Ryder, who was grinning like he’d somehow won this little interaction.
“Can you watch her, please? Do not leave her,” Carter passed your arm to Rafe like she was handing off a crying baby, taking off in Topper’s direction once he’d taken over her grip on you and given her a reassuring nod. As much as she despised Rafe, she knew there was no universe in which he’d leave you drunk and alone with these assholes.
He gave the two boys a glare, towering at least a few inches over each of them, and they stepped back, though they didn’t go far.
“I don’t need a chaperone!” You griped, pulling your arm from his gasp, hoping he didn’t notice the goosebumps already blossoming from where his hands brushed you.
In your attempt to separate from his touch, you pulled your arm away too quickly, making yourself stumble, your pink tinted drink sloshing from the glass and splattering all over Rafe’s baby blue polo.
“Yeah, clearly,” he took in the stain with a sigh.
“That was an accident,” you said with unnecessary defensiveness.
“What else would it be?” He huffed.
“I’m not trying to get you to take your shirt off,” you insisted, as though anyone had accused you of such.
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in amusement, smirking down at you as you deepened the hole nobody asked you to start digging. It was like the words were flowing out on their own volition, the invisible security guard who usually keeps your thoughts locked inside was dead. You’d drowned him in Smirnoff.
“And I am not thinking about how you look with your shirt off,” you couldn’t help but smile at the way he was smiling now, your grin giddy and sloppy, like a toddler laughing at a puppy. 
Whatever runaway train of thought your words had been chasing had long left the station, you stepped towards him as he continued smiling, tripping just a little, Rafe catching you by the elbows for stabilization, his eyes twinkling with pure amusement as you reached up and bushed a line along his jaw with your pointer finger.
“You’re pretty,” you whispered.
“Mmm?” He tilted his head, “and you’re drunk.”
“No ‘mnot,” you shook your head, the action making you dizzy. “I’ve always thought you were pretty. Pretty blue eyes, pretty smile. I love your smile.”
“Love, huh?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Mhm, love,” you leaned in closer, but his arms slid up to your shoulders, pushing you back a little as he helped you stand up straight.
“You used a different word this morning,” he reminded you, making you frown at the memory of a time when your head wasn’t so delightfully swirly and numb, when things could hurt you and your words actually meant something.
“Don’t remember,” you lied with a bite of your lip. 
“You will,” he said, the amusement completely gone from his tone now. “Drink some water.”
After that, Rafe didn’t talk to you for a bit. The group played through, the middle section of the course more challenging than the beginning, longer walks between holes and more sand traps and lakes for you to avoid as you walked in zigzag lines. 
Chad and Ryder were more than happy to help guide you around them, their hands on your lower back as they played gentlemen. What you couldn’t see were the looks they’d give each other when you’d grab their arms with drunken giggles, thanking them sweetly for their help.
They kept bringing you drinks from the cart girl, never saying no when you asked for another. They’d ask you questions and laugh smugly at the way you fumbled to answer them. After a few more sips, you realized there was something about their attention you didn’t like, but in your tipsy state you couldn’t figure out what it was, or muster the words to tell them to leave you alone. 
Plus, as long as they kept bugging you, you knew Rafe would stay close, his eyes trailing back over to you every few seconds, nostrils flailing when one of the boys said something a little too close to your ear. After a whole afternoon of him ignoring you, finally having his attention was almost as intoxicating as the vodka in your glass.
After your fourth drink, you watched him stride over to the cart girl, leaning forward on her small counter as he said something to her you couldn’t hear. Ryder was leaning over you, asking you something about what you were doing after this, but you blocked out the annoying sound of his voice as you watched Rafe with a furrowed brow. 
Why was the cart girl smiling at him like that? He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. A slip of paper maybe? Was he giving her his number? He tapped her counter as he said one final thing to her, nodding with a grin in her direction. 
Your stomach churned, a twisting pain that had nothing to do with your blood alcohol level. You raised an arm to push Ryder away, but he just came right back, buzzing around you like a gnat you couldn’t shake. You held your head in your hands, you were officially no longer having a good time.
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By the fifteenth hole, you were having trouble walking in a straight line. Long gone was the bubbly euphoria of the first few drinks, now a foggy nausea washed over you as the flat coastal horizon swirled in the distance. 
“Omg, she’s totally sloshed, that’s so tacky. Like, she can barely stand straight,” a distant female voice who’s owner’s name you couldn’t quite remember whispered behind you.
“Well she better not bend over too far, her skirt is already barely covering her ass,” a male voice, somehow equally catty, replied. 
The whispers continued, you brought your hands down to tug at either side of your skirt for the thousandth time, knowing damn well it wasn’t going to do anything to make this ridiculous outfit cover you any better.
Having already taken their shots, the others moved onto the next tee, all except the two caddies who’d been getting increasingly forward and sleazy with their flirting and fawning over you, and Rafe, who’d been watching the whole thing closely.
“Here’s your driver, gorgeous,” Ryder smiled smugly while handing you the club, eyes trailing down your body again as Chad chuckled in the background.
His eyes lingering on your chest made something turn in your stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Over his shoulder, your eye caught Rafe, his hands resting on the back of the golf cart as he sneered at Ryder’s back, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the cart’s bed.
Just drunk enough to justify it to yourself somewhere in the back of your mind, you forced a giggle, brushing Ryder’s hand purposefully as you took the club from him.
“Thank you, Ryder,” you fluttered your lashes, hoping Rafe caught the way you flirted with Ryder after seeing him flirt with the cart girl.
You made your way toward the tee, wobbling a little with each step.
“Woah there,” Ryder caught your elbow with a chuckle, his other hand resting on your lower back as he led you to the tee.
“Sorry ‘m just a little dizzy from the heat,” you slurred, fooling no one.
You could barely swing, but when you did, the end of the heavy driver clipped your ball and sent it flying directly into the swampy woods at the edge of the course. You frowned as you watched its disappointing trajectory.
“Shit,” you groaned, knowing it would be a whole ass journey to go fish it out of the woods, and you could barely walk on the trimmed putting green.
“Don’t worry, angel, Chad and I will come with you,” Ryder shot Chad a suggestive look as he started to guide you toward the secluded woods.
That was the last straw.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Rafe stepped in, striding over to where Ryder had his arm swung around you and pushing him off. “You two aren’t going anywhere with her.”
“What’s your problem, man?” Ryder snapped, your eyes flying between them before you got dizzy and started to sway a bit. Instinctively, Rafe held out his arm for you to grab, which you did without really thinking, just grateful to find some stability.
“You’re my problem, asswipe. You think I’m fucking blind? Time for you two to stop circling her like fucking vultures and go find someone else to bother,” Rafe scolded them.
“I think she’s having a good time, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Ryder reached out his hand to you. “C’mon baby, who would you rather go with, me or him?”
You didn’t even have to think about it, your whole body recoiling at the sight of him reaching toward you until you were practically hiding behind Rafe, “I wanna go with Rafe.” 
Ryder actually looked surprised, dropping his hand in disappointment.
“Alright, alright, whatever the lady wants…” he stepped back, setting your bag of clubs down and hopping in the cart, motioning for Chad to join him. “We’ll catch up with you later, alright gorgeous?”
“Yeah don’t fucking bet on it,” Rafe called after them as they started up the cart and pulled away, leaving you standing by his side, still clinging to his arm for balance.
Once they’d disappeared across the horizon, Rafe turned to look down at you.
“You good?” He asked, brushing a stray hair off your forehead and tucking it behind your ear.
“No,” you shook your head, and Rafe frowned at your sad sounding answer, before you could follow-up with, “My ball’s in the woods.”
He smiled, which made you smile, and said, “we’ll go get it. First let’s stop at the drink cart and get you some water, yeah?”
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“Rafe, we’ve been looking forever,” you whined from your seat on a big rock you’d found in the marshy woods. 
Rafe sloshed through the muddy brambles, effectively ruining his shoes as he searched for your long lost golf ball. He smirked at your remark, “we’ve been in here for like three minutes. Just drink your water, alright?”
“Yes sir,” you grumbled, taking another swig from the large bottle of water he’d bought from the cart girl, who you no longer considered your bestie since she was clearly flirting with Rafe while he ordered it, despite you standing right next to him.
Rafe smirked again at the nickname, turning quickly to hide his reaction from you. You sighed as you watched him continue looking around for the small white ball, his brow furrowed as he searched. Rays of golden hour sunlight poured through the cracks in the trees, landing in glowing stripes across his handsome face. Your heart ached for him.
The water was helping bring you back to earth, the world coming back into focus, but you still had enough liquid courage in your system to ask him something that sober you would never dare to.
“Sasha’s really pretty, don’t you think?”
“Who?” Rafe didn’t even look up from his search.
“The cart girl, Sasha,” you told him, watching him like a hawk for any sign that he had in fact given her his number earlier.
“Oh, I dunno,” he shrugged.
“I mean you have eyes though,” you snorted, annoyed at how nonchalant he was acting, as if the most important thing right now really was finding your stupid fucking golf ball. “She’s obviously pretty. Not as pretty as Cassie though.”
This finally got his attention, he looked up from the ground and turned toward you, his head tilting in disappointment as he sighed, “what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” You asked innocently.
Rafe just responded with your name, lilting it slightly at the end, like he was scolding you.
“Ray-f-uh,” You mirrored his tone, stretching his name out like he had yours.
Rafe just shook his head at you with an incredulous grin, ignoring your teasing and going back to his search.
His apparent indifference toward you today was officially pissing you off. How could he possibly act like nothing that happened in the past few days had happened? The two of you were alone in the fucking woods for god’s sake, and he was still acting like everything was totally normal. 
You stood from your rock, your balance returning to you a little as the water and your determination to get a response from him worked in tandem to sober you up.
“Did you give her your number?” You asked, approaching him slowly, your nearing voice making him turn toward you in surprise.
“Who?” He asked, his tone getting shorter with each second you were pushing him.
“Sasha,” you said, like he should be caught up to your line of questioning by now. “I saw you hand her something and she smiled at you.”
Rafe just looked at you for a second, his face unreadable.
“It’s okay if you did, she is really pretty, I can see why you would like her,” you started rambling as he stepping closer to you, stopping just in front of you so you had to crane your neck to look up at him, Rafe nodding patronizingly as you stumbled over your words.
You kept rambling until he finally spoke, once again merely having to say your name to take your breath away.
“Yes?” You breathed, trying and failing not to sway into him a little as you looked up at his sparkly eyes. The world was swirling again, and this time it had nothing to do with the alcohol.
“I did hand her something…a twenty,” he explained. “I was paying her to stop serving you and those fucking goons drinks. I was worried about you.”
“Oh.”
It sounded so small and silly slipping past your lips, but it made him smile at you, which made you smile back, and your world was back on its axis.
“Now can we find your ball and get the fuck out of this swamp?” He requested.
“Oh, it’s right there,” you pointed to a spot a few feet from you, where your ball sat atop a little pile of leaves and twigs.
“Wh - I - when the fuck did you find that?” Rafe gasped in disbelief.
“Oh like five seconds after we got over here,” you shrugged.
His mouth fell open, “then why the hell were you letting me stumble around like an idiot looking for it?”
You giggled at his aggravation, “because I liked watching you. It was cute.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Before you could hit him with some flirty comeback, Rafe started walking toward your ball, calling over his shoulder, “can’t believe all I had to do to get you to forgive me was make you jealous.”
Your jaw dropped to the floor at his words, arms crossed firmly over your chest as you stomped after him.
“First of all, I was not fucking jealous,” you kept walking until you were standing toe to toe with him, nearly kicking your ball out of the way. “And who said anything about me forgiving you?”
“I dunno, this morning you wouldn’t even talk to me and now you’re luring me into the woods so you can watch me like a crazy stalker so…” he matched you by crossing his own arms. “And you absolutely were jealous.”
“Okay, maybe I was, like, a little jealous, but I didn’t lure you anywhere,” you bargained. “And the only reason I wanted to be alone with you is because you’ve spent the whole day acting like nothing happened, you didn’t even notice me until you saw Ryder getting close.”
Rafe’s arm’s fell, as did his smug smile. His eyes were suddenly sympathetic, shaking his head at your words.
“You think I didn’t notice you?” He scoffed. “I’ve spent the entire day forcing myself not to stare at you because I thought that’s what you wanted. It’s been like fucking torture keeping my eyes off of you.”
His words caught you off guard, the whole fuzzy day suddenly coming into focus. All of his walking ahead of you and dedication to his game, it was because you’d told him it was over. Now with him staring down at you, so close you could feel his increasingly ragged breaths fanning across your face, you couldn’t for the life of you remember why you’d said it.
“Do you remember now? What you said earlier?” He asked quietly.
You just nodded, not seeing a reason to tell him that you’d never really forgotten, that you’d been playing the words - I hate you - to him over and over in your head, the regret ringing so loudly in your ears you had to put away six drinks just to drown them out, and even that couldn’t make you stop wishing you’d never said them.
“Did you mean it?” He asked, his voice cracking with vulnerability.
You took a deep breath, shaking your head just slightly, “not even a little bit.”
“Maybe you should, after everything I’ve put you through,” he reminded you, wanting to be sure this was you taking it back, and not the alcohol.
“Maybe. Probably. But I just don’t. I could never hate you, Rafe.”
He nodded once, lips parted to take a deep breath, relief sweeping over his face. You blinked up at him, eyes running over his soft pink lips, so glad to get that off your chest and missing the feeling of his hands on you.
“Fuck, I…I just -” you whispered before rising up on your toes to meet his lips with your own. 
Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him, trying to make him understand, your fingers gripping the back of his polo and bunching it up under your grip. His hands hesitated at his side for a minute, kissing you back, but only slightly. 
Eventually, his palms landed on either side of your face, holding firm as you deepened the kiss. But when you slipped your tongue between his parted lips, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours and his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his own primal instincts.
“I…we shouldn’t,” his voice quivered, like he was trying to convince himself, not you.
“Why not?” You frowned as he pulled your arms from around his neck.
“Because you’re drunk,” he explained, stepping back like he had to physically restrain himself from you. “Believe me, if you weren’t…”
“But ‘mnot! Not anymore, I’m completely s-sober right now, swear,” You insisted, though the way you fumbled over the syllables gave the obvious lie away. Even though you were certainly feeling a bit more clear headed, you definitely would not pass a breathalyzer right now.
“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow at you.
“Really, swear. Just please, I need to …please Rafe,” you searched for whatever words would bring his lips back to yours, though you knew that fact that your inhibitions were low enough to actually beg for it was just further proof that it’d be wrong for him to give in to you.
“Tell you what,” he looked around before locating your club, which he’d propped against a tree a few minutes ago. He retrieved it and held it out to you, keeping his distance as if getting too close to you would snap his restraint. “If you can line up the shot and actually hit it out of the woods, then I’ll believe you’re sober.”
You took the club from him defiantly, locating your ball, still waiting in its spot atop the leaves. You stood behind it, trying to square your shoulders and recall something, anything, from the golf lessons your parents had forced you to take as a kid. But as you looked down, the club was splitting in two, blurry in your double vision. You took a deep breath and tried to line it up again, but looking down was making you dizzy, and you stumbled a little.
Looking up at Rafe with a pout, your shoulders sagged as you admitted, “I need help.”
“Knew it,” he teased with a satisfied smirk, laughing at your pitiful stance.
“Raaafe,” you grumbled, only making him laugh more. “Please. I’m dizzy.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you just look so cute right now.” 
He made his way toward you, and you started to lift the club, thinking he was going to take it from you so he could take the shot himself, but instead he circled you and approached from over your shoulder. His hands came to rest over your own, wrapping you in his arms so he could assist you in making the shot. And goddamn if it wasn’t the hottest thing anyone had ever done to you.
Your body relaxed back into his, your back flush against his chest, and his head lowered until his lips were an inch from your ear. The proximity flooded your senses, forcing your eyes to flutter closed briefly.
“Can’t believe you thought I could actually ignore you today,” he whispered, low and slow, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “As if I could pretend I didn’t see you in this fucking dress. As if it hasn’t been driving me absolutely insane. I thought I was gonna have a fucking meltdown trying not to snap and take you in the middle of the fucking golf course.”
God, him and that fucking mouth. You nearly whimpered at his words, and at the heat curling in your belly as he made you impossibly more desperate for him, but before you could react, he lifted your arms up, twisting with you to bring them back down in a perfect swing, the club sending your ball out of the woods with an echoing thwack! that forced your eyes to fly open.
Rafe released your hands so you could drop the club, but he didn’t let go of you, keeping his word and not kissing you, but just holding you. You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his waist, hugging him back. His chin settled on the top of your head and you sighed contently as his arms squeezed you a little tighter, your body enveloped in his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?” You asked.
“For dropping your hand, for everything,” he explained.
It took you a full minute, but you said it with your whole chest.
“I forgive you.”
You stood holding each other in silence for a long time. Rafe brushed soothing circles into your back when he felt a single tear roll down your face onto his shirt, dampening the same spot where you’d spilled your drink on him a few hours ago.
After a while, he tucked his chin to drop a soft kiss on the top of your head, smiling into your hair. His voice was muffled when he confessed, “I’m glad you chose me over that fucking punk kid.”
You smiled, pulling away from him just enough to look up at him with a smug grin, “aha, so maybe you were the one that was jealous!”
He smacked his lips, looking away from you to try and fight back his smile, finally resigning, “okay, maybe a little.”
“A little!” You scoffed. “You looked like you were about to fight them.”
“Nah, I don’t do that anymore,” he admitted bashfully, voice lowering to add, “I don’t think my therapist would be too happy with me.”
Your head tilted in intrigue, “your therapist?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Needed a little help… to grow up, you know?”
“Rafe, I think that’s great,” you told him, giving him one more squeeze. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“I want…I don’t know,” he pulled away from you, scratching the back of his neck. “I want to tell you everything, you know? Like when something happens to me, good or bad, you’re the one I wanna tell. I just didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”
“I do,” you reached out and squeezed his hand to reassure him. “I want to hear it all.”
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Emerging from the woods, mud splattered up to your knees and giddy smiles painted on your faces, you slipped your hand into his. You thought maybe you should give him some excuse about how you were still drunk and you just needed to hold his hand for stability, but you didn’t have it in you to lie.
As you walked, you thought back to a few minutes earlier, when you’d clung to him to avoid Ryder’s touch. How he’d appeared by your side when you needed him and you didn’t even have to think twice before saying you wanted to stay with him. How it never crossed your mind that it’d be a bad idea to go into those woods with him, because for the first time, you really truly trusted him.
When you were young, Rafe was a storm. He brought an uneasiness with him wherever he went. Being around him always made you feel a little unsteady, knowing the wind could shift at any minute, but never knowing what kind of emotional havoc it could wreak when it did. 
But now, he was different. This wasn’t a violent, unpredictable boy, but a steady, trustworthy man. And it washed over you like a dream - once a hurricane, Rafe was now your safe harbor. 
And you’d never felt so sure the storm had really passed.
Yes, Rafe had hurt you in the past. That was true, and it couldn’t be undone. But you trusted him not to hurt you now, and you loved him. Both things could be true, and you finally felt ready to live with that contradiction, finally felt strong enough to face your own emotions, knowing you’d have him to hold onto for support whenever the world swayed under your feet. You squeezed his hand at the thought. 
It was a long, quiet walk back to the clubhouse, but there was much said in the silence. 
The two of you stood outside the locker room doors, your hand still in his as he looked down at you with an adoring grin.
“So I’m gonna shower, and maybe get some coffee,” you laughed softly, looking down at your mud caked legs. “And then maybe we could go somewhere and, I dunno, talk? Or something?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice soft as it fanned over your face. “We’ll talk. Or something.”
“Maybe you can tell me more about therapy?” You said with a cheeky glint in your eyes, wondering how much of his inner life you could convince him to spill to you before the day was done.
He laughed, “Sure. I’ll tell you anything, whatever you want to know.”
“Good. No more secrets?” Your smile cracked a bit at the question, just a tiny bit of lingering distrust left in your heart. 
He eased it with a kiss to the back of your hand before letting go of you slowly.
“No more secrets,” he promised. 
And you believed him.
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Rafe watched you go until the locker room door swung fully shut behind you, his heart and mind soaring somewhere in the clouds.
He hadn’t felt this good in such a long time. In fact, he may have never felt this good. He stood on the patio for a long time, just watching the pink-purple clouds of the swirling sunset and wondering how he got so fucking lucky. 
The rest of the group slowly returned from the eighteenth hole, Cassie and Sabrina arriving just before Carter and Maddie.
“Topper?” He asked Carter, suddenly remembering his friend, who had been in bad shape the last time he saw him.
“Jack and Tom took him home in a company car,” she explained. “He’s good, just not gonna let him drink again, like ever.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Rafe said, surprising both himself and Carter with his sincerity. She gave him a look that was half confusion, half unexpected friendliness before following Maddie into the locker room.
Kelce showed up last, struggling to carry multiple bags of clubs, which Rafe could only assume meant the girls had somehow conned him into carrying theirs.
“Dude,” Kelce panted. “Where the hell have you been? You should’ve seen me at the eighteenth, hit a fucking birdie man.”
“Bullshit,” Rafe ribbed him as he helped him unload the bags off his shoulders, Kelce taking a deep breath once he’d finally unloaded their weight.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here man,” Kelce suggested. “We should go downtown and get fucked up.”
“Nah, man, I don’t do that shit anymore,” Rafe shook his head. “Plus I got plans tonight…with my girl.”
Kelce’s eyes widened, breaking into a goofy grin as he shook Rafe by the shoulders.
“No shit? You finally locked it down, huh? Never thought you were gonna pull that shit off, man!”
Rafe smirked despite himself, “yeah, yeah, alright. Only took me fifteen fucking years man.”
The two slipped into the men’s locker room, heading towards the rental lockers where they’d stored the clothes they arrived in.
“I need details, bro,” Kelce pressed him. “I mean after the way she was acting this morning, I thought you’d blown it for good.”
Rafe opened his mouth to explain that he too thought he’d ruined his chances with you, but before he could, the door to the locker room swung open. From their spot behind the wall of lockers, they couldn’t see who was accompanying the voices that were in the middle of an entirely too-loud conversation, but Rafe recognized them immediately.
“Dude, you’re fucking crazy, she’s at least, like a nine, nine point five. You don’t have a chance,” Chad scolded his friend.
“I don’t care what she is, as long as she stays fucking faded,” Ryder laughed.
“Seriously, she was a fucking mess, she’d be so fucking easy, dude.”
Rafe’s whole demeanor changed at the sound of their conversation. His eyes flicking over Kelce’s face for just a second as his jaw clenched tight. Kelce watched him anxiously, neither of them needed to wonder who Chad and Ryder were talking about, after they’d followed you around all afternoon, coping as many sneaky feels as they could before Rafe stepped in.
He thought they’d gotten the message when he told them to back off, but apparently they hadn’t.
“Got her number, she invited us to her beach house,” Ryder informed his friend with a conspiratorial grin. 
“Fucking perfect,” Chad slapped him five like he’d just won some kind of trophy. “You keep the drinks flowing and I’ll make a move.”
“No fucking way,” Ryder protested. “I’m the one who scored the invite, your perverted ass can watch while I seal the fucking deal.”
“Ah, you’d really diss your brother like that?” Chad whined.
“You know what, you do the job correctly and maybe I’ll let you have a taste when she’s finally blacked out, yeah?”
Forget protective, this was enough to send Rafe on a full fucking killing spree. He was almost too infuriated to move, but that last remark sent him reeling around the corner of the lockers in a path of destruction no one could stop, not even Kelce, who was close behind him in an absolute panic.
“Rafe, don’t man, they’re not worth it,” he warned, trying to catch up. 
But he was too late, Rafe was already barreling toward Ryder and Chad, who looked up in shock when they realized suddenly that they weren’t alone. 
Rafe lunged toward Ryder, grabbing him by the collar of his club issued uniform and slamming him up against the lockers. His forearm pressed into Ryder’s neck, pinning him up helplessly.
“I thought I made myself fucking clear.” Despite his aggressive stance, and the air slowly leaking from Ryder’s crushed throat, Rafe’s tone was smooth, his lips twisted in a terrifying smile that had absolutely zero joy behind it.
He looked over at Chad, who was watching, and cowering, in horror. “But you two fucking morons didn’t seem to understand, did you? So let me phrase it in a way even two shit-for-brains like you can grasp, yeah? Say one more fucking word about her or ever even breathe in her fucking vicinity again, and I will fucking end you. Got it?”
Chad nodded rapidly next to Rafe, his wide eyes pleading for mercy. Rafe pressed hard on Ryder’s neck one more time, grinning menacingly at the pained cry he let out before releasing him, his body slumping back against the locker as his hands rubbed over his sore neck.
“Good,” Rafe smiled again, patting Chad’s cheek patronizingly, smirking at the way he flinched in fear.
He turned from them, back toward Kelce, who looked relieved it hadn’t gone any farther, knowing what Rafe was capable of from his many drunken fights in high school. And considering this grown-up Rafe was even stronger, Kelce said a silent prayer Ryder and Chad would just keep their mouths shut.
God apparently wasn’t listening.
Chad pulled Ryder toward the locker room door as Rafe stood over the sink, white knuckling the edge as he tried to get control of himself, repeating some mental mantra Kelce couldn’t hear. They’d almost made a clean break of it, before Ryder pulled himself from his friend’s desperate grasp, turning around to taunt,
“Can’t help it if the slut is asking for it, man.”
Rafe looked up slowly, meeting Kelce’s terrified eyes in the mirror.
“Rafe, man, they’re just kids, alright?” He reminded him, his voice begging for Rafe to regain control of himself.
Rafe turned slowly, stepping towards Ryder, who was doing his best to stand tall and square his shoulders, despite the way his whole body was obviously shaking in fear. Rafe absolutely towered over him.
“Just a kid, huh? How old are you guys?” Rafe asked, his voice confusingly friendly in a way that disarmed Ryder slightly.
“Just turned eighteen,” he said proudly.
Rafe nodded casually, looking down at his hands and adjusting the solid gold ring on his forefinger with a grin.
“Good.”
Rafe’s fist met Ryder’s jaw with a crack! 
The cool metal engraving of the Cameron family crest on Rafe’s ring split his lip like a knife, blood immediately running down his face as his neck snapped backward with the force of Rafe’s punch. Ryder stumbled backward, Chad cowering away and letting his friend fall through the swinging locker room door and stumbling into the lobby.
Rafe followed after him, Kelce’s shouting voice somewhere far, far away as he zeroed in on Ryder’s hunched over body, clutching his face in pain and panic. Kelce was begging him to stop, but Rafe couldn’t hear it, all he could hear were Ryder’s words, all he could see was your face, your body, the things they were planning to do to it. At that thought, his arm cocked back again, knocking into Chad, who was fruitlessly trying to pull him back. 
Rafe’s fist collided with Ryder’s face again, and again and again, until he couldn’t tell skin apart from blood, until Ryder was flat on his back and Rafe was hovering over him, unleashing the full force of his anger.
Nothing could stop him, not Kelce’s pleading, or Chad’s, not his own conscience, screaming from the back of his mind that he needed to calm down, that he was gonna fucking kill this kid if he didn’t stop soon. 
And he would’ve too, if the door to the women’s locker room hadn’t swung open, if you hadn’t come running out of it, tears streaming down your face and Carter’s voice calling after you. You stopped dead in your tracks and looked down at him in sheer shock and horror.
“Rafe! Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?!”
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The steamy cascade of the shower felt so nice, you sighed aloud as the warm water rushed down your back to your mud caked legs, dragging clumps of the swamp down the drain with it. You hummed a little happy tune to yourself as you washed. When you’d entered the locker room, you were the only one in it, having your pick of showers and choosing the biggest one. Your eyes closed as you breathed in the steam, feeling the rest of your sobriety return to you, eyelashes fluttering open again excitedly as you remembered Rafe was just on the other side of this wall, waiting for you.
Your mind wandered pleasantly to all the possible things this evening could have in store, using a second pump of body wash at the thought, your stomach full of butterflies. As you washed the day off, you let your mind wander even farther, past tonight, past this week, when the trip was over and it would be just you and Rafe, facing the summer together. You’d help him with his summer class, as much as he needed, be there to cheer for him when he graduated. Surely, he’d have to start working once he got his diploma and you’d have to go back north for your last year of school, but he could come visit you on the weekends, and for once in your four years away, you’d actually look for reasons to return to the OBX instead of avoiding it at all costs. 
The future, which usually made your stomach twist in anxiety with all its uncertainty and vastness, seemed to glow now, shining like a star in the distance with the knowledge you’d reach it with Rafe by your side. 
Part of you mourned that you were just now claiming this life for yourself, all the wasted time between you and Rafe seeming tragic now that you knew what it was like to be with him. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t waste any more time being sad about that, thinking instead of what Rafe would look like on one knee in front of you someday, a vision that for the first time in your life, was completely real and in reach.
The door to the patio squeaking open interrupted your reverie, two familiar voices in mid-conversation robbing you of your once private locker room experience. 
“So uncomfy actually, she was such a mess. Like why are you sloppy drunk in the middle of the day? That’s just sad,” Sabrina’s voice carried under the shower curtain. You knew she couldn’t see you, but you still turned away toward the shower wall as you listened in as if you were shielding yourself from her. Clearly, she was talking about you, but to who?
“I don’t know, maybe she just needed to blow off some steam. We’ve all been there,” Cassie deflected.
Once again, you were shocked by how kind Cassie was being, weirdly kind of touched at how quickly she’d come to your defense. 
“Since when are the two of you the best of friends?” Sabrina snapped back, clearly embarrassed that Cassie was taking the high road while she was talking shit like a teenager.
“We’re not, I just don’t see why you need to drag her down all the time when she’s never actually done anything to you,” Cassie pushed back.
It took everything in you not to shout “exactly!” from your shower stall, biting your tongue as you waited for Sabrina’s response.
“Okay maybe not to me, but she’s done shit to you. Sorry that I’m being defensive over my best friend,” Sabrina reasoned.
You were baffled, literally scratching your head as you tried to think of one bad thing you could’ve possibly ever done to Cassie of all people.
“Okay, well it’s not like she knew she was doing it, Rafe never told her.���
Your heart dropped to your stomach. Rafe never told her. Completely sober now, you still had to clutch the wall to stay standing straight.
“Maybe Carter did though,” Sabrina reasoned. “Those two are like freaky close, even for sisters.”
“No, I don’t think she would’ve,” Cassie explained. “Rafe said it was like an unspoken agreement between them. Like if he ghosted her sister, Carter would leave Rafe alone and stuff. I don’t see her admitting that they made some weird pact to keep her in the dark like that.”
Your body was so still, the shampoo you’d just lathered into your hair was running down your face and into your eyes, and you didn’t even care. You were numb, no feeling where it was stinging your eyes as you blinked it away, frozen in shock.
If he ghosted her. Keep her in the dark. An unspoken agreement between them.
Your mind was spinning too fast to fully make sense of it, but just fast enough to conjure an image of Carter and Rafe in high school, shaking hands as they made some kind of deal over you. Then a flash of you, in the weeks that followed, sobbing into your pillow as Carter sat at the edge of your bed, assuring you that Rafe was just some guy who ghosted you and you’d get over him eventually. And Rafe, in his own bed a few streets over, ignoring your texts and justifying the way he’d pretend like he didn’t even know you when he saw you in the halls at school.
It was all part of some fucking pact? You were sick to your fucking stomach.
Before you could start retching, the door swung open again, the unmistakable sound of Carter’s laugh wafting in with the evening air. Maddie laughed alongside her, mumbling something about Kelce looking out of breath. Your nausea quickly turned to absolute disgust at the thought of Carter laughing without a care while you were reeling from the news of her betrayal and swallowing the taste of shampoo.
You slammed the shower handle to the left, shutting the water off with a squeak of the faucet. Grabbing your towel from the hook and just barely taking the time to wrap it around yourself, you stormed out of the showers and into the locker room, beelining past a shocked Sabrina and Cassie and straight toward Carter, who stopped mid-joke to take you in with surprise.
“You made a fucking pact?!” You spat at her.
“What are you talking about?” She asked, the remnants of a smile still lingering on the corner of her lips.
“You and Rafe, in highschool. You made a deal over me?” Your mind was racing so far ahead of you that it was difficult to string the words together. But the way Carter’s face fell and flooded with panic told you she knew exactly what you were referring to.
“You said he was just showing his true colors, you said he was ghosting me. But you fucking told him to? How could you do that to me?” Your voice cracked as you accused her.
“I was protecting you!” She defended herself.
“By fucking lying to me?”
Her eyes skittered around, trying to figure out what to say, eventually landing on your neck. In an instant, her face shifted from panicked guilt to cold anger.
“You wanna talk about lying? Nice necklace you got yourself there,” she pointed to your exposed clavicle, uncovered by your towel.
Your stomach dropped, not needing to look in the mirror to know everyone in the room could see the hickies that were scattered across your collarbone.
“Nothing happened, huh?” Carter repeated the words you’d sworn to her over and over when she’d pressed you about what happened when you disappeared with Rafe the other day. “Or did you get those hickies from those fucking caddies?”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” you told her, your hand coming up to cover the marks as though that would make everyone forget they’d seen them. “You’ve been lying to me for years. And I only lied about hooking up with Rafe because for once in my life I didn’t want to hear your fucking judgemental opinion.”
The rest of the girls stood back, completely frozen in fear as they watched the completely unprecedented event unfolding before them. No one had ever heard you and Carter speak like this to each other, mainly because you and Carter never had spoken like this to each other. It was terrifying, having no blueprint for what was going to happen next, no idea how low the two of you would be willing to go.
“Maybe I give you my opinion on everything because you can never do anything by your fucking self,” she crossed her arms. “I mean, hell if I hadn’t pushed you to come on this trip you never would’ve even spoken to Rafe again in the first place. But now, he’s what, the love of your fucking life?”
“You’re right, Car, how would I make it through life without the opinions of someone with the emotional intelligence of a fucking toddler? You can’t even tell someone you love them without having a full blown panic attack on the bathroom floor.”
“Oh you wanna talk about emotions? You cried over him every night for twelve fucking years,” she shot back. “And you’re supposed to be the ‘emotionally healthy’ one? Give me a fucking break. He kissed Cassie one time and you acted like the whole fucking world had ended, what the fuck was I supposed to do? You helped him fucking prom-pose to her for god’s sake, and I couldn’t say anything about it. I wasn’t gonna sit back and let them keep hurting you like that.”
Heat rushed to your face, unable to keep your eyes from flicking over to Cassie, who looked away quickly, as if she could spare you the sheer mortification you were experiencing at the sound of Carter revealing one of your dearest secrets right in front of the person you least wanted to hear.
Carter knew she’d gone too far, eyes flashing with regret, almost wincing at her own words. 
“I’m sor-”
“Save it,” you pulled your towel tighter around yourself, rushing over to the locker where you’d stored the clothes you came in. You pulled them on quickly, ignoring Carter as she rushed to try and apologize. 
“I shouldn’t have said that in front of her, okay? I’m just- you’re not giving me a chance to explain. It was a long time ago and it’s complicated. Please, let’s just talk, I wanna talk about this.”
Once your clothes were pulled back on, you turned to her.
“No, I’ve been listening to you talk my whole fucking life, and I don’t even know if I can believe what you say anymore.” Tears finally slipped past your lash line.
You brushed past her and headed for the door, not sparing a glance to the other girls, who were still standing back near the showers, pretending they couldn’t hear every word you were saying.
“Wait, no, please wait!” Carter called after you as you ripped open the door to the lobby, but you didn’t hear her, too stunned by what you found on the other side.
Rafe was kneeling above a bloodied and beaten Ryder, his arm cocked back for another in what must have been a long series of blows. His eyes were wild, like an animal attacking their prey. His own face had flecks of blood scattered across it, that you surmised wasn’t his own.
He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide and his entire body consumed by rage. 
And there it was: the storm of him. The one you had just been so sure had passed, breaking again right in front of you.
You trembled, more tears slipping from your eyes, as Ryder groaned from under Rafe’s hold, too battered to fight back. 
“Rafe! Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?!” You screamed in terror.
Carter and the other girls came running out at the sound of your shriek, all their jaws falling slack at the sight. 
“You’re gonna fucking kill him!” You cried, noting the way Rafe still hadn’t let Ryder up off the floor. “Why are you doing this?”
“They were talking shit,” Kelce jumped in to explain, Rafe too consumed with chaos to form the words. 
“I don’t care what they said, that doesn’t give you the right to break someone’s skull in,” you screamed at Rafe, praying he’d lower his fist before he did anymore damage. 
“He was saying he was gonna get you wasted and pass you over to his buddy once you were too blackout to realize,” Kelce clarified.
“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” Carter snapped, looking toward Chad, who was white as a ghost as she stormed toward him. 
Before you could react, Carter had pulled back her own fist, crashing it into Chad’s face with a thud. The rest of the room gasped, even Rafe whipped his head toward her in shock.
“Ow, fuck!” She screamed and shook out her knuckles, some of them surely broken after that punch. At the same moment, Chad stumbled backward and crashed into a large, expensive looking vase sitting in the middle of the lobby, which rocked back and forth a few times before crashing to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
The sound echoed throughout the lobby, and the desk agent came running from the employee break room toward the commotion.
Chad cried out, holding his nose as it began leaking blood, and the front desk agent barrelling around the corner, his eyes going wide at the scene in front of him.
He pulled a walkie talkie from his belt and spoke quickly, informing someone on the other end, “call security now. And tell them to get the real cops.”
“Oh fuck,” Kelce groaned, his hands flying to his head in worry. “Rafe, fuck man, I love you but…I can’t be here right now.”
With that, Kelce ran through the lobby, jumping over Ryder’s limp legs to make his escape. Sabrina grabbed Cassie’s hand and dragged her after him, Maddie hesitating for just a minute before looking sympathetically to Carter, who was doubled over in pain.
“Sorry,” Maddie said. “I just got into med school.”
With that excuse, she ran after the others, stepping in some of Ryder’s blood and trailing footprints across the glossy marble floor.
As the front door to the club closed behind her, two security guards arrived, huffing in their tight uniforms, clearly having run here.
“Nobody else better fucking move,” he warned, holding up his knightstick as he gasped for air. “The police are on their way.”
The other guard hurried to pull Rafe off of Ryder. With his eyes still pinned on you, Rafe finally climbed off of him, slumping back against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, his blood soaked hands resting limply on top of his thighs like they hadn’t just beat this kid within an inch of his life.
“You,” the heavily breathing guard pointed at Carter while his partner checked Ryder’s eyes to make sure he was still conscious. “Against the wall, too. Now.”
Carter obeyed, following his instruction to sit next to Rafe, her knuckles red and swollen as she held her hand up pathetically. 
“You two better have a good fucking excuse when the cops arrive,” the guard scolded them. He looked at you for any sign of your own involvement, “unless someone else wants to take responsibility?”
You just looked down at Rafe and Carter, never in your life having seen a more pitiful sight than the two of them slumped on the ground, looking at you like you were their last hope.
“Nope,” you shrugged. “These two got here all on their own.”
Careful to avoid getting blood on your own shoes, you turned your back on them and left.
(to be continued)
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no author's note. there will be no explanation, there will only be reputation.
please note the new taglist for this series is currently closed. for updates when I post, please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3
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itneverendshere · 8 months ago
Note
Perhaps Rafe x Shy!Bartender reader at the country club. Maybe she was driven there and was supposed to get picked up, but shit got in the way. And she is far from home. Rafe is there that day for golfing or something and it’s her first day. He is instantly smitten and waits until her shift is over to properly ask her out, and notices she has no car to get home and gets protective
i looooved this and in my head this is EXACTLY how rafe and pogue!reader from this request met. this is the same universe, im making it canon rn
it could be you and me - rafe cameron
pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.5k
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Rafe slid through the crowd, heading toward the golf course. He had plans to join Topper for a round or two.
Like usual, his presence drew glances—partially because of the rumors that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Being the epitome of privilege, born into the wealth that afforded him everything, made sure that all eyes were on him, everywhere he went on that stupid fucking town. But that day, he’d been off his game from the moment he woke up.
He felt out of place, restless and mostly, bored. Every day in this place felt the same to him. The pleasures he used to get from being a kook were slowly burning out. The days had started blending together, the endless cycle of parties, and drinks had begun to lose its allure. Doing the same thing, over and over again. 
Nothing was new. Nothing was exciting anymore.
He was bored out of his mind. Golf wasn’t exactly his passion, but it was a way to pass the time, to pretend like he shouldn’t be in the office finishing whatever paperwork his father had shoved down his throat the night before. 
He needed a drink if he wanted to get through the rest of the day without breaking something.
He approached the clubhouse and noticed a small crowd gathered at the bar. It wasn’t an unusual sight—it was one of the most popular spots in the club—but something, or rather someone, caught his attention.
Behind the counter, there was someone he’d never seen before.
You wore the standard uniform of the club's staff—white blouse, black slacks, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail—but there was something about you that made him stop in his tracks. You weren’t a kook, that much was clear. And you were new. Way too new by the looks of the growing line.
You were busy, pouring drinks, smiling politely at the members, but he could tell you were nervous from the way you overdid it. It was like you were trying to make yourself small for those people. It didn’t help that they treated you like you were invisible, snapping their fingers or raising their voices to get your attention.
Fucking assholes.
He didn’t know why he felt so irritated all of the sudden. He’d done the same thing times and times again, he was no better than any of them, on a good day. But he hated watching it happen to you. He couldn’t stop staring, he felt creepy as he listed all the little things he noticed about you. Your hands moved quickly, but delicately, as if you took great care in everything you did.
You turned to reach for a bottle on a high shelf and he finally caught a good glimpse of your face—a glimpse that nearly made him drop his golf club on the spot. There was something striking about you. It was in the way your eyes narrowed as you focused on pouring the right amount of alcohol on a drink, and the way your lips pursed ever so slightly as you kept concentrating.
You were beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. He’d seen pretty girls all his life, he made sure he surrounded himself with them. But you? You were something else. 
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a genuine curiosity, to know more about someone. He didn’t think about hooking up, about asking for your number. You didn’t belong here and maybe that’s what made you so good.
The shift seemed never-ending, even though it was your first day.
Most of the club members hadn’t even bothered to learn your name —either way, you were having a hard time keeping up. 
You hadn’t wanted to take the job, but you didn’t have much of a choice. The country club was the only place hiring that summer, and you needed the money. Your friend had driven you there earlier that morning, promising to pick you up after your shift. But earlier, when you had glanced at your phone during a ten-second break, you saw a text from her saying she’d been held up—something about the car breaking down.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath, shoving your phone back into your pocket as you handed a gin and tonic to a bald asshole who didn’t even bother to thank you. You were stuck here, away from home, and the last thing you wanted to do was ask one of these people for help.
Your nerves had already skyrocketed. Between the constant drink orders, the lack of polite smiles, and trying your best not to spill anything or offend any of these spoiled kooks, you were losing your mind. Being the center of attention wasn’t your forte, and being behind the bar was giving you a migraine as the members kept barking their orders, complaining when their drinks weren’t perfect, and barely acknowledging your existence.
You could feel their judgmental stupid eyes on you, like you were some sort of animal—a pogue. 
The buzz in your stomach kept getting stronger with every minute.
You wished you could just disappear, but you needed the job and so, you had no option but to take it like a big girl and get used to it. By the end of the day, your hands trembled slightly as you reached for another bottle, your muscles aching from trying to keep up with the endless demands.
As you handed yet another whiskey on the rocks to an ungrateful rich asshole, you noticed someone approaching the bar from the corner of your eye. Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately shout his order or snap his fingers. He just stood there, watching you, a slight smirk on his face.
It was hard not to recognize him—Rafe Cameron. You’d heard stories about him, of course. Everyone in the Outer Banks had. He was practically royalty, the golden boy of one of the wealthiest families around.
You hated being stared at, it made you feel even more out of place than you already did. You could feel your cheeks turning red just from that alone.
“Can I get you something?” you asked, politely yet barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
Rafe leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving your face, “What do you recommend?”
He sounded amused. Like he was genuinely enjoying himself. Like he didn’t know this was your first day on the job. You knew he did because everything about him screamed Country Club boy. You hadn’t exactly had time to memorize the menu. But you didn’t want to look like a stupid in front of a kook, let alone kook royalty. 
“Uh, well, the mojitos are pretty popular,” you offered, hoping that was true.
He raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Mojitos, huh? Alright, I’ll take one.”
You nodded and quickly got to work, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking. As you muddled the mint leaves and squeezed the lime, you could feel his eyes on you.
Jesus, what was his problem with the staring? Was there something on your face? Were you doing this whole thing wrong? It was unnerving. When you finally handed him the drink, he took it with a nod, but instead of walking away, he stayed there, sipping it slowly in front of you, like some kind of test. 
“You’re new here,” he remarked, more as a statement than a question.
You swallowed nervously and nodded. “Yeah, first day.”
He took another sip, “Not a bad start,” he said, his tone almost teasing.
Was he trying to be funny? You gave him a small, tight-lipped smile, not entirely sure if he was mocking you or being genuine. Before he could say anything else, another customer called for your attention, and you turned away to help them. 
Rafe didn’t move. Even as you worked, he stayed rooted to his seat. Every time you glanced in his direction, he was still there, watching you, not looking the least bit shameful about it. He left eventually.
By six thirty, the club was mostly empty, save for a few stragglers lingering at the bar and some late-night golfers finishing their rounds. You wiped down the counter one last time, wondering how the hell you were going to get home. You’d almost forgotten about the earlier text from your friend, but now your anxiety was back. 
You didn’t have anyone else to call and walking home alone, at night was terrifying, small town or not. You pulled out your phone and stared at it, praying for another solution to pop into your head, but nothing came.
“Come on, think…” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. It was a mess after being up in a ponytail the entire day but it was starting to give you a headache, so you took it down, hoping it would help you think clearer. It didn't.
Taking a taxi would cost more than you could afford, especially on your shitty bartender’s salary. You were pacing back and forth behind the bar, wondering how your luck had already gone down the drain on your first day working. 
In your panic, you didn’t notice someone else standing outside the glass doors of the clubhouse, watching you with a keen eye. Rafe had finished his round of golf earlier and had been hanging around, talking to a few of his father’s friends. He almost laughed at how stressed you looked but took pity on you when you almost broke down into tears right there and then.
He couldn’t have that.
You didn’t even see him walk up to the door and push it open. The sound of it swinging shut behind him startled you, and you looked up, your eyes widening as he approached you.
“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t move closer, just stood there by the door, giving you space.
You stared at him, still trying to catch your breath, not exactly hiding how freaked out you were. “I— I’m fine,” you stammered out. You clutched your phone tightly, as if it could somehow find you a safe way home.
Rafe bit his lip, clearly not convinced, “Y’sure about that? Cause you look like you’re two seconds away from a meltdown.”
His words, though blunt, weren’t meant to be harsh. At least you didn’t think they were, but hearing them out loud made you realize just how close you were to losing it publicly, in your workplace. You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead.
“It’s nothing, I just…uh, I don’t have a ride home,” you admitted reluctantly,. “My friend was supposed to pick me up, but her car broke down, and now I’m stuck here.” The last part came out in a rush, as if saying it faster would somehow make it less true.
This felt like the luckiest day in his life.
“That’s it?” he asked, sounding almost relieved. “I can take you home, no problem.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “What? No, I— I don’t want to impose, it’s late, and—”
You were so cute it almost made it impossible to scold you.
“You’re not imposing,” Rafe cut you off, “It’s not safe for you to be out here alone, especially at this hour. Just lemme give you a ride, okay?”
You hadn’t imagined him like this. Speaking to you, a pogue so…normally. There was something in his voice, in the way he spoke to you, that made you pause. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. He was just offering help. He sounded nothing like the Rafe you’d heard about.
You hesitated, glancing back at your phone again as if you might find a better solution, but you knew deep down you weren’t finding shit. There was no one else you could call, no other option that made sense. And as much as you hated the idea of relying on someone you barely knew, on a kook of all people, you didn’t feel like sleeping on the streets.
“Okay,” you finally agreed, your voice quiet as you looked up at him. You hadn’t expected him to be so tall, “But just this once.”
Rafe’s lips twitched, “Just this once,” he echoed as he gestured toward the door. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
He led you to his car, a sleek, black SUV that practically screamed money. He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid inside, feeling a bit out of place. You’d never been inside such a luxurious vehicle. The plush leather seats were…something. You sat quietly, too scared to break something as he got in on the driver’s side, starting the engine with a quiet hum.
The drive started off in silence. You kept your eyes focused on the road, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were in Rafe Cameron’s car, being driven home by him. It sounded almost delusional. 
After a few minutes, Rafe spoke up “So, where do you live?” he asked, glancing over at you.
He knew you were a pogue, that was a given. But he’d never seen you around before.
You quickly gave him your address, and he nodded, adjusting the GPS on his dashboard. As he did, you couldn’t help but admire how calm and collected he seemed. It was almost unsettling how comfortable he was in situations like this—small talk with strangers, a situation that always has you squirming.  
“Thanks, by the way, I really appreciate it.”
He quickly glanced over at you, “Don’t mention it. It’s no big deal.”
Except it was. You were even prettier up close, and your perfume scent was messing with his head, if it wasn’t for the GPS's stupid robotic voice he’d be lost by now.
It was a big deal to you too. It wasn’t every day that someone like Rafe went out of their way to help someone like you. And the fact that he’d done it without a second thought, without expecting anything in return was very, very confusing. 
“First day at the club, huh?” Was he trying to make small talk with you? Oh wow. His tone was so casual, like this was the most normal conversation in the world, like you two had known each other for years, and weirdly enough, you didn’t mind. “How’d it go?”
You hesitated, not sure how much you should say. Your instinct was to lie and avoid making things awkward. “Oh, it was great,” your voice raised an octave as it always did when you tried to lie your way out of conversations, “Everyone was really nice!”
Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave the road as he let out a low chuckle. “Bullshit.”
Your smile faltered. “W-What?”
“Come on,” he said, still grinning like an idiot, “I watched you get run ragged by those assholes all day. You looked like you wanted to set the bar on fire.”
You opened your mouth to lie again, but before you could stop yourself, the self righteous girl in you decided to take charge. 
“Okay, fine, it was awful. Those people are the worst. They treat everyone like shit and act like they’re God’s gift to the world just because they’ve got money.” Your voice grew louder as you vented, all the frustration from the day spitting out, “I mean, who the fuck do they think they are? Just because they can afford to spend their summers at a country club doesn’t make them better than everyone else.”
Rafe’s laughter broke through your rant, and you stopped short, suddenly realizing who you were talking to. You turned to look at him, wide-eyed, your heart sinking. 
“Oh my God,” you whispered horrified, hand covering your mouth, “You’re a kook.”
He was laughing so hard that his shoulders shook, his hand gripping the steering wheel as he tried to catch his breath. “Holy shit,” he managed to wheeze out between laughs, “You really hate us, don’t you?”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I didn’t mean you specifically,” you mumbled, your face burning, “I just...I don’t know what came over me.”
Rafe shook his head, still chuckling as he pulled up to a stoplight. “Nah, it’s fine. You’re not wrong about most of them. But, y’know, not all kooks are complete assholes.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, still mortified. “So you’re not an asshole?”
“Oh no, I am,” He snorted, “Just not to you.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, lowering your hands to your lap, “Good.”
You couldn’t stop staring at him. He was different than you’d imagined—more down-to-earth, less of a caricature of the wealthy villain you’d built up in your mind.
“So,” he said after a while, his tone still light, like he was holding back, trying not to scare you off, “What made you take the job at the club? Guessing it wasn’t for the stellar company.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I just needed a job for the summer, and they were the only place hiring.”
“Lucky us,” he said, and when you looked at him, he was giving you that same playful smirk. “You might be the only decent person in that place.”
Your cheeks warmed again, and you had to look away, fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. “I don’t know about that,” you murmured.
He glanced over, noticing the shy way you avoided his gaze, and his smirk softened. “I do.”
You must’ve hit your head earlier.
Was he flirting with you of all people? He was going to send you into cardiac arrest. You didn’t know how to answer, so you stayed quiet, the silence only broken by the quiet hum of the car’s engine and the GPS’s occasional directions.
When Rafe finally pulled up in front of your house, you hesitated before unbuckling your seatbelt. It felt like you had something more to say, but you weren’t sure what. He seemed to sense it too because he didn’t rush you, just turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat, waiting.
You finally turned to him, “Thanks again, Rafe. For everything. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that made it hard to look away. 
“Anytime. Seriously. If you ever need anything, just let me know.”
The offer seemed so sincere, so out of character for the guy you’d heard about, that it left you momentarily speechless. He kept proving you wrong. 
“I will.”
With a final nod, you pushed open the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting you as you closed the door behind you. You took a few steps toward your house before turning back, catching one last glimpse of him sitting there. 
His grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily when you looked back. He'd offered to drive girls home before—plenty of times, in fact—but this was different. When you waved, he felt like a schoolboy who only got to see his crush at school and spent the entire weekends daydreaming about her. 
Once you walked inside, he leaned back in his seat, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you sitting in his passenger seat, looking so out of place yet so perfect at the same time. Like you belonged right there, next to him. There was something so refreshingly genuine about you. You weren’t like the girls he knew—the ones who flaunted their wealth, who expected the world to bend over backward for them. You were different, unpretentious, and honest in a way that made him feel like he could drop the act for once.
Like he didn’t have to be Rafe Cameron, the reckless, arrogant kook.
No, with you, he could just be Rafe. And that was something he hadn’t realized he was missing until tonight.
He was done for. He knew he wasn’t going to stop until you were his.
The thought of anyone else having you, of you smiling at someone else the way you had at him tonight—it made him want to break someone’s teeth. He had a reputation, and he knew that if you heard even half of the stories about him, you’d probably want nothing to do with him after tonight. But he didn’t care. Because there was something about you that made him want to be better, to be the kind of guy you deserved.
He could already see it—the two of you, together. He’d give you the world, everything you deserved, and more. He’d make sure you never had to worry about a thing. You were perfect, too perfect for this world, and now that he’d found you, he wasn’t going to let you slip away. 
He’d make sure of it—you were going to be his girl. And nothing was going to stop him.
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rhyslarsenlover · 14 days ago
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DRIVE ME CRAZY
A RAFE CAMERON SOCIAL MEDIA AU
part one . part two . part three . masterlist
a/n: for the sake of this, let's pretend topper and sarah were never a thing, thx <3. also don't miss the golf club scene!
cw: mentions of alcohol & a fight scene. overprotective!rafe.
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@ the golf club
y/n and sarah sat at a small table, their coffee cups untouched as they both tried to piece together the aftermath of the previous night.
sarah was watching her closely, her arms crossed. "so, you're telling me you didn’t kiss topper last night?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
y/n sighed, looking down into her cup. "i didn’t kiss him, sarah. i swear. i was drunk. like, really drunk. i can barely remember half of the night, but i know i didn’t kiss him."
sarah seemed to process this for a moment, then leaned in, her voice softer. "john b did mention he saw you trying to push topper off when i messaged him this morning. so you're not into him at all?"
y/n nodded quickly, her eyes darting away. "i never have been. i don’t even understand why he thought... ugh. whatever."
y/n takes out her phone, her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment longer, before sending a reply to rafe. she couldn’t help but wonder why he would suddenly be so invested in her love life. the guy who'd always acted like he hated her, who had practically bragged about making her life difficult.
y/n: this isn’t your problem, rafe. stay out of it.
before she could send it, there was a loud crash from near the golf course area. y/n looked up, and her eyes widened in shock as she saw rafe and topper squaring off. a moment later, rafe’s fist connected with topper’s jaw, sending him stumbling back with a shout.
sarah, who had been watching y/n’s phone, jumped to her feet. "what the hell?!" she exclaimed.
y/n stood up too, her heart pounding in her chest. rafe was standing over topper, fists clenched, his posture tense with fury.
“don’t ever touch her again," rafe growled, his voice low and menacing. 
topper sneered, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. "you think i’m scared of you, rafe? get out of my face."
"maybe you should be," rafe shot back, stepping forward, pushing topper back with a force that made the other guy stagger.
y/n couldn’t move. she was frozen, watching the scene unfold. why was rafe doing this? why was he standing up for her? they were supposed to be enemies.
topper shot a glare in y/n’s direction. “all this for some whore,” he spat, before turning on his heel and storming off, his pride clearly bruised.
rafe's eyes dulled, a chilling expression on his face. he was about to make topper’s life a living hell. then, without a word, he turned and walked toward y/n.
"are you okay?" rafe’s voice was quieter now, though there was still a harsh edge to it. his gaze warmed as it locked onto hers, waiting for an answer.
y/n felt a mix of confusion and frustration bubble up inside her. "i... what the hell was that, rafe?"
he shrugged, his jaw tight. "i don’t like seeing people take advantage of others. especially not you."
y/n couldn’t figure out whether to be grateful or pissed. "you don’t get to act like my protector, rafe. we’re not friends. you’re not even supposed to care."
he didn’t answer immediately, just stood there, eyes fixed on her with something unreadable. finally, he spoke, his voice low. "maybe i care more than you think."
with that, he turned and walked away without another word, leaving y/n standing there, heart racing, her mind spinning. what the hell just happened?
sarah came up beside her, shaking her head in disbelief. “well, if that isn’t proof that he has feelings for you, i don’t know what is,” she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of shock and amusement.
y/n shook her head, still reeling from the encounter. “he can jump off a cliff before i entertain that idea.”
taglist!!: @princesspeaxhh , @cokewithcameron , @lolasangelz , @a-sunflower-in-bloom hope u enjoy my lovelies <3
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